Max didn’t have to be reminded of what hadn’t awaited him. Though his disciplined mind shielded him from facing the agonizing truth headlong—rejecting the thought, shoving it from his conscience before it could break him down—the full circumstances of his loss fell into place, completing the picture. He’d had suspicions that it hadn’t been an accident but never any solid proof to act on. Banner’s revelation—his confession—sent Max into a quivering rage. His nostrils flared; red spots flickered before his eyes.
One shot!
Max was dead already, no question, but damned if he wouldn’t take Banner to Hell with him. In that perfect moment, Banner’s vigilance slipped, his gun no longer trained on Max’s face. His jaw fell open as he yelled, eyes wide and white with fear. He gazed past Max; something else had caught his eye.
Max reached for his Glock with a gunfighter’s blinding speed. He pulled the trigger.
A freight train blow impacted his right shoulder the instant the gun fired, the blow ruining his aim and knocking him to the snowy ground. His shot went wide past Banner’s screaming face. Banner’s men fired their rifles in a panic, all guns pointed in Max’s general direction.
But Max knew damn well what they were shooting at. He ducked and rolled past Banner, a heartbeat before a spade claw would have taken his head off.
The CIA team forgot about him as the creatures poured forth from the tunnel and set upon them. Max had no intention of sticking around for the battle. Instead, he rolled to his feet and sprinted from the melee. He found himself behind Banner and his men now, on the Base Camp-side of the glacier.
Time to leave.
Like Lot’s wife, he couldn’t resist a glance back.
Four creatures made short work of the CIA team. In the predawn light, Max could see the true alien horror the creatures represented, as they tore apart Banner’s men. Their screams and wails filling the arctic air. The primitive camouflage they had used to blend into the ship’s interior had evolved. Two of the beasts were snow white. A third appeared mottled white and gray. The fourth’s colors continued to change and blurred like a mirage. When stationary, this fourth beast would be barely detectable.
One of the white creatures looked like the spade-clawed beast Max had fed a grenade. It vented its wrath on one of Banner’s men, slicing through his neck as though it were a warm stick of butter. A geyser of blood spewed upward as he dropped. The mottled beast resembled the six-legged creature that had chased Max onto the bridge, though he doubted it was the same one. It lost its mottled colors in a heartbeat, turning completely white to match the glacier. One of Banner’s men unloaded a magazine into it as it charged. It took him down in a bone-crushing tackle. Its mouth came up bloody, trailing guts, skin, and shredded tactical clothing, which it devoured in a single gulp. A white tentacle from another beast wrapped around a man’s rifle and jerked it from his grasp; another tentacle whipped around his neck and snapped it like a toothpick.
The creatures would eat Banner’s team for breakfast and have Max for seconds. Nevertheless, he stayed long enough to see a transparent creature charge full-speed into Banner and knock him dazed and bleeding onto the ice. Banner shook his dizzy head, raised his pistol and shot it several times in its sleek, armored pterodactyl head. The bullets ineffective against the massive creature. Banner dropped his now-useless weapon and crawled away in panic from the oncoming terror. He wailed like a eunuch as the creature’s beak crunched down on his leg, severing it from his hip and sending it whirling off into the snow with one shake of its head.
“Max!” Banner yelled as the creature pulled him toward its open jaws.
Max had his weapon raised, finger poised on the trigger, ready to take his vengeance on Banner. Then he thought better of it. Son of a bitch deserves no mercy.
Banner clawed futilely at the ice, his screams filling the air.
Max fled toward Base Camp and the chopper pad, eager to be airborne before the creatures finished breakfast. Evil had conquered evil, and in some twisted fashion, justice had been served. Though Max wasn’t foolish enough to believe the enemy of his enemy was his friend—not in this case, anyway—he felt some satisfaction at Banner’s demise.
He still had to deal with Elizabeth Grey.
The creatures that had so cagily stalked Max and his team, planning artful ambushes to pick them off one by one, lost all the restraint they had shown in hunting his men. And no wonder—Base Camp had erupted into panic, chaos, and, above all, fear, an ideal feeding ground. Bursts of automatic fire from Greytech and CIA personnel echoed through the camp, mixed with the screeches of marauding beasts and the terrified wails of men about to meet their maker.
Max ducked through the predawn shadows from building to building as he made for the chopper pad, dodging beasts and men alike. He felt the sting of the keening wind beneath the cloudless cobalt sky and cursed Banner one more time for making him drop his cold-weather gear. Exhaustion sapped his speed and strength. Trying to adjust from the ship’s heat to intense cold only enervated him further. Even his wits were worn out. Two straight days of dodging demon spawn in a desperate attempt to survive and save humanity would take its toll on even the heartiest of men.
Face your fate. Your men did.
Down a street he saw a Greytech man assaulting a beast with a flamethrower, advancing as he drove the thing back beneath a fountain of fire until the creature, screeching and engulfed in flames, unexpectedly sprang thirty feet through the air and landed on him. They tumbled through the snow, a ball of fire rolling through a cloud of steam. Max didn’t stick around to see the coup de grâce, but he heard the flamethrower’s tanks explode, accompanied by a triumphant pitch in the creature’s screech. The thing would regenerate and be killing again in a matter of seconds.
Max kept up his steady progress, using the creatures’ assault on Base Camp to cover his movements. He’d nearly cleared the streets of Base Camp, could see the chopper pad a couple hundred feet ahead.
A Greytech man rounded a corner and came face-to-face with him, his face ash gray with fear. Max shot him before he could raise his rifle, then sprinted for the chopper pad.
No one guarded the three helicopters on the pad: two Sea Stallions and an upgraded Bell Ranger 407, gloss black and emblazoned with Greytech’s silver sun-and-doves sigil.
Her Highness has arrived.
None of the pilots were present, probably hiding from the creatures or looking to see what the commotion was in camp. Had they any sense they would have fled, but Max knew Liz Grey’s minions operated on unquestioning loyalty as opposed to common sense. Her security personnel had likely been ordered to cleanse Base Camp of creatures. Both facts worked to Max’s benefit, and he wasn’t about to question that elusive bitch known as Lady Luck.
Arriving at the pad, Max dove beneath a cylindrical fuel tank between a Sea Stallion and the Ranger. His initial assessment proved accurate: no one tended the helicopters. The pad lay well clear of Base Camp buildings, though the flipped and sundered shipping containers his team had inspected upon their arrival sat nearby. Something exploded with a roar back in camp. Gunshots and human cries grew scarcer by the minute while beast screeches and explosions were on the rise. The earth trembled, another rumble from the self-destructing ship.
Nothing to it but to do it. Max pulled himself up through the Ranger’s side door, pistol in hand. A partition, currently lowered, separated the cockpit from the passenger compartment, which featured four plush chairs with integral computer terminals. Max wasted no time donning the pilot’s helmet and taking his seat. He scrutinized the controls and located key functions. Though larger than the birds he’d trained on, Max felt confident he could competently fly the custom Ranger back to civilization.
Pre-flight checklist his brain said, but there was no time to do things by the numbers. He started the engine, still warm from the flight in. The rotor kicked slowly to life and revolved ever faster, blades thumping over the engine’s turbo whine.
Go! Take off alre
ady!
A loud pop from his left startled Max. The Doppler radar display on the dash console exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. He looked over and saw a spider web of cracks emanating from a bullet hole in the window.
“Shut it down now!” Elizabeth Grey screamed. She stood on the tarmac beneath the shattered window, clad in a skin-tight, black tactical jumpsuit, fully looking the part of an evil witch. Though she appeared unharmed, by the looks of her she had seen some of the action unfolding in Base Camp.
Max stared into the barrel of the Sig Sauer .380 pistol she pointed at him and slowly moved his hand to the Glock holstered on his right side.
“Don’t you fucking even!” she shouted over the engine noise, smirking despite the malice in her voice. “Now shut it down!”
Max put up his hands where she could see them before dropping them to shut down the engine.
“Get out of the helicopter and keep your hands where I can see them. Don’t think for an instant I can’t waste you with one shot.”
Max knew she meant it. He also had plenty of vital points exposed for her to shoot; she could put a bullet through his neck or even the pilot’s helmet at this range. He opened the door and slowly climbed down from the cockpit.
She gave him a once over. “Put your gun on the ground. Now. Slowly.”
Max placed the Glock on the tarmac. “You’re making a huge mistake. You’ve seen what’s out there, what’s happened to your camp. It’s over.”
“No, I decide when—”
“No,” Max said, shaking his head. “It’s over and done. All those tremors you’re feeling are from the ship. It’s in self-destruct mode.”
She laughed. “No worries, Mr. Ahlgren. My engineers are already working on it.”
And you’re outta your fucking gourd. “Banner’s dead. And I guarantee none of your people can stop it from happening.”
“But we will! This site will be secured and preserved, and we shall learn the secrets of these beasts and their healing powers.” She sobbed, then smiled. “My son awaits a cure for his illness, and I will save him! I don’t care what they say!”
Insane.
Max found no other word for her. He hadn’t been aware she had a son who was terminally ill, but it explained this failed expedition. Well, that and the billions she thought she could make creating pharmaceuticals. For an instant Max felt sorry for her, knowing how painful it could be to watch one’s child suffer.
Then he glared into those maniacal green eyes and wondered what he’d ever seen in them.
“You’re finished, Ahlgren. Time for you to join your team.” She leveled the pistol at his eye.
Max pondered his next move. If he didn’t get the jump on her now, he was finished. But she stood hyperalert, always several feet from his grasp. The creatures had proven unlikely allies; perhaps one would provide a distraction. Then he would close the distance and kill her.
Max grinned at the thought. “Then I’ll spend eternity with the finest group of men I know.”
She smirked. “Oh, that’s touching. You’re a regular warrior-poet, aren’t you? Now turn around.”
“Not so easy when you have to pull the trigger, is it?”
“Do it!”
Max tensed his leg muscles, ready to pounce on her despite the distance between them. He doubted he’d survive the charge. Doesn’t matter anymore. His work here was complete: the ship would explode, hopefully wiping out all the creatures in a heartbeat. He could die and join his men with a clean conscience knowing he had accomplished his final mission.
“No.” Max stood firm, determined to make his death as hard on her as possible. “I won’t do it. Shoot me, you fucking cunt. I’ve been ready for this for a long time.”
She seemed taken aback for a second but gritted her teeth.
The pistol aimed at his face, Max could see her finger tense on the trigger, beginning to squeeze. He was ready for the shot. In some ways, he had been anticipating this shot for years, resigned to his fate.
The camp’s chaos went oddly quiet for a moment. A single shot stood out in the calm.
Max never felt the bullet.
A look of astonishment crossed Elizabeth Grey’s face. Her body jerked once, violently, a spray of blood erupting from her chest. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto her back. Her .380 clattered to the tarmac beneath the bird. Her eyes went blank as her vibrant life force steadily departed her body. Dark blood pooled on the cement beneath her corpse.
“What the hell?” He peered into the distance, behind where she’d stood.
A man with a rifle lay prone in the snow and frozen muck about fifty feet distant.
“LT!” Max ran to him, saw the trail of blood he’d left behind crawling toward the chopper pad to save him from Elizabeth Grey. They’d shot LT at least a half-dozen times, yet somehow, he still lived. “You always had good timing!” Max dropped to his knees next to him.
Crusty, drying blood ran from the corner of LT’s mouth. His eyes were glassy; his complexion bone white from blood loss. Max didn’t know if his XO would survive the flight out, but he was getting on the chopper.
When Max reached down to lift him up, LT gasped, “Nah, Max. Last mission.”
Max pulled out his hydration bladder and poured the last sip into LT’s mouth. He spat most of it up but gulped down what he could. Max didn’t know what to say. LT wouldn’t survive the trip—that much was apparent—but Max hated the idea of leaving him behind.
“Remember...Afghanistan?” LT asked.
“Yeah, I remember.” Still in the military, on their second mission working together, LT’s squad got pinned down in an area of sparse cover by a Taliban machine gunner. Max charged the machine gun nest single-handedly and took it out with a grenade tossed from close range. It seemed like an eternity ago.
“Always wanted”—he coughed up bile mixed with a few drops of his remaining blood—“to pay you back.”
“You have, man. I owe you one.” While the earth rumbled, at least a six on the Richter scale, Max grabbed LT’s hand and squeezed.
LT responded with a weak grip. A fulgent beam of light struck their eyes as the sun crested over Boundary Peak 171. “Hell of a view,” he commented as they stared into the sunrise.
Max felt the strength depart LT’s grip as his soul slipped from his body. “It sure is.” Max turned away from the dawn and closed LT’s eyes for the last time. “Goodbye, my friend.”
Again, the earth shook, followed immediately by another powerful tremor. Four Greytech men raced down Base Camp’s main street, three creatures in pursuit. Max ran for the bird and fired her up. As the engine came back to life, he watched a white creature shoot out a tentacle and wrap up a man’s legs. He went down like a roped calf at a rodeo. The creature fell upon him and started mangling his body. As Max watched, the creatures began to morph together into something much larger and more menacing. He didn’t know how large or powerful this new terror would become, and he wasn’t about to stick around and find out.
Max throttled up to full power and took off, pulling the stick hard to the right as he raised the collective. Hope nobody’s alive down there with a grenade launcher. He then pushed the stick forward and nosed the helicopter down, the blades pulling it through the air as it rapidly picked up speed, just missing the tree line as he pulled clear of the landing pad and started gaining altitude.
The controls on the Bell Ranger were arranged a bit differently than the training choppers Max had flown, but he got the hang of them quickly enough. He kept the bird in a steady climb, turning it for the airport, the location already a known point in the GPS.
Max caught a flash in his peripheral vision: a gout of fire erupting from the ship’s entrance tunnel as the ship’s self-destruct sequence neared its climax. He pushed the stick forward and gained altitude and distance as fast as the bird allowed.
The world turned blindingly brilliant before he cleared the valley’s southern ridge. Max knew he would truly be blind had
he been looking backward.
Shockwave!
He dumped altitude on the chopper and hurtled downward into one of the narrow gorges they’d crossed humping into Base Camp. The shockwave boomed out of the valley and over the ridge which protected the helicopter from the worst of the blast. Even so, the noise was akin to a close-quarters cannon blast on unprotected ears and drowned out the engine’s whine and the thumping of the rotors.
The bird hurtled down into the thickly wooded gorge at over a hundred and fifty miles per hour. Sweat ran down into his eyes as he strained at the flight stick, trying to bring the chopper level again before he started mowing treetops.
A half-frozen waterfall down in the gorge glistened under the morning sun. Last beautiful sight you’ll ever see.
The Ranger’s nose began to rise, but not quickly enough. Evergreen treetops approached; another hundred feet and Max would be a corpse, consumed in burning wreckage. He held the stick steady, afraid to overcompensate.
Max sheared off the top limbs of two exceptionally tall treetops, but it pulled out of the dive as he pulled violently on the collective. Its belly raked over several other trees as he fought to bring the chopper level. Then it started climbing again. The rotors hadn’t hitched a bit slicing through the narrow trunks atop the trees, and the bird remained airworthy.
Max wondered if he could make the same claim. His trip back to the airport would be his answer though he didn’t foresee any further problems.
Then he noticed the fuel gauge.
* * *
An air traffic controller radioed, “Inbound helicopter identify. Over.”
“Greytech helicopter. Landing. Out,” Max responded, not interested in call signs and landing clearances at the moment. The low-fuel alarm blinked red, just as it had the previous ten minutes, and the engine sputtered for the first time. He dropped to fifty feet with the airport still a mile distant.
“Grey1, come in. Over,” requested a deeper voice.
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