by David Holley
Evelyn tries to remain calm, but she is heartbroken by the news and all she wants to do is cry for her dear friend. “Let’s get you inside,” she says, helping her to the farmhouse.
*************
Noah’s team divides as they near the tractor-trailer. He opens the door that Mia had left ajar earlier in the day and lifts her up into the cab, where she climbs over to the passenger side. He climbs in behind her, as Mace, flanked by Daniel and Lindsay, parks himself in front of the truck. Together, they kneel in firing positions.
“All clear,” Mace murmurs into his helmet mic.
“I’m in the trailer,” Hiroshi responds. “It’s half full of boxes and some equipment, but it should fit everyone.”
“Outstanding,” Noah affirms. “Everyone standby.” He reaches to turn the key in the steering column, but the keyhole isn’t there. He then realizes that, on this particular model, the ignition rests on the floor. He looks down at the console and is further aggravated when he finds no key present.
“Shit,” he curses.
“What is it?” Mace asks.
“It’s nothing, continue to hold your position,” orders Noah. He lifts his helmet off and looks to Mia, using his hand to mimic a key turn. “Where’s the key?” he mouths silently.
Mia taps her helmet to flip her visor. “The key? How would I know?” she shrugs.
Noah rolls his eyes in frustration and sharply places his finger to his mouth — but it’s too late.
“What’s going on back there?” Maaka demands.
“You got two minutes before I abort,” announces Mace.
Noah puts his helmet back on. “Hold your position. Maaka, shut the fuck up!”
Noah begins to scour the cabin, looking on the floor and then pulling back the driver-side visor — nothing. He could hot-wire the vehicle but with the ignition console on the floor it will take him too much time to do so. When he reaches for the glove compartment, Mia grabs his arm and with her free hand places her index finger in the air, tipping him off to wait: a vision is coming on. Noah’s reach has triggered a moment of déjà vu — but what is usually a vision of the future is this time a glimpse into the past.
As if a ghost, Mia rides shotgun with a man in his early sixties. His nose and cheeks are as red as the ball cap that rests high on top of his bald head. His face is covered in fine white stubble and he sports a pair of thick black-framed glasses, which magnify his pale grey eyes to twice their normal size. He’s wearing a royal blue work shirt that has his name stitched in red across a white oval patch: RUSTY. Mia can see the fear in his face, as he anxiously drives down this very highway, just days ago. He comes to a grinding halt, as the big rig slowly careens into the other lane. The driver bends and cranes his neck, trying to decipher what lies in front of him. Mia, who hasn’t taken her eyes off of Rusty, turns to see what he sees, and the sight fills her with blind terror. In what must have been the last seconds of this poor man’s life, a pack of wild-eyed humans masquerading as wolves stands defiantly across both lanes of the highway. The screeching of cars and the unmistakable sound of metal against metal elicit no response from the mob. The children of the dark hold their ground, not even flinching as the semi roars closer. Growling, snarling, their eyes hollow and dark, covered in blood and foamy spit, the vision is so terrifying, she screams out into the night.
Her earsplitting scream makes Noah wince, as he watches her, studying her every move.
“Silence,” he orders into his mic, preemptively quieting Mace and Maaka, as he follows her eyes through the windshield. He sees nothing. He glances at the side mirror and that’s when he sees what Pango cannot, but what Maaka certainly does. “We’re not alone!” he screams.
*************
Evelyn closes the door of the bedroom, covering her mouth in an attempt to muffle her sobs, as tears of despair stream down her face. Like an act of mercy, the clanging of hammers below drowns out her wails of grief. No longer able to contain her emotions, she leans against the wall, alone in her grief in the dark third floor. She has done all she can do for the remarkable woman she has come to consider a sister — not by blood, but by love.
She left Luna resting, but her sleep is a tortured one, wracked with fever and fits of shaking that border on convulsions. It is a scene that is too much to bear, as she fears the worst: not death, but something else altogether, something far worse. She has done everything she can to prevent the spread of infection, if that’s what it is.
And what else could it be? The third floor is now officially quarantined, and the others are below, barricading the windows with wood planks pulled from the floor. Slowly her knees bend as she sinks to the floor, until her knees are at chin level. She hangs her head low, dreaming of Noah’s return, although she feels foolish for even considering it. If there are more of them in Shetland, which seems likely, then how in the world could they have escaped a whole town filled with those monsters?
But if there is a chance, she likes Noah’s odds, especially since Mia is with him. She’s certain that if he were to encounter those things, he would lead them anywhere except back here, doing everything in his power to drive them as far away as possible.
Atua had told her that they would have to backtrack through the woods to reach the bike trail leading to Wakefield. If I don’t return, lead the others to Randall’s. Noah’s words ring continuously in her ears, causing her head to throb as she tries to think of what to do next. She can’t go back to Luna, not yet anyway, and she doesn’t even want to consider what she will have to confront later.
She decides to check on the others and see how they’re faring. Using a torch to find her way, she passes Sarah, Alice, and Josette in one of the second-floor bedrooms prying up the floorboards. Their somber eyes stare back at her, their faces dim in the light of the fireplace. No words are exchanged and none are warranted, as the look in each of their eyes says more than words ever could. On the first floor, Patrick, Max, and Jacob hammer planks across the windows, while Atua and Kaewa reinforce the back door that was damaged by the madwoman’s charge.
Max stops what he’s doing. “How’s Luna?” he asks, his eyes filled with guilt.
“She’s resting,” Evelyn replies, trying her best to reassure him. But she can tell he suspects the worst, just as she does. “Max, whatever happens… you had no idea what was going on; we still don’t. I need you to be strong now, for the sake of the others. And for me.”
Max just nods his bowed head, unable to look her in the eye. She’s afraid she’s lost him, burdened by the consequences of his actions. He finally looks up.
“I need to tell you something,” he says. “Something that happened to me while I was out there.”
“Go on.”
He looks behind him, at the others pounding recycled nails back into wood planks. “This is going to sound crazy, but when I was in the woods, I heard my sister in my head. She told me to run. Now, I don’t know how she did it, but she did. And as messed up as that is, I’m glad she did, because it let me know that she was okay. Not necessarily safe, but alive at the very least.”
His words come as a huge relief to Evelyn. “Thank you for telling me Max. And I agree with your assumption. Did she tell you anything else?”
“No, just to run. She saved my life... again.”
“Can you sense her now? Is she still with you?”
Max is caught off guard by the question; he hadn’t considered the possibility. His eyes dart back and forth, searching. “I… don’t… think... so.”
“It’s okay.” She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze smiling warmly at him. “I’m glad you told me.”
He smiles weakly and turns his attention to the barricade. Evelyn turns away as well; she considers their options and she faces one of the windows that has yet to be boarded. She peers into the wild grey exterior. The ash is illuminated by the ominous light of the moon. The sky appears to be clearing. She looks across the rolling landscape and her heart stops.
; Not far from the house stands the little demon girl, staring back at her in glowing contempt. She leans forward, as if preparing to lunge, and her chin presses against her chest. Thick drool pours out of her gaping jaws. Evelyn stands frozen, locked in a standoff, her spine tingling with fear. A mighty gust of wind sweeps through the hollow, sending a sheet of ash flying through the air. As Evelyn strains to see, the wind slowly dies. The girl has disappeared through the clouds of ash that swirl through the dead hills under the cover of night.
*************
In his side mirror, Noah watches in terror as a horde of charging maulers closes in on them. The very sight of these malformed humans unleashes a fear in him that he has never before experienced. He throws himself into action, giving the command to fire.
“Everyone to the rear! Shoot the concussion grenades at thirty meters and then at forty. Mia. Find the bloody key!”
Thunk, thunk, thunk. The launched concussion grenades explode nearby.
Still entranced, Mia watches on in horror as the old trucker reaches for the glove compartment, but never gets there, as a wildling forces open the door and lunges at the man. She jumps out of her seat — and nearly her skin — as this thing claws at the poor fellow, throwing him out of the truck.
And then that’s when she sees it. Like a bird on a wire, the metal coil draws a straight line directly to the key. The glorious key is still in the ignition, but only for a moment. Tethered to the trucker’s utility belt, it’s ripped out of the hole when the metal wire is pulled too tightly. Unable to recoil and swinging wildly across the dash, the key wedges itself as if in slow motion in the crook of the door. The line snaps at the base of the key loop as Rusty disappears into the night. The key finally reveals itself, hidden among the shadow of a door hinge.
She lunges across the driver’s seat, which Noah has just vacated with his assault rifle in tow. A second barrage of grenades explodes in the night. The blasts prove effective, as they disorient the oncoming mob and allow Noah to pick off the impaired by the dozens. He fires his own cluster of concussion grenades, before shooting again, his storm of bullets killing scores with demonic precision. Stretched across the console, Mia grasps the key.
“Here, I found it!” she shouts. “Take the key! Let’s go!”
Outnumbered by a large margin, and moments before being overrun, Noah gives the order to retreat. “Hiroshi, get them in the truck NOW!” Grabbing the key, he throws himself into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition, signaling their withdrawal from Shetland.
“Everyone’s in, let’s go!” Hiroshi’s voice crackles over the clanging of bullets.
The eighteen-wheeler yawns and hisses sporadically, slowly coming round after its long repose. Settling into a steady roar, the engine rattles and the pistons churn, breaking hold of the collected dust that falls free from its frame, as streams of black ash cascade through the air. And what once he did just six months ago, he sets off to do again, into the dead of night, and in full retreat.
Noah leads his Phantom Nine through the winding foothills in the cool clear night. Nothing has yet given him reason to scrub the mission, but that doesn’t change the foreboding he has felt from the moment the order was handed down. No matter how much he protested during the planning stages — citing lack of evidence that Eisa was even in the compound or how, from a tactical standpoint, Noah’s team would be at an extreme disadvantage due to the location of the target and its cavernous cover — he had his orders. As it was, his team would not have the proper air support that usually accompanied them or a nearby evacuation point to get them out quickly.
The fortress had literally been carved from a mountain surrounded by rows of jagged peaks, with a narrow passageway leading into the compound — the only way in and the only way out, as far as they knew. It was widely assumed that there was a network of tunnels inside the stronghold, which complicated the mission even further. Even after breaching the compound, they would still need to root out the Blue Devil. And while they would have several land drones to go through the series of tunnels, the challenge is formidable. He can’t tell what troubles him more: the mission itself or the motivation behind it. The war is all but won, and the raid serves no purpose other than possibly adding another trophy to his superiors’ war chest.
Standing at the base of the mountain fortress, the plan calls for half of Noah’s squad to scale almost a hundred meters up a rocky incline to a small landing where they will call for the drones that circle high above. The drones will then shoot a pair of Hellfire missiles into a fortified wall, allowing the first wave to penetrate, while the second wave hunkers just below the landing.
After the first team is inside and in position, they will give word for the second wave to come through. Once the compound is secure, they will break into five teams and scour the area for the target Eisa, systematically destroying all that’s left of the Knights of Palestine. Captain Lockheart’s First Lieutenant, Big Mac, leads the first squad, while Noah commands the second, trailing just paces behind. The aerial drones have reported zero activity in the courtyard and there are no sentries posted along the walls. Whether this is done by design so that the fortress appears unoccupied is unclear, but the moment for withdrawal has passed, as Big Mac gives him the signal that his team is in position and ready for the drone strike
Just as the captain is about to give the order, the lights go out, as his command is blindsided by an electromagnetic pulse, which kills their communication network and jams their night vision capability. The two circling drones are also knocked out and spiral helplessly to the ground. Ambushed, the mission is aborted before it even begins, as a firestorm of bullets rains down on the Phantom Nine, whose backs are pinned against the wall of the fortress. They are a hundred meters above the only way out of this hornet’s nest. But the Phantom Nine are an elite force and better trained than anyone to deal with situations of extreme chaos. During the melee, Sergeant Dunleavy, crouched next to Noah, is struck through the aorta and killed instantly. As a swath of blood sprays across the captain’s face, he barks commands to his troops and returns fire. He devises an exit strategy, as his unit unleashes a barrage of grenades and gunfire that repel the coming advance. Like a tiger backed in a corner, the squadron is at its most deadly when under fire.
From the moment the communication is severed, the mission falls into a Full Retreat Response, a series of protocols intended to limit the number of casualties and to get as many troops as possible to safety. The first call to action is a fire mission sent from HQ that will fly in hot through a series of bombs, ideally providing enough cover to allow Noah’s team to get the hell out of there. The clock is ticking, and he has six minutes before the air strike. In that time, he must maneuver his squad back down the mountain under a hail of bullets and tracer fire that lights their way. Even after they get down from the mountain, they still have a death march through the valley to reach the medevac area over a kilometer away.
Noah orchestrates the retreat in waves, while supplying covering fire as his team descends. He is the last of his wave to make it down the side of the mountain, rappelling at full speed, tethered only by a rope, which he holds with one hand while firing his assault rifle with the other. With everyone now at the base of the mountain, and just seconds before the incoming airstrike, Big Mac reports five KIAs and three wounded from his half, while Noah confirms three dead and two wounded in his. During the exchange, Mac is shot in the back and falls into Noah’s arms. He grabs the big man in a fireman’s carry, and waits for the bombs to drop, so he can take his friend along with the other dead and wounded to the evacuation point, so no one is left behind.
While Noah watches the incoming jets scream through the air, he sounds the retreat. In a cruel twist, what should have been their cover betrays them. A wayward rocket lands close by, killing a dozen from his squadron and injuring countless more in the process. They still need to run through the valley under a hail of enemy bullets and mortar shells. By the time they finally evacua
te, forty-two men and women in his command are dead. Of those forty-two, three unfortunate souls are captured during the retreat and summarily tortured and executed, their last moments broadcast to the world, adding further insult to their collective misery.
It would be the single greatest regret of Noah’s life, for which he would never forgive himself. He would have gladly given his life for the sake of theirs, but as it was, he lived on. Of the eight who made it out, he was the only one who did not sustain an injury. The other seven all suffered severe wounds, whether the loss of a limb or an eye, no one walked away without losing something. For Noah, it was his stomach for war and, to a lesser degree, his honor. It was shortly after the failed mission that he decided he would no longer follow orders to send innocent men and women to die when his instincts told him otherwise. He would make it his life’s work to find out what went wrong during the raid and to avenge all the heroes lost that bloody night in Afghanistan.
The wound, while still fresh, feels so long ago, as if in a different life, in another time — which makes all that has happened since he retired all the more maddening. No matter what he does, and no matter how far he runs, death is always chasing him, even as he remains a step ahead. He recalls a fleeting dream he had during the flight of 316, just moments before it crashed. In it, his father handed him a wooden box and asked him if he knew what his deepest regret was.
Noah sees now that the dream was about him and his regret and had absolutely nothing to do with his father. The realization renews the sadness and the pain he still feels over the loss of his hero, Jackson, which continues to haunt him.
He glances toward Mia, slumped over and leaning hard against the glass, dead asleep. Drained of her reserves, she’s now free to rest her beautiful, tortured mind. He extends his arm and eases her back into the seat. He looks to the road ahead, unobstructed as far as his enabled eyes can see. The truck plows through piles of ash, kicking up a maelstrom of smoke and cinder, leaving a trailing wave of dust in its wake. He looks to the side mirror and, through the clouds of ash, the rabid mob continues to give chase by the hundreds, running through the fields and the surrounding woods like a pack of jackals stalking their prey. Their ear-piercing shrills echo in the night.
