"Where's McKnight exactly?" Alex asked.
"The dam," Heather answered. "There've been… incidents, and the chairman likes to take a hands-on approach."
The dam, Alex knew, was the Hoover Dam, the only still-functioning electrical dam in North America. It was the main reason the survivors had gathered in Boulder City. The other reason McKnight had chosen Boulder City was just as important—because there had been fewer nuclear reactors in this part of the states. When the hundreds of other reactors had melted down, sending clouds of radioactive waste into the atmosphere, Boulder City had remained, if not safe, then less toxic.
Kargin snorted, shaking his head. "Incidents," he mumbled. "Try morons and traitors."
Traitors?
Heather opened her door and climbed out. Alex and Kargin joined her. Alex glanced back at his weapons. He hesitated then grabbed Witch-Bane, holding it against his chest as he ran bent over through the turbo-wash after Kargin and Heather and up the open ramp at the rear of the Osprey. He sat beside them on the orange netting strapped to the side of the fuselage that passed for benches and attached his seat belt.
One of the two flight engineers checked on the three passengers while the other raised the ramp. The engines screamed, and the aircraft rose. Alex watched through a porthole as the propellers rotated, turning the Osprey into a turboprop plane. The ground fell away, and they left the base. They soared over the orange-and-brown desert, heading northeast toward the foothills south of the Colorado River, following Highway 93 east. Within a handful of minutes, Alex saw the curved fortress-like wall of the Hoover Dam standing firm against the waters of its reservoir. It had been built during the Great Depression, and some people believed it would outlast humanity. At this rate, maybe it would.
As they approached, Alex saw armored trucks, fighting trenches, and at least a company's worth of soldiers defending the dam. He looked in confusion at Kargin and Heather, but neither seemed surprised by the security.
The Osprey banked, and its rotors tilted upright again as the aircraft descended to a nearly empty parking lot near the summit of the dam. Moments later, the wheels touched down, and the flight engineers lowered the ramp.
Another van was waiting for them.
Alex followed Heather and Kargin from the aircraft, which took to the air once more, its engines screaming. He jumped in the second van with Kargin and Heather, this one driven by another soldier but a much older, grizzled man. The driver pulled away along the dam's access road.
Heather held her earpiece tight against her ear, concentrating on something. "On our way, sir," she said.
The ride took barely a minute before the van pulled to a stop atop the access road built into the top of the dam. As the three of them piled out once more, Alex had a magnificent view of the sparkling reservoir and the Colorado River.
Heather waited beside an access tunnel with gleaming metal stairs leading into the dam's depths. "Chairman McKnight is waiting."
They took a large cargo elevator. Alex watched his distorted reflection in the shiny double doors. "What's with the security?"
Kargin shrugged. "Best Oscar tells you his own self."
The elevator came to a stop and opened onto a brightly lit corridor and a pair of sentries carrying P90 submachine guns. The sentries nodded at Heather but glared at the sheathed sword Alex held by the scabbard.
"Come on, guys," Heather told them. "It's just a sword. Besides, this is Alex Benoit."
The eyes of the guards registered surprise, and the sentries moved aside.
Kargin choked and thumped his thick chest with his fist, shaking his head in disbelief. "One of my father's greatest creations, and you call it 'just a sword'? Sometimes you manlings amaze me."
Heather led them past the visitor center with its famous murals on the floor and walls. The damp air was laden with the stench of oil, metal, paint, and rust. They saw no one. Maybe the dam really could run on its own. That would be a blessing. Skilled labor was hard to find these days.
Most of the survivors of the Culling in North America had been military, the 82nd Airborne and 1st Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group tasked with setting up the Alien Quarantine Zones around the incursion sites. The dark elves had erected giant towers all over the world to spread the Culling Wave. But the towers had also created Null Zones, several-hundred-kilometer bubbles that protected those within from being culled, their life energy stolen and stored in Shatkur Orbs. Two hundred thousand people in Canada, the United States, and Mexico had survived, including most of the refugees from Fort St. John. The fact that McKnight had brought an additional three hundred thousand survivors from other Null Zones around the world was a major accomplishment.
Because the other seven billion people had died in a flash of green, leaving behind nothing but empty clothing and equally empty cities.
It was hard to believe anyone had survived at all. Had it not been for Kargin and his warning of the imminent Culling, humanity would have died out entirely that day. Alex, Elizabeth, and a handful of others had mounted a desperate and unauthorized assault on the Culling Machine in Fort St. John, with Elizabeth sacrificing her life to destroy it. In the six years since, there had been no further invasions by the dark elves, no more of their magical gateways.
Until now.
Heather led them along rough-hewn rock walls slick with moisture and illuminated by bright fluorescent overhead lighting and into the observation deck with its glass partitions that looked upon the long row of seven-story-tall turbine generators. Catwalks ran above each generator, with small transport vehicles parked haphazardly beside them.
Alex paused, staring through the glass at the turbines, amazed at humanity's ability to keep the dam running, to keep humanity running.
"Major," Heather called out to him, waiting beside an open doorway.
"Coming."
They went down another flight of steps, past small offices, then through a cavernous power station filled with long banks of thrumming equipment. He saw his first technician, a woman in her seventies, wearing an oil-splattered set of coveralls. Clipboard in hand, she stood before a bank of dials, taking notes. She paused as they went by, holding up her hand in greeting before returning to her work.
In a post-Culling world, retirement age was no longer a thing.
Heather motioned to their destination ahead: the operations control room.
The room was dimly lit and circular, with banks of monitors in a half circle facing a large wall monitor displaying a map of the dam with rows of green, yellow, and red lights. Far too many lights were red, yellow, or burned out. The air stank of tobacco smoke and old sweat. Heavy-duty oscillating fans moved the stale air about. It reminded Alex of NASA during the moon missions in the ’60s and ’70s—which might have been the last time this chamber was refurnished. Two solitary technicians sat before a series of computer monitors, each staring at screens of flickering data streams.
And there, leaning over a conference room table as he scrutinized a series of logs, was Oscar McKnight. Two others sat at the table: a middle-aged one-armed spectacled woman Alex knew well, Dr. Helena Simmons, and a female dwarf in coveralls, her long red hair tied back in a ponytail. A huge simmering cigar poked from Ylra Shatter-Fist's lips. Ylra had been the last person Elizabeth had saved before destroying the Culling Machine. When Ylra saw Kargin, her face lit up with a smile. He ran to meet her, and they embraced, touching their foreheads.
Helena stood, a cautionary smile on her face… or more likely a warning.
McKnight turned. The years since the Culling had been hard on the onetime Special Forces commander and USSOCOM general. A tall black man with short gray hair, he had grown a well-trimmed beard, also peppered with gray. The strain of rebuilding civilization had lined his face, but his eyes remained focused and keen. When he saw Alex, those eyes lit up but only for a moment before a cold stare filled them. How much does he know? He approached Alex, limping but with his hand held out in greeting. A black-and-silver cane rest
ed atop the logs on the conference table. "Major Benoit. Alex, it's been too long. Welcome home."
Alex shook his hand, finding his grip still firm. "Boulder City's not my home, Oscar. Never was."
McKnight ignored him, taking in his filthy, blood-soaked combat uniform. "I'm told Leela is well. I'm glad."
"Thank you. I haven't seen her yet."
"I know. We need to talk."
"Not sure we do, Oscar."
McKnight had long ago traded his uniform for a dark business suit, but he wore only a shirt and pants now, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his collar open. His jacket and tie hung from a nearby chair. McKnight's eyes flashed with anger. "Yes, we do. Nerve agents, Alex? Have you lost your fucking mind?"
When he had been his commanding officer in Task Force Devil, Alex had never once heard McKnight swear. But those days were over.
He met McKnight's anger with defiance. "There are no more Geneva Conventions, Oscar. Just like there's no Geneva, no Europe for that matter, just wilderness, ruins, and animals."
"Alex," McKnight said with profound weariness, rubbing his eyes, his shoulders slumping, "we don't do that, not that."
A carafe of coffee, empty cups, sugar, and powdered creamer sat amidst the technical manuals, and Alex stepped past his former commanding officer and poured himself a cup. "I do."
"I suppose you don't care about the chain of command either, Major?" McKnight asked.
Alex sat with his coffee, set his boots atop the table, and leaned back in his chair. "To be honest, Oscar, the only reason I stayed in the Ranger patrol after my son died was so I could get the supplies I needed to hunt and kill Remnants."
McKnight sighed then motioned for the others to sit. "Well, I suppose I should be thankful you warned Major Armstrong and her Strike Force."
"I'm trying to kill Remnants, Oscar. Not my own kind."
"How… where did you get—"
"The Aberdeen Proving Grounds in Maryland," Helena Simmons answered with cool scientific detachment. "Weaponizing the remaining stockpiles of Cyclosarin was a challenge but not an insurmountable one."
Sorrow replaced the anger in McKnight's eyes, making him look ten years older. "Jesus, Helena, you too?" he said in a disbelieving whisper.
Her head rose defiantly. "Someone needed to act. Alex was prepared to get his hands dirty. I'm not even a bit sorry."
"This makes us as bad as them."
"Oscar," Alex said gently, still respecting this great man. "You're trying to apply rules to a world that no longer exists. Boulder City, Doig River, a couple dozen communities patrolled by other rangers—that's it, all that's left of us. I'll use any weapon I can to kill dark elves."
McKnight stared at him, his mouth open. "Alex, this isn't you."
"It's who I am now, Oscar. I will not stop until they're dead or I am."
"God save us," McKnight fell into his chair and stared at his hands. "You're fighting the wrong war, Alex. What you're doing is pointless." He looked at Helena. "You of all people should understand that."
"It isn't pointless, Oscar," Helena said. "Even with the new weaponry, we're still at a decided disadvantage. On Faerum, it'll be worse. There could be millions against our thousands."
Wait, what? Alex stared at her in confusion, spilling hot coffee over his hands. Faerum?
"There aren't millions of fae seelie," insisted Kargin. "They don't breed like that. Nothing does on Faerum. But there will be way more than us."
"Which only makes my point," she insisted. "We have, at best, a hundred mag-sens. The dark elves have thousands—and all of them more experienced. We've lost the magical firefight before it's even begun. But if we can defeat them with nerve agents, we won't need to fight at all."
"Not happening," McKnight said.
Helena continued. "With nuclear weapons off the table, nerve agents are now our only real equalizer."
"I said it's not an option." McKnight's voice rose uncharacteristically.
"It has to be," Helena argued. "But we're going to need more. There are other stockpiles in Russia, China, and the Middle East. If not, we can duplicate—"
"Goddamn it!" McKnight yelled, smashing his palm against the table and setting the coffee cups bouncing. "I'll see you both hanged before I allow that."
Silence settled over the Control Room. The two technicians stared at their terminals so intently they looked like they were trying to burn holes in the monitors.
"Slowly now," Kargin said, looking up under his bushy eyebrows, his gaze sweeping Helena, Alex, and McKnight. "We're all friends here. Let's keep that in our hearts. Besides, we're not going anywhere. The keying device isn't transmitting. We'll need to wait for another rift… if one opens."
Helena sat back, rested her chin on her palm, and let the smallest smile crease her lips. "Actually, Watchmaker, the mission wasn't a bust. The keying device started transmitting a few minutes ago. We have video feed as well."
One of Kargin's eyebrows rose, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Eh? What's that?"
"It's true," Ylra said, grinning and bobbing her head in excitement. "I've seen the video feed. We don't know why the transmission was delayed, but—get this—the rift opens over Eladior Haven, or at least the ruins of Eladior Haven. I recognized the river in the distance, the Serpent-Tongue. I don't understand what happened to the city, but it's what we were looking for. It's more than close enough to reach Deep Terlingas with only a few gateways."
"Ha!" barked Kargin. "I thought so. This is perfect. When can we move?"
"Wait," said Alex, anger sweeping through him. "What is this shit? You want to go back to Faerum? That's how this started. Seven billion deaths aren't enough for you?"
McKnight hesitated then glanced at the technicians. "Gentlemen, if you don't mind, may we have the room, please?"
The technicians couldn't get out fast enough. When they were gone, McKnight met Alex's challenging stare. "Yes, Alex. We're returning to Faerum. That's the real reason I asked you here. You're the only military officer with experience on that world. I'd like you to lead the contact team."
Alex blinked, his coffee cup trembling. He set it on the table before he dropped it. Everyone was watching. Obviously, they knew McKnight was going to ask Alex to return to Faerum.
"Are you insane?"
Helena leaned forward. "He's not crazy, Alex. We can't stay here anymore."
Alex felt a tingling in his chest, a slight light-headedness. "Why… why not? Is something wrong with the dam?"
"Not Boulder City, Alex," McKnight said. "Earth. We can't stay on this planet anymore."
13
Alex watched McKnight in stunned silence, the constant whir of the industrial-strength fans the only sound in the control room. "Is this a joke?"
But Oscar McKnight didn't make jokes.
"The Culling, Alex," McKnight answered, "the nearly instantaneous deaths of over ninety-nine point nine percent of the population. The damage didn't end with Elizabeth's destruction of the Culling Machine. There were… aftershocks, effects from which we're still reeling."
A chill ran down his spine. "What effects?"
"Most blame the radiation," Helena said. "The radioactive steam discharged when five hundred nuclear reactors melted down. With the technicians and operators gone, there was no one to keep the power on or replace the water that doused the spent fuel rods. When the security measures failed and the rods melted, the buildings caught fire, throwing radioactive steam into the air."
"But… isn't that why you're here, because there were so few reactors?"
Helena shook her head. "The wind spread the fallout everywhere, even here. Heavy rainfall brings the radiation from the atmosphere and drives it into the soil. Most of the radiation dissipated in several months, but the residual effect is… well, we don't know. Not lethal, we're certain of that, but… far from harmless. But the radiation is just one theory. There are others. Cassie thinks it's the sudden release of all the mana stolen from seven billion lives, but I s
uspect it's a combination of the radiation and the mana. Two forces that nature never intended to interact. I suppose it doesn't matter what, but… something has changed, something powerful enough to alter the DNA of those most vulnerable."
A cold wave of understanding swept through him, causing the room to tilt. "The children?" Alex whispered. "You're talking about the Ghosts. It's not just Doig River, is it?"
"It's everywhere," McKnight said. "Every single child born after the Culling is sick."
Alex ran his fingers over his face. "God help us."
"Cassie's kept most of them alive, but she can't cure them—not even with the Brace. All she can do is heal the symptoms, but they always return. It's in the air," Helena said. "If the children stay, Cassie thinks they'll die. I concur."
"I'm so sorry, my friend," said Kargin, his deep voice wracked with sorrow. "My father built the Culling Machine to give my people an advantage in our war against the fae seelie, but he never intended it for such an obscene purpose as to cull seven billion innocent lives. All that mana released into the air…"
"Not your fault, Kargin," said McKnight. "The fault rests with the dark elves, with this queen of theirs, Tuatha de Talinor."
"It's hard to predict the future," Helena continued. "We've never modeled anything like this. Some on the council believe that the new plants and trees will remove the greenhouse gases released into the air when the gas storage tanks on the eastern seaboard blew. And certainly the surge of the animal population gives one hope, but…"
"But the children are still sick," Alex said.
Everyone nodded.
"The planet has turned against us," McKnight said. "We can plan against the radiation, the chemical fires that ignited Texas, but we can't predict the impact of so much mana, of magic. It's changed everything. And it's so much worse the farther east you go. There have been… mutations, wildlife vastly altered. Animals that not only survived but thrived."
Ranger Page 11
