But Kallum was on that ridge. Fighting. Maybe dying.
And I was stuck in a basement, watching numbers.
“Status,” I said into the comm. “Kallum, give me a status.”
Nothing.
“Kallum!”
The gunfire had stopped. Either he’d won, or he’d lost.
I stood there, hands flat on the console, and made myself breathe.
He’s alive. He has to be alive.
That’s when the perimeter alarm went off.
Twenty signatures.Southern approach.
The third wave. They weren’t supposed to arrive until dawn.
I looked at the clock. Almost four hours in. Still dark outside, but I could feel the night tilting toward dawn.
They’d pushed through the night. No rest. No staging.
Full cleanse authorized. No survivors.
They meant to end this before morning.
I adjusted the console one more time. Locked it into its current settings. The readings would drift without active management, but slowly. I had minutes, not seconds.
“Turnip.”
The boar rose. His tusks still carried the dark stains from the last assault. He looked at me with those small, intelligent eyes, and I saw understanding there.
“Time to earn your dinner.”
The farmhouse was dark.I’d killed the lights hours ago, and the only illumination came from the moons through the windows. Two moons tonight, both full. Bad for shadows. Good for shooting.
I counted heads through the scope.
Twenty. Maybe twenty-two. Moving in three loose formations. Professional spacing this time. They’d learned from the first two assaults.
Too many.
Way too many.
“Kallum, if you’re listening, I need you.” I didn’t expect an answer. Didn’t get one. “Third wave is here. Twenty plus. I’m engaging.”
I settled the rifle against my shoulder. Found my first target.
Torek, somewhere in the back of my mind:Breathe. Squeeze. Don’t pull.
I squeezed.
The first one dropped.
The rest scattered for cover, and the night exploded into chaos.
