“Not from here,” he says.
My chest tightens.
“Whatcanyou see?”
Foster pulls up the perimeter camera.
The compound gate fills the screen.
Dark.
Still.
No smoke.
No fire.
But there are bodies.
At least six of them.
My stomach drops like the floor just disappeared beneath me.
Fuck.
“Can you tell who they are?” Spike asks quietly.
“We already know at least one of them is Paul,” I remind them, acid building up my throat.
Foster leans closer to the screen, fingers moving across the trackpad as he zooms in, sharpening the image as much as the satellite connection will allow.
“Just this one,” he says, pointing.
The still body lying half on its side near the gate.
Even from this distance, I know the broad shoulders. The boots. The worn leather vest.
“Mike,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” Foster answers just as quietly.
The jet feels colder.
Spike’s hand curls slowly into a fist.
“That’s live?” Maverick asks from behind us.
“Yes,” Foster confirms.
I stare at the screen, trying to force the image to make sense.
Trying to make the bodies move.
Trying to see one of them breathe.
“Zoom to Abby’s roof,” Bones says quietly.
Foster switches cameras.
