Blake tossed the fire extinguisher. It clanged and rolled, probably out the door. He coughed as the chemicals from theextinguisher burned his lungs. Waving his arm, he covered his face and nose, waiting for the fumes to clear.
The fire extinguisher hadn’t stopped the burning, but it had slowed it down. Embers still glowed where the ballistic valiantly tried to keep spreading, but the air speed sucked much of the oxygen from the fire, and it began to fizzle out. The outer wall of the pilot’s side of the helicopter was a blackened mess, charred and crumbling. But it held. And the engine hadn’t been touched.
Blake wiped his face and turned to Phin. The big man waved him off, getting to his knees so he could gauge where they were.
Victoria was flying low, using the city to shield them. She braked and jumped—the Huey must have looked like a rat trying to leave a maze. Blake unwrapped his wrist. It was purple, his fingers swollen and numb. He shook it out and took the strap with his good hand.
He recognized where they were. Their building loomed to his right. He squeezed the strap and checked his pocket. The syringes were snug. Blake grabbed his bag, zipped it, and slung it over his back. He’d lost his hat, and his hair was falling in his eyes.Should have found a helmet,he thought as he felt a burning ache beginning to throb in the back of his skull.
Blake couldn’t breathe as Victoria lifted above the safety of the buildings. He felt so exposed. The helicopter had felt sleek and fast before they hit the city; now it seemed like the fat duck on the pond. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, hands trembling as Victoria brought them level.
She couldn’t land. The helicopter would draw too much attention. That and Blake was pretty sure one of the landing struts was gone.
Phin grabbed him by the arm and dragged him on his knees to the open door. The smell of burnt chemicals was choking. In a not-so-fun twist, the building’s roof loomed below them. Leaves scattered across the white concrete, piling up against AC unitsand pipes. They were much higher than he thought they’d be. He clawed at the side of the helicopter, trying to push back in. He had to tell Victoria to go lower.
A firm hand tugged him by the back of the shirt. He had a split second to see Phin’s serious expression before he was shoved out the door.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Sweat prickled at the back of Gabriel’s neck as he hopped a curb. The sidewalk was littered with debris, and he had to pick his way through, boots sliding on rotting leaves. Tommy was panting behind him, his face red as he tried to keep up.
The tension didn’t help. Every step they took brought them closer to the epicenter of the invasion. Judd was ahead, his gun raised and back tense as he easily navigated through the streets, almost completely silent despite his bulk.
Gabriel resisted the urge to check his watch. He was still wearing it even though the last time it had worked was on that Sikorsky Blackhawk that dropped him into this hell. The weight was familiar, the act of buckling it onto his wrist comforting in its simplicity. Blake teased him for it, running his fingers along the band when they lay in bed together, fiddling with the hands. Sometimes he would twist Gabriel’s wrist out of view and make him guess what time he’d set.
The watch was dormant, but Gabriel could still hear the ticking. They were behind.
A late storm had knocked out a power line and halted their progress in the truck. They had to run the last five miles—something that would have been nothing to him a year ago. Butafter living off adrenaline and canned fruit cocktail, his body was far from its peak, and he could feel the strain in his knees and lower back.
Judd stopped at a cross street, glancing back at Gabriel. He made a quick hand signal, and Gabriel nodded.Half a mile.
Tommy came up beside him, leaning on his knees. His bulging backpack slid down his back, and Gabriel caught it before it could take Tommy down with it. He’d insisted on carrying it, telling Gabriel and Judd they needed the freedom to do the soldiering.
The backpack had just about everything Tommy and Irving could think of that he might need to set up the shock. They’d been prepping it for weeks, but it had been a while since they’d gone down to the service station, and like the storm, anything could have changed. They needed to be prepared.
And preparation was heavy.
He helped Tommy stand, and the young man smiled at him, hair plastered to his face. He gave a thumbs up, and they continued across the intersection.
The Metro stop they’d been using to enter the underground was a small station at the end of the Red Line. At one time, it had been nice. Raised to meet the tracks with a glass canopy. Now it was nothing more than ruins. Gabriel’s best guess was that it had been struck by a Zappy Ball.
Judd led them through a construction site. Gabriel couldn’t tell, but it looked like they were expanding on the rail. Maybe for an Amtrak. But now it was as desolate as the rest of the city.
He helped Tommy over an overturned bulldozer and crouched on the other side. Judd was on one knee behind a stack of wooden pallets, looking through the sight on his rifle. Gabriel didn’t need to break the silence; he could read Judd’s thoughts from the back of his neck. If his mullet parted to the left, he was worried. Right, and he was just being cautious.
Tawny brown hair fluttered over Judd’s left shoulder.
Gritting his teeth, he turned to Tommy. “Stay here, stay down. No matter what happens, finish the mission.”
Eyes wide, Tommy nodded.
Staying low, Gabriel moved to Judd’s side. Without looking at him, Judd jerked his chin toward their two o’clock position. Wiping some sweat from his eyes, Gabriel squinted against the rising sun.
A Drone was buzzing low over a pile of discarded orange cones. It was weaving back and forth in a clear search pattern. Its silver surface was dented, a large crack running around the curve of the sphere. It cut right into the circular opening on its face.
“Do you think the gun is disabled?” Judd asked, his voice barely above a breath.
