Judd and Tommy were hunched over the third rail. Gabriel couldn’t see much of what they were doing, but they were doing it frantically. Neither one of them looked up at him as he approached.
Tommy had a flashlight in his mouth, and his brows furrowed. Somehow, he’d gotten dirt smudged across his face. It made him look younger.
“How are we doing?”
Tommy reached out for the piece of electrical tape Judd bit off with his teeth, wrapping it around a splice. “We got the diesel generator running. It’s grounded. Got clean output.” His words were muffled by the flashlight. “We feed that into the DC bus here—skip the fried converter—and push raw juice into the third rail, and then up into the street.”
“You make it sound so clean.”
Judd huffed. “We’re weaponizing public transportation. That’s never clean.”
They finished up what they were doing, and Tommy reached for their switch—two copper strips bolted to an old mop handle. Tommy held it in his hands, looking down at it. It seemed fitting for what they were trying to do. A jumble of parts built on the idea that trying, even if it ended in death, was better than not. That survival would never be enough.
Judd was looking at it, too. “Commander, this thing’s not built for a controlled discharge. Once we flip it, we’re live. Notakebacks. No pauses. If anyone is on that street—human or alien—they’re not coming home.”
Gabriel knew that. He clenched his fists, gloves creaking. “Understood.”
Above them, the city began to shake. Carefully laid explosions rocked across the city. Dust and chunks of ceiling rained down on them. Judd launched over Tommy and their work, protecting them. Gabriel steadied himself on the wall as he heard the distinct pops of grenades. He knew they would be followed by the smashing glass of a Molotov cocktail exploding into flames.
Ground Team had begun.
Gabriel’s chest tightened.
He stalked toward the entrance of the station. The timing had to be right. “On my signal, throw the switch.”
Tommy’s face was white, the mop handle shaking in his hands. Judd punched him in the shoulder. “You good?”
The kid exhaled shakily. “Either it’ll work, and I’ll have helped liberate the capital of the United States of America. Or I’ll be deep fried, and it won’t be my problem anymore.”
Judd chuckled. “Now that’s hero thinking.”
The Queen’s screech was so loud Blake clapped his hands over his ears, dropping to his knee. It didn’t help. It was like she wasinsidehis brain. He couldn’t see. Spots danced in his vision, and his stomach roiled. The gun clattered from his hand as he dug his nails into his head, desperate for some relief.
With his teeth bared, Phin raised his gun. Blood trickled from his ears as he aimed. His shot was wide, but he corrected,bullets pinging off Queen Dolly’s crest and her goggles. She hissed. Rearing back, front claws striking the air.
With the screaming stopped, Blake could finally catch his breath. He felt hot blood trickling down his neck, but he didn’t stop. Not when Phin was reloading, taking aim at the Queen again. He stepped out of the doorway, peppering shots against her face and legs.
She backed up as far as the filaments would allow, stretched so tight her cream-colored skin was tenting. Her great tail struck the roof so hard it rumbled under Blake’s feet, and she opened her jaw to scream again, but Phin aimed for it, a bullet cracking one of her bifurcated teeth.
Blake stared at the massive Monkey Cat Queen. The plan had been for Phin to distract her while Blake injected her tail, far away from the lethal parts. But they hadn’t accounted for the filaments. What if her body metabolized the drug before it hit any major organs? Or if she could filter it out before it became lethal?
He didn’t know what to do. His ears were ringing. Blood dripped into the collar of his shirt, and his hands were shaking. This wasn’t the plan. Blake didn’t think he could—he couldn’t think!
Phin was still firing, keeping Queen Dolly on the ropes. Blake looked over at him, only to see a Monkey Cat grunt crawling over the junk wall. It teetered on an old refrigerator, tail swishing and teeth bared.
“Phin!” Blake screamed, but he couldn’t hear him over his gun.
The Monkey Cat’s haunches bunched as it prepared to leap. The fridge slipped down the wall, catching on something. It knocked the Monkey Cat off balance.
Blake cast around for his gun. He found it by the open door. Leaping for it, his hands closed around the textured grip.
He heard Gabriel’s voice,aim for center mass, don’t get fancy.
On his knees, Blake spun, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked in his hand, but he was ready for the recoil. He squeezed the trigger again. And again.
Most of his shots missed, but one strafed the Monkey Cat’s ridged nose. It knocked it off balance, turning its jump into a fall. It landed hard, rolling over itself to slam into an air conditioner.
Phin twisted on his heel, aiming at the new threat. The Monkey Cat didn’t stay down long, extracting itself from the crumpled air conditioner. Its claws dug into the roof as it dropped its head and charged at Phin.
