Hands are on my shoulders, Ortiz’s and another’s. They’re dragging me up. Everyone is running.
There’s suddenly a short spear flying past my head. “They’re firing darts!” someone shouts.
“Location?” someone else cries out.
“Ceiling!”
My feet pedal backward as fast as they can, trying to keep up with Ortiz and the male without sacrificing a shot. If photo evidence of these beings’ existences is all we get out of this, at the cost of the human lives already lost, then I can’t stop.
I glance up, and sure enough, there’s a female dangling there like a flying fucking fox, launching short wooden daggers out of her wrists. I take her photograph. Ortiz cusses in her whispery Guatemalan Spanish. The other guy who’s got a hold of my other shoulder curses in Mandarin.
The dart-wielding female has black hair and wild, wild red eyes. They’re pointed directly at me, and I don’t move fast enough when she swivels her arm toward my left eye. Ortiz trips, and it’s that accident that saves my life. The sting of the wooden dart against my cheek lets me know I’m still alive.
I don’t realize how close to death I am. No one ever does in the moment. Because all you can do in a life-threatening situation is worry about the next step and the next and the next that will keep you breathing.
I run up the ramp, my camera flashing, until I’m eventually dragged out into the daylight where huge black SUVs and Humvees stand by waiting. One of the Humvees—the one I was headed toward—explodes. It explodes not in flame, but like a balloon. Pieces of the car slam outward, and the people who were driving the car are torn apart in the wreckage. Metal chunks and body parts go flying, and I’m slammed down onto the ground again, this time on my back, so hard my head rings with a tinny sound as it hits the concrete.
Moans and screams rise up. I hear sirens on the breeze. It must be the COE calling in reinforcements. Or the SDD. Please, let it be the fucking Navy SEALs or the goddamn army.
I glance to my right and see Ortiz on the ground next to me, open my mouth, and remember not to scream. I remember that I’ve been in combat environments before, remember that I’ve seen bodies, remember that a scream could be the difference between me living and me drawing the next barrage of fire. Ortiz has a huge piece of metal sticking out of the side of her head. I realize she didn’t pull me to the ground underneath her. When the car exploded, she was taken down by the shrapnel.
I turn my face so that I’m staring straight up ahead at the sky. It’s a sunny Sundale day, darkened only by the shadow that moves across it. Overhead, the Marduk flies past. Fire chases him, but it’s like he’s walking on top of it, some wind pressure I can’t quite feel pushing the fire back ... and thenwhoosh. The fire cascades toward me.
I roll onto my stomach. Warmth heats my body through my bulletproof vest, terrifyingly. For a split second, all I can think isThis is it, the end, and I donotwant to go like this.Being roasted alive is nasty business. I squeeze my eyes shut tight as the temperature gets so hot that I buck against the ground, trying to escape it. Tears wet my cheeksand my hands covering my face.I’m going to die here. And then the fire recedes. There aren’t hands on my body this time, pulling me up. I don’t know how many people are still alive. But I know that I want to be.
My sneakered feet kick at the ground, skidding, skidding, skidding until my toes finally gain purchase. I lunge, my whole torso boneless as my lower half does all the work in keeping me up. Something hits the back of my vest. Something else hits my shoulder. I barely feel it. I’ve been in war zones before, but not like this. Never like this.
My job is supposed to be neutral, but the sacred bonds of presshood are not being respected here. I feel targeted just as much as any of the fighters around me. And even in highly violent combat environments where danger was a risk, I’ve usually been more shielded, kept slightly farther back from the front lines. I’ve never been on thefinalline after all the other lines have fallen.
A few other soldiers have gotten up off the ground and are firing as they retreat toward the remaining SUVs. Meanwhile, the villains under the Marduk’s watchful eye are just picking the rest of us off one by one.
I slam my palms against the nearest SUV at the same time another COE officer collides with the car right next to me. I glance at him, but he’s not paying attention to me. He’s ripping off his helmet.
Are you okay?I shout to him in my head, because my lungs have seized up and my voice doesn’t work. My voice doesn’t work because he’s turned to face me and his eyes are bulging out of his skull, and as I watch, his head just ... explodes. His eyes pop out of his skull, bouncing off my armor-plated chest. His mouth opens and blood pours out, spraying my face.
I glance up at the sky and see the Marduk staring down at the man on my right. A wave of fire swallows the Marduk up for a moment, but it’s battered back. Was he ... aiming for me?
Another SUV explodes. I can’t risk trying to get into the one closest to me now.
I open the passenger’s-side door and shout at whoever might be inside, “Get Out! Run!”
I hear the driver’s-side door open at the same time that the passenger’s-side door is ripped off its hinges, right out from under me. I’m caught up in the blast, thrown off my feet and away from the melee. I hit the concrete of the parking lot between this cluster of port buildings and roll, roll, roll.
My forearms scrape over the ground on every turn, but I don’t stop to assess any of my wounds. They feel minor right now. Instead, I stagger up onto my knees and watch as the Wyvern and the four remaining COE members stand up against one, two, three, four, five, six villains I can see emerging from the hazy mouth of the tunnel to join the Marduk. We don’t stand a chance. We’re all going to die if we don’t run.
“Get the Fuck Out of There!” I shout at the top of my lungs to anybody left. “Everybody Retreat!”
I’m not a member of this army. I’m not trained for this. One of the cardinal rules of my job is to keep my mouth shut and take pictures, but I know Vanessa too well to watch her fiancé get exploded to itty-bitty pieces.
I see the Wyvern hovering not far from me, keeping his eyes firmly on the villains. “Roland, if you don’t get the fuck out of here, Vanessa is going to murder you and then come for me!” My voice is a tortured shriek. “Get those fighters out of here!”
I watch the indecision. The Wyvern throws a few more balls of flame toward his adversaries, but it’s only to ward off incoming darts, water, and wind. He roars, and in a move so fast my camera can’t capture it, he grabs the four remaining COE fighters in his arms and takes flight.
There’s a small trailer parked on the far side of the parking lot. I run toward it and see the Wyvern’s huge shadow on the ground following me. I round the trailer, expecting to be able to grab hold of the Wyvern’s foot and hitch a ride out of here, only to findsixCOE soldiers positioned here hiding. All six of them point their guns at me.I squeak and lift my hands, one of them still clutching my camera fiercely, the reflex more automatic at this point than anything.
The Wyvern touches down onto the ground. “Lower your weapons. We don’t have time to wait here. Monika, come with me.”
“No, I’m not a threat. They aren’t targeting me,” I say because it’s logical, not because I actually believe it. “You’re better off grabbing as many of these fighters as you can and hauling ass out of here. The rest of us will scatter. Run like hell.” My face is on fire. I smell blood and burning hair. My body zings with adrenaline and electricity.
