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“I’m under attack! Some bastard with wind as his Gift. I need backup!”
Scrap’s in trouble.
“Roger that, Sarge,” Target replies. “Holding fire. Missile is unarmed. Repeat. Missile is unarmed.”
“X-Ray, here. I can’t tell who’s who. They’re just tiny dots from our vantage. I’d take Scrap’s word over mine, over.”
“Chopper team, stand down,” Sarge says. “Everyone, fingers off triggers. Change of plans. If there’s a woman in there, we’ve got to pivot. Treat this like a hostage situation.”
“Shit, goddamnit!” X-Ray says, strong on the southern drawl. “We’ve got another situation, Sarge. There’s a half-dozen men in the casino, like Scrap said, but there’s something else. Something I just saw. Maybe enemy, maybe prisoners, but underground—underthe casino, there’s…at least a hundred people!”
A hundred people? How can that be? Bernard’s intel said Raptor’s crew was only about thirty-strong. I cock my head to look at Sarge, and he looks just as confused as I feel.
“Come back, X-Ray,” he says. “Did you say ahundredpeople underground? As in live people? Over.”
X-Ray says, “Yessir, that’s accurate. One hundred live—”
His transmission is cut off by a ground-shaking explosion. The vibration rattles my bones, and a plume of smoke rises somewhere far off behind the casino. The plume is partially hidden by the tower of the hotel we’re surveilling.
There’s radio silence. If everyone else is feeling what I’m feeling, they’re processing a shitload of shock.
It’s Doc who breaks the silence. “What was that explosion? Was that the missile?” His voice is sharp with panic.
“Negative,” Recon shouts. “That wasn’t the casino! That came from blocks away!”
About three blocks, judging by the location of that plume. Three blocks to the north. Exactly where Scrap is.
“It was the church,” I say, and I feel numb inside. Fear snakes through me, and it’s a fear I’ve only felt once before, when I received news in the pen that Melissa died having our baby.
Rev talks over Recon. “Hold on. Did you say there are ahundredpeople underground?”
Everyone argues back and forth about what the hell that boom was and what all those people are doing underground, but I’m not listening. I’m racing toward the church.
My legs pump, and I pound pavement faster than I ever have before in my life. As soon as I round the block with the church, my stomach drops. Black smoke billows out the front doors and seeps from the side of the building.
As I reach the steps, Shep comes stumbling out, coughing and wheezing. “Da hell happened?” he asks.
“Scrap’s still in there,” I say. Shep looks fine, so I race past him into the smoke. “Scrap! Where are you?”
Thick ash and hot smoke choke me. I slap my sleeve over my mouth and nose and squint into a mess of an entrance area. Papers are fluttering to the floor, and bits of ceiling are coming down. A huge, brass candelabra has impaled a wall. One of the doors to the main part of the church is hanging on a single hinge, and the other door is completely gone.
The main part of the church is caved in. Chunks of stone ceiling have crushed the pews. The night sky sucks smoke up through the gaping hole. I lean in, scanning the debris for Scrap.
Shit! Where is he?
I call for him over and over, hoping to everything he wasn’t in the path of all that stone.
“Here! He’s here!” Shep calls from behind me.
I whip around to see Shep lifting the door that got blown completely off its hinges.
I rush to help him. The slab of wood weighs next to nothing as I toss it aside. Underneath is my crumpled lover.
“No!” I dive down to him. “Scrap!”
He’s burned. The skin of his face and hands is red and tight. His hair is singed, and a wound on his head leaks bright red blood, too much blood. His tactical gear is pockmarked with smoldering holes.
I gather him into my arms, careful as careful can be, and I press my ear to his chest. His heart beats weakly. He’s alive, but only barely.
