War for Burning Sands: Burning Sands, #6

By P R Adams

Sometimes war is the only option.

 

Major Gabby Alonso spent her entire life battling adversity. For her final mission, she vowed to save the world from self-destruction or die trying, and she won't back down. Now she faces the greatest challenge she's ever known.

 

Unfortunately, she has blood on her hands, and her enemies won't forget what she's done.

Her only hope is to head for Las Vegas, which promises safety and security. But if she wants to reach this destination, she'll have to pass through deadly territory.

 

When the radio transmission calling Alonso to this sanctuary goes silent, she worries she might be walking into a trap. With enemies closing in, she has to choose: face impossible odds or continue the risky journey.

 

Pick up War for Burning Sands today, and experience the thrilling conclusion to this installment of the post-apocalyptic Burning Sands saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Promethean Tales
• Release date: Feb 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393154150

Book preview

Prologue

The little electric car sped away from the blinding red of the setting sun, the balloon tires spewing orange dust into the air. When Reggie stuck his head out the window to look back through the sandy cloud, his black hair whipped in the wind. The flimsy-looking vehicle was going dangerously fast, but it might as well have been stationary.

In the passenger seat, Tilly’s green eyes bugged out. Reggie!

He spun back around and centered the car on the road, casting an apologetic frown at the slender courier. Sorry.

I should drive. Her fingers were like talons, clutching desperately at the dashboard. There was so much confidence in her voice, despite her youth. I know the roads.

We can’t stop. He checked the rearview mirror for—

What? What was he expecting?

Did he think the murderous creatures that had wiped out Charlie’s place were going to outrun an electric car operating at full speed? Even bogeymen had limits. These monsters could kill with ease, but until he saw otherwise, they were made of flesh and were bound by the laws of physics. If he got a bead on one of them, maybe he could even kill it with his pistol.

So for now, he had to focus on the next step: saving Lewis Station from obliteration.

In the back seat, Monk shook his head, his curly hair a ghostly white in the dying light. This thing go any faster?

You want to crash?

The old man grumbled under his breath. There was no pleasing him or Tilly, but Reggie knew better than to let them lead him into a mistake.

He returned his attention to the way forward, hoping that he might see the little settlement to the southeast.

Instead, he had a glimpse of something in the road—something that hadn’t been there before—just as it disappeared under the front of the car.

The lightweight vehicle bounced, and he thought for sure that he was going to wipe out.

Panic seized him.

He punched the brakes at the same time as he swerved.

From the back seat, Monk’s raspy howl made it sound like he’d taken a club to the nuts. Tilly didn’t do much better, bracing with one hand on Reggie’s seat and the other on her door, as if she expected to be hurled out.

And, for a few seconds, it did look that way.

Two wheels came off the ground, and Reggie wrestled against the steering to keep them moving in a straight line.

Then, the vehicle leveled off with a terrifying clatter and groan.

As quickly as the chaos had begun, it came to an end.

Tilly was still, as if she’d been frozen solid in an eye blink. And then she sucked in her breath. Shit! Reggie, shit! What did you do?

He held a palm up to her face. Not now.

What did—?

Reggie spun around Monk, you okay?

The old man had a white-knuckle grip on his shotgun. His mismatched spectacles hung loosely off his chubby face, only held in place by a sweat-dampened white curl. Let me finish getting through this heart attack, then I’ll tell ya.

Anything broken? Can you move?

Monk nodded. Yeah. Oh, yeah. He tittered. Gonna need to change my pants.

That was all Reggie needed to hear. He popped open his door and scrambled out.

Tilly did the same. You didn’t ask about me, Reggie.

You were screaming. I think that said enough.

But, if you don’t ask, it’s like you don’t care.

Reggie circled the vehicle, squinting at the tires and ducking down to get a look at the undercarriage. This design didn’t have a single transaxle or a transmission fluid reservoir. Each wheel had its own drive mechanism, and everything was fairly resilient considering how lightweight the materials were.

But there was still the basic structure of the vehicle to be concerned with.

And as he came around to the front passenger tire, he groaned at the failure of one of the main structural components. A flat? Seriously?

Tilly stepped back. I thought you would use rigid plastics. Why rubber?

Space. This is half the size of a full tire. Plus, rigid plastic breaks down faster. A half-sized spare leaves room for cargo. These cars are special—for hauling; we need that cargo space.

He squinted at the sun, which seemed to be dropping even faster. The shadows all around him grew longer, nearly reaching the point where they would detach themselves from their physical anchors and skitter off into the dark. It was getting colder, and the climbing wind carried a sickly, rotting stench.

As he popped the rear hatch, he challenged his perceptions.

How could there be anything rotten nearby? All he could see for miles was desert. Sure, there were the occasional hardy clumps of weeds or scrub brush, maybe even some big rocks here and there, but they weren’t enough to hide piles of ruptured guts like he’d seen at Charlie’s place.

Were they?

The spare filled a shallow compartment at the bottom of the trunk. Two clasps held the mount in place. He undid the clasps and pulled the tire out. Underneath that was the collapsible jack and foot pump. Monk, we’ve got a flat.

Grumbling under his breath, the old man wrestled his way out of the car. Don’t like being out in the cold.

None of us do. Hey, you think you might make your way back down the road a bit, maybe see what we hit?

Monk wiped the lenses of his glasses with his grimy handkerchief. It’s getting dark.

It’s not that far. If you could just hurry and look around? Please?

The old man set his glasses back on his nose, harrumphed, then marched off toward the area where the car had hit…

…something.

With tire, jack, and pump in hand, Reggie hurried to the flat, then set to work.

He pushed the foot pump toward Tilly, who had her arms crossed over her chest and her chin thrust out in angry offense.

Reggie tried a smile. You think you could pump the tire?

She didn’t budge. What I think is, you owe me an apology. You were driving like a maniac, not paying attention to the road, acting like—

I’m sorry. He stretched the smile wider as he loosened the lug nuts. Now, would you mind pumping?

The courier glared at him. What’s the big deal?

Um, the big deal is that we don’t want to be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere when it gets dark.

You two have guns.

Those guys that went out to Charlie’s place? Remember them? They had guns.

And?

Reggie had the jack in place and began pumping the tire iron lever. And, they’re dead.

What?

Same as the chickens. And Charlie and his family. Andthose dogs.

Tilly rubbed her arms. Why didn’t you say so?

Because I wanted us to get back to the settlement before going into any detail. I didn’t want to be distracted by you and Monk asking all kinds of questions.

That’s not how you do it, Reggie. You have to communicate. She connected the pump hose to the tire. You have to tell people what’s going on. You have to make sure everyone’s okay.

I know. Like I said, I was going to do that once we got back to the settlement.

Well…what happened?

Reggie squeezed his eyes shut. I don’t know. Can we focus on getting the tire changed?

But, we ought to know. If something could kill a bunch of people with guns—

It’s bad. I know. You know what’s worse? Us being stuck out here with a flat tire wasting time talking instead of swapping out the flat.

She shook her head and began to pump her foot. It seemed as if she were putting extra effort into the work. Reggie figured she was imagining his head under her boots.

The tire was far enough off the ground that he began unscrewing the lug nuts. In the original design, rather than lug nuts, there had been a complicated clasp system that supposedly held up better, but no one felt comfortable testing that out. Now, Reggie regretted not trying it on at least one vehicle. It would’ve only taken a couple minutes to stick the prying head of the jack under the clasps and pop them. He’d already spent several minutes with the lug nuts.

Once he had the tire off, he pushed up and brushed grime from his hands. Tilly had a ways to go before the spare would be ready. Offering to take her place wasn’t an option: She was still furiouslyglaring at him.

Reggie glanced back along the road. I’m going to go check on Monk.

Tilly stopped pumping. "Oh, no you are not."

He’s right back there. Reggie pointed to the old man’s hunched form maybe two hundred feet away. He’s looking for what we hit.

What you hit. Because you weren’t paying attention. Because you were keeping secrets.

I’m going to go check on him.

Then I’m going with you.

Pressure bubbled up in Reggie’s chest. "Okay, you go check on him. I’ll work the pump."

I’m not going all the way over there by myself!

Tilly, you’re wasting time! We need the tire pumped, and we need to know what we hit! Two people, two tasks—let’s split up. Okay? Now, which do you want to do?

I’m not staying here alone, and I’m not going all the way over there by myself.

Fine. Reggie cupped his hands around his mouth. Monk! Let’s go!

Tilly stomped her feet. That’s so stupid! If something didn’t already know we were out here, it knows now!

I think whatever tossed that thing in the road knew that someone was going to come out this way at some point.

Wait. Something tossed something onto the road? You didn’t say—

Reggie cursed himself. He shouldn’t have mentioned the thing in the road. It’s probably nothing.

No. Uh-uh. You said something was tossed—

I can’t do this. Let me get on the pump. He squeezed between her and the inflation device, then began releasing some of his own frustration with each stomp. While he pumped, he cupped his hands around his mouth to shout and turned to call for the old man again.

But the old man’s gray form was nowhere to be seen.

Reggie stopped pumping. Shit.

He reached for his pistol, then remembered that he’d stuffed it under the seat once they were away from the farm.

Tilly spun around, searching. What? What’s going on?

Nothing.

He ran for the car, felt around under the seat until the comforting pistol grip pressed against the flesh of his palm, then straightened.

Even the few seconds of searching left him feeling vulnerable.

Things were moving in the fading shadows. Night was approaching, and with it all the unknowns coalesced and took form.

They were still miles from the settlement. If they took off at a good jog, they might be able to outrun full dark.

Might.

Then again, whatever had murdered all of those people might not need full dark.

He ran the back of his hand across his damp upper lip. Tilly?

Yeah?

We need to find Monk. You follow right behind me, okay? A couple feet, no closer, no farther. Okay?

Sure, Reggie. She reached out, and her fingers wrapped around his belt. It was as if he hadn’t just told her exactly what to do.

He had to just deal with it.

Reggie pried her hand free, interlocked her fingers with his, then tugged her after him.

They had to find the old man, then they had to change the tire. That was all there was to it. It wasn’t like there was someplace for Monk to actually go.

Then again, it wasn’t like families and hunting groups were just slaughtered, either.

Something was out there, and it was waiting for them.

And Reggie could feel it drawing closer.

Chapter One

It was funny how big a change a few days could make. On the western edge of the Rocky Mountains, Alonso had cursed the cold and the snow. Now, as her team entered the desert claimed by the Mormons, she found herself wishing for at least a few minutes of a miserable drizzle that might leave her clothes and hair a little damp. She remembered the sweet taste of fresh snow melting on her tongue as well as the fresh scent of the green pine needles of the stunted junipers growing along the ruined roads of old.

Here, the ground leveled out. Dun-colored sand covered everything, and brown outcrops were the only disruptions to the flat immensity.

She closed her dark eyes against the monotony of ocher and brown and tan, and listened to the moan of the wind. It had become a constant companion, as reliable as the most trustworthy hound. The difference was, the wind didn’t give solace or plant a big slurping tongue right on the lips.

In fact, all the wind did was carry the deathly final gasp of civilization, an unsettling mixture of ash and rot.

To her left and just ahead, the steady tromp of boots came from another form of constant companionship.

Alonso licked her dry lips, stretched out the pace her shorter legs found natural, and smiled up at Captain Laban Savalas. He’d swapped out his wintry mountain camouflage for desert beige, but otherwise hadn’t changed at all since introducing himself. His olive skin was almost lost against the desert backdrop, although it wasn’t quite as at home as her coppery hue.

He took off his boonie hat and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, revealing hair as thick and black as hers. What’s on your mind, Major?

Actually, I’m still trying to figure that out.

You worried about these Mormons?

The militia said no one sneaks through their territory.

That’s the dead militia, right?

She turned away from his grim smile. I’m not comfortable celebrating the death of people just doing their job, Captain Savalas.

We’re all just doing our job.

Exactly what is your job?

Like I said—we’re your assets. Our assignment is to make sure your efforts succeed. Project Rebirth was considered by every senior leader in the administration as an essential component in the survival of our way of life.

I read all of the analyses.

That was part of your job. So, you understand why Sergeant Diaz and I are so interested in seeing this through. Your success was the reason we went into the freezer.

The freezer. No one in the project had ever referred to the hibernation tanks as freezers. That was just one anomaly of many that she couldn’t puzzle out about her new assets. Where was your facility located?

Not that far from yours. A little ways northwest of Pueblo. It wasn’t anything as fancy as yours. Our operations ran on a different budget. You know how it is—funding is easiest to acquire when it’s not connected to anything ostentatious.

Our ostentatious facility became a tomb to most of my team.

I can’t say that I’m surprised. The captain glanced over his shoulder at the chimp walking alongside Borodin. I never trusted the idea of all these uplifted and hybridized creations. Man should never aspire to rise above his station or to glance arrogantly upon the heavens.

Is that a quote?

Something my pastor told me when I was young and stupid.

That couldn’t have been that long ago. What are you, thirty?

You know, I still haven’t figured out how we calculate our ages. Do we add in the sleeping time, or do we stick to the time before? He chuckled. The way I figure it, the freezer puts you in suspended animation, but the world around you still goes on. So, even if we haven’t experienced what everyone around us experienced, time has passed.

That didn’t answer my question, Captain.

Well, I’m not sure it can be answered. It gets sticky.

His evasiveness was beyond irritating. Where’d you grow up?

That’s complicated.

Where you grew up is complicated? Are you serious?

My parents had jobs that required us to move around a lot. I guess, if you get right down to it, you could say I grew up in the Greek community outside Philadelphia.

I don’t hear an accent.

After a few beers, you might. I didn’t live in any one place for more than ten years, but Philly was the longest and the most important.

Alonso was surprised to hear a hint of remorse in his voice. What made it the most important?

Savalas winced. I made a lot of mistakes before I found the right path. I think I was—I was seventeen. I found my way into the church, and that straightened me out. I owe everything to God.

Well, it’s good to know someone found their way through the church.

You’re still bitter?

Heat flashed through her cheeks. How deep did you dig into my file, Captain?

It’s my job to know you and your team. There’s nothing personal in researching who you were.

You probably know more about me than any man I dated, so don’t pretend there’s nothing personal about it.

The captain bowed his head. "It’s uncomfortable, without a doubt. I do apologize for the awkwardness. However, I am sincere when I say that learning about you and your people was all with an eye toward succeeding with our mutual objective."

She stomped along at his side, raging internally at not only his invasion into her privacy but his evasion about his own background. How did you get selected for this Dark Angels organization? I’ve never even heard of them.

It was a very young operational group. You could say that we came about in response to this climate disaster.

What, someone figured they could use the military to fight nature?

Our mission has always been one of support. That didn’t change when we were assigned to your project.

See, I can’t make sense of that.

What’s to make sense of? The sergeant and I are here to make sure you succeed.

So, shouldn’t you have been awakened once ARDA started going insane? She pointed to the thing clipped to the top of his ear. You’re listening to them, right? That’s what you said.

Our system—our ARDA—didn’t think there was anything to be done. When your AI went crazy, it happened quickly. There was no way to get into the complex. Our system determined it was best to keep us under while it assessed the situation.

How long have you been awake?

Not long. A few weeks before you woke. The way he smiled gave her the sense that she just extracted as much as he could possibly let go of.

Well, letting us die in there pretty much destroyed our chances of succeeding on our mission.

We still have a chance.

"You mean you have a chance. You’re the one who wants to meet this Reggie Lee."

Savalas twisted around. Excuse me, Major. I think it’s time I did some scouting.

She clenched her jaw as he jogged ahead. Once he was out of earshot, she slowed until she was walking beside Sae-Tan. I think that man has been through the most extensive training available on how to be evasive.

The Air Force captain stared straight ahead, lips pursing, then relaxing, then pursing again.

Rhea?

Sae-Tan continued looping through the strange lip motions.

Alonso elbowed the taller woman. Rhea?

Finally, the slender woman blinked. What?

Didn’t you hear me? I was bitching about our newest captain.

Oh? So, they both do that?

What are you talking about?

Sae-Tan’s brow furrowed. Didn’t he hit up on you?

No. Alonso let out an exasperated snort. Hit up on me? The man hasn’t revealed a single shred of meaningful human emotion. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more focused on controlling the narrative of the moment than that captain.

Oh. Okay. Then they’re not the same.

Are you going to fill me in, or do I have to start playing some guessing game with you?

The engineer arched an eyebrow and twisted her head around to nod toward Diaz, who was walking alongside Reynolds, laughing and inching closer and closer to her. The pretty chemist glided a finger up her nose bridge, as if to push up a phantom pair of glasses.

Sae-Tan rubbed her chin. He started with me.

Alonso squinted. The sergeant? He started flirting with you?

You sound incredulous. I think that’s insulting, isn’t it?

No. First off, I’m not incredulous that he would flirt with you. I’m incredulous that you would become upset over it.

Oh, I’m not upset over the flirting. I actually was enjoying it. It’s just that… The engineer’s face pinched. I didn’t realize he was flirting with me until he walked away.

You can’t get mad about—

I don’t think it’s fair for you to tell me what I can’t get mad about.

He’s a young man. He has one thing on his mind.

That’s not the point. I mean, I’m not sure that I’m ready for some sort of physical interaction. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t think there’s a lot of privacy. Plus, there’s the whole concern about pregnancy.

Someone like that is going to have packets of prophylactics stuffed in their backpack.

Sae-Tan shrugged. That doesn’t change anything. He should’ve given me time to figure out what he was doing. You can’t rush this relationship methodology. I have to process all the data, then I have to—

Rhea, other people don’t have to, and that means they’re going to be ahead of you.

The engineer pressed her lips into a thin line. I’m uncomfortable feeling angry at Dr. Reynolds, when I should be angry at this Sergeant Diaz.

Or you could just not be angry at anyone. This sort of thing happens.

Hm. And your anger at Savalas? That’s legitimate. Am I hearing you correctly?

They’re nothing alike. The problem with Savalas—

Borodin and Carradine moved up from behind. The Ranger’s face was tight with annoyance. With his watch cap off, the color that rushed through his cheeks when he grew mad was also visible up into his shaved scalp. Carradine’s skin was too dark to see her blush, but she had no problem revealing her emotions in other ways. Now, the two of them bracketed Alonso and Sae-Tan.

It was the bodybuilder who broke the silence. Mm-mm. These Psychopaths Twins? Ain’t having it.

The Ranger grunted in agreement. We need to get rid of them.

Alonso’s gaze drifted back to Reynolds. Does this have something to do with a certain sergeant making himself comfortable with our chemist?

Borodin turned a deeper red. No.

It’s understandable if you’re jealous, Sergeant Borodin.

Sure. I’m not. The problem’s with his boss.

What about him?

Comes in, takes command, tells us where we’re going—

"I don’t care for it either, but he’s right about this Reggie Lee. If he’s the only person showing organizational skills and technological wherewithal, it probably is a good idea to seek him out."

Carradine’s lips twisted. You’re saying one thing, but the tone in your voice says uh-uh.

Alonso frowned. I’ll have to work on that.

You’re down with him running the show?

I’m not sure what to make of him. If I’m being honest, I feel boxed in.

Borodin’s head bobbed up and down. That’s it. He’s manipulating and—

I’m not being manipulated, Sergeant Borodin.

The Ranger’s eyes narrowed. Then what is it?

I— It was Alonso’s turn to blush. I can’t say. He’s evasive, and he’s controlling, and—

—and he needs to be dumped in a shallow grave.

No. Not acceptable. Right now, it looks like he’s on our side. So long as we lack any evidence to the contrary, we’re not killing him. Either of them.

Borodin’s broad chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath. We wait too long, we’ll miss our opportunity.

Alonso nodded. I’m keeping my eye on them. Trust me.

As the Ranger drifted away, an annoying sensation settled into her gut: Borodin was right. They were going have to do something about these Dark Angels.

She just couldn’t figure what.

Chapter Two

High valley walls cast gray shadows over the ashen ruins of what must once have been a pretty city. Viewed through binoculars, those ruins stretched from the northwest to the southeast, matching the widening valley. In some places, Alonso could pick out still-standing buildings that looked capable of shielding desperate people from the weather. Mostly, though, what she saw were sections of walls, concrete foundations, and rusty rebar rising to the sky.

From her vantage point, nestled between Borodin on her right and Savalas on her left, the city looked long abandoned. There was no lingering stench of death or ash, but there was also no sign of survivors hiding amongst the rubble, despite the shallow river filled with sweet, clear water.

In fact, there were signs of a slow reclamation by nature: weeds, saplings, and even the occasional varmint.

But there was also the presence of humans. They hadn’t been rubbed out yet.

She lowered the binoculars, and Borodin held a hand out. The Ranger squinted at the sinking sun. Just that one fenced-off building near the riverbed.

Before she could reply, Savalas pointed to where the river cut across the northern end of the valley and into the western wall opposite their position. I figure there must be a dozen of them.

Alonso shoved the binoculars into Borodin’s waiting hand, but before she could interject, he pressed them against his eyes. That many horses?

The Dark Angels captain studied the fenced-in compound they were all focused on. That’s how many I see. You think they have some hidden?

Nope. No reason to. They’re the top of the food chain here.

But this is only an outpost, wouldn’t you agree?

Looks like.

Alonso cleared her throat, and when Borodin lowered the field glasses, put on a mock apologetic gasp. She gave the same look to Savalas. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. You two boys keep chatting amongst yourselves, and I’ll just lie here pretending like I’m relevant.

Savalas let out a deep chuckle. I’m sorry, Major. I didn’t mean to shut you out.

Borodin frowned. Don’t recall telling you not to talk, ma’am.

Heat flared on the back of her neck and in her cheeks, but she kept it in check. You two are my subject matter experts. I’m not going to interrupt you when you’re talking shop. However, if I’m not given a chance to engage, it’s going to be hard for me to ask questions or offer insight.

The mysterious captain pulled off his boonie hat and brushed back his hair. We’ll try to do better about that, Major. What sort of insight do you have?

Alonso’s earlier irritation intensified, then it morphed into annoyance. Nothing. Not at the moment.

Well, I’m sure you had something in mind when you rightly called us out.

When Savalas pressed his boonie hat back on, his fabricated pleasant smile transformed for an instant into smug condescension. He didn’t actually say anything, but in Alonso’s head, she heard a deep, northeastern lady dripping with machismo latched onto the end of his pleasantry.

Right or wrong, her memory flashed back to college and the drunken fraternity boys hanging out on the quad, catcalling and making asses of themselves. Maybe some of them went on to grow up and be decent human beings, but at that time, they all came across as useless, patronizing, hateful jerks. Part of that perception was because of what had happened to her in New Orleans, but another part of that perception was very, very real.

She clenched her jaw and glared into the valley below. The horses and the building meant they were looking at a Mormon holding. But… "Why bother putting an outpost here?"

Borodin had almost set the field glasses against his eyes again but stopped. Good question.

You don’t waste resources. Putting a team that big out in the middle of nowhere is very high risk. This area isn’t self-sustaining, which means someone has to send food out here, or some of that team is spending time hunting.

Savalas nodded. That’s a good point. Maybe they don’t have twelve but fifteen.

That doesn’t answer the why, Captain.

It doesn’t. Without visibility into their command structure and long-term strategic objectives, I don’t think we have the ability to understand the why.

We need to try. This area—it’s southern Utah, right?

That used to be Moab. About sixty miles south is Monticello.

Are you getting that from your ARDA chatter?

The captain smirked. We studied the area before we headed out. Just the key points, mind you. All the information we have is decades out of date.

All the satellites are dead?

"Most are dead, but there’s still enough infrastructure for a low-bandwidth network. That’s how these ARDA systems communicate: pure text, encrypted, the language they’ve created."

Borodin adjusted the magnification of the binoculars. AI created its own language?

Oh, we knew that would happen. It’s been happening between artificial intelligences going back years.

Guess our ARDA wasn’t so special.

Well, they’re not all networked. They might be independent, but they end up living in a siloed environment.

Siloed?

Alonso tapped the binoculars. Like an echo chamber.

The Ranger handed the viewing devices back to her. Echo chamber?

You seriously haven’t heard the term?

Nope.

When people surround themselves with other people and other sources of information that exclusively confirm their own beliefs, it’s an echo chamber. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy instead of making you think critically.

Sounds like a good way to avoid arguments.

She looked south, searching for any sign of recent activity. Critical thinking doesn’t have to be bad, Sergeant. It might be uncomfortable, but that’s how we learn to assess things like bias and blind spots. If you only ever see or hear things that you agree with, it’s not proving that you were right; it’s feeding your need for validation.

The big man shrugged. I don’t need validation.

Of course you do. We all do. There’s nothing wrong with it. The problem is when we become addicted to the comfort of nothing challenging our views.

A tremor of annoyance passed over Savalas’s face. So, do we start through the ruins and head south, or do we check out this outpost?

Alonso brought the binoculars up again, this time watching the fenced-in building. Twelve militia isn’t an easy proposition.

Sergeant Diaz and I could handle that.

Once again, she found herself biting back annoyance. It wasn’t that the captain was bragging so much as he wasn’t. He was simply stating a fact, like, I breathe air and drink water.

Except he was saying it to people who were suffocating and dehydrating.

It would’ve been less bothersome if he realized what he was doing, and he was just being a smug jerk.

Borodin pulled his watch cap off and patted his brow. Wouldn’t mind getting a look at that rig you’ve got there, Captain.

Sure. They’re bespoke—.300 Winchester Magnums.

What’s your longest kill?

Seven hundred and twenty meters. Give or take.

Nice. Diaz?

Closer to eight hundred. He’s very…patient.

Wouldn’t know that watching him around Dr. Reynolds.

The Dark Angels captain’s cool façade shattered for just a moment, as the ever-present smile twisted into a frown. As quick as it appeared, it returned to a smile. Young men should be allowed their indiscretions and hasty pursuits. Wouldn’t you agree, Sergeant?

Borodin’s eyebrow arched. I’m not taking away the young man’s right to pursue fun.

Good. I think that would be hypocritical, don’t you?

The Ranger bit his lip but didn’t reply.

To Alonso, it seemed the cooling air took on a distinct chill. Savalas’s northeastern machismo—real or imagined—was rubbing up against Borodin’s Southern cockiness.

But there was more to it, she was sure.

There was something in the way the captain had worded his response that got under the Ranger’s skin. It wasn’t accidental or coincidental but calculated. Savalas had used the same sort of tactic with her.

What did that say about Borodin?

She would need to talk to Carradine. The two NCOs were close, as if they had an extensive shared history that didn’t show up in their records.

For now, Alonso needed to push the two men toward agreement. I don’t think it’s a good idea leaving a militia group at our back.

Borodin grunted. Maybe a look inside that lodge of theirs gets us some answers.

What sort of answers?

If it’s stocked up with salted meat and dried vegetables, might be they’re just here watching things.

An observation post?

Makes sense. They’ve got problems with marauders.

Savalas held a hand out for the binoculars. They could also range across a designated border area.

Yep. The Ranger acted as if his little run-in with the captain hadn’t happened.

You think you might be able to sneak into that compound, Sergeant?

Once that sun dips a little lower.

Sergeant Diaz and I can provide cover. Maybe your Sergeant Carradine could move a little closer in and do the same.

Alonso could see several good perches on the valley wall, both to the north and west. She could.

Then I think we have a plan.

As Borodin led the way back to where the others had settled, Alonso tried to think of a way that violence could be avoided with the Mormons. Ideally, they could all just get along, but that sort of thinking was behind so many failed peace missions throughout history that she found herself picking apart every idea she came up with.

Then she saw the chimp and the uplifted feline practicing sign language together.

Delilah stopped the training to run through an intricate series of fist bumps, hand slaps, and other actions with the feline that—when finished—drew a broad smile and hissy laugh from the creature.

Borodin tapped Alonso on the arm, then glanced over his shoulder. You see that little escarpment at the northern end? That spot that looks down on the river.

What about it?

You see Diaz around anywhere?

Ahead of them, the little camp consisted of only her people. What’s up?

Diaz is the dangerous one. He follows orders without question, and he’s a better shooter.

All right.

I’d appreciate it if you made your way out there once I started my descent.

Are you saying that you think—?

Not saying a thing, Major. It’s just that once bullets start flying, some people don’t do a very good job differentiating friend from foe.

Alonso stopped. Her breathing came fast.

Borodin might not have wanted to make an accusation, but it was right there for her to see.

She waited for the Ranger to lead Carradine out of the camp, then picked a path north along the top of the valley wall. Every now and then, she stopped and moved west enough to catch a glimpse of her people descending, then returned to her trek north.

Barely half of the sun remained above the horizon when she realized she had no idea where to look for Diaz. Below, Carradine was already in position, and Borodin was hustling down a narrow path. If he was right, once he reached the bottom of the valley, the young Dark Angels operator would be tracking Alonso’s most experienced combat veteran with ill intent.

She took a deep breath and slowly rotated around. She’d had training once about how to spot snipers, but it was about as helpful as training to spot subatomic particles. Maybe you caught the glint of light off a scope, or maybe you spotted muzzle flash or sand kicked up by the gun.

Or maybe you didn’t see anything before the bullet hit you between the eyes.

Now Borodin was at the bottom of the valley wall, hunched low and moving among the limited cover. His rifle—reloaded from militia weapons—was unslung.

It wouldn’t take long for him to reach the crude fence surrounding the Mormons’ large adobe house.

Would Diaz even wait for a signal to attack, or would his shot be what initiated the engagement?

She had to find the sniper.

Everything at the top of the valley wall was the same intense reddish-orange. Except for a few shallow pools of water here and there—barely enough collected rain to sustain some stunted plants—there was nothing but rock and sand. The desolation of such a place made it easy for someone who knew what they were doing to hide.

The only thing she could do was to look for things that didn’t belong, let her brain’s pattern matching do its thing. Humans created a profile that didn’t map to the angles and shapes of this sort of terrain. The big sniper rifle was a sort of symmetrical aberration. A normal person would move, something that her eyes would catch when scanning and not specifically looking for a person.

But Savalas had said that Diaz was extremely patient.

Where could the young man be?

Why would the two Dark Angels operators want anyone on her team dead?

Who were these Dark Angels?

Her brain preferred chewing on these unanswerable questions to searching for the hidden sniper. They were just two branches of an impossible path.

Then she realized that her training was at work. Distraction took her mind off of the search, allowing the basic functioning of her eyes to do what concentration would undo.

There!

She had to squint to be sure of what she was seeing. It was Diaz, lying prone, covered by a blanket that broke up his lines and helped him blend in.

Except a small part of the weapon barrel protruded from the cover.

That barrel was pointing down at Borodin.

Chapter Three

It took a moment for the realization to settle into Alonso’s head. She was standing out in the open at the highest point of the valley wall, all alone, dressed in winter camouflage.

Even if Diaz hadn’t seen her—and that seemed unlikely, given how she’d desperately tromped around like a furious donkey—Savalas had.

If the Dark Angels intended to kill Borodin, why not kill her? Why not kill her entire team?

The gentle breeze brushed cool air across her face. Her dark hair danced, while the blanket covering the sniper barely moved. It was just another stretch of golden sand on top of the ocher stone.

Confronting the young man might actually provoke him. Even if it didn’t, he might realize that he was being accused of plotting to kill one of her people. That seemed like a great way to drive a wedge between supposed allies and her team.

But she couldn’t take the risk that Borodin was right and not do something.

She licked her lips, then strolled casually toward the sniper. Sergeant Diaz?

Now the blanket moved. Yes, ma’am? Patient or not, he couldn’t hide the irritation in his voice.

As she drew closer, she caught the smell of the blanket—old sweat, mustiness from years of storage. I hope I didn’t disturb you?

No, ma’am.

Are you in radio contact with the captain?

Not… Diaz pushed back the blanket, revealing a wrinkled brow. Did he send you over here?

In a way. I wanted to be sure you were updated on the plan.

The plan?

She smiled as pleasantly as she could, given the situation. We’re going to see if there’s a way to avoid violence.

The young man was even more confused. Okay.

There’s always a chance that these are just…observers.

Oh! I understand. He obviously didn’t.

She dropped to her butt beside him. Have you seen any of them moving around lately?

Uh, a couple. They were out, tending to the horses.

Is that something you’re familiar with?

Horses? He smiled—devilishly charming. I grew up in Miami, ma’am. I never saw a horse until— His smile faded. —service.

"You must’ve been