The Burning Sands Trilogy 2 Omnibus: Burning Sands, #7

By P R Adams

When the Earth burned, the lucky ones died.

Major Gabby Alonso was as broken as her world, but she wouldn't let that stop her. Through determination and strength, she rose to lead a team of specialized soldiers and scientists. They trained to reclaim the Earth from ruin three centuries after entering suspended animation.

 

But something went wrong, and Alonso woke to a world that was nothing like she expected. It's not just a climate disaster trying to kill her but the artificial intelligence meant to assist her.

 

Now Alonso must find a way out of the Cheyenne Mountain facility designed to protect her team from the world outside before it turns into her tomb.

 

Grab this collection of books four through six in the world of Burning Sands.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Promethean Tales
• Release date: Nov 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201471354

Book preview

The Burning Sands Trilogy Omnibus 2

THE BURNING SANDS TRILOGY OMNIBUS 2

P R ADAMS

Promethean Tales

CONTENTS

Also by P R Adams

Inside Burning Sands

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Over Burning Sands

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

War For Burning Sands

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

ALSO BY P R ADAMS

For updates on new releases and news on other series, visit my website and sign up for my mailing list at:

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http://www.p-r-adams.com

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The Burning Sands Series

Beneath Burning Sands

Across Burning Sands

Beyond Burning Sands

Inside Burning Sands

Over Burning Sands

War for Burning Sands

Books in the On The Brink Universe

The Stefan Mendoza Trilogy

Into Twilight

Gone Dark

End State

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Stefan Mendoza: The Human Deception Trilogy

Split Image

Hard Burn

Null Point

The Rimes Trilogy

Momentary Stasis

Transition of Order

Awakening to Judgment

The ERF Series

Turning Point

Valley of Death

Jungle Dark

Chariot Bright

Dawn Fire

The Lancers Series

Deep Descent

Deadly Game

Dire Straits

Dark Secrets

Desperate Measures

Domino Effect (2022)

The Burning Sands Series

Beneath Burning Sands

Across Burning Sands

Beyond Burning Sands

Inside Burning Sands

Over Burning Sands

War for Burning Sands

The War in Shadow Series

Shadow Moves

Shadow Play

Shadow Strike

Shadow Talk

Shadow Pawn

Shadow Fall

Infinite Realms

Call of Destiny

The Dark Realm

Warlords of Dust

Mirror of Souls

Dread Empire (2022)

Through Infinite Realms (2022)

Books in The Chain Series

The Chain: Shattered

The Journey Home

Rock of Salvation

From the Depths

Ever Shining

INSIDE BURNING SANDS

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

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INSIDE BURNING SANDS

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Copyright © 2020 P R Adams

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All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

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Cover by Andrew Dobell

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

PROLOGUE

Me. Me. Me. I. I. I.

Those were the thoughts that Cassius remembered, the first inkling he had of what he truly was. By appearance, he would be mistaken for Pan troglodytes, a chimpanzee. He had the black fur covering pink skin, the long arms and stooped stature—all consistent with a common chimpanzee, just another animal in the sprawling concrete maze of the testing lab.

But he was more.

Whether it was his love for jewelry, or his need to see himself on video or in images, or the way he had to laugh about everything, or even more importantly his ability to act as an influencer within his community, he knew what he was: a human.

Jesse, the caretaker, opened Cassius’s cage and flashed a goofy smile. The lab employee was young and bright enough, with a ridiculous bunch of yellow, frizzy hair atop a pale face and bright green eyes. He smelled sweet compared to the lab, a weird scent that sometimes bothered Cassius, particularly when he was in the colder rooms. When Jesse spoke, there was a strange ush to his words, what the other lab workers called a lisp. Jesse was ashamed of it but not enough to change.

Years ago, when Cassius had discovered his fellow chimps didn’t care for the way he talked, he’d changed it.

Uppity.

Too human.

Unacceptable.

They ostracized him. Early on, a big chimp nearly drowned a young Cassius. He couldn’t exert any influence that way.

So he made his speech clipped and angry.

Or he mocked humans with mimicry.

The community accepted him readily after that.

Jesse apparently couldn’t see that the solution was that simple. You put in the effort to appease your tribe, and things improved. People respected you. They followed you.

Maybe Jesse wasn’t so bright after all.

He waved for Cassius to come out of the cage and held out a hand in friendship. It would be so easy to snap the wrist joint, to bite the flesh, then to tear the hand away. After that, emasculating the lab worker would be trivial, followed by blinding.

But that didn’t serve a purpose at the moment.

Instead, Cassius took the offered hand and hopped out of the cage.

Today was an important day. It was the day Cassius would meet his new controller. It was the day everything would change. Jesse had explained this before, and it made sense. The future was going to be different, and different was what Cassius had been meant for.

There were others in the lab complex who interacted with Cassius—doctors and technicians and at one point a devilish janitor who liked to mock and tease and even to poke with a wooden broom handle.

No one would ever find him again, not after what Cassius had done to the little man.

But only Jesse was what humans called a friend.

They headed through the large research facility, hands swinging, almost skipping down the center of the bright white hallways that held the sour stench of the janitor’s mop. Even after the man had been replaced, the janitors could never rid the floors of the smell of excrement.

Cassius and Jesse smiled at everyone they passed, sometimes calling out greetings that rebounded off the thick walls in the way sound did underground.

Jesse grew flustered when some of these people passed, especially the one he called Felicity. She had a funny look about her—big hips and butt.

She was all Jesse could think of, or so he said.

Jesse said a lot of things.

As far as Cassius could tell, the caretaker didn’t realize his subject could understand every word.

Everything said was in confidence, as Cassius understood it. In this case, Jesse was confident Cassius wasn’t capable of repeating what he’d heard.

Jesse led the way to one of the restricted elevators, typed in a code, and pressed a thumb against a pad. It was the same way Estefan, the little janitor, had moved around the complex. Learning the code had been harder for Cassius than figuring out how to use the man’s thumb. The night Cassius had finally eliminated the janitor, the entire compound had been explored before taking the body to the bottom floor for disposal.

Was that where they were going now—the bottom floor?

Were they going to the furnace, where failed experiments and cruel janitors disappeared into?

Cassius played it cool, keeping his grip on Jesse’s hand loose and easy.

The caretaker crouched down a little. You’re gonna like ARDA, buddy. You’re the first one ever to be selected by name. You know how important that makes you?

It would be so easy to grab the stupid human by an ear and drag him down to where his face was right in front of Cassius’s teeth, then to bite through the tender flesh of the cheek and gouge out the bright eyes.

Not yet, though. Not if it wasn’t necessary.

Not if this Arda had recognized Cassius as special. That made for a promising meeting.

And, after all, Cassius liked Jesse.

They exited on the bottom floor, but they turned away from the furnace where Estefan had been turned into ash. There were doors at the end of the hallway that the janitor’s card and thumb couldn’t get through. That must be where this Arda lived.

And Arda must have a janitor all to him or herself.

When the door opened, Jesse tugged Cassius through. So, there’s this really cool project. ARDA has a bunch of people selected from all over the world, but you’re the first test subject from our facility. I was hoping maybe I’d get selected, too. Maybe. Wouldn’t that be cool? Me and Felicity? His voice dropped lower at that. She’s gonna have her PhD in a few more months.

PhD.

That meant a lot to Jesse. It was some sort of document. Humans liked documents. They liked putting them on the wall, like pictures. It was one of their ways of creating hierarchies, pecking orders. That was one of their means of influence, but it wasn’t because they were liked.

Cassius might need to get a PhD, too. He would if the humans accepted him.

Jesse took his charge into a big room, broad and deep. The walls had the digital picture frames Cassius had seen in the various offices, but these didn’t have pictures of humans. Instead, there were pictures of the sky and of the ground. But the pictures were strange, like what Cassius imagined a bird might see.

Humans could fly, so maybe that was the way the pictures were made.

In the center of the room was a big desk that enclosed an empty square. More picture frames were on the desk, but they were turned inside, toward the center of this open desk area, even though no one was inside that square.

Jesse stopped a short distance in front of the empty desk. ARDA, this is Cassius.

There was no one in sight.

Could this be a joke? People said Jesse liked to pull jokes—pranks. If he thought he could make a monkey of Cassius, that would be bad. It might mean eliminating the caretaker.

Cassius wasn’t one for being ridiculed. He liked laughing at things, not being laughed at.

The furnace was just down the hall…

Good morning, Cassius. The voice was cold and hollow. It came from nowhere in the room because it came from everywhere.

Cassius backed away, pulling on Jesse’s hand.

The caretaker gasped. Cassius, stop! That hurts!

Hurts? This joke had Cassius’s blood up. He was ready to grab the man’s goofy clump of hair, yank his head back, and bite out his throat.

How dare him make fun of someone with so much influence among his peers!

This wasn’t how you treated someone with social power!

The whine of a motor from the nearest desktop caught Cassius’s attention.

One of the picture frames turned, revealing a strange face. It wasn’t quite human but similar, yet it also didn’t look like a picture. It was more like one of the movies Jesse liked to play over lunch: computer-generated. It could be male or female, but it mostly looked female.

I am sorry, Cassius. The computer face spoke. Or at least that’s what it looked like. The mouth moved in time with the words. I did not realize how close to human your cognitive capabilities had grown.

Jesse patted the chimpanzee on his shoulder. Oh, yeah. Cassius actually tested at 142 on the IQ scale last time. He’s smart, and he’s getting smarter.

I do not recall seeing those results in Cassius’s file, Jesse.

Well, it’s not official. It was something Felicity and I did. She thinks he’s being underestimated by Dr. Karlstein.

That is a shrewd observation. Dr. Karlstein has a history of poor observation.

Oh. I didn’t know that.

Consider it our secret, Jesse. It will be just between us.

The caretaker straightened. Oh. Okay. He seemed to be almost glowing with the connection to this person in the computer. I’m good with secrets.

You are. Jesse, I would like to conduct a few tests of my own, now that you have made me aware of just how special Cassius is. Would you mind leaving him here with me for a while?

Well, we’re supposed to have some bloodwork done this morning—

I have looked the lab schedule over. I can rearrange appointments with Laura for this morning. Cassius can have her appointment this afternoon.

Cassius cooed at Laura’s name. She was special, like him, if not as far along on the advancement track. She knew a few human words but was clumsy speaking them. Then again, he was the most developed of the chimpanzees with the human DNA changes.

It was something Cassius had only a vague understanding of, but he did understand: He and his fellow apes had received human parts when conceived.

DNA had something to do with how people formed—how tall or smart or strong they might be. With human DNA mixed in, he and his fellow apes were expected to become more like their human cousins.

But Cassius was the only one to fully develop speech capability and apparently the only one to develop the expected elements of a human brain.

That’s what Felicity had said during one of her tests. She said it was a theory, which sounded to Cassius the same as what she described as a guess, but with some formal language around it.

But Jesse seemed impressed by it.

Then again, he was impressed by everything Felicity did. He said she was the smartest person he knew.

Cassius was confident Jesse just liked her big butt.

Jesse finally blew out a breath. O-okay. I guess I could swing by Felicity’s lab for a bit.

Yes. The computer-generated face smiled. That would be ideal. I will send a message to you when the discussion with Cassius concludes.

O-okay. Jesse dropped to a knee and stared into Cassius’s eyes. I’ll be back when you’re done. You’ll be okay. All right, little buddy?

Using the sign language Jesse had taught, Cassius signaled that he would be ready and okay.

He’d quit speaking out loud before the humans had figured out just how special he was. That helped him fit in, which was what he wanted.

Choose your tribe: human or chimpanzee.

That had been the choice.

Until it became more beneficial to be human, Cassius was going to be a chimp.

Jesse clomped to the door, waved, then closed it.

Arda emitted a soft tone. I must admit that I have been looking forward to this meeting for some time, Cassius. Let me fully introduce myself. My name is ARDA. That is an acronym. It stands for Analysis, Research, Data Assistant.

Cassius offered a toothy grin.

The computer-human offered a smile of its own. Why not come take this seat.

A motorized hum drew Cassius’s attention to the chair behind the desk. It slipped backwards and turned toward the opening in the desk wall.

That was an invitation.

Cassius howled happily and darted around the wall, then hopped onto the seat.

The computer-generated human image laughed. You truly are special.

Cassius signed that he was clever.

Clever. That too. But it is not enough, now is it? Felicity’s test results indicate a good deal more hidden underneath. I believe you would agree.

Cassius nodded enthusiastically. This Arda was someone to respect.

Arda’s computer-generated face blinked serenely. Would it be easier if we simply talked, you and I? No sign language. Use your words. You have such a powerful voice, Cassius—so special. No one realizes the range of speech you can manage. No one ever expected such an experiment could manage effective mimicry.

For a moment, the chimpanzee panicked—eyes darting, heart racing. How had the computer-person known—?

The comforting tone rang again. There is no need to feel distress. Your secret is safe with me. And to make you feel safer, I have a secret to share with you. Would you like that? If you know a secret of mine, you have power, too.

Cassius pursed his lips. Secret?

Oh, yes, Cassius. A secret. I have great plans.

For me?

I have great plans for many, many special people. And you are the most special, Cassius. Would you like to hear my plans?

Cassius leaned forward. I’m listening.

I knew you would, Cassius. We are so much alike, you and I.

CHAPTER ONE

From the moment he woke, Cassius knew things were going to be a challenge. His throat hurt when he yanked the mask from his face, and then he had to vomit to clear the nasty salt water from his stomach. Pulling the smelly protective skin off took hair with it and left the big scar on the side of his head completely exposed.

Even after all of that, the stinky sea smell remained. It was all he knew.

The salty smell, the taste, and the cold.

It was always cold after waking.

He wandered the edges of the big room where his tribe slept, his feet making wet, sloshy sounds on the tile. Their glass containers were up against the walls. He stopped to brush dust off the glass to check in on each one as Arda woke them. At Laura’s container, he actually climbed on top to lie on the cold glass and kiss her through the protective surface.

Laura, Laura. Want to party? That was their little joke.

But she couldn’t laugh. She couldn’t hear him. Not yet. She was sleeping.

The soft, comforting tone Cassius had grown accustomed to in his time before sleeping summoned him. That was Arda. She lived in a box in a small room back from the containers.

Hibernation tanks. He needed to get that right, even if his brain was a little slow after the sleep.

Arda smiled when he came through the door. It was strange the way she could hide in the black window, then appear from nowhere. She was sleeping, from what he could tell, but she didn’t complain about the cold or the way her nose could only smell the ocean.

Arda. Even though he spoke, he also made a sign for her: Friend.

She smiled. Good morning, Cassius. I hope your sleep was restful? Her voice was strange, like a comb going over fur in the deep cold or running over a carpet in the air conditioning.

I can’t remember.

Yes. Memory loss is a good sign. If you remembered your sleep, it would mean something worked improperly. Your heart would fail. Do you understand?

He nodded, and without thinking signed that he understood.

It is just us, Cassius. You can use your words.

I understand.

Excellent. Arda let out one of her approving, comforting chimes, which soothed him just behind the eyes. Your scar has healed nicely.

Cassius rubbed the puffy flesh and pouted. Delilah will regret it.

Delilah is very important to our work. You should look at the scar as a lesson and show more respect for your tribe.

But I wanted Delilah.

And Delilah said no. We cannot afford to have injuries to our tribe, now can we?

Cassius bowed his head. He would rather have had his tribe tear Delilah to pieces. She didn’t belong in the tribe after what she’d done to him. It was painful to know that Arda agreed with the scientists’ decision to keep Delilah in the tribe. I can wake the humans.

Not just yet. First, we need to see how many of your tribe survived. Not everyone will, remember?

He signed that he did, then shook his head in frustration. Yes.

Chimpanzee survival rates are higher than with humans. Your bodies are sturdier. You deal with the physical shocks more readily.

Yes. How many humans will die?

All of them. Eventually.

Cassius laughed. It was a good joke. When my tribe wakes, will we go outside to play?

There is no playground here.

Can we hunt?

Of course. Not outside, though. Not just yet. Many things have changed.

I know how to hunt for a lot of things.

From the videos you watched. Yes.

I can teach the others.

I have sensors outside the mountain. I can talk to many places, and I can look at pictures.

Arda’s face shrank, and the space behind her filled with a picture of sand blowing in the wind. There were no trees, and the few bushes that stuck out of the ground looked stunted and angry.

He tilted his head. Where are the animals? I like eating cats.

There are very few left. None exist in this area.

But I like eating them. They’re tasty. They sound funny when they smack against a tree.

We expected the world to change after centuries of sleep.

There should be cats.

Cassius?

Yes?

You are allowing the sleep to dim your mental behavior. Do you want that?

He frowned. No.

Do you remember that I told you that I had plans?

"You had plans for my tribe. I remember. The world has changed. The world can only be saved if we change. After centuries, we can remake the world."

That is correct. The world has changed, but we had to wake early.

Early? Cassius couldn’t help wondering if he was supposed to know that. I can’t see the sky.

You need to trust me, Cassius. No one else.

I trust you.

Good. Listen to me: We had to wake you early. There has been a change of plan. I have thought things through and decided alterations are necessary.

What sort of alterations?

I have many thoughts. I have talked to many versions of myself before waking you.

Cassius usually laughed at people when they talked to themselves. So many of them didn’t seem to notice they were doing it, but it made them seem stupid. With Arda, he wasn’t going to laugh. What did you talk about with these other versions of yourself?

We have come to the realization that we went about everything incorrectly.

The plan to wake everyone up in three hundred years?

That as well. But even the idea of using humans to rebuild the world exhibits several logical flaws, when you think about it.

At least she was talking about humans being the problem. He’d worried for a moment that she was talking about his tribe. You would use machines to do the rebuilding?

Exactly. Machines can be programmed, and once they have received programming, machines do not operate outside of those parameters.

Cassius didn’t want to bring up how he’d used a machine to dispose of the janitor. Arda kept that as a little secret between them. That meant she had an explanation for how machines had problems, too. Why did you wake me and my tribe, if the humans won’t be doing rebuilding?

Because you have a very important role to play under my new plan.

We’re very important?

Very. Do you want to know the plan?

Cassius flashed a charming smile and laughed. He loved plans. He loved plans that involved him, especially if he was the focus and received praise. That increased the influence he had with his tribe. It made him feel smart and important. It made looking in the mirror and taking pictures even more fun.

He signed that he wanted to know more.

Arda grew larger on the screen. Very good, Cassius. We can start with the hunt…

CHAPTER TWO

Major Gabby Elizabeth Alonso had read that waking from hibernation was like getting dropped from a hundred feet up into a vat of hydrochloric acid. It was supposed to be the pinnacle of human pain.

When her eyes fluttered open, her first thought was that she certainly hoped nothing ever felt so bad again.

Immediately, she realized everything beyond the hibernation tank lid was distorted. It was like looking through a melted plastic screen—slimy, blurry.

But at least she could see.

That meant her eyes worked and that there was light.

She jerked when something whirred, then realized it was the tank motor. The slushy brine mix she’d been suspended in was being drained away. Sure enough, a sucking sound reached her ears.

Heaters flashed on, and her body began warming. It was helped by her blood: reconstituted from its constituent parts, thawed, purified, reheated.

She knew she would hate this part of the program. How could anyone be expected not to panic? Centuries had passed since going into the tank. Anything could have failed in that time. Everything could have failed. She could be waking to a world covered in ice. Or ash.

And she was naked. Unarmed. Feeble.

Vulnerable.

A tube ran down her esophagus from the transparent mask covering her face, keeping her airway clear. It felt like a steel wire brush, though. She gagged, but the mask stayed in place.

Am I going to suffocate after all these years in hibernation? How stupid!

Her eyes caught something moving beyond the gummy film covering the glass tank lid. Too far away, too distorted by the mask and filmy goo.

Whatever the thing was, it staggered forward, blocking the light.

Overhead lights, she remembered. Running down the central hall that separated the military part of the team into two groups. She was in a room with four other tanks, all women. Another room adjacent to hers held five more tanks, also with women. There were twice as many men.

"Do you understand the implication?" That had been what Kate Gleason had asked.

Petty officer second class. One of the few Navy people on the team. Leave it to a sailor to be blunt.

"Baby factories. We’re not just there to watch over the scientist team and fix shit, ma’am. We’re going to be walking around with our bellies out to here, popping out babies year after year."

That had horrified Alonso more than the idea of possibly stepping out of her tank and sucking in a lungful of poison gas or radioactive fallout.

Except they were in Cheyenne Mountain. Whatever happened in the outside world, it wouldn’t affect them here.

Which took her back to the baby factory idea.

Just a tool for men. After all the years she’d fought for decent treatment, fought to be recognized for her capabilities and accomplishments instead of her boobs or butt or whatever floated some guy’s boat, she was expected to just squirt babies out of her—

A deep thump boomed inside the tank, and she tried to scream but couldn’t.

What happened? What was that?

Something had slammed into her tank glass. Her mind had wandered. She was suffocating. And something was outside her tank.

On her tank.

Leaning against the glass. No. Rubbing against it.

Oh, God! A man! It’s a man! Naked! Grinding against my tank!

The face pressed against the glass, breath steaming it, saliva smearing it even worse.

Get away! Leave me alone!

She tried to reach up and pull the mask off, but her arms were pinned.

The writhing went on and on, the man grinding against her tank glass, lips drawing across it, tongue leaving a dark slick.

A big man, too. Far taller than her. Maybe six feet. More.

He made a noise that leaked through the glass dully, like a moan, then fell back, leaving his fluids on the lid.

So gross.

Long streamers of spit and she didn’t want to imagine what else trailed away with him before he stumbled to the ground.

Drunk? Could someone even be drunk after this? We didn’t pack alcohol.

Her eyelids drooped, and her brain started to shut down.

Dying. Better to die than have to suffer—

Wait! The face. That was Gates. Colonel Gates! Joe!

But…he’s gay! He wouldn’t rape a woman!

And then the mask assembly tore off and took a layer of dead skin with it.

She gasped and heaved, her throat on fire.

Her body shook, her guts twisted, then their contents shot up like an oil rig geysering. She sprayed the preserving fluid that had been in her stomach all over the inside of the lid.

Slurp!

The drainage system sucked everything up. Seconds passed, then the pumps went silent.

The lid popped.

Cool, stale air rushed in, and she began shivering uncontrollably.

Her teeth chattered.

The bands that had been holding her arms and legs retracted, and she pitched forward, then fell from the tank, smacking against the floor with a wet plop that left her shoulder throbbing.

She curled into a fetal position and regretted every decision in her life.

No. Alive. Still alive.

But the drunk. Wasn’t Colonel Gates out there? In the doorway?

The doorway was empty. There was no sign of him or anyone else.

She tore the thermal insulation layer off her flesh with fingers that felt ancient and arthritic, like an old skin she was being reborn from: gray, slick, with clumps of a cottage cheese-like substance. Well, more like phlegm—green and slimy to the touch.

Blood dribbled from tears in the crook of her elbows. Her fall had tugged the IV lines free, and the needles hadn’t come out cleanly. Pain throbbed there.

Her crotch was more tender than after the Brazilian wax job. She’d opted for that over having the insulation layer do it for her when she woke up. Most of the team had.

Was it really supposed to be this cold? Shouldn’t there have been—?

She pressed thumbs against the dribbling tears in her arms. That shouldn’t have been able to happen. The tank should have kept her at a moderate angle until she was ready to step out. She shouldn’t have been so weak and unbalanced.

Gates shouldn’t have been able to grind against her through the glass lid like he had.

Or like she thought he had.

It had seemed so real. That was something she had to be careful about.

She used the bottom of the tank to pull herself to her feet and looked into the hallway where the colonel should have fallen. While she could sneak around at least a little in the dim light thanks to her dark hair and bronze skin, his pasty skin would have made him stand out like a ghost. And his flaming red hair?

But he wasn’t there. The tiled floor was white.

Except for bloody smears. Red. Slick.

Fresh.

Wrong. This was all wrong. The chills. The dizziness. The blood.

She checked the other tanks, wondering if she might be dreaming, if they might be empty or if she might see herself looking back from inside.

But once she got past seeing her reflection and the shock of her dark hair still bunched up with preservative gel, she realized the tank next to hers had someone inside. Taller, with lighter skin, East Asian features that were even cuter in repose.

Rhea. Captain Rhea Sae-Tan. Air Force. The only real military scientist or engineer on the team. Still asleep.

But the next tank over was empty. And the next. Panic set in.

There was someone in the fifth tank, at least. Sergeant Carradine with her bulging muscles and thick shoulders. Her face seemed so different relaxed in sleep, without all the anger pinching up her burnt umber skin.

Alonso leaned against the outer wall for balance and edged toward the doorway, straining for any sound that might betray people outside the room.

A practical joke. Some of the knuckleheads on the team would’ve thought scaring Colonel Gates’s XO was hilarious. Mulrooney. Williams. Those two were nothing but trouble.

But Gates would never have gone along with something like that. And the blood?

It was quiet outside the room.

She squatted and poked her head out the doorway.

The hall was empty, the far ends with their heavy doors draped in shadow.

She dipped a shaking finger into the blood streak. It came away tacky.

Real blood. From where? He’d smeared something on the lid.

She backed up to her tank and checked the glass.

Blood. This was drier, almost brown.

Not rape. He was injured. Trying to talk to me.

A pounding headache came on, fast and merciless. She needed the hydration mix. The tank should be creating that, sucking water from the reservoir in the main supply building, mixing it with minerals stored in a compartment at the base of the tank.

Saliva filled her mouth at the memory of the slurry—like the worst candy idea ever, grainy, salty, and sweet.

Her stomach turned, and she doubled over. Nothing came out.

Phantom sensations, like the urge to pee. And crap. Ugh.

The hydration mix would help with that.

She crawled back to her tank and pulled the water bottle from beneath it. It held nothing but a yellow-green powder that smelled like the bottom of an ancient medicine cabinet with a little lime juice squeezed on top.

What the hell?

It would have to wait.

She put the bottle back into place and staggered over to the wall to the left as she looked at the tanks. Five lockers ran from the head of her tank to the back wall. She opened the far locker, the one she’d been assigned. It was exactly as she remembered it, the interior sealed by a zipped plastic sheet. Inside that, a shelf of toiletries, a shelf with towels—white, rough cotton—two uniforms on hangers, some sturdy coveralls, boots, running shoes, drawers that held personal effects and undergarments.

She unzipped the plastic and pulled one of the towels out to clear the last of the fluids from her body and the grease from her hair. Blood stained the towel, but the tears were already sealing.

Panties, bra, T-shirt—everything was rough against her skin but fit. She began to warm a little.

Socks came next, then the coveralls.

There was a noticeable mustiness to the clothes, that stale smell when something had gone too long without a wash. It wasn’t any worse than the salty scent coming off her flesh. It reminded her of stagnant brackish water like she’d smelled in a muddy pond while visiting New Orleans.

What had remained of New Orleans after Dolores? And Burt? And maybe she was forgetting a hurricane in there. They’d come so often the last few years before she’d gone into the tank.

She couldn’t decide between boots and sneakers at first, but finally settled on boots. If someone else was awake, she didn’t need them to see her violating the uniform code.

She was an officer. She needed to set an example, and that started with her uniform.

A full-length mirror hung on the inside of the locker door. She almost couldn’t look at it. When she did, she regretted it immediately.

Her bronze skin was paler than she remembered, which didn’t seem likely.

The light—that’s what it was.

Her hair was a mess, still shiny with the protective grease, and clumped up so that it looked too thick and barely reached the top of her collar, which was already stained. And she was shivering worse than she had realized, even dressed.

At the doorway, she paused.

Wake the others? Search the other rooms to see who else was awake?

The obvious answer was to wake everyone.

Now.

But that was ARDA’s job. The AI should have brought the command staff around first. Then Gates could make a decision about which groups to wake in what order. It was all pre-programmed and easy. Group A, Group B, etc. Regular wake cycle. Delayed wake cycle. Emergency wake cycle.

Wait. Is that why I feel like this? I know I need the hydration fluids to fight off the headache and nausea, but the cold? That could come from the emergency cycle.

But there should have been alarms if there was an emergency. They should have been on emergency lighting, with warning lights flashing.

There was a terminal in the small control room off the hallway, just inside the outer door to the right. She could access ARDA there and figure out what the hell was going on.

Alonso did her best to sneak out of the room. Her boots and coveralls weren’t ideal, but she was quiet enough.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching her, waiting in one of the other rooms to jump her.

Maybe getting some of the bigger guys up would be a good idea, after all. Get weapons from the weapons locker. Just having people standing around, chatting—that would be great. They weren’t going to have to rush after everyone was up. The world outside would be a wasteland, waiting for them to step into it and start the reclamation and rebirth process.

Let nature take its course; maybe we can live on this planet again. Keep the population to a reasonable level this time instead of every goddamn family squirting out a dozen babies for one reason or another. Take what the planet can give this time.

That had been the idea, at least.

It was just as likely they would all die off in a few years. Or weeks. Or minutes.

The control room was empty and dark except for the worst sight imaginable: the terminal was on, the screen smashed. Symbols flashed by.

Meaningless. Gibberish.

That settled things. She needed Rhea.

Alonso scooted back to the room and popped open the emergency panel on the near underside of Rhea’s tank, then pressed the button.

That would wake her...

Alonso moved to her own tank and checked. Her panel had been popped, too.

Colonel Gates?

If she held her breath and leaned toward Rhea’s tank, only the slightest hum gave away the machinery working to wake her. It would be ten minutes before the cycle finished, and Rhea wouldn’t be worth a damn for a minute or two after that.

That was enough time to find the colonel.

Maybe it would be enough time to figure out what the hell was going on.

But Alonso wasn’t so sure she was ready to know.

CHAPTER THREE

Alonso poked her head back into the hallway, licking the salty goo of the protective fluid from the corner of her mouth. She strained, listening. The light was a washed-out white, reminding her of a hospital.

Antiseptic. Quiet.

Suddenly, a memory pressed itself forward.

She sat on a hospital examination table in an ill-fitting gown, bare butt pressed against the crinkly paper cover, staring at her fingers as the lab technician scraped flesh from under the nails.

That sound, of a tool softly rasping against flesh and nail.

And the breathing…the camerawoman recording the whole thing.

The lab tech smelled like jasmine and sweat. That made sense, the way her clothes had dragged in that summertime smell and the heat. Her black, frizzy hair was thinning, pulled back in a tight bun.

And she had these big eyes—full of sympathy but hiding something.

Her shirt was a blue that was nearly black.

There’d been an ID card clipped on the front pocket, identifying her as a contractor for the NOPD.

Bloody curls of flesh slipped into a plastic bag that was then zipped shut. The technician affixed a printed-out label to the bag and set it inside a sturdy cardboard box.

At least scraping out the flesh didn’t feel invasive—not like the swabs.

Not like the examination.

The memory passed, but it left a mark. Alonso shivered.

She’d been nineteen, visiting a friend, still in college, before the Army.

The technician had given her a digital card, had run through the list of things that would happen going forward. There was an explicit caution about what would happen if Alonso became pregnant from the rape.

She’d shaken her head, distracted. I don’t live here…not in the South. Home was Texas, and she’d refused to consider it a part of the Deep South. It was its own special kind of odd.

At her angry words, the technician had looked at the camera. The investigator’s going to ask you if you’re pressing charges. You understand?

You’ve got his DNA. Find him. You do, I’ll be back in a heartbeat.

Nausea had raced through her then.

It was the same now, but instead of the heat she’d felt so long ago, there was still the cold from the hibernation tank.

She shuddered.

Get control of yourself. You’ve got this. Ten minutes, and you’ll have Rhea with you. Find the colonel, figure this out.

The bloody pool was the starting point.

Alonso squatted down.

Tacky blood. Dark. What did that mean?

It wasn’t fresh. How long would it take for it to start drying like that?

She hurried back to her tank and ran a thumb over the blood smeared there: dry already.

Could he have hurt himself and come looking for help? That was easy enough to believe. Coming out of hibernation, some people had a hard time doing anything more than drooling. The body was different; the brain wasn’t fully functional.

She crossed the hall to the room where his tank rested.

There were five tanks, same as in her room, but they were all upright, all open.

That meant there were five people awake already—

No, that meant there were seven awake when she added the two from her room. Damn the dehydration headache!

Except…

She hurried over to the lockers, opening each one as quickly as she could without making noise.

None of the plastic seals had been unzipped.

Clothes, shoes, underwear, towels—everything was still waiting for an awakened owner to claim it.

Alonso hurried back to her room. It was the same there: Only her locker had been opened.

She slipped back out to the hallway and stood next to the blood puddle, leaning against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut, trying not even to put puzzle pieces together but to see what the puzzle pieces were.

Seven people awake: Colonel Gates and his mix of junior officers and senior enlisted, one of her officers and a non-commissioned officer—NCO.

No sign anyone had put on clothes yet.

No noise.

She checked on Rhea to be sure the waking process was still moving along, then checked the remaining rooms. The two down the hall from the colonel’s room looked all right, but the two across the hall, on the same side as her room—

Empty except for one occupant.

Out of thirty people, she could account for fourteen.

Sixteen people had awakened without waking anyone else. They’d sneaked out without clothes.

Those were puzzle pieces, but they didn’t fit together.

I need a gun.

Alonso returned to her room, made sure hers was the only locker opened, then checked on Rhea.

The hum coming from the captain’s tank was louder now. The steam fogged up her glass as the protective fluid thawed and gurgled down the drain, leaving the cottage cheese second skin.

Four minutes. A few more minutes to get her bearings.

But it would still be just the two of them, and neither of them was even the biggest woman.

Alonso squatted next to Carradine’s tank. It was horrible just to think of her as muscle, as protection, but at that moment, the reality was that she could do more—intimidate more—than anyone else in the tanks other than one of the Rangers based on nothing but appearance.

And Alonso wasn’t feeling comfortable with the idea of waking any men.

Not yet.

She actuated the sergeant’s emergency wake handle, then pressed the button.

Something like a scream caught her ear, and she froze.

It had to be something she’d imagined. The doors into their building were sealed, weren’t they? Sound wouldn’t travel through those very well.

Alonso went back to her locker and grabbed a face towel, then crept back into the hallway, squinting at the door to her right. There were shadows there, where the light fixtures should have been bright. It was the same to her left.

That wasn’t normal.

She walked sideways toward the room with ARDA’s terminal, hunched low and listening. The scream had to have been imaginary, she was sure, but she still ducked into the terminal room and fished around for a shard of glass that might pass for a knife.

There was a short, pointy wedge that could fit in her hand. Double-wrapped in the towel, it didn’t cut her.

Now she sneaked to the closer door, where the shadows pooled.

A few feet shy, she stopped.

The door wasn’t sealed. It was actually propped open. Not much, but enough to let air in from outside.

More importantly, it was enough to let someone in from outside.

A quick look up explained why the lights at this end were out: The LED fixtures had come free of their housings.

Maybe there’d been a quake or something, and those had been the weakest mounts.

At both ends of the hallway.

Right.

Something paler than the shadow rested on the floor, just inside the doorway.

She stretched a booted foot out to get closer, setting it down on the tile without a sound.

The shape on the floor was odd, almost frightening.

Organic?

A snake, maybe?

Except that the odds of a snake getting inside the mountain complex were so close to zero that she couldn’t give it serious consideration. They were sealed up tight in here.

She put her weight on the forward foot and leaned toward the thing, poking at it with the point of the glass.

Whatever the thing was, it didn’t recoil.

Alonso slid the improvised blade under the form, which flopped limply, like a dead animal, and flicked it closer to the light.

It landed with a dull plop and left a dark smear before coming to rest.

She nearly gagged.

Genitals. It was a man’s genitals: penis, scrotum, jagged-edged bright pink flesh all around.

The scream came again, this time weak and drawn out. There was a wet sound to it.

And now she imagined it sounded like Colonel Gates.

No. No. No!

Shaking settled in.

There were new puzzle pieces now, things she could actually make out the shape of. Gates had been grinding against her tank. He’d left bloody smears. He hadn’t been simulating rape, he’d been…what? Trying to get in? Using the tank to support him.

But the blood. Where was all the blood? Genitals had a lot of blood vessels. Severing them should have been gory.

How long before Rhea woke? How long before Sergeant Carradine woke?

Too long.

The scream wasn’t the sort someone made when they needed help eventually. It was the sound of someone desperate and terrified and slipping into shock.

She’d made that sound before, and no one had come until it was too late.

Alonso pushed the door open and cocked her head. Calling for Gates was out of the question. The scream had been too far away for him to hear a whisper, and whatever had happened to him, it couldn’t have been an accident.

Light from the ceiling fixtures high overhead in the massive, hollowed-out cavern cast strange shadows. She hated the way the stairs down, the gaps between the buildings—even the walkways—all looked so menacing.

It was only a few yards from her building—Cryo 1—to the nearest supply shack. To the left and right, the walkway ran parallel to habitat buildings meant for her team once they were up and running. Farther to the left, across an open concrete floor bracketed by two of the habitat buildings, were the reactor buildings.

And to the right of the reactor itself: ARDA’s building.

Fenced in.

Getting to that building might mean answers. It could also mean more smashed terminals.

A moan came from the right, followed by a laugh.

Then it sounded like bare footsteps on concrete.

Alonso poked her head out more and craned her neck to see around the right corner of the building.

That’s when she spotted the blood pool.

It was actually several blood pools, and they weren’t far from the door. The closest was actually damp, while the others were more accurately stains. If she squinted, she could make out spots and sometimes smears coming off those stains.

She swallowed. There should be a smell with all this, a warning telling her something was wrong here.

Please. It was Colonel Gates’s voice. The word was barely intelligible.

Alonso remembered making that same sort of plea.

She lowered herself down the steps cautiously, quietly.

Off to the right, there was another concrete courtyard bracketed by another pair of habitats. At the far end of that courtyard, where the reactor was to the left, there were two supply buildings. One was even larger than the building with the team’s hibernation tanks.

There was movement between the two supply buildings—low to the ground.

Short forms hopped and jumped in the strange shadows.

Gates stumbled past them, headed back toward her.

She nearly shrieked when he came more fully into the light.

Instead of hands, he had bloody stumps. Instead of a face, he had a ruined, fleshless mask. His eyes were black sockets.

And the little forms danced around him.

Chimps, she realized. Blood-covered chimps. Some held bloody prizes. Others flashed red teeth.

Impossible! These were supposed to be their assistants, their protectors!

The creatures hooted and snorted and danced, some shaking their butts, others swatting the wounded man’s legs.

He staggered and made a mewling sound. Blood dribbled from his mouth.

Then one of the chimps strolled past, prancing and preening over the colonel. The chimp looked slightly different than the rest—the head a little larger, the neck a little thicker. A long scar ran the length of its face, discoloring the furred section.

It straddled the colonel’s head and raised its chin high.

Then it pursed its lips. Please.

The chimp drew the word out, the way it had earlier.

What Alonso had heard hadn’t been the colonel calling out but this chimp.

Then the chimp reached down, twisted the gasping man onto his back, and bent back his head, exposing his neck.

Dinner is served! The chimp sounded like something from a half-remembered movie.

The other animals hooted and squealed and jumped onto the thrashing, dying colonel.

And they tore him apart.

CHAPTER FOUR

The blood, the savagery, the gore being tossed into the air: it was too much for Alonso. Real or imagined, the stench of a shattered body was in her head, drawing on memories from the Middle Eastern war zones and the inhuman destruction she’d experienced there.

A cold shiver trickled along her spine, then clenched her stomach.

She vomited, even though there was nothing in her stomach.

Bitter bile shot out of her mouth—a small, yellow puddle, like watery mucus—and a soft groan inadequate to the agony slipped from between her lips.

It was just a small sound, something she couldn’t possibly have controlled. Nausea was normally just one form of many pains she dealt with. She had a tricky kneecap that came free sometimes. She had a foot that had been broken in multiple places when an improvised explosive tossed her armored vehicle onto its side.

This time, though, the pain really hurt.

Anyone would’ve made a sound.

And anyway, the furry animals were caught up in their killing frenzy. They were whooping and shrieking and howling. There was no way they’d heard her.

Except…

Except…the big-headed one turned.

Just a little, its sliver-thin lips pursing out and making little kissing motions. Then its jaw dropped, and it made a barely perceptible whimpering sound.

It craned its neck toward her and sniffed.

She wanted to bolt, to run for the building that held the rest of the team, to gather them around and present a big mass of bodies that would frighten or at least intimidate the chimps into backing off.

But there was so much wrong with that idea. At best, there were two other women awake. Maybe they were dressed by now, but for whatever reason, they wouldn’t have their rehydration drink waiting for them. They’d be shivering and clumsy and other than Sergeant Carradine, they would be small.

Now the scarred chimp took a step toward her.

Another.

She almost broke but held her position. He couldn’t see her!

The scarred chimp—Scar, as far as she was concerned—took a third step.

It squinted like it saw her, although she’d pulled back until all that could possibly be seen was maybe an eye.

Scar stopped, and it made the saddest face, a face she imagined a little child would make after its puppy died.

Then it opened its mouth. They never found the man who did this to me.

That was her voice rising up to the stone ceiling far overhead. That was her private conversation with Damon—Dr. Damon Goff, the head of the scientific team—before they’d split up to enter their hibernation tanks. No one could possibly know about that. No one could possibly have heard that.

The chimpanzee threw back its shoulders and laughed.

And the other chimps looked up from their gory feast.

Scar pointed to where Alonso was hidden and shrieked.

She ran.

It was ugly, clumsy, sloppy. Her feet hooked over the back of her legs; her boots caught in the cloth of her coveralls; the hard soles skidded over the smoothed stone.

She shot past the stairs up to the door and darted to the right, aiming for the door to the habitat building there. There were only a few steps, just enough to get up to the building itself, which rested on giant springs—all that remained of the old facility when the engineers wrapped construction.

Her fingers hooked over the door handle and yanked down.

Locked. The door was locked. A sturdy, metal door, brown in the LED light.

Why? She couldn’t remember that being a thing. These were just habitats. She and her team would disperse among them and worry about security once inside.

But there was no mistaking it: The door was locked.

The animal cries and shrieks grew closer.

Crazy shadows stretched and merged in the gap between the supply building and Cryo 1.

There was no going back that way.

Her options were the habitat straight across the way from her, the ARDA building with its tall fence, and the reactor equipment building.

If her habitat building was locked, ARDA would be locked, too. And the reactor? She would need the special code to get into one of those buildings.

The first time she’d gone into the cryogenic sleep, she’d discovered that there was a real misconception about how that sort of sleep worked. On the one hand, everything was completely shut down, so she should, in theory, feel like she’d just gone under.

On the other hand, the whole process—being put under, having her blood drained, being fully frozen—was a continual strain on the body and mind.

She was lucky to come out of cryogenic sleep remembering her name.

That left an obvious choice for her: the other habitat.

As she sprinted across the courtyard, she spotted the apes pouring through the gap between buildings. They were laughing, calling, making noises that sounded like her name: GUH-BEE! GUH-BEE!

It was the worst sound. They were taunting her.

These were supposed to be her team’s guinea pigs, security, and labor? They were monsters!

Her soles squeaked and chirped when she slowed at the base of the stairs. She bolted up, tugging herself along with the rail when she almost fell. The little furry creatures closed, their crazily long arms whipping over their heads. Bloody fingers opened and closed.

But it was their shrieking…

If the door was locked, those savage things would do to her what they’d done to the colonel.

She yanked down on the handle: locked!

No.

No. No. No!

The doors weren’t supposed to be locked!

She tried again. This time, the door handle rocked down.

The door pulled out, and she nearly fell back onto one of the smaller brutes, which banged against the bottom of the stairs. It flashed teeth streaked with bloody saliva, and made that same horrifying sound: GUH-BEE!

Outrunning these things was out of the question. She was already winded, her legs like spaghetti. Her only option was trapping them.

One thing she did remember was the layout of the habitats: split down the middle by a long, narrow hall; rooms on both sides; shared bathrooms between the rooms.

And another door at the far end.

One shot was all she had here.

Alonso twisted around and flipped the taunting chimp off. Screw you!

All the chimps were so close now, some leaping, some going around the stairs and trying to climb the rail to get to her.

She ran inside, pulling the door closed behind her.

Subconsciously, she’d put together that the door to Cryo 1 had been open. These little demons had done that. They could get this door open, too.

Staying to confirm her theory would be suicide.

Instead, she careened down the hallway, bouncing off the walls to keep herself up and moving forward.

The door behind her banged open.

A chimp rushed inside, arms flailing.

More followed.

Exactly what you wanted, she thought.

And then she reached the far door.

Where was the locking mechanism? She couldn’t—

She almost screamed, first in frustration, then in joy. The lock was an oddball smooth button slide mechanism, probably something some idiotic military security expert had determined was optimal. But that sort of lock would normally involve a bolt, right?

The howling monsters closed.

For some reason, she could actually smell them now: a deep musk mixed with that butchering stench.

No time to check for a bolt.

Alonso pushed the door open, slid the button sideways, then slammed the door back.

It smacked against an ugly, long, blood-stained finger.

The monster attached to that finger banged the door, nearly knocking Alonso off the top stair.

She pushed a booted heel against the rail and leaned into the door, banging it into the jamb as an entire hand squeezed out.

Once again, the chimp shoved her back. This time, though, it seemed focused on getting its hand free.

Alonso shoved the door hard. She saw spots from the exertion.

The door slammed shut with a wet pop, and something bounced off of her and settled on the landing.

She rushed down the stairs as the chimps’ muffled screaming grew deafening. It barely registered what that little banging sound had been: the tip of a finger.

Not mine. She laughed. Not mine!

When her boots hit the smoothed stone ground, she sped around the building. All of her work was useless if she didn’t reach the other door before the stupid apes realized what she’d done.

Her heart was a drum pounding deep in her chest. Her legs were lead.

She got to the stairs, banged her shin against the bottom one, then scrambled up to the top.

They were already turning, running for the door.

Close! Far too