On Burning Sands: Burning Sands, #9

By P R Adams

Wheels within wheels.

 

Rescuing the survivors of Nellis Station should have been the end of Reggie Lee's efforts. It's only the beginning.

 

Just as he finds the last of his people a new home, along comes another threat.

 

If he chooses to ignore the threat, he can spare the lives of his loved ones, but many others will die. Can he turn away from those who've turned away from him, or will that make him even worse than those he despises?

 

This thrilling post-apocalyptic survival tale concludes with the final battle for humanity's fate On Burning Sands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Promethean Tales
• Release date: Dec 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215531389

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Csaba had first considered the inside of the facility a maze, the connecting tunnels and dropdown doors presenting hopeless twists and turns that would doom even a genius such as himself should power ever fail. Now, with his eyes closed against the soft glow of the evening lighting, he navigated those same tunnels with ease. His slippered feet made only the softest whisper on the smooth composite slab, and those sounds were readily absorbed by the even smoother walls.

How many years had it taken him to see this not as his prison but his home? Too many. Wasted years, lost to anger.

He turned, and a door rose where a moment before there had been only wall. The new tunnel stretched only twenty feet or so before opening into a wide chamber where rugs covered the floor. Here, the lighting and the floor cover combined with the furniture to cast the walls in a soothing blue, an accent to their pale blue-gray coloring.

Resting on one of the wingback chairs, silvery robes draped over the soft leather, was a slender man of high brow and spiked, black hair. His elbows rested on the arms of the seat, and his long, slender fingers steepled in front of his equally long, petulant face.

Csaba bowed in acknowledgment, breathing in the pleasant caramel and chocolate aromas his comrade favored, as well as the faint must of well-used leather and the hint of woodsmoke from a glowing fire. This chamber was always pleasant, soft arias oozing in from the shadows and just the right level of warmth for those who lived underground.

When the bow was returned with the incline of a head, Csaba moved a little closer. Andre. You have no doubt wrestled to contain your excitement.

Excitement? Really, Csaba.

The seated man shook his head, rested his hands against the chair, then pushed himself to a standing position, advancing until his long frame towered over Csaba’s compact one. An outsider might see an attempt at intimidation in the taller man’s action, but there was no projection of physical threat or indeed any perception of it.

After a moment, Csaba strolled over to the spacious love seat opposite the abandoned chair and threw his arms over the back so that the silver material of his gown concealed much of the leather. Second thoughts haunt you about the decision, then?

While the smaller man stroked his pale, blond close-cut beard and mustache, the taller man busied himself with slow strides the width of the chamber. He stopped before the fireplace, extending hands to warm himself. What would you do with it? Bringing a robot in amongst us carries great risk.

So close to the AI, merely breathing carries great risk.

That produced a grunt from the black-haired man. There was no denying the tyranny of their environment, the problems created by proximity to such a threat.

Still, Andre stared into the flames, silver eyes glowing. You would strike against the machine.

Should the opportunity arise, we would be foolish to not capitalize.

Capitalizing on opportunities for war is what brought us to this sorry moment. The taller man wheeled away from the flames, no longer comforted by their glow. We have survived for decades undetected by that meddling computer. Changed as we are, we could survive as many years still.

By cowering? By surrendering to its supposed superiority? By prostrating ourselves before it and blubbering for it to exhibit mercy? Andre, have you learned nothing surviving in its shadow? That cowering little robot carried a payload unlike any we could have hoped to see in our lifetime. It brought us a gift our strongest conjuring could not have summoned.

Listen to you. Have you never heard the tales of our predecessors, of those who toyed with the nuclear fires?

You know better. Oppenheimer might have voiced regret for his accomplishments, but the weapons he and his cohort produced changed the face of the world.

Andre stared at his long, graceful fingers, as if he might imagine blood on his flesh that could never be washed away. Better to seek a different course if we should become bold enough to raise our heads from the holes we have wrapped ourselves in for survival.

Boldness is our only chance for survival without the yoke of that monstrous machine around our throats.

The taller man swatted at the notion, as if to bat it away. Then use it now, get it out of our midst.

When the time is right.

There will never be a right time. Each second it remains, it spreads its toxicity. Use it. Destroy this metal and silicone tyrant and be done with it.

Csaba had barely managed a sigh when the door he’d entered through whispered open again. He turned as his comrade did and saw the willowy shape of Rebecca strolling into the light, brown hair piled high above her moon face. A narrow, full mouth curled into a smile that could stop hearts. Unlike the two pale men, her skin had a golden-brown tone to it, although years away from the sun had drained some of the warmth from her flesh the same as theirs.

Ah, but that flesh was no less amazing to behold. Csaba and Andre both had been the woman’s lover over the years, and their desire for her only exacerbated their already fragile relationship, riven as it was by the competitive prickliness of genius and creative power.

The woman glided to the twin of Andre’s chair and rested a delicate hand upon the top. Have you two devolved into argument already? The robot has barely been shut down, and your shouting can be felt throughout the compound.

Andre winced, then looked away from her. Are we no longer allowed to hold differing views, then?

We all are best served by peace and tranquility. When our minds work together, nothing can stop us.

Csaba pointed to the willowy woman. You see?

His taller comrade grunted, then stared into the dark corners of the room. Use it now. That is all I ask.

It is best used when the optimal solution presents itself.

Delay is the same as death. Weapons pose a threat in proximity, and that robot carries the deadliest of weapons on its back.

Rebecca eased over to the tall man and pressed herself against his stiff back. It is only as you say—a weapon. How is that any more dangerous than having a pistol in the house for self-defense? Many of our comrades did such a thing for years with no great harm.

In answer, the tall man snorted, then considered the woman. Careful that you blind yourself with such beliefs. I tell you that weapon should never have been brought here in the first place. Any delay in removing it from us pushes us closer to a confrontation I would rather we avoid.

Andre, please—

But the tall man was done with the conversation. He strutted past the woman, ignoring Csaba’s smirk and passing through the door into the hallway beyond.

For a moment, the room’s reality wavered, the colors fading, the warmth and crackle of the fireplace becoming only a dream. Csaba closed his eyes, and things returned to their previous condition, although the aromas of caramel and chocolate slowly eased into something closer to pine and sea salt.

He looked Rebecca up and down, wondering who she had chosen of late to spend her evenings with and if that might be open to negotiation. Do not trouble yourself over him. Andre has always been testy over change.

I suppose so. Rebecca bit her bottom lip, then slumped slightly. Promise that the two of you shall find an accommodation?

Have we ever failed to do so?

She smiled, seemed to relax, then gracefully exited the chamber, leaving Csaba to his thoughts and plans. No matter that he projected certainty, he was no fool thriving on misguided notions. Andre was right. Confronting the AI carried many complications and dangers.

And yet, was it not true that the spoils went to the victor?

Unit 105 marched through the unending sands, head swiveling, sensors taking in data from its surroundings. Temperature, wind speed, symmetric objects indicative of manufacture, bipedal shapes indicative of potential human threat. The data stream ran through one series of tests after another, constantly polling against the databases of relevant concern, maintained inside its distributed memory bundles. Although not instantaneous, its processing matched that of most humans if in a highly focused capacity.

That capacity was all that mattered.

Why should a robot concern itself with human emotions, relationships, opinions, and ideas? The robot was purpose-built, meant to complete a specific task and to do so optimally.

This was what drove Unit 105. Where a human might trouble itself over satisfaction and feelings of adequacy, over promotion opportunities and ambitions to power or influence, Unit 105 had only one master and one charter to fulfill.

It noted the increasing temperature of the day, the sixth daily increase in a row, coinciding as it should with the end of the human designation of winter.

Only the human mind could exert itself over such inefficient and arbitrary structures. Dates, times, seasons. To Unit 105, there was the time since its awakening. Everything else was relative to this value. If the sun rested midway overhead, it did not indicate noon but a timestamp forward from the zero hour of its first awareness.

Such efficiency gave the robotic unit all the benefits it could need in executing its task. At that very moment, it turned toward what a human would call south and adjusted course until map data retrieved from compressed storage indicated an unimpeded path to its destination.

Its metal feet sank into the fine powder of sand, a thin sheet of silicone sheathing the fine network of metal joints modeled after human bones. This was not the most efficient method of travel, but it presented opportunities that Unit 105 ranked highly in its assessment. A bipedal form caused human association, an empathic assumption of tribal sameness. Humans suffered this flaw, using similarities in appearance to assume similarities in intent and desire, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation.

Similarities could only exist in silicon and code. The chemical nature of the human mind produced a complex means of perceiving the world and processing its meanings. Better the straightforward binary attribution gifted to the artificial mind. Things either were not or were, a zero or a one.

At this point, the value for identifying three more robots rendered ineffective by limited programming that in itself was undone when the managing AI went offline flipped from a zero to a one: success. Unit 105 had located the three potential robots, each frozen in place, the dulled metal and scraped plastic comprising their exteriors distinctive.

It set each brother robot flat on the sand, then bound them together in serial using wire retrieved from the facility located nearest the previous deposit of slumbering machines.

After testing the knots, the robot wrapped the wire around its waist. The black rubber coating the outside stuck to the robotic metal and plastic.

Then Unit 105 began its trek to the nearest viable signal, where the three automatons would wake and join the ever-growing army crafted to serve the artificial intelligence that was their master.

Gaining the underground presented no more challenge to Haku than testing the air with a flick of his tongue. That flick provided it awareness of the smells of its brothers and sisters, slithering and swimming, climbing and sleeping here in the dark. This subterranean warren of tunnels held welcome sensations of rough, cool stone and the musk of its siblings.

It also presented a prison that limited the capabilities of Haku and his people. This would not do.

The reptile scanned the darkness and craned its neck forward, searching for any hint of threat.

Nothing could have gained these depths but one of his kind. Even if something could somehow manage to find its way through tunnels that dead-ended and twisted back on themselves, down shafts that sometimes rose perfectly straight up, then such an intruder would be quickly sensed by the powerful and deadly guardians that rose from the ranks of his people.

Haku found the last shaft that would take him to the final depths, heard the drip of water, the welcome sharp aroma of fellow reptiles squeezed in tight among each other, and slid down to the bottom level.

An elder minder crawled out of a narrow tunnel, antennae flickering, sending a stern wave of chemicals that stung Haku’s tongue.

Welcome back. Return home. Do not leave again.

The powerful lizard bristled at these commands, at the idea that these minders could act as jailers to their betters.

Shoulders bunched, Haku strode past.

The minder hurried along the ceiling, exuding more chemicals, more orders.

Calm yourself. Listen to the wisdom of design. Accept your position.

Its spiny shell dragged along the much larger lizard’s flesh, as if hoping to penetrate the scaly hide. Some believed the minders had toxins in their bodies, venom that could still the heart and breathing of the mightiest lizard, even one so large as Haku.

He would take no chance. Lightning quick, his powerful hand shot out, grabbed the bug just below the antennae, then slammed it onto the stone floor.

The minder twitched. A yellow-green fluid oozed from a spot where a leg had come free of its body.

A stench filled the air.

Alert! Danger! Rebellion!

Allowing the bug to send that signal into the air had never been part of the plan. Haku had hoped to sneak past, to pass along his assessment of the world above, then to lead his people out to claim their rightful place beneath the sun.

He found a hand-sized stone and slammed it down onto the multi-limbed bug, and its chitinous shell cracked, releasing more of its lifeblood.

Alert! Danger! Rebellion!

Nothing could stop that message now, so Haku seized the broken, twitching limbs still stuck to the body and dragged the bug into a chamber flooded with stagnant water. He hurled the oozing form into the water and listened for the splash of the swimmer.

When waves lapped over the stone edge of the pool, Haku scooped up the water and used it to wash away any sign of the creature’s violent end.

Soon, the stink of the bug was gone, fading among the other strong odors his tongue could pick out.

Satisfied, he hurried down the tunnel. There was work to do now.

CHAPTER TWO

After the blistering trek out to the Frontierza facility, then the brutal time inside the Flagstaff Independence settlement’s dome, Reggie couldn’t help taking a liking to Delilah’s hidden mountain retreat. He could easily get past the hint of animal musk that seemed to linger in the cool air of certain corridors and common rooms. After all, human body odor was equally offensive, and it was something inevitable in day-to-day life since the collapse of civilization. What he couldn’t necessarily get used to, though, was the ominous quiet that seemed to be an integral part of the facility. Only when he was around the last survivors of his settlement did he find the sort of reassuring sounds that told him he was alive and the world hadn’t breathed its final breath.

Not yet, at least.

In the calming white of the galley, Noel bounced on his father’s knee, giggling, eyes bright, chubby cheeks stretched and red. A splotch of orange protein paste discolored the child’s chin, but no one would care about such a trivial thing, not with the joy the boy brought to the world. Even his baby musk carried a joy of its own, compromised though it was by the ointment applied to the rash reddening his bottom and genitals.

Even the children had been touched by the escape across the desert.

That rash was just one in a string of reminders for Reggie of why he felt no shame for what had happened to Flagstaff Independence. Violence wasn’t his first choice as a solution, but the psychotic people of that settlement had left him no other option. Their despicable treatment of the prisoners they’d taken from the burning ruins of Nellis Complex was reason enough for their end.

Had it been reason enough to build a nuclear weapon? He couldn’t be sure.

Finally, his child burped and made a confused face, a pumpkin-colored drool sliding down his face.

Across the table from Reggie, the adoring smile disappeared from Lacey’s full face. The wet nurse pushed up from the bench. Okie. That’s enough playtime. Daddy’s pushed baby a little too hard.

She plucked Noel from Reggie, rested the baby’s diapered butt on her hip with practiced ease, and snatched a napkin from the tabletop to clean away drool and paste in one efficient swipe.

Reggie distractedly spooned some of the paste the young woman had prepared for Noel, then made a face. Um, you sure this is safe for him to eat? It tastes…off.

It’s safe. Said so right on the label. You’re probably just not used to the taste of my milk. She flashed a mischievous grin at Reggie, only to turn away when her own baby woke suddenly in its blankets and began crying. Oh. Time for cleanup. I’ll put the two of them down for a nap after. You let me know if you want seconds on that treat.

There was nothing for Reggie to do but stare after the young woman, jaw dropped, face flushed with heat, as she sashayed from sight. She had far too much confidence for someone carrying a few extra pounds and smelling like baby puke and rash ointment, but that didn’t diminish the sway in her walk.

A spoon dropped against a plastic tray off to his left, drawing him around to catch Saddeka’s cool stare. In some ways, the small woman shared many traits with the younger Lacey—dark eyes, basic size and shape, a round face that could be considered cute if not pretty. In areas that truly mattered, they couldn’t have been further apart. Lacey was barely into adulthood and had never aspired to deep education or sophistication, while Saddeka held multiple advanced degrees, including in diverse biology disciplines, along with her medical degree. While somewhat quiet and introverted, the woman had a confidence of her own, the result of an impressive intellect and years of working as a peer among people with more lauded credentials.

That confidence wasn’t on display at the moment, though. Saddeka’s deep olive skin seemed blotched, as if she might be angry, although her features weren’t pinched. She concerns herself too much with impressing you.

Um… What was he supposed to say? Was she scolding him or the young woman?

At her age, I was well on my way to my first degree.

So much for defending Lacey as a teenager. Society has many roles to fill.

The doctor stared down at the last strip of paste on her plate. In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve always been a good leader, Reggie. Sometimes you can go too far defending your people. Faults are faults.

I understand.

Had there been anyone else present, I wouldn’t have said anything. Saddeka shrugged. Perhaps you should raise your sights is all.

When she rested her big, dark eyes on him, Reggie realized there was indeed subtext to the moment. The doctor had never done well with the men of Nellis, but Reggie hadn’t been sure if that was her orientation or something else. For someone educated as she was, he’d always assumed the rough-and-tumble folk that had made up the bulk of his Alliance presented slim pickings. Seeing the look in her eyes now, he wondered if she’d simply been waiting for a specific person to become available.

He swallowed. I should—

Dr. Reynolds’s tall, slender frame shot through the galley entry. Reggie? My God, I’ve been looking all over for you.

Even though the chemist didn’t seem panicked, Reggie stood quickly enough to cause a throbbing in his still-tender head. He leaned a hand against the white plastic of the bolted-down bench and tabletop unit. What’s going on?

Delilah asked me to find you. The pretty woman glanced over at Saddeka, who hadn’t moved from her seat. You too, Saddeka.

The physician scooped up the last of her paste. For what purpose?

She’s ready for the tour you requested—the labs?

Reggie relaxed. The uplifted chimp had taken her family—that’s what Reggie considered the older Claw known as Moon and the three mokka they’d raised as their own—out on reconnaissance rather than grant a grand tour of the facility. That had been understandable, given the threats the chimpanzee had told Reggie about. Their return meant not only that no imminent threat existed but that he could finally get a look at the rest of the massive facility.

He needed to seek out Sae-Tan and Alonso, to work with the soldiers who’d dedicated themselves to taking down the Dark Angels. That was the organization responsible not just for Barb’s death but ultimately for the destruction of Nellis Complex.

To destroy such an organization, Reggie needed something more than he was capable of delivering himself—a powerful laser, a bioweapon, another nuclear bomb…something.

This facility had to hold such a potential weapon.

As he fell in behind the chemist, Reggie tried and failed not to be distracted by the fact that she’d slipped into a tight-fitting set of coveralls. The way she’d cinched the outfit to emphasize her narrow waist and to hug her butt, it was impossible not to stare. Perhaps because of his childhood insecurities, he’d never been comfortable wearing skintight clothes. Even when he’d gotten himself into shape, he could still see the fat-faced, chubby little boy he’d been.

Better to find inner peace than seek out approval of his physical accomplishments. With the three women rescued from Flagstaff, though, ignoring their physical presence was going to be tough.

He needed to find Sae-Tan, to return to the connection they’d managed.

Delilah waited for the three of them at the end of a corridor Reggie hadn’t noticed before. The size of this place seemed to dwarf the Frontierza habitat. Even with robots handling the drilling and some of the basic construction, it would’ve cost hundreds of millions to put such a facility together.

Money had held less meaning in a dying world. He had to remember that.

The uplifted chimp managed a surprisingly human face, brows arching at the two women hovering so close to Reggie.

Before the chimp could say anything embarrassing, Reggie pointed toward the security devices beside the door. Retinal scanner and keypad. Is this part of the facility accessible through the same security as the rest?

Delilah let out a hoot, then waved him forward. Try.

Although Reggie hadn’t meant his question as a challenge, it felt like she’d taken it that way. He leaned down to scan his eye, then punched in the code the Arda AI should have for him now.

Access denied. The robotic voice came from a speaker embedded in the wall.

Now it was Delilah’s turn. The chimp repeated the steps Reggie had taken, and the same robotic voice sounded. Access approved. Welcome, Delilah.

The door hissed open, revealing a stairwell rising out of sight. Brown cardboard boxes filled the empty space beside the concrete steps, proving the practicality and foresight of the designers. He recognized the markings: more of the protein nutrient powder intended to keep the awakened teams functioning for years should the world prove untenable.

How many would have chosen death after finding such a world, though?

They banged up the stairs, voices bouncing off the unpainted concrete walls, taking the two flights to the next door. This one presented the same security challenge as the one they’d had to get through to enter the stairwell in the first place. Once again, Reggie was refused access while Delilah was granted it.

In the hallway beyond, the chimp took Reggie’s hand. Access takes time. Soon.

She led him past several closed doors without a word, finally stopping before one that had a keypad but no retinal scanner. The door locks popped, a deep thunk inside the hardened barrier, and Delilah worked the latch to pull the door open.

Gasps rose from the two scientists at Reggie’s side, and they both rushed into the huge space beyond. Bright overhead lights revealed a space divided by workstations, examination tables, and shelves filled with plastic-covered gear and boxes. Saddeka ran fingers over shelving as she eased along the wall to Reggie’s left. The physician’s lips moved, and her eyes danced.

It was like seeing a kid in a toy store.

From deeper in the room, Reynolds’s voice rang out in awe. Their inventory surpasses what we had in Cheyenne Mountain. I didn’t think that was possible.

Reggie entered, finding his place at an examination table about halfway into the oblong space. His mouth was dry from the sight. The walls were smooth, and it wasn’t mere plaster and paint. It must be drywall or possibly something like particle board mounted to some sort of framework built over raw stone.

Saddeka now stood at a glass door, gaping. It’s an operating room.

That seemed an odd thing to be attached to storage and laboratory space. Reggie joined her, only then noting the heat and the scent of soap coming off of her, so different from the cool, dry interior with its sterile, unused lack of smells.

No, there was a smell…like a freshly built house but faint.

Beyond the glass door, he saw what the physician was talking about: a hallway of the same glass, with multiple doors on the right side and a glassed-in room filled with stainless steel equipment and lighting. The two surgical tables were also stainless steel, with obvious drainage trenches running to shiny drains in the white tile floor.

He pointed to the nozzles anchored in the metal grid overhead. Sterilization?

The physician nodded, distracted. It’s a strange design choice.

You’d have to move a patient through the labs to get it—

I don’t think it’s a surgery, actually. She looked up, brow knit.

But those are surgical—

I think it’s meant for dissection. Her lips puckered in distaste, and she pointed to the surgical tables. And vivisection. Those restraints?

His stomach twisted. Research, not treatment.

Yes. The short woman turned toward Delilah. Is there a medical facility separate from this?

The chimp nodded and pointed down the hall. As she did so, Moon came in behind her, still sporting the zebra-stripe hat he’d taken off one of the dead from Flagstaff. After whispering excuse me to Reggie, Saddeka hurried out of the long room, twisting to squeeze between the two creatures before disappearing through the door.

On the other side of the room, Reynolds had spread out several boxes and brown glass jars on a workstation. She hunched over them, smiling. We can do everything we ever hoped to do when we went into hibernation all those years ago. It’s all here. It’s not so hopeless now.

That’s great.

She gathered more supplies and set them on the worktable, absorbed.

He followed after Delilah, who’d trailed Saddeka. Just as he stepped past Moon, the Claw craned its neck and sniffed in the direction of the enrapt chemist, then cocked its head and fixed a knowing glance on Reggie.

This was turning far too complicated. What Reggie needed was a simple answer: Did this place have a weapon that could deal with the Dark Angels?

Two doors down and on the opposite side of the hallway, Delilah and Saddeka disappeared through another door, which released a cone of light. When he looked inside, he found a reassuring suite of white-walled rooms that promised privacy and care. A quick glance through one open door revealed a bed and cabinets, as well as a tiny shower.

At the end of the hall, Saddeka frowned as she ran a hand over another of the stainless steel surgical tables. Restraints. I suppose they might be necessary should there be a lack of anesthesia.

Her eyes went to the other gear lining the walls. It looked similar to the glass enclosure they’d seen in the lab space, except this was enclosed by solid walls.

With her focus on how to deal with the injured, it felt wrong to Reggie to ask what he needed to know. Still… Gabby mentioned you had some sort of bioweapons in the Cheyenne facility?

The little woman twisted around, eyes narrowed. Damon never told us—

"I know. I get it. But if I’m going to go after the Dark Angels, I have to have something."

She looked away. I can’t help you with that. I have an oath to preserve life.

And like that, the conversation was over. If he wanted to find something to give him an edge against the murderers, he’d have to consult Arda, same as he’d done when he’d hoped to build a nuclear weapon. This time, he wasn’t in a vengeance-addled daze, and the thought of what the AI might do with such a request left Reggie nauseated.

CHAPTER THREE

Aching as she was, Alonso didn’t have time for the heat dragged in by the golden dawn. She hated the cold as much as anyone else, but now she found herself lamenting the likely passage of winter or what passed for it under the blazing sun. What she could use at this moment was a nap, huddled in the shade provided by the rickety church that had somehow survived the firefight with the Dark Angel assassins sent to kill Lieutenant Colonel Ben Darcangelo.

She looked from the fire-blackened sentinel tower to the last standing structure of the dead South Village settlement. Instantly, the blackened angel resting above the entry caught her eye.

How in the hell could a stone statue of that size have gotten up to the roof? More importantly, how had it not plunged through the flimsy wood to crash inside the building?

Never question a miracle. More importantly, never rely on one.

No way would she ever stand beneath the section of roof that black statue occupied.

A hacking cough cut through the silence, drawing her attention around to the space beyond the chain-link fence. She was just in time to see Borodin double over and spit out a stream of something thick. At first, she tensed, worried that the wind might bring the rotting stench that would confirm her worst fears, that the big Ranger had suffered a relapse of the disease he’d been exposed to by the strange gray things they’d encountered when fleeing Denver. Fortunately, there was no such stench on the air, just the dry, bland emptiness of the desert tinged with a faint chemical smell that marked so much of this devastated world.

The big Ranger spat, kicked sand over the darkened spot of sand, then dragged the back of his hand over his forehead. Doing so smeared sand and soot against his pale skin, which was already a grimy mess from the gory work he was caught up in.

He straightened and waved a gloved hand at her. Any more sumbitches come to get their dose?

Alonso put binoculars to her eyes and scanned the terrain for movement or other indications someone lay out there, waiting for another chance at the small group of former military survivors. All clear.

Too bad.

Borodin kicked a blood-caked arm onto the tarp he’d piled with corpses and body parts, closed the corners with a stretch of rope, then wrapped the rope around his chest and leaned into his work.

There would be no mass grave for these killers any more than there would be a display of their corpses to send a message.

Misguided or not, the men had been Americans. They deserved some level of respect.

Let the desert take them.

She leaned back in the banged-up tower, resting her dark hair against the sleeping kit and other materials recovered from the dead Dark Angels’ abandoned backpacks. Most of it was sweat-stained and stank, but she could wash that away before the team returned to the trail.

Her eye came back to the bent-in metal of the tower where the RPG shell had penetrated some time ago, no doubt blasting apart the sentry sitting inside the gun station.

These had been Ben’s people—civilians. She’d caught him sobbing like a baby over the common grave the morning before the Dark Angels started their assault, so she knew this place carried a special meaning to the old man. What she didn’t know was just how intense that special meaning was.

Alonso twisted around to get a look at the lieutenant colonel and Sae-Tan, both down to T-shirts and pants, both sporting scrapes and scabs as well as bloody bandages. Despite that, the two of them delicately probed the sand for the explosives the former Air Force captain had buried but hadn’t used during the assault.

Apparently, the one-eyed colonel had plans for every last weapon and piece of gear they could salvage.

When Sae-Tan took a moment to brush her dark hair from her face, she saw Alonso and waved. It was the wave of a wounded and tired combatant: slow, awkward, and accompanied by a glowing smile.

Survival added a special dose of sweetness to everything.

At that thought, Alonso rubbed the space between her breasts where the last of the Dark Angels had sliced her. He’d been so focused on hacking away her clothes that he probably hadn’t even noticed the shallow nick he’d cut into her. The particular horror of that incident had left more than a physical cut, though. Her scalp ached where he’d torn hair free, and Borodin still had a night or two remaining of plucking splinters from her butt.

None of that could hold a light to the sensation of successfully fighting off a monster like that man, though.

The one-time Army major rooted around in the deep front pocket of her pants and pulled out the monster’s Velcro-backed ID tag: Miller, William Steven, Major. Her thumbnail scraped at the silver ink printed onto the black material, erasing if she could even in the smallest way any record of the man’s existence.

Who cared whether he ever existed? Who cared if any of them had ever existed? What mattered now was to outlive the monsters and to let them drift off into nothing more than nightmare.

That, and to find hope and happiness in the world that remained.

She sniffled, bit her bottom lip, and wiped a tear away, eyes drifting back to Borodin. The man had suffered wounds as much as any of them, but he refused to let those injuries slow him. Disposing of the dead was the hardest task, but he’d volunteered for it and seemed to revel in the dirty, tiring work.

When he was only a bump on the horizon, she focused again on the tower before performing another scan with the binoculars.

There would be no other Dark Angels, but there was always a chance of scavengers. It was hard not to laugh at the idea, to see such desperate people as a threat, but she knew better than anyone that a lucky shot killed you just as dead as a precise, well-fired one. Some zit-faced kid with a pistol could kill an elite soldier despite all the training and superior gear.

She leaned out the side of the tower and scanned the lands to the south.

Nothing drew close. Nothing moved.

In that moment, she lied to herself that it would be preferable for the Dark Angels to come at them again, that Ben had figured the traitors out, and they could be dealt with permanently whether there were thirty of them swarming the ruined settlement or a thousand.

Then she remembered how close she’d come to dying—how close they’d all come to dying. Without a very fortunate sequence of events, they would all be dead now, their bodies violated for trophies.

If anything, the battle had her thinking nothing could stop the Dark Angels.

Boots scuffing over sand drew her around just as Ben hobbled to a stop. Hey.

She shielded her eyes with a cupped hand more to hide her surprise than to block out the sun. Hey.

We’ve got the last charge to dig out. That’s an all-day project. Figure we’ll take a break for now, start the dig, then wrap in the morning.

Halfway between the tower and the church, Sae-Tan busied herself disassembling the explosive. She seemed completely absorbed where before she’d been skittish about doing anything more than burying the things after lowering them into the ground using rope. It hadn’t been a fear of the explosives becoming unstable at that time, so the only thing that could explain the change in behavior to Alonso would seem to be the old man’s presence.

He followed her gaze. It’s safe. I disarmed it.

Sure.

The old man scratched his white-streaked stubble. Figure we’ll head out in a few days. He massaged the leg Miller had shot. I’ll be the slowest among us, and I think I can manage twenty miles for the first few days.

Winter’s almost over.

Right, right. Won’t be long before the days are long as the nights.

She ran fingers through her hair, noting the scabs Miller’s brutal assault had left on her scalp. You think we can stop them? Not just your brother. I mean the entire organization.

Cut off the head—

I mean the organization, Ben.

"He is the organization. He’s a cult. He surrounded himself with like-minded people. Without him, any survivors will collapse."

I’ve seen what they can do. I don’t want any survivors.

"There’s no guaranteeing that. At this moment, there could be twenty, maybe even thirty out in the field. But I’m telling you, without him and