Ellzey grinned at Alex. “Good girl! I mean… excellent decision! You’re a chip off the old—”

“Don’t push it,” Alex said. A light footstep sounded from behind, and she turned and found herself looking into the eyes of the young man. His expression was one of awe. To her surprise, he reached out a shaking hand and touched her forehead.

A sensation of cold and then a warm ripple spread across her temples. She retreated and blinked. The young man withdrew his hand and then fled behind Ellzey. She felt a sudden desire to go to the young man’s side and offer him a word of comfort. However, she saw Ellzey watching her and instead went to Shepherd.

“Who is that guy?” she whispered.

“Don’t know,” Shepherd said. “But he sure looks like that guy at the bus terminal in New York, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. He does.”

The team assembled into two wedges. For the first time, Bravo took the lead. Both fire teams were down to three men each, but the remaining men on Alpha seemed much more distracted. It was clear the loss of Park and Williams weighed on their minds.

Shepherd gestured forward, and the team started north away from the intersection. Alex heard Ellzey and his companion following closely behind. She glanced back and saw the young man again staring at her with an expression of trepidation and wonder. His presence made her uneasy; something about him felt out of place.

“Echo 1-6, this is Phantom 6,” Harrison broadcast, “do you read me?”

“Go ahead, Phantom 6,” Shepherd said.

“From what I’m seeing, the Burlington Street Bridge will be under NEA control by the time your team arrives at the river. Alter your course to the northwest and move to the airport via Broadway.”

“Copy. We’ve just passed the intersection of East 10th and Walnut.”

“Be advised, the NEA has several mounted infantry units approaching your area. We’re diverting air support to mask your withdrawal. Get to the airport as soon as possible.”

“We’ll pick up the pace. Echo 1-6, out.”

Shepherd raised a fist into the air and pumped it twice before gesturing forward. The team leaders repeated the signal, and the team sped up to a light jog.

“How much further?” Alex said.

“It’s about a mile and a half,” Shepherd said. “We’ll have to detour to the west a bit to get onto Broadway. Think you can make it?”

Alex grunted. There was a raw spot in the center of her chest where the bullet had struck her body armor. It seemed each step slammed the vest into the raw spot. And the pain in her side was still there.

They left the skyscrapers behind and crossed into a residential area full of old brick apartments. After several more blocks, they reached a wide-open area with two parking lots extending out from either side of the street. Cool air blew across the flat stretch of pavement. Alex looked back over her shoulder and saw the downtown skyline silhouetted by the orange glow from the east. Smoke rose from beyond the rooftops, and the entire skyline took on a momentary brilliance each time an explosion went off in the warzone.

Shepherd raised his right fist and dropped to a knee. The team followed his lead. Alex looked around, saw nothing, then listened and heard a deep mechanical growl of approaching engines. Shepherd looked into his heads-up display. “No blue in our grid,” he whispered into his microphone. “NEA.”

Shepherd gestured toward a storage shack in the middle of the parking lot to the north. The team moved off the street toward cover. Wilson directed his fire team to the left edge of the storage building, while Murray set up along the right. Alex and Shepherd crouched near the center of the building’s southern face. Ellzey and his companion stood near them. The sound of the approaching vehicles grew louder until Alex heard wheels crunching loose asphalt on the pavement.

“I’ve got eyes on… looks like a Stryker,” Wilson whispered. “Not one of ours. Definitely NEA. Sounds like two.”

“Hold fire,” Shepherd said. “We’ll see if they pass.”

“What if they don’t?” Alex said.

“Then we engage.”

The first Stryker rolled into the open just north of their position. Then the whine of the second vehicle engine became audible, and abruptly, the noise from both Strykers lessened and turned into a low, idling drone.

“They’re holding,” Wilson said. “About eleven o’clock, a hundred meters. Across the street. Looks like they’ve got a squad dismounting.”

Shepherd spoke into his microphone, “Kodiak 6, this is Echo 1-6.”

“Copy, Echo 1-6,” Harrison said. “I’m showing you stationary. What’s happening?”

“I have two NEA Strykers holding one hundred meters north of my position.”

“Can you withdraw without making contact?”

“Negative. Infantry has already dismounted. We don’t have enough concealment to continue west.”

“Understood. Engage and eliminate. I’m vectoring a gunship to provide CAS. Report as soon as you continue movement.”

“Roger. Echo 1-6, out.” Shepherd glanced at Murray and Wilson. “Alpha, engage the lead vehicle. Bravo, hit the second Stryker. Once the AT-4s go off, spread out and suppress that squad until our air support gets here.”

“What should I do?” Alex said.

“Take out their mounted guns. If you see any of their troops, disable their weapons. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said and then followed Shepherd as he gestured for her to come with him toward the building’s southwestern corner. Next to her, Jarden and Ziegler were inspecting and readying an anti-tank launcher, which consisted of a large green tube and an aiming sight.

Wilson leaned around the corner of the building and then turned back to Shepherd. “We’ve got clear targets.”

“All right,” Shepherd said. “Execute.”

Ziegler stepped from behind the storage building, crouched, and raised the anti-tank launcher to his shoulder. He sighted the launcher and then pressed a lever on the side of the tube. Exhaust erupted from the back of the launcher with a howl like the scream of a jet engine. The missile leapt forward and found its target. Fire poured from the Stryker’s hatches. A burning soldier stumbled down the open ramp and collapsed. Another missile shot from Bravo’s position and struck the first Stryker, resulting in a brilliant flash and a billowing plume of smoke.

“Spread out!” Shepherd said. “Open fire!”

The members of Alpha ran from behind cover and extended across the parking lot before dropping into the prone and firing on the two vehicles. Alex waited at the corner of the building next to Shepherd. The remote-controlled turret on top of the first Stryker swiveled to aim at the team. She concentrated on the weapon and split the mount in half, causing the machinegun to topple to the street.

The NEA squad took cover behind the damaged Stryker. Several of the men ran toward the surrounding residential buildings. Alex spotted two soldiers aiming at Bravo. She clamped her hand into a fist, distorting and cracking the barrels of the soldiers’ weapons. The rifles exploded as the men fired. Alex heard screams of pain, which cut off as a grenade detonated near the first Stryker.

Ellzey ducked from behind cover and shouldered his carbine. He aimed at three NEA soldiers running away to the north. With a calm precision that Alex found unnerving, he tapped the trigger of his weapon three times in less than a second, sending three shell casings into the wall of the storage building and one bullet into the back of each of the fleeing soldiers.

Alex started to lift one of the Strykers off the ground to remove the NEA’s cover but then a missile struck dead center between the two vehicles and clouded the position with dust, smoke, and debris. She looked up and saw an attack helicopter approaching from the east. The thrum of the aircraft’s engine became audible over the gunfire as the Apache drew closer. The helicopter opened fire with its nose-mounted chain gun, sending bright yellow tracers into the pavement and cutting through the damaged Strykers as if their armor were paper instead of steel.

Pebbles and broken asphalt swirled around them as the helicopter overflew their position and banked for another strafing run. Alex dropped back behind cover and shielded her eyes from the whirlwind. Ellzey’s companion clung to the storage building, a look of terror on his face. She reached toward his shoulder to offer some assurance that everything would be all right but then Harrison’s voice broadcast, “Echo 1-6, this is Kodiak 6! You have incoming indirect fires! Get out of there!”

Shepherd sprang up and shouted, “Everyone pull back!”

The team scampered from their positions and began to run toward the street behind them. The Apache continued to circle, pouring fire into the two NEA Strykers. Shepherd took Alex’s hand and pulled her to her feet before he set off running. She glanced back and saw Ellzey grab his companion by the collar. The Apache began to lift away from the skirmish. Then a sharp whining sound overpowered everything else.

Fire erupted from where Alpha had been moments earlier. Chunks of asphalt ejected upward as the fireball rose and formed a mushroom-shaped cloud. Debris bounced off Alex’s helmet and the back of her vest. A second detonation went off on top of the storage building, tearing the structure apart and sending concrete and sheet metal flying outward.

Alex jumped off the sidewalk and into the street. Then there was another whine and a wall of flame exploded from the parking lot ahead. Shepherd pushed her hard to the ground. The flames went overhead. Her ears rang as she picked herself up from the pavement, and she felt a hot blast from another detonation. She tried to scream but asphalt struck her helmet and forced her back to the ground. She felt an urgent yank at the back of her uniform as Shepherd tried to pull her up. Blood dripped from a red gash in his cheek. She shut her eyes and clenched her hands into fists.

“Stop!” she screamed.

The ringing faded into silence. She felt she was floating through the air but as she opened her eyes, she saw she was standing in the street. Time seemed to have come to a near halt. The fireballs rising from the pavement and tearing apart the surrounding buildings were expanding in slow motion. She looked up into the sky and realized she could sense the incoming projectiles. A pulsing red glow that blended in with the night’s tableau of stars illuminated the rounds against the darkness. She raised her arm and waved it in a wide arc. The artillery rounds detonated in midair, leaving behind trails of fire that stretched back out of view behind the skyscrapers.

As the smoke and dust settled, the team members picked themselves up off the ground and moved into a rough formation in the middle of the street. Blood trickled from the wound on Shepherd’s cheek. He raised his goggles to his helmet and pressed one of his hands against the gash. Ellzey stood staring at the vanishing trails of fire in the sky. His companion sat next to him on the ground, once again staring at her in awe. Shepherd followed Ellzey’s gaze as the last of the fireballs fizzled out against the night.

“You detonated the rounds?”

“Yeah. I don’t… I don’t know what happened. But I did it.”

“Bravo’s up!” Murray called out from the edge of the street.

“Ziegler took some shrapnel. Nothing too serious. We’re up otherwise, sir,” Wilson said, walking up to her and Shepherd. She looked around and noticed Ziegler sitting against a nearby building with Jarden kneeling next to him and helping to apply a bandage to his arm.

“All right,” Shepherd said to Murray. “Have your team cover those two Strykers. Once Ziegler is patched up, we need to go.”

“Moving,” Murray said before rushing off to reposition his fire team.

Shepherd took a knee and brought his hand down from the side of his face. Blood oozed from the wound but he ignored it and placed his combat goggles back over his eyes. Alex crouched beside him. He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Good job. That was… impressive.”

“Impressive indeed, Ms. Bedford,” Ellzey said, finally looking down from the sky. “With any luck, your capabilities will balance out your leadership’s incompetence and we’ll hold this city.”

Ellzey dropped the magazine from his weapon and let it clatter to the ground. He reloaded the rifle and then walked away toward his companion. He hauled the young man to his feet before continuing out to the edge of the perimeter. She watched Ellzey go and then said, “Do you think we can make it to the airfield?”

“We’ll need to hurry,” Shepherd said. “Think you can run about another mile?”

“I still feel sore from where that bullet hit my vest, but I’ll manage.”

“Okay, just let me know and I can take some of your gear. Make sure to drink some water. I don’t want you overheating under all that equipment.”

“All right,” she said, reaching to her shoulder and pulling the small tube connected to her hydration pack to her mouth. She took a long sip of water and then watched as Shepherd ran a hand across his cheek and wiped away some of the blood seeping from his wound. “Shouldn’t you put a bandage on that? It looks pretty deep.”

“Nothing serious,” Shepherd said but Alex saw him grimace as he probed at the gash with his fingers.

“You’re sure?”

He nodded.

“We’re good to go, sir!” Wilson said. Ziegler now had a thick bandage wrapped around his upper left arm. Shepherd stood and gestured for Alex to follow. She went with him to the center of the formation.

“Okay,” Shepherd said. “We’re going to have to run for the bridge. Maintain formation and keep your heads on a swivel. If we come under enemy contact, we’re going to do our best to disengage.”

The team aligned themselves facing west, forming two lines several meters apart near the middle of the road. As they left the area at a jog, Alex kept her eyes to the buildings on her right, watching for any survivors from the NEA Strykers. They continued jogging for two blocks without incident and then turned toward the north when they reached a wide intersection. The road ahead had a downhill grade, which flattened out after several hundred meters into an overpass that crossed Interstate 70. Half a mile away, Alex spotted one of the bridges over the Missouri River, lit by the faint lights of vehicles crossing the span.

Almost there, she told herself, trying to ignore the pain in her side. Just have to get to the airport and we can stop.

As the team continued downhill, a low rumble approached from the near side of the overpass. The road two blocks down brightened as two beams of light appeared from the direction of an empty parking lot to the northeast. She came to a stop as Shepherd called for the team to move off the street and take cover. Shepherd guided her toward the entranceway of a vacant storefront where she sat to catch her breath. The rumbling intensified until the surrounding windows started to shake in their frames.

Shepherd glanced around the corner.

“What is it?” she said.

“An Abrams,” Shepherd said. “It’s blocking the overpass.”

Murray’s voice came over her headset, “We have one AT-4 left. If we score a lucky hit…”

“No,” Shepherd said. “Hold position.”

“I can try to disable it,” Alex said.

“I want you to knock it into the interstate.” Shepherd gestured for her to look down the street.

She crawled past Shepherd. At the end of the downgrade, the intimidating form of an Abrams main battle tank had occupied the intersection on their side of the overpass. The tank’s main cannon pointed in their direction, and she could make out the silhouette of a lone gunner pointing the turret-mounted heavy machinegun toward the west. “It might take me a few seconds,” she said after ducking back behind cover.

“Just do your best,” Shepherd said. “We can distract them while you wait here.”

“Okay.”

Shepherd turned to Wilson, “I want your team to take out that machine gunner and then provide a distraction. Advance toward the overpass and try to draw their attention. Alex will knock the tank down into the interstate. We just need to give her a few seconds. Sergeant Murray, have your team provide supporting fire. Once the tank is down, assault through the overpass.”

“Understood,” Wilson said.

“Ready when you are, sir,” Murray said.

“Are you ready, Alex?” Shepherd said.

“Yes.”

“Alpha, execute.”

A gunshot sounded from across the street, followed by automatic fire and running boot steps. Alex waited until Alpha began to advance before she leaned out and concentrated on the tank. She focused first on the turret as she both sensed and saw the Abrams tracking Alpha’s movements. With a gesture of her hand, she bent the barrel of the smoothbore cannon until it resembled a snorkel pointing toward the sky. Then the turret’s coaxial machine gun opened fire. Clouds of dust rose from the pavement as the rounds slammed into the asphalt. However, the fire came to an abrupt halt as she shifted her focus and snapped the machinegun’s receiver.

Alex closed her eyes, leaving a detailed imprint of the vehicle ingrained in her mind. Slowly, the Abrams lifted off the pavement as its treads spun helplessly in the air. She heard confused, distorted shouts, which mingled with and then blocked out the sounds of gunfire. She saw flashes of scared faces. There was an odd sensation, something like the hunger for fresh food she often felt after the completion of a long training mission. Her focus on the tank began to crumble as she concentrated more and more toward the garbled voices in her mind.

“Alex?” Shepherd said.

She opened her eyes. The tank slammed down against the pavement, shaking the street and the surrounding buildings. The voices went away. Shepherd took hold of her arm. “Alex? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. It was just… Nevermind, I’m fine.”

With a renewed effort, she brought up her hand and watched as the tank rose into the air. She held the vehicle still for a moment before propelling it over the embankment and down into the interstate. A tremendous crash accompanied a thick wall of dust that rose from near the overpass. Near the bottom of the downgrade, Alpha formed a loose perimeter around the intersection and began to fire toward the east.

“We’ve got contact!” Wilson shouted over her earpiece. “Enemy vehicles are approaching on both sides of the overpass. We need support!”

“Hold position,” Shepherd said. “Bravo, get down there and reinforce.”

“Moving!” Murray said.

“We need to go,” Shepherd said to Alex. “You all right? You looked like you were having trouble.”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

She stood and noticed Ellzey and his companion approaching the storefront entrance. The members of Murray’s fire team were already half a block away, sprinting toward the overpass. “Planning a last stand, Captain?” Ellzey said. “Your team is going to get cut off.”

“We’re already cut off. We need to make it to the airfield. Stay here if you want. Let’s go, Alex.”

She followed Shepherd out of the entranceway and glanced back to see Ellzey and his companion moving after her. Why was Ellzey smiling? She had little time to contemplate the expression before she focused on the skirmish unfolding near the overpass. Tracers shot over the intersection from the far side of the interstate and slammed into an apartment high rise a block and a half ahead. The rounds detonated against the brick walls, leaving gaping, uneven holes where there had once been windows.

High-powered engines asserted themselves over the gunfire. A missile’s exhaust trail sped from the intersection. Her earpiece produced static and indiscernible shouts before Wilson came over the line. “We can’t hold! They’ve got at least three Abrams rolling down the interstate and God knows how many APCs. That was our last AT-4. We don’t have anything left that can touch them!”

“We’re almost there!” Shepherd said. “Get ready to cross!”

“Understood!” Wilson said and then dropped off the line.

“Alex,” Shepherd said, speaking between quick breaths as the two of them sprinted toward the rest of the team. “Once we get to that intersection, take out any vehicles you see. Just keep moving. Keep our path clear.”

She managed a quick nod, trying to ignore the weakness in her legs and the ache in her side. As she and Shepherd approached the intersection, the rest of the team stood and ran onto the overpass, firing as they moved. Beyond the concrete barrier and the railings to her right, she noticed the running lights of several main battle tanks moving west toward them along the interstate. She wiped the sweat from her eyes and focused on the closest tank. The vehicle’s right tread broke in half. The tank swerved into the interstate’s median, and an APC following behind smashed into its side.

A fiery glint came from an off-ramp on the far side of I-70. There was a flash. Then a wall of hot hair knocked her off her feet. She found herself on her back, surrounded by dust and smoke. She rolled over and pushed herself up to her hands and knees. A chunk of the northbound side of the overpass was missing. She looked around for Shepherd and saw him crouching in the middle of the street and yelling into his microphone. Even crawling on her hands and knees, she felt she might lose her balance and fall back to the pavement. Her entire body ached. The world was spinning and moving in and out of focus.

Someone grabbed her shoulder. Sergeant Wilson. She took his hand. He helped her to her feet and pulled her toward the intersection at the far end of the overpass. The blurry silhouettes of some of the other team members raced along beside her.

As the dust dropped away, a spotlight obliterated her vision. She raised a hand to her eyes and stumbled to a halt. Wilson dropped to one knee and shouldered his rifle. He fired, and the spotlight shattered, removing the beam of light and leaving a white spot in her vision. Alex squinted and saw the broken spotlight belonged to a tank bearing down on the overpass from the far side. Wilson continued firing but his shots ricocheted off the armor. She concentrated on the tank and shattered its front drive wheels, causing both treads to tangle and cease up. The tank slid to a halt with a piercing screech, kicking up sparks along the pavement.

She began to shift her focus toward the tank’s weapons systems when she felt the overpass tremble. There was a distinct rumble, and she turned and saw another Abrams approaching from ahead. Before she could react, the turret gunner swept the air above them with machinegun fire. She ducked as the hot streams of air shot past her, bringing with them supersonic cracks that tortured her already throbbing eardrums. She expected to hear more gunshots as the team returned fire but when she looked up, they were only aiming their weapons at the surrounding forces. Behind her, an NEA Stryker now blocked the western end of the overpass. Shepherd was in the middle of the overpass, his rifle hanging from its sling while he stood motionless and stared in her direction.

“Put your weapons on the ground!” a voice shouted over a microphone from somewhere in front of her. The team members ignored the command and kept their weapons pointed outwards in a three hundred and sixty degree perimeter. Sweat dripped into her eyes as she searched desperately for a way to disable the NEA vehicles before any of the soldiers had a chance to fire on the team.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

“Don’t move,” Wilson said from beside her. “They haven’t fired yet, so—”

“Your team is surrounded!” the voice from the microphone interrupted. “Put down your weapons!”

“I feel as though you were warned about this, Captain,” Ellzey said disdainfully.

There was a long pause, filled only with the constant drone from the engines of the surrounding tanks and APCs, before Shepherd said, “Stand down.”

Shepherd unhooked his sling and let the carbine clatter to the ground. Around her, the rest of the team members did the same, save for Ellzey, who only lowered his rifle but kept both hands on the weapon. Alex stood and continued to search for any weakness in the NEA’s formation. She could disable at least a third of the surrounding vehicles before anyone could react. But how many enemy troops were hiding out of sight and waiting to cut her and everyone else down at a moment’s notice?

Soldiers began to dismount from their Strykers and APCs and form a cordon on both sides of the overpass. The men kept their weapons trained on the team. A figure approached from the northern end of the overpass. “Who is in command here?”

Shepherd moved forward and raised his combat goggles from his eyes. “I am.”

“And are you Alexandra Bedford?” the man turned to her and asked.

She glanced at Shepherd, and he gave a slight nod. “Yes.”

“I see.” The man retreated as he reached up to his earpiece and spoke into a small helmet-mounted microphone, “Command, this is Major Porter. I have confirmation that the team we were in pursuit of is the Directorate’s ‘kinetic unit. We have them in custody along West 5th and Broadway, over.”

“Are we just giving up?” she whispered to Shepherd.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“I could try to disable their weapons. Maybe I can—”

“No,” Shepherd said. “We might have a chance later, but not right now.”

“Captain,” Major Porter began, “we need to sedate your ‘kinetic until we can relocate you and the rest of your team to a secure location.”

The major gestured toward his men. Two soldiers came forward, one holding a plastic container and the other holding a matte grey helmet. The helmet lacked eyeholes and possessed only a small slit for a mouth, resembling something out of a medieval torture room. Alex took a step back. The NEA soldiers on the perimeter realigned their rifles to aim at her.

“I would appreciate your cooperation,” Major Porter said to Alex.

“This isn’t necessary,” Shepherd said.

“I have my orders.”

“These are the people responsible for putting your father into a coma,” Ellzey said from behind her. “Do you really want to trust them to ‘sedate’ you?”

“What?” she said, half turning to look at Ellzey.

“It’s their fault. One of their men shot your father.”

“What do you even care? You told me earlier he was as good as dead. You said—”

“I’m not retracting anything. I’m only informing you that the people responsible are right here. Don’t you want to get back at them?”

“Be quiet,” Shepherd said. “Put your weapon down. It’s over.”

“Maybe for you,” Ellzey said. “I, on the other hand, don’t intend to give up so easily.”

“This idiot is going to get us killed,” Murray muttered.

“Is there a problem?” Major Porter gestured at Ellzey and the young man. “Are those two part of your team?”

Before Shepherd could answer, Ellzey said, “Remember what I told you, Ms. Bedford. You’re about to have your opportunity for revenge.”

Ellzey turned to the young man. There was a brief glimmer as an object moved between their hands. Ellzey unslung his rifle, set it down on the ground, and began walking away from the middle of the team’s perimeter. “Stop!” Porter shouted. “We will fire on you!”

“You’re not going to get the chance.” Ellzey grinned and looked back at his companion. “Make sure you do it right.”

The young man gave Alex a final adoring look and then raised his hand to his neck and made a quick slash across his throat. Alex’s eyes went wide as the man’s hand dropped away and a spurt of blood shot from his jugular. He crumbled to his knees and then fell sideways onto the overpass. He stared at her as a dark pool expanded out of his neck across the pavement. His pale hair turned red with his own blood, and there was a peaceful smile on his face.

A crimson curtain came down on Alex’s vision. At first, she thought it was the blood surrounding the man’s head, but then she was seeing through an expanding perspective of red. The sounds around her faded until all she could hear were indistinct whispers. The number of voices increased until it sounded as if thousands of people were speaking into her ear. Then a sharp, bright, and stabbing pain of light tore into her vision. She cried out and clutched at her forehead with both hands.

“Alex!” Shepherd shouted. She felt herself falling, only to be caught and gently lowered to the ground. Shepherd ran his hand over her forehead and then looked into her eyes before turning toward Ellzey. “What the hell is going on?!”

Alex shut her eyes to try to block out the pain. There was a moment of darkness, and then images flooded into her and battered her mind. She was instantly aware of every man, machine, building, and object surrounding her on the overpass. As the two soldiers next to Major Porter began to approach, she perceived the individual pebbles and debris disturbed by each step of their boots. She saw the container in the first soldier’s hand and sensed its contents: a vial filled with a sedative and a handgun-sized medical injector. She lashed out. The two soldiers flew back into the pavement. The container clattered to the ground while the metal helmet shattered on the asphalt.

The NEA soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons. But suddenly, every rifle barrel turned red and began to sag out of shape. The weapons exploded as the chambered rounds detonated. The turret gunner of a tank across the bridge opened fire, sending a barrage of rounds toward the team. However, the rounds slowed and fragmented and then flew back into the gunner and tore him apart. The infantry fighting vehicle to the team’s rear aligned its chain gun and fired into the middle of the bridge. Three rounds sped through the air followed by streams of tracer fire. One-by-one, the rounds stopped outside the team’s perimeter, fell, and clattered to the pavement. The ammunition compartment of the fighting vehicle detonated, blowing the turret and chain gun into the sky and consuming the western edge of the overpass in a bright fireball.

The NEA troops scattered. There was pandemonium on both sides of the overpass and on the interstate below: soldiers and vehicles tried to bring their weapons to bear while others attempted to turn and flee. Armored vehicles smashed through the median and collided with other tanks and APCs. Alex sensed the fear and confusion of the soldiers. And at the same time, the hunger returned with a burning intensity.

Her vision darkened. The world became an even deeper red, and her focus shifted to the fleeing men. She heard tortured screams as skin flayed and melted from the wounded soldiers writhing on the pavement. One man’s chest cavity tore apart, emptying blood from the open chambers of his heart. His brain erupted through his skull, pulling his eyes free of the muscular attachments to the orbits. Another soldier’s lungs blew open, allowing blood and air to escape like the flume of a log striking water. The digestive tract enlarged to sausage-sized balloons, which split apart the belly and ejected them, still linked together in an arc of body fluids and gore. The tendons holding the muscles to the bones liquefied, and the muscles snapped together, breaking their insertions and ripping through what remained of skin and cartilage. She tried to break her concentration and open her eyes, but the desire to feed was overwhelming.

She saw a flash of Ellzey’s companion: the body was no longer identifiable. All that remained was a gory skeleton draped in blood-soaked clothing.

Her focus expanded beyond the overpass. Other streets and buildings came into her mind, fought with one another to gain her attention, and blended until it was all a swirl of sounds and images and feelings. She saw One Kansas City Place, still blazing like a flaming torch above the city. There was heat and choking smoke, the roar of fire as the interior of the skyscraper burned away. Her focus shifted. A main battle tank slammed through the burnt wreckage of a Stryker. Inside, the crew was covered in sweat, but smiling, even cheering, feeling the adrenaline of battle. She saw each face, the driver, the gunner, the loader, and the observer. She smelled their odor, felt the heat and the vibration of the treads lumbering over debris. She struck. The men’s cheering turned to screams as she tore into them. Blood flowed out the openings in their uniforms and pooled on the floor of the cramped interior. Then she found the ammunition compartment, loaded full of high explosive rounds. Again, she struck. The tank erupted, bulging outward for an instant before detonating with enough force to shatter the three-foot thick frontal armor. The explosion rose up into the air like a miniature mushroom cloud from a nuclear bomb. Dust, smoke, and debris filled and hung over the streets around the burning husk of the tank. She shifted again and again across Kansas City. There were hundreds of men, all of them soldiers, and all who died within seconds of gaining her attention. She no longer worried about the scenes, only their faces, the brief glimpses she saw of each of them before their skin and muscle dissolved away, filling her with a primal sense of satisfaction.

Everything began to slow and fade out of focus as she heard a voice shouting her name. Her attention snapped back to the overpass. The members of the team were picking up their weapons and forming a circle around her and Shepherd. Ellzey stood at the right side of the span near the railings. He looked out across the scattering NEA force with a satisfied smile. She sensed Shepherd holding her in a sitting position with one arm around her upper torso and one hand shaking her shoulder. She felt a sudden urge to strike him as her concentration weakened.

The hunger inside of her had grown with each man and machine she had torn apart. Her only desire was to continue the slaughter, to continue moving through Kansas City like a scythe. And she refused to let anything divert her attention. Again, she heard Shepherd’s voice and felt him shake one of her shoulders. She struck. Shepherd flew back hard into the pavement. He let out a surprised yell, and she instantly honed in on the shrapnel wound to his cheek. The cut widened, causing a renewed flow of blood to cascade down his face. Shepherd screamed as the skin around the wound boiled and cracked apart. The scream pierced through her consciousness, triggering something within her to surge forward and shout, NO!

Her focus shattered. The red curtain dropped away, and she opened her eyes. Shepherd was on the ground clutching at his face. She stood and tried to run toward him but nausea and dizziness caused her to lose her balance and she crumpled to the pavement. Despite the pain, she crawled forward and reached out. Murray appeared at Shepherd’s side just as she touched the tip of his knee. Shepherd looked at her. His eyes dilated in fear.

“H-Help me,” she whimpered.

Shepherd took his hand away from his cheek, revealing a patch of charred skin surrounding the now cauterized shrapnel wound. Bodies lay scattered across the pavement on both sides of the overpass, most in varied states of decay. Major Porter had become a uniformed skeleton. Murray attempted to examine Shepherd’s cheek, but Shepherd waved him away and moved to Alex’s side. “Tell me what’s wrong. What’s happening?”

The pain in her forehead intensified as she stared at Shepherd’s wound. A strange burning sensation crept over her body, growing with the feeling of hunger that refused to be shut away. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her body shook, and tears of pain and fright formed in her eyes. Shepherd took hold of her and cradled her against his vest.

“You should step away!” Ellzey shouted from the side of the overpass.

“What the hell did you do?!” Shepherd said.

“How does it feel, Ms. Bedford?” Ellzey asked. “This is what New York should have been like!”

“Alex, talk to me,” Shepherd said. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” she said.

The persistent whispering once again entered her mind. Her forehead ached, and her entire body was on fire. A blinding radiance clouded her vision. It felt like her brain was battering against its skull casing, wanting to explode. Something within her cried out to escape, but she had no idea how to unleash it. The burning agony intensified as her vision melted into pure white. All she could see were the stars above, which now glowed red. In desperation, she reached her mind out toward the twinkling lights and screamed.

A white flash lit the sky above Kansas City. A tremendous crack followed as if the world were breaking in two. The burning and hunger vanished. The overpass began to shake, preceding a thunderous cascade of noise. She heard concrete splitting apart and panicked shouts of the men on the team. A pulsating, painful pressure threatened to crack her skull apart from the inside and eject her eyes from their sockets. Then nothing at all.