Over the years, Alex had spent time in plenty of off-road vehicles: armored Humvees, lumbering Strykers, and stuffy APCs during missions and the team’s training exercises. During an event at Fort Carson, she and other VIPs had even taken rides inside one of the Directorate’s hulking main battle tanks. She recalled the weightless sensation as the Abrams catapulted over a ridge and went airborne before slamming to the ground in a pool of mud. The experience had been both terrifying and exhilarating. Now, as she jostled about in the front passenger seat of the old rusty station wagon, all she could think of was how much she wanted a seatbelt.

Shepherd did his best to navigate by the fading orange radiance in the sky and the dull glow of the moon. He had shut off the station wagon’s headlights to avoid detection. With the EMP having knocked out night vision and thermal imagers across the battlefield, they were effectively invisible. Webb sat in the back, directly behind Alex. He had kept silent since their departure from Peterson. They were now east of the installation and nearing the Directorate’s lines.

Alex held onto her armrest and the handle above the passenger window as Shepherd maneuvered them along a rocky path leading up to the crest of a hill. The car stalled just short of the top. A shrill whine came as the wheels spun for traction. Shepherd switched gears, turned the wheel, and stomped on the gas. The car catapulted forward, veering into a swath of tall grass. Shepherd hit the brakes just as they reached the hilltop.

Before them, the plains flattened from the base of the hill. On any other night, the region would have appeared as a dark, flat expanse featuring scattered depressions and isolated groves of trees. Now, the burning vehicles belching horizon-obscuring smoke cast the ground into a dull red hue as if blood had saturated the earth. A handful of Directorate tanks and Strykers were attempting to slink through the darkness. It was far from an awe-inspiring force. Scattered gunfire chattered from somewhere to the north – her left. A string of tracers that disappeared into the night accompanied the shots. The answer came seconds later with a yellow glint perhaps two miles away. Then a meteoric streak of light slammed into the far end of the hillside. There were three impacts, each sending up a wave of hot air that crested the hill, rustled the tall grass, and swept in through the open back window of the station wagon. Explosions erupted across the battlefield, bringing white flashes like bolts of lightning.

“Is this close enough?” Shepherd said.

Alex opened the door and stepped out. The grass reached to her knees. Shepherd left the vehicle as well, then Webb. A cold wind swept the ridgeline. Alex wished she had more than jeans and a sweater. She was used to the Colorado winters but the cold here on the plains was severe.

A red light struck Alex’s face. She brought her hand up to shield her eyes. Webb dropped into a kneeling position and drew Alex’s handgun – the semiautomatic given to her by Nicole – from his holster. There were some hushed, indistinct words, then a shout, “Coin!”

Alex glanced at Shepherd. She recognized the word as a challenge but she had no idea of the correct response. Shepherd shook his head. Webb kept the handgun pointed down toward the ground, concealed by the grass.

“Hold it,” a man said from the direction of the light, which shifted down from Alex a moment later. The voice was deep and gruff like Sergeant Murray’s but without the Midwestern accent. Shepherd circled around the station wagon while Alex listened to the rustling of the grass as multiple figures approached.

The man stopped a few meters from the vehicle. “I’ll be damned.” He was short – the top of his crew cut came to about the level of Alex’s eyes – and heavy, appearing almost spherical in his ballistic vest. An M4 carbine with a magnified optic and red lens flashlight hung across his chest. He wore the rank of master sergeant. Another man stood nearby with an oversized pair of spotting binoculars around his neck and a radio antenna extending from his assault pack.

“Been awhile,” Shepherd said.

“Yes, sir.”

“This is Dan Cupper,” Shepherd said. “My first platoon sergeant.”

“Dodge City,” Alex said.

Shepherd and Cupper both frowned. There was a brief silence before Shepherd gestured toward Alex, “This is—”

“Alexandra Bedford.” Cupper’s frown became a smile. “It’s an honor, ma’am.”

“You, too.”

“What are you doing out here, sir?” Cupper said. “And with that.” He looked past them at the rundown station wagon. His gaze lingered on Webb, who stood and holstered his weapon. Cupper’s grip on his carbine tightened as he noticed Webb’s uniform.

A whip-like snap made Alex jerk back in surprise. The clap of a gunshot followed a split second later. Shepherd pushed Alex to the ground where the grass concealed them from view. Webb came down next to them, followed by Cupper and the other soldier.

“Shit,” Cupper muttered. The red beam from his weapon light shut off. “Anyone hit?”

“We’re good,” Shepherd said. He moved off Alex but kept a firm hand pressed between her shoulder blades. She tried to look around but it was impossible to see through the grass.

“My bad,” Cupper said. “Forgot how close they are. Let’s get moving in case that sniper calls in fires.”

Shepherd took his hand off Alex’s back. She knelt and looked around. Cupper and the other soldier were hunched over and making their way down the ridgeline in the direction of Peterson. Alex, Shepherd, and Webb followed. Once they passed beneath the silhouette of the hill, they turned south and continued along the incline for a few hundred meters. Then a voice called out from above, “Coin!”

“Nickel!” Cupper said.

They started back up the slope until they reached a trench about twenty-feet long and five-feet deep. Alex slid inside. The dirt walls provided cover up to her neck with the sandbag perimeter protecting the rest of her from view. Two machineguns pointed east, each with a gunner scanning the darkness. Another two soldiers came up and greeted Cupper as he hopped into the trench.

“Anything?” Cupper said.

“Haven’t seen shit. Heard a gunshot a minute ago.”

“Yeah,” Cupper mumbled and then turned to Shepherd. “Welcome to Defense Line Delta. We’re the last static position between the horde out there and the Springs.”

“How are things looking?” Shepherd said.

“Dark,” someone chuckled.

“Sums it up,” Cupper said. “The EMP took out our NODs, optics, radios. Hell, almost anything with a battery is down. My flashlight’s about the only thing working. We sent runners to check on the other positions. It’s the same everywhere. A few tanks have rolled by since the blast, but I’ve seen just as many dead out in the open without power. The NEA keeps hitting us with artillery but I think they’re shooting blind.”

“How close are their lines?”

“Hard to tell. You see that over there?” Cupper pointed out into the expanse at the base of the hill. Alex saw a pair of Abrams and a line of three Bradleys burning half a kilometer away. The vehicles possessed the markings of General Park’s brigade. They ducked back down as Cupper continued, “That’s how close they were before the EMP. They were even closer further down the line. Another few minutes and we’d have been overrun. It was heavy fighting even after the nuke went off. Mostly just everyone firing blind since the optics went down. They fell back pretty quick. Far as I know, there haven’t been any attempts to break through since then.”

“Any contact with Peterson or Cheyenne Mountain?” Shepherd said.

“Nada. The whole situation is FUBAR.”

“Seems like the new norm.”

“What are you doing out here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“They’re here to help me,” Alex said. “I know I don’t have any authority to tell you what to do, but you should leave. I’m going to do something… something big. It might not be safe if you stay here.”

“That’s an understatement,” the soldier with the binoculars around his neck said. He shrugged off his assault pack with the radio before sitting down cross-legged in the dirt.

“Well, we’d all love to get the hell out, but…” Cupper’s voice trailed off as he looked helplessly at Shepherd.

“Orders.”

Cupper nodded before speaking to Alex. “Whatever you’re going to do, I doubt we’ll be much safer anywhere else on the battlefield.”

Before she could reply, there was a sharp hissing sound, then a flash, and an earth heaving detonation that shook the hill and brought earth cascading down the sides of the trench. The shockwave passed over the fighting position and brought an eye-watering combination of smoke and hot air. A twenty-foot high mushroom-shaped cloud surrounded by a thick screen of dust hanging low to the ground expanded up from the plains several hundred meters from the base of the hill.

Alex started to turn to look at the other men when she again heard the sharp hiss, now much closer. There was no time to duck. The artillery round exploded halfway between the trench and the previous round. The fire cast away the darkness and sent long shadows across the plain. Alex stared as the flames became a smoky column rising above the disturbed earth. Then as she realized what was happening and started to throw herself into the dirt, the third round hit.

Alex thought at first she was being buried alive. The ground shook with the force of an earthquake. Heat came and then dirt rained over her back and into her hair. The light from the detonation penetrated through her closed eyelids. She heard shrill ringing and felt like someone was jamming nails through her eardrums. She heard other sounds, men shouting, but everything was distorted and far away. She clasped her hands to her ears and tried to curl up into a tight ball.

She tried to struggle when she felt someone grab her by the shoulders. She wanted to stay in place, to cling to the dirt in her corner of the trench. Then she opened her eyes and saw Shepherd. “Alex!” he shouted. Webb crouched nearby, staring at the ground and looking strangely calm as the other soldiers scrambled around him. Cupper pointed at the two machinegun positions, both unmanned. The gunners lay on the floor of the trench curled up in the same position as Alex.

“Alex!” Shepherd again. One of his hands went to her cheek, and he gently turned her head to face him. She felt disoriented. His face was only a few inches away but it swam in and out of focus. The ringing in her ears had become a pulsing beat that made her feel as though her skull was about to implode with each painful wave. She reached out to touch Shepherd. Her palm came within an inch of the scarred flesh on the side of his face. Then his entire figure became shadow as white light exploded behind him.

Shepherd slammed against her, pushed down by the shockwave. Alex heard the detonation, then another and another as if she were in the middle of an apocalyptic storm. She pushed herself into the loose dirt, trying to bury herself, to get away from the hell raining down around the trench. But there was no escape. She reached out, grabbed Shepherd, and held on.

Alex was unsure how long the barrage went on. Strangely, as her mind tried to retreat from the noise, light, and terror, she thought back to her training when Shepherd had explained indirect fires: If a 60mm mortar round went off right here, it would kill me and everyone in this first row. An 81mm round would take out everyone in the room. Go up to 155mm rounds from an M109 or M777 and this entire building would be gone. In New York and Kansas City, she had experienced mortar and artillery fire. Yet this was worse as if the NEA had arrayed their entire arsenal against the tiny firing position. She could not even stand or kneel and try to use her abilities to detonate the rounds as she had done in Kansas City. She was scared to even open her eyes, let alone expose herself to the fire, smoke, and shrapnel.

At first, she was only aware the thunder had stopped, replaced again by the nauseating buzz in both ears. Then she felt Shepherd. He took hold of her hands and carefully pried himself free of her embrace. She tried to let go but her arms wouldn’t move. She was shaking, and when she finally managed to open her eyes, Shepherd was right in front of her, propping her against the dirt wall of the trench. The other soldiers were just beginning to pick themselves up. A few sat, tried to stand, and then lost their balance and collapsed. Cupper made rounds of the men, checking each of them and giving them gentle shakes or pats on the shoulder before directing them to their fighting positions. Alex watched all of this and only then realized Shepherd was speaking.

“Alex.” His voice was far away and difficult to hear. “Alex. Hey. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Webb knelt next to Shepherd. She stared at him and watched as he reached a hand out toward her. Shepherd spun and pushed him away. “Back off,” he snarled. Alex felt distantly pleased.

“Alex.” Shepherd now looked worried.

She managed to nod her head and lock her eyes with him. Pull it together, girl. Just some artillery. You’ve been through it before. Don’t forget why you’re here.

Cupper came up to them. “She all right?” he asked Shepherd.

“I’m fine,” she murmured.

Cupper looked at her and then back at Shepherd. “Our medic’s a few positions north last I heard. Few hundred meters. I can send for him.”

“No,” Alex said. “I’m fine.”

“She’ll be all right,” Shepherd said.

“Roger,” Cupper said. He went to two of his soldiers and said, “Balfour, Bryant, head up the line. Make sure everyone’s up. If you find a position that’s… unoccupied, take over and set up shop.” The two men left without a word, scrambling up over the edge of the trench and the now toppled sandbags. They disappeared into the surviving tall grass.

“Can you help me up?” Alex said.

Shepherd lifted Alex to her feet and supported her while she gained her balance. Her arms and legs continued to shake. She took a deep breath and then looked out across the ridgeline. The hill was now a landscape of overlapping craters resembling the surface of the moon. She was amazed the fighting position had survived; the nearest crater lay only a few meters away.

“You got it?” Shepherd said.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”

He patted her shoulder and then moved toward Cupper, who had taken the pair of spotting binoculars from one of the soldiers and now stood scanning the open plains. “That wasn’t a random attack,” Shepherd said. “They’re getting ready to move.”

“Yeah,” Cupper said. “And there isn’t shit we can do about it. We can’t even call in our own fires for support.”

Alex sensed more than heard Webb as he approached. “I didn’t come here to get killed by my own forces. Or yours for that matter. Do whatever it is you’re going to do. And fast.”

Alex spotted one of the Directorate’s main battle tanks out in the plains moving parallel to the ridge. The turret and long smoothbore cannon pointed to the east. The big white numbers and chevrons on its side identified it as coming from Fort Carson. The tank lumbered along, leaving deep grooves in the dirt and grass. A flash came from the end of the barrel, and dust rose up around the tank. A fiery lance erupted from the cannon and struck out across the plain. The muzzle blast sounded like a heavy piece of metal slamming into concrete. Alex tracked the projectile as it became smaller against the horizon. Then there was an eruption of orange and red. The sound of the far-off explosion followed. The Abrams continued forward as its turret swiveled right. It fired again. This time, the NEA answered the attack. Two flashes came from across the plain, each from a different source and each sending out a line of flame. The burning projectiles converged on the Abrams. The first connected with the turret but then slid up the slanted armor and went into the sky, ascending like a rocket. The second projectile punched through and detonated. The flash and eruption of flame, smoke, and sound were as intense as the artillery barrage. The Abrams’ chassis caught fire even as the tank continued forward like a wounded animal, fatally shot but not realizing it was already dead. The tank slowed, continued for another hundred meters, and then made a final lurch before going still.

“Christ,” Cupper said. “Here we go.”

The earth began to vibrate. Tiny pebbles worked themselves loose from the wall of the trench while streams of dirt and gravel fell from the torn sandbags. Up and down the line, the Directorate’s remaining armored units opened fire. A metallic clang and a brief flash came with each shot of an Abrams’ main cannon. Some of the projectiles connected with their targets, producing bright yellow and white plumes, while others only disappeared out into the night. The explosions mixed with the repetitive thrum of .50 caliber turret fire as the Strykers joined the exchange. Their tracers joined those from the chain guns of the old M2 Bradleys.

The NEA’s armored vehicles revealed themselves as they passed the burning husks from an earlier exchange. Alex at first thought the terrain behind the tanks and APCs was rising like a tidal wave. Then she realized it was the dust from the tires and treads of the vehicles stretching north to east as far as she could see. Burning rounds poured from the advance, slamming into the hillside and shaking the earth. Alex watched as cannon fire tore apart a Bradley, setting it aflame and sending the turret spinning into the air.

“We have to do this now,” she said, turning to Webb.

“Certainly,” Webb said with annoyance. “Do what exactly?”

“I need you to try not to block me. At least not yet. I don’t know how it works but there must be something you can do to make it easier for. I can fight through it… maybe, but I don’t know how long either of us will last.”

“It’s passive. I don’t need to concentrate on you for it to work, but it is more potent when I do.”

“So can you try to concentrate on something else?”

Webb flinched as a round from one of the advancing Abrams smashed into the ridge meters from the trench. Dirt and broken rock spewed up from the impact site and rained down on them. He shook his head, sighed, and murmured, “Do you really think stopping this battle will end the war? What do you think will happen when your bomber launches those nukes? This won’t end a thing.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Alex demanded. “Because if not then why don’t you just shoot me and go out there and help your people kill everyone in Colorado Springs?”

“It’s a better plan then this mess.”

“Screw you.” She reached out and shoved Webb hard in the chest. He stumbled back. “I knew you were just a… You said you would help me! There are people dying right now on your side and mine. I’m trying to end it, and you’re just standing there letting it happen. Either do something – I don’t care what – or go away and let me do this myself. I don’t need you. I can control it. I won’t let Kansas City happen again.”

Webb didn’t move. For a long moment, no one in the trench spoke. Everyone was looking at her. “Fine,” Webb said. “And don’t forget what you asked me to do.” He drew his sidearm and cocked the hammer.

“Is there any way we can help?” Shepherd said.

Alex shook her head. If only they’d had time to convince the soldiers to abandon the trench; they were a distraction, and worse, they were targets: men she would see when she began to focus, flesh and muscles that she could rip into and consume. “Just stay with me, okay?”

Shepherd took her hand. “I’ll be right here,” he said and then grinned. “I’m sure not going anywhere now.” Tracers swept overhead as if to emphasize the point. Each blazing round and the three invisible bullets between created harsh supersonic cracks that caused Alex to wince.

As soon as the shooting dwindled, she peeked out of the trench for a final look across the battlefield. The NEA advance and the trailing surge of dust were closer now – two kilometers away at most. The Directorate’s fire had withered to short machine or chain gun bursts and the occasional missile or tank round. The NEA’s armor - dark silhouettes swelling by the second – stood out against the dust. Their tanks pounded the defensive line while the Strykers and APCs followed behind. Alex squeezed Shepherd’s hand, stared at the tide of war machines, and closed her eyes.

At first, there was only darkness but slowly the phosphene glows behind her eyelids coalesced into the faint imprint of the NEA’s advancing battle line. The rumble of the approaching vehicles, the gunfire, and the explosives all intruded on her concentration. The ground trembled beneath her. Shepherd’s hand was warm. Slowly, the scene began to form. Except the first thing to resolve was not a tank or an APC or any other weapons system but a red glow, which pulsed with a faint double beat. The ruddy color brightened and then faded. Another pulse. Then all at once, Webb’s blast of white.

The interference was no longer the overpowering radiance and skull-piercing agony but an uncomfortable pressure against her temples. The sensation edged toward pain and nausea, but she could fight it for now. She concentrated harder. The red glow broke through the white, still pulsing with the steady beat. And with each beat, her awareness expanded.

She felt thumping in her hand. It was Shepherd, his heartbeat and the flow of his blood. The tiny capillaries in his fingers resolved, then those in his hand, his wrist, his arm, and up and across his body. They formed a web of microscopic vessels joining with larger veins and arteries. The bones, muscles, and organs came next until she saw Shepherd’s entire body layer-by-layer and system-by-system. She perceived every muscular twitch, every beat of his heart, and every expansion and retraction of his lungs. The movements were like part of her own body. And all it would take was the slightest thought to tear all of him apart. She was a giant in the center of a tiny room full of glass – one motion and everything would shatter.

And why would that be a bad thing? The voice was quiet and it brought with it the first pang of hunger. She cast the voice away and tried to ignore the feeling. She focused on the growing pain in her temples, the white intruding upon her vision, and the grip of Shepherd’s rough fingers on her hand.

Her awareness expanded beyond Shepherd. Cupper appeared, preceding the other soldiers, then the dirt walls of the trench, the tattered sandbags and the burnt grass along the ridge. Yet Webb was only a vague outline within a black aura. If she could just pry at that darkness and reveal what was beneath and make it vulnerable… The aura was like a fresh scab, one she could pick away but would hurt and make her bleed. She refocused her attention. The ridgeline resolved all at once. Elaborate trench lines and foxholes crisscrossed the top of the slope. At least two soldiers stood in each position. A few hundred meters to the north, she spotted the two men Cupper had sent out of the trench. They huddled together in another position with three other men crouched next to a wounded fourth. The wounded soldier’s face was black like a charred slab of meat. Blood flowed from his eyes, nostrils, ears, and jagged cuts in his burnt flesh. He was screaming. His wails overpowered the gunfire and the rumble of tank treads. Her attention shifted to the man until she felt she was right next to him, crouched in the trench. She smelled the blood and the burnt flesh. His uniform had melted to his body. In some places, it was impossible to tell skin from fabric. Only half of his nametape remained. There were two letters: -ut.

Curt? she wondered. Or Burt?

Kill him. The voice again, no longer quiet but calm and insistent. He’s already dead. He’s not going to live. There’s nothing anyone can do. Put him out of his misery. Take him. Alex felt herself reaching out to grasp the man – Burt, she decided. An image came of a wolf pouncing on its prey and holding it down while it ripped into the animal’s throat.

Alex fought. The part of her demanding that she tear the man apart was not yet a driving force but it was strong and growing, making it more difficult to concentrate.

Too much was happening.

Webb’s interference, the pounding in her skull escalating from a mild pressure to a vice grip, the white light edging in on the periphery of her vision to block out the world.

The blood, not only from the dying soldier but also from every person up and down the line. A constant flow through their bodies. Sustenance that could fuel her abilities and allow her to wipe out all the obstacles in her path. She wanted to take it all.

Only Shepherd’s grip on her hand kept her steady.

The dying soldier continued to scream as she withdrew. The retreat was like prying apart two powerful magnets. But then the attractive force vanished as her awareness expanded over the battlefield.

The giant M1 Abrams tanks, steel monsters that dwarfed and outgunned every other machine of war, were the first NEA units to gain her attention. M2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicles followed between the tanks, spitting fire and smoke from their chain guns. Strykers and Humvees trailed behind within the dust from the treads of the leading armor. Men filled each vehicle. They smelled of sweat and body odor. Each of them contained a beating heart. That hypnotizing, pulsing rhythm drew her in closer and closer. Focus! They’re not your targets. Find the guns, the cannons, the weapons. Don’t even think about the soldiers. Block them out. Do what you came here to do. Nothing else. Just keep your—

A white nova blossomed into her perspective. Her view of the battlefield, of the ground, of the vehicles, men, and equipment, even the blades of grass and the particles of dust wavered and cracked. Everything became a pane of glass obscured by cracks radiating from the center. The white light intensified, and the pain shifted to between her eyes. The world was close to shattering. She struggled to maintain her concentration and focus through the brief impressions from across the battlefield: the NEA’s advancing armor and the crewmen sitting together like sardines in a can, the few surviving Directorate vehicles now fleeing for cover, the trench with the charred soldier – Burt – whose screams turned to sick gurgles, and her own fighting position with Shepherd holding her hand and Webb lying on his side clutching his head. Blood flowed from Webb’s nostrils. The membrane atop his head stretched to its limits. The swollen contours and ridges of his brain were plainly visible. He groaned and writhed as if struggling with an invisible foe.

“Hurry,” he managed to croak.

The battlefield expanded again until it was no longer only the plain and the ridgeline but Peterson as well and then Colorado Springs, Fort Carson, and all the way up to the main tunnel entrance of Cheyenne Mountain. Her head ached, not only from Webb’s interference but from the stress of so much information. She struggled to isolate every weapon system: rocket launchers down to handguns and knives. The guns and firearms resolved around her as if she were in the middle of a vast armory. Except it soon became a deluge of weapons, a hurricane of steel and brass and aluminum. Carbines and rifles mixed with machineguns and tank barrels, which in turn blurred against autocannons and artillery pieces. With each weapon, she found an owner – men and women wearing Directorate and NEA uniforms. They were infinitesimally more complex than the systems they operated, but to Alex, they were soft, easy targets, much more attractive than the metal weapons.

Just take one, her voice pleaded. It’s all you need. No one will even know. Everything will be so much easier. You can get rid of the pain. You’ll be able to see everything. You’ll be able to do whatever you want. All you have to do is pick one of them and this will all be over.

The words drew Alex in. Just one soldier, even one on the verge of death, would help amplify her abilities into a cascading force that could wipe out every weapon in Colorado. Without that boost, it was only a matter of seconds until her focus shattered. She was aware of a viscous fluid leaking from her nose. Somehow, she knew the substance was black; that fluid had replaced her blood and now pumped through her heart and pulsed in her forehead. The impressions swirling around her began to waver and distort. All of it would evaporate soon. She focused on the whirlwind, casting away the battlefield, the men and women, everything except for the weapons. She reached out and began to clench her fingers into a fist.

Everything froze into clarity. She saw the markings on the receiver of an M4 floating inches away: PROPERTY OF U.S. GOVT. M4 CARBINE. CAL. 5.56MM M253538. A howitzer’s barrel hung beyond the carbine. The howitzer’s muzzle pointed toward her face, revealing the rifling inside the tube. She tried to close her fingers into a fist but she couldn’t move. The pain and the white light were gone. In their place, a withering cold.

Stop.

The single word reverberated in her skull. The voice lacked emotion and gender.

“What?” she said, unsure if she was speaking aloud.

Watch.

Everything went black. The weapons disappeared. The temperature lowered until she felt she was inside a block of ice. Then a hairline crack appeared against the darkness. The fracture grew and splintered. Heat came from the rift, causing the edges to glow red-hot. A beam burning like the surface of the sun erupted into the void. The laser struck her chest. She screamed but it was not with her voice. The noise was like thousands of people crying out at once. Then everything went white.

She heard an explosion. She heard cracking ice. She heard wind, lightning, and thunder.

The white receded into a sky full of churning black clouds. She was in the center of it all, in the eye of the storm above a giant crater carved out from a glacial continent. She had seen this before in a dream but from another perspective. A feeling of relief, of joy, and of freedom came at the sight of the sky and ice, but there was also hunger and thirst. She required nourishment after the eternity spent in the empty darkness. She sent out her consciousness.

She found tiny, remote villages in snowy mountains, highways and freeways full of speeding vehicles, passenger airliners crisscrossing the globe, and brilliant sparkling cities. Life was everywhere. She took them one-by-one, then by the dozen, then hundreds and thousands at a time. Men and women screamed as blood erupted from their eyes, noses, and mouths. Their skin shriveled as their fluids drained away. They fell onto sidewalks, slumped forward on car dashes or onto their office desks, or died in bed without ever waking up.

Her strength returned.

She felt renewed, powerful, but there was still so much more to take.

Her view returned to the Antarctic continent as she sensed something approaching – tiny objects descending toward her like burning meteors. She sensed the fire and destruction within the projectiles. She lashed out against the first one but instead of her hand and arm, she saw a great black tendril. The blow connected.

A flash of white brighter and hotter than the sun obliterated her vision and the world.

The explosion tore her arm in two. She screamed. Another detonation followed, then another. Each brought with it an agonizing pressure, a wave of apocalyptic heat, and a cacophony like the world tearing itself apart. One more direct hit would mean the end. She had only one way to escape the fire: a return to the black void.

She withdrew. Darkness replaced the white. She watched the hairline crack where the beam had pierced her shell. The opening shrunk, shutting her inside. Then it disappeared and everything went black.

More images followed. She saw the Valkyrie. She saw fields full of nuclear missile silos. She saw massive bombs and cruise missiles stored deep in underground bunkers. Then she saw the banner of the Directorate fluttering in the wind. Slowly, the flag changed into the red and white stripes and the coiled rattlesnake of the New England Alliance. Again, she saw a vast arsenal: land-based mobile missile platforms hidden deep within forests and ravines, artillery cannons equipped with tactical nuclear shells, and a leather briefcase resting in the lap of a young soldier sitting next to President Resnick. The arsenal vanished as she flew high above the earth, ascending through the clouds and into the vacuum of space. She looked down and saw the North American continent. Orange blossoms appeared across the East Coast as missile trails arced across the country. Colorado vanished beneath towering mushroom-shaped clouds, leaving behind barren, radioactive wastelands. And in the choppy Gulf waters, she saw a single grey ship – the USS Ronald Reagan – steaming south.

She again heard the disembodied voice as the scene faded away.

Stop.

She felt dazed. Somehow, she knew what she had seen of Antarctica was a memory. The memory came from the same part of her that hungered each time she used her abilities: the black liquid flowing through her body. But the rest, the nuclear exchange, the obliteration of the NEA and the Directorate, was something that had yet to occur. But it will happen. It’ll happen if Gene can’t stop the Valkyrie. The bomber’s going to destroy the East Coast, and then the NEA is going to retaliate. It’s what I have to stop. Is that what you mean? You want me to stop that from happening?

No.

“Then what?”

She felt heat building up over her skin, a trace reminder of the nuclear fire that had almost consumed her during the vision of Antarctica. The heat intensified, causing her to cry out before the warmth transitioned to numbing cold.

“I don’t understand.”

Leave.

“I can’t. I have to end this. All of these people are going to die. I won’t let that happen.”

NO!

The word came as a blow, cracking apart the darkness and letting in beams of dull orange light. Alex realized she could move. Her right arm fell back to her side. Something was moving inside her skull. A tremor ran down the length of her body. Her legs gave out. She collapsed to her knees and put her hands out to keep from falling any further. Her palms touched a cold surface that crunched and gave way to her touch. The darkness became a plain of snow beneath the night sky. Every star and constellation was visible. Something lay beneath the ground. There was a hum, a throbbing sound urging her to dig until she found the source.

Come.

It was the last thing she heard before the vision shattered.

She returned to the trench. The dirt trembled from the force of the approaching armor. Webb lay on his back a few feet away, his face bloody. He groaned. Shepherd was kneeling next to her, no longer holding her hand but supporting her up off the ground – the fall she had experienced in the darkness had translated beyond the vision. Machinegun fire sounded from above. Metallic pings, bullets ricocheting off steel, followed each burst.

“Alex?” Shepherd said. “Alex? What happened?”

She looked up at him. The other Directorate soldiers were looking out at the plain.

“Don’t shoot the god damn tanks!” Cupper yelled. “Aim for something you’ll do some good against!”

“Alex?” Shepherd’s voice was more insistent, nervous, worried. The same emotions showed on his face. Seeing that made her afraid.

“Something went wrong. I… Help me up. Hurry.”

Shepherd pulled her to her feet. She looked over the sandbags. The NEA was almost to the base of the ridge. She glanced at Webb. He was in no condition to help. She hoped his interference would be gone. She concentrated on the closest NEA Abrams, stared at it until the outline of the advancing monster burned into her vision. She shut her eyes.

Nothing came. She opened her eyes and tried again. The result was the same. There was no outline of the tank, no breakdown of its weapons systems or components, and nothing of the crew inside. And it was not Webb blocking her; no white light or pain erupted into her mind when she tried to focus. A cold feeling worked its way up her back and across her shoulders.

“They’re less than a click out,” one of the soldiers said. “Lead Abrams just passed the last TRP.”

“Gun’s dry!” someone else yelled. “Get me another belt!”

The gunfire from the ridge had ceased. None of the soldiers were shooting or even aiming their weapons at the advancing vehicles. The gunner shouted again, repeated his request.

“We’re out,” Cupper said hopelessly. He looked at Shepherd. Shepherd looked at Alex. She tried a final time to bring anything into focus, to activate her abilities against even a pebble or blade of grass. Nothing. All at once, her confidence vanished. The faint dread became panic. A gunshot from somewhere up the line caused her to flinch and duck down into the imaginary safety of the trench.

“Six hundred meters.” The voice was tense and dry.

“It’s not working,” Alex said, staring ahead into the dirt and slowly shaking her head. “It isn’t working. I can’t— It told me to stop. But I… I said no. Now I can’t see anything. I tried to focus but it won’t work.”

“Do you have an exfil plan?” Shepherd said to Cupper. “Fallback positions?”

“These are the fallback positions,” Cupper said.

“Who’s in charge?”

“Captain Hipner had this zone. He’s been gone for hours. Our LT hasn’t checked in since the EMP.”

An explosion sounded somewhere out in the plain, preceding a secondary, louder detonation, then a gnashing metallic grind that gave way to a jarring roar of the approaching armor. “Five hundred meters,” came the worried voice. “They’re in the minefield – just took one out. Arty must have cleared most of it. Four fifty.”

“What do we do, sir?” Cupper said.

The pain struck Alex like an electric charge. She jerked back against the trench wall. The pain was like burning oil covering her skin and working its way into everything underneath. Just as she was about to scream, it ended. A new sensation came. Something was crawling inside her body. She stared at her arms. Her veins were black and bulging. She tried to bring her hands to her face but she couldn’t move. A red screen came down as black vines crept in on the edges of her vision. She struggled, tried to blink her eyes, to do anything. All she could manage was a weak cry for help.

Shepherd turned at the sound of her voice. He was next to Webb. He had taken the handgun from Webb’s holster and was in the process of drawing back the slide to check for a chambered round. Webb no longer writhed on the ground. He had gone still. Shepherd released the handgun’s slide and looked at her. For an instant, his face betrayed fright. Alex knew her eyes had turned into deep black pools and that a web of pulsing veins covered her skin. Shepherd’s heartbeat drummed in her mind as he approached.

“Run,” Alex managed to whisper although she realized the futility. Shepherd’s heartbeat was louder now, and it was no longer just Shepherd but Cupper as well and the other Directorate soldiers and every man and woman with the advancing NEA force. If they ran, she would catch them. The black tendrils grew faster, reaching toward the center of her vision and threatening to block everything out.

Shepherd reached out.

“No.” Her voice was weak but it was enough to make Shepherd hesitate. She fought the closing darkness. She stared into Shepherd’s eyes and remembered the moment they had shared on the runway at Andrews: their kiss, her lips against his, their bodies pressed together. The memory allowed her to regain control for a brief moment. She grabbed Shepherd’s hand, the same hand holding the pistol, and pulled the weapon’s muzzle up against the bare skin of her neck between her collarbones. “Do it. Stop me. Now.”

“Alex—”

“Do it! There’s no time. I don’t know how long—” The pain, the fire all across and inside her body, returned. She gritted her teeth and fought even as she felt hundreds of worms crawling around beneath her skin. The world was almost black. She tried to hold on, keeping her eyes locked with Shepherd. “Please.”

The muscles in Shepherd’s hand tightened. The gun trembled. His finger pulled back on the trigger, taking it over halfway to the breaking point. He stopped. He stared at her. “Fight it. You can do it, Alex. Fight it.”

She tried to shake her head and pull the gun tighter against her neck but it was no use. The few seconds of control were gone. She felt herself – no longer the part that had embraced Shepherd, but the hunger that had destroyed Kansas City and killed so many thousands of people – focusing against the handgun. The outline resolved. In an instant, the weapon would break apart and her next target would be Shepherd. He knew it, too. His finger tightened.

Alex experienced a brief pain, tried to hold on to Shepherd’s brown eyes and his crow’s feet wrinkles, but then saw and felt nothing.