Apocalypse Crucible (33 page)

“So you know what we’re going to do starting tonight?” Zero asked.

Dropper cracked his knuckles.

No one said anything. Joey figured they were all scared to voice any opinion on the matter.

Zero hissed in exasperation. “We’re going to look for the aliens. C’mon. This isn’t brain surgery here.”

“Okay,” Bones said nervously. “Say we find these aliens.
Before
anybody else finds them. Including the military. What then?”

“Then,” Zero said, pacing the floor, “we offer our services. In exchange for being made ambassadors.” He grinned. “That’s the angle, guys. You always gotta try to cut a piece of the action for yourself. Otherwise you’re always the guy getting beat up.”

Nobody looked excited about the prospect. Joey felt even sicker at his stomach.

“The whole find-the-alien thing,” RayRay said. “You know, maybe that won’t work out like we’re thinking it will. I mean, maybe these alien dudes won’t exactly be friendly. They could be figuring that they can do the whole thing themselves.”

“Yeah,” Bones added. “If we find ’em, they might try to make us part of the examples they leave behind.”

“Right,” RayRay said. “Like that alien psycho dude in Tormentor of Thraxtor did to all his victims. You know, when he chopped off the heads of those guys, put them on pikes, and used them to line the walls of his fortress to warn everybody else away.”

The Tormentor of Thraxtor was a video game that had enjoyed several weeks of fame at Cosmic Quest. Bloody and vicious, it had attracted the attentions of most of the teenage boys in the metro area. It had also received a special note of condemnation from one of the local papers. Of course, the condemnation only served to increase the game-playing public’s awareness of and interest in the game.

Zero’s eyes turned cold. “That would be their mistake then.” He turned and lifted his shirt from the floor.

Joey spotted a gleam of an oily metallic surface only an instant before Zero unlimbered a large handgun from his shirt. Zero leveled the pistol at the television set where an alien stood frozen on the screen when he’d paused the game.

The shot sounded like a cannon in the enclosed space. A bright flame shot from the barrel. The bullet hit the television screen and exploded the set, leaving a gaping hole where the video-game picture had existed only a moment ago.

Zero turned to them with a smile on his face and the pistol waving before him. “I’m gonna be an ambassador. Or a prince. Some alien tries to make me his little trophy prize, I’m gonna blow his head off.”

No one spoke for a time.

Finally, RayRay said, “They still got cops, you know. In this neighborhood, I mean. A neighbor could call in on that shot. We know there’s a few neighbors left. We’ve seen them, and there are lights on out there now.”

“All the more reason for us to get up and get moving,” Zero said. He glanced around the house. “We’re about done with this place anyway.” Joey thought about going home. Any place was safer than being with Zero. Maybe it was the whiskey and the pills Zero was taking, or maybe the whole disappearances thing was catching up with him, but Joey felt like Zero had lost it. If he had been dangerous before, he was decidedly more so now.

But Joey shut down that line of thinking. Home wasn’t an option for him. His mom had turned away from him when she’d taken in all those other kids. She hadn’t even thought of him, hadn’t considered how he’d feel about getting invaded and sharing everything in his home—including his mom.

He also felt certain she blamed him for not being there when Chris … vanished. He was supposed to have been there. If it were him, he knew he’d blame himself for not being there to take care of his brother.

He already did.

Even if he’d wanted to go back to Fort Benning, he’d lost his military ID somewhere since he left. Maybe an MP would look him up in the computer and let him enter the post, but more than likely that wouldn’t happen. From the scattered news reports he’d seen on local television stations, Fort Benning remained under siege by frightened citizens begging and fighting to get in.

Still, he’d have to find a way to get across the city and back to the post before he could do anything. Predatory groups still roamed the streets, though. Murders and personal violence had escalated. Going through that dangerous landscape alone wasn’t an option.

With a sinking feeling, Joey knew he was trapped with the others. At least for the moment. He stared at Zero and the broken television, feeling that things were only going to get worse.

15

United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0552 Hours

“Goose, wait up.
Goose.
”

More than anything, Goose wanted to ignore the sound of that voice because it could only mean trouble. So he pretended not to notice even though doing so made him feel bad. His father had raised him to be respectful of women.

A Ranger private parked in a Humvee across the street spotted the first sergeant. At Goose’s signal, the private put the vehicle in gear and spun it around, bringing the Hummer to a stop in front of Goose. The driver was bloodied and covered in soot, evidence of his proximity to the front line.

“First Sergeant Gander,” the private greeted.

An M-1 Abrams rumbled down the street. The heavy treads smashed through piles of debris that littered the pavement and filled the immediate vicinity with rumbling and cracking. One of the stores still burned. Flames twisted along the outside of the building like they were trying to escape. Fire teams worked to control the blaze.

Goose lifted his leg gingerly and slid into the passenger seat. He put his M-4A1 buttstock down between himself and the driver.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Away from here,” Goose answered, taking his Palm Pilot from the chest pouch of his BDU. “I’ll call it on the fly, Private. I just want to feel the wind in my face.”

“All right, First Sergeant.”

Anger seethed inside Goose. He didn’t like getting cut out of the investigation into the CIA’s operations inside the city. And despite his years of training and having the mind-set of an enlisted man, he didn’t like the way Remington had handled his dismissal in front of an audience. For a long time, they’d shared a deep friendship. Perhaps that friendship hadn’t extended beyond the postings and battles they had gone through together, but it was there at those times.

It’ll be there again,
Goose told himself.
Once we get around this, if we’re not dead, it’ll be there again.
His friendship with Remington, despite their differences on a number of things, was part of the bedrock of his military life.

Goose’s friendship with Bill Townsend had been on a different level. Bill had gotten involved with all aspects of Goose’s life, from the military to the family. And if Bill were still here instead of among the MIAs reported after the rash of disappearances, Goose knew his friend would tell him to relax and let Remington have his way for a while. They were all headed in the same direction.

Goose couldn’t shake the idea that Icarus knew more about the vanishings than anyone else Goose had so far talked with.

“Goose.”

“First Sergeant.” The driver nodded toward the approaching woman. “Lady there seems to want to talk to you.”

Reluctantly, Goose shifted his attention to Danielle Vinchenzo. She wore fatigues and a Kevlar battle helmet. A few strands of her short-cropped brown hair poked out from under the helmet. Dirt or blood streaked one of her cheeks. Her cameraman followed her, panning the street and the soldiers.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to the lady,” Goose growled.

“Might at least take a minute, First Sergeant,” the private said, gazing across Goose. “You got to at least tell her that running around in these streets ain’t no place for a lady.”

“I don’t think she’ll listen to me,” Goose said. He was certain about that. Danielle Vinchenzo had a habit of reporting right from the middle of a battle. Talks with some of the other reporters from FOX News where she had worked before taking the new assignment with OneWorld NewsNet had revealed that her behavior in the Sanliurfa situation wasn’t new. She’d taken that tack dozens of times before. She wasn’t one to go along with the flow when she felt she had a story. A maverick, one of the journalists had called her.

But she was easy on the eyes, another had said. She pulled in ratings for news stations. A woman in the middle of a war zone was attention-getting enough, but Danielle was also bright and articulate and knowledgeable.

Goose’s opinion was that she was also dangerous to herself. And, just maybe, to the people around her.

Danielle stopped at the side of the Humvee. “I didn’t think you heard me.”

“I’m busy, ma’am,” Goose replied, not addressing the question of whether he had heard her or not.

“Are you on your way somewhere?”

The cameraman hunkered down to line up a shot on Goose.

Pointing at the camera just as the bright cone of light flared out at him, Goose said, “No.”

Danielle adjusted her helmet and squared her stance. “Cezar.”

“Yeah,” the cameraman replied.

“Off.”

The cameraman looked petulant. “But you said you wanted footage of the sergeant. Said he was your golden boy.”

“He’s a first sergeant, not a sergeant,” Danielle said. “There’s a distinction. I said, off. I meant it.”

“You meant it when you said you wanted the footage, too.” Shrugging, Cezar turned the camera off and walked away. “When you decide you want to get back to the job, I’ll be over here.” He walked a few paces away and lit a cigarette.

A cargo truck pulled to a stop in front of the Humvee. Soldiers representing the American, Turkish, and United Nations forces bailed from the truck and began unloading gurneys of wounded soldiers and citizens.

“We’re in the way,” Goose said. “Got people here with jobs to do.”

“No problem.” Danielle vaulted with lithe ease into the rear of the Hummer. She settled in. “Let’s go.”

Irritated, Goose swung around in the seat to face her. “Miss Vinchenzo, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Following up on my story.”

“Get out of the vehicle.”

“No.” Determination showed in her dark eyes.

Goose was surprised to see suspicion in the woman’s gaze as well. “Ma’am, you’ll either leave this vehicle under your own steam or I’ll have you escorted off and placed under guard till I figure out what to do with you.”

“What is the CIA doing here?” Danielle demanded.

Shock locked Goose’s mind down for a moment. He took a breath to figure out his course of action.

“Don’t bother to deny it, First Sergeant,” Danielle said. “I saw the man myself.”

Goose rubbed his face with a hand. The rough contact awakened pain in a dozen cuts and scratches. Stubble rasped against his callused palm.

“Is the U.S. military working with the CIA?” Danielle asked.

“In the defense of this city,” Goose replied, “no, ma’am.”

“Then what is that CIA agent doing here?”

“You’d have to ask him, ma’am.”

“Can’t tell, First Sergeant? Or won’t?”

“The U.S. military has conducted strategic missions with CIA assistance even before the second Gulf war, ma’am. If they’re here, I’m sure their presence is a planned insertion. I’m likewise certain that if they wanted their ops plastered across the media they’d have called and scheduled an appointment with you.”

Danielle didn’t react to the sarcasm. “Do you know that man?”

“No. He introduced himself. That’s all.”

A frown knitted Danielle’s brows together. “What were he and Captain Remington arguing about?”

Goose hesitated.

“I saw them myself,” Danielle said. “You can deny it if you want to, but I’ll know you’re lying. You were standing right there. I saw you take a step forward when the CIA guy closed on Remington.”

Stepping up to the defense of his friend and superior officer was a reflex. “Ma’am, you’d have to discuss that matter with Captain Remington. Or with the other gentleman.”

“
Gentleman.
” Danielle snorted, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned back. “One thing I can tell you, First Sergeant, is that man is no gentleman.”

Goose’s anger subsided immediately as interest flared to take its place. He looked at the driver. “Private, give me some space.”

“Yes, First Sergeant.” The private switched off the Hummer’s engine and left the vehicle.

Goose swung his attention back to the reporter. “Do you know that man?”

Danielle gazed at Goose in open-eyed speculation. “What name did he give you?”

Shaking his head, Goose said, “No, ma’am.”

“Need-to-know basis, huh?”

“Yes.” Goose shifted in the seat, trying in vain to find a more comfortable spot to ease the throbbing pain in his knee. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got ops to attend to.”

“We need to talk.”

“We talk too much,” Goose said. “I don’t have time to give right now.”