The Tide (Tide Series Book 1) (28 page)

“If you can’t get back to the chopper and anybody gets separated, hole up in a house until we can reach you.” He held up a hand to emphasize his next statement. “But I don’t want that to be a problem. We’re sticking together.”

“Got it, Chief.” Miguel saluted. “We’ll stick together tighter than my boxers and my sweaty ass in the middle of July.”

Renee grinned, and Hector rolled his eyes. Adam let out a single laugh even as he twisted one of the knobs on the UHF/VHF radio.

“It looks like you’ve got six contacts in the immediate vicinity of the LZ,” Frank said.

“Can you do another pass for an alternative?” Dom asked.

“The first and second alternatives we designated are more packed than our primary,” Frank said. “But I do see a street with low activity several blocks over. That suit you?”

“I’m up for a short walk. Let’s make this a touch and go,” Dom said. “File out and fire out if contacts are hostile.”

The Hunters responded with assenting nods.

“And Frank, Adam. If you two make contact with Detrick, let me know ASAP.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” the pilot and the comm specialist replied.

The early morning sun glinted off the cars below as they descended to the street. Dom preferred using the cover of dark when possible, but they didn’t have the luxury of waiting for nightfall. The spread of the Oni Agent wasn’t waiting for their convenience.

As they’d anticipated, the chopper drew the interest of the Skulls. Dom used his binos for one final scan before touchdown.

Talons protruded from several of the contacts’ fingers. In others whose clothes had been shredded or lost, their skin stretched taught over malformed shoulder blades threatening to pierce their flesh. They looked like the buds of skeletal wings.

Even Scott hadn’t exhibited the same progression of symptoms as these people did. The Oni Agent left unchecked and unfettered by even rudimentary medical care was undeniably potent. Dom feared where the world would be headed if there wasn’t some progress in battling the enigmatic bioweapon.

“Here we go,” Frank said.

Dom gripped his rifle. “Let’s give ’em hell, Hunters!”

Harnesses unclicked, and the Hunters grabbed the rails above their heads to steady themselves. The wheels hit the pavement hard, the doors opened, and the Hunters formed an immediate perimeter around the chopper. Dom ducked low under the blades, slammed the door on his side shut, and smacked the chopper to signal they were all clear.

Frank gave him a salute through the windshield, and the chopper lifted again. The downforce from its spinning blades sent whirlwinds of fallen leaves through the yards of nearby houses. To detract attention from Dom’s team, Frank kept the chopper low. Half a dozen of the Skulls followed the roar of the engine noise and rotors, sprinting after the AW109.

“Let’s move!” Dom yelled over the comm, waving at his team.

Several of the Skulls took notice, and their howls filled the air. They launched themselves at Dom and the Hunters. The rattle and crack of gunfire met the creatures before they could cross the street. Bullets tore apart the first three Skulls in a spray of bone fragments and blood. Another two Skulls burst from the window of a nearby house. Glass exploded across their faces, some shards stabbing into their flesh. Ropy muscle stretched beneath the skin of the first Skull as it scrambled across the grass. It lunged at Dom before he could get a bead on the creature. The Hunter twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the raking claws, and bashed the stock of his rifle into its spine, breaking pieces of the bony plates off. He plugged two bullets through the back of the creature’s head, and blood poured from the wound.

The second Skull scrambled across the driveway. It was smaller than the first. Much smaller. Miguel aimed his rifle at the creature as it ran, half-hunched over with a hand drawn back, ready to strike. Skeletal growths sprouted along its spine.

“Fire!” Dom yelled.

But Miguel instead sidestepped when the small Skull leapt at him. The Hunter backed away, lowering his rifle. “It’s a goddamn kid! I can’t!”

The other Hunters aimed their rifles at the Skull, but none fired as it charged Miguel once more. Again Miguel dodged it. Dom could see the pity in the Hunter’s eyes; he could sense it in the other Hunters as well.

But this was no child anymore. The Skull wheeled around and let out a frustrated wail as its muscles coiled, ready to pounce again. Dom shouldered his rifle, squeezed the trigger, and watched as a single bullet ended the miserable creature’s attack. A deep sadness that only a father could know welled up in him as he watched the young Skull’s life ebb away, and he fought to keep the fears that his daughters were like this, that they too were Skulls, far from his mind.

The bastard who had invented the Oni Agent, the bastard who had unleashed it on the world...Dom vowed that person, that organization, whoever was responsible, would be held accountable for their despicable sins.

An inhuman scream echoed down the street. Dom turned away from the pathetically small body and saw a pack of Skulls, twenty, maybe thirty deep, running toward them. He did a quick tally in his head and realized they’d be far too low on ammo if they stood around to fight these beasts off. They hadn’t even made it from their LZ yet.

“Move, move, move!” Dom pointed to the side of a house, behind the bushes and trees shielding the home’s backyard from the street. His Hunters ran past, and he watched their backs until they disappeared beyond the foliage. Then he followed them, pressing himself up against the side of a house and slipping beyond the line of sight of the Skulls. He rejoined his team and waved them onward to a backyard blockaded by a wooden privacy fence.

The sound of the humans-turned-demons yelling and running grew louder. They needed to get these creatures off their backs.

“Over the fence!” Dom yelled to his team. He helped push Hector over before climbing up himself.

The Hunters crept low across the backyard as the Skulls’ screams rent the air. The group positioned themselves behind a guesthouse neighboring an in-ground pool.

The clamor of a couple dozen Skulls charging just outside the fence sent shudders down Dom’s spine. He signaled for the team to stay hidden and quiet as the Hunters bristled with guns shouldered, ready for a last stand. Guttural growls and the chomp of teeth sounded from the deranged Skulls. They prowled and scratched at the fence, but their rustling footsteps in the lawn indicated they traveled along its length. Then one of them called out, mere yards away from Dom. The ear-splitting shriek made him recoil. But the creatures’ footfalls and their screams trailed off into the neighboring yards.

“Seems like they rely on sight and sound as much as we do,” Miguel whispered when the din of the Skulls faded into the distance.

Dom signaled the team forward. Quietly as they could, they climbed over the privacy fence, into another backyard. The rhythm of the chopper’s blades in the distance provided a constant companion. No other sounds rose from the two-story house before them or the hedges around its perimeter.

They crept through the yard and passed a swing set. An autumnal breeze swept through and jostled the swing’s chains. It gave rise to a light tinkling of metal against metal. Coupled with the clear blue sky, Dom couldn’t help the resurfacing memories of pushing his daughters on a swing set like that in their backyard with Bethany.

The memory served only as a bittersweet reminder of what he stood to lose. Even if he reached his daughters in time, even if Meredith was already there...he cursed inwardly at himself as he crossed the yard toward the house.

There could be no
ifs
. He clung to the stubborn certainty that his daughters were still healthy. That Bethany was alive and well. That Meredith had found them and was protecting them from the danger all around them.

The crackle of the comm link broke Dom’s thoughts. Frank’s voice filled his ears. “Captain, this is your eye in the sky. You’ve got contacts headed your way.”

“From which direction?” Dom asked.

“All of them.”

––––––––

I
t had only been a scratch. Okay. Maybe three. But Ivan Price didn’t want to see Lauren about it. He was perfectly happy sitting in his cramped room in the
Huntress’
s crew quarters. No war-hardened Hunter like him needed to worry about seeing the doc for something that looked no worse than a mosquito bite. Hell, he’d actually gotten insect bites in Brazil that looked worse than this.

Nah, he didn’t need to bug Lauren. And she didn’t need to worry about him. He could handle it.

He’d handled worse. A bullet through his calf. One embedded in his shoulder. Fragments probably still there.

But a couple of scratches from one of those Skulls?

Nah,
he thought again.

He had taken antibiotics; he’d cleaned his own bandages. Besides, he’d heard it wasn’t airborne. So the fact the Skull had torn the biohazard suit didn’t matter.

If he was infected, if he was going to turn into one of those Skulls, he’d know it.

Still, to be safe, he’d kept himself secluded.
Should be enough.
People had been far too preoccupied about what was going on outside the ship, back on land, to worry about him. He’d heard their annoying chatter in the hall. It had grated on him because, damn, his head hurt.

He stood from his cot, almost losing his balance. With one hand on the bulkhead, he caught himself. Maybe the anxiety of worrying about being sick was killing his sea legs.

He was a goddamn
Marine
, though. He was born with sea legs.

The headache...he’d avoided the corridors and the mess hall and the medical bay and the armory...because of those lights.

God, those lights. Blinding him. Why the hell did they have to shine right in your damn eyes? Like fire pokers to the pupils.

Bending to pick up an empty bottle rolling on the floor, he toppled forward. His head slammed against the bulkhead. The impact rang out with a hollow thud.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” He punched the bulkhead. Pain shot up his arm. His knuckles bled.

He didn’t care.

Something hit his door. Something heavy. Over and over.

The pounding sent him reeling, his head screaming.

“Stop!” he bellowed.

“Hey, Ivan, Lauren wants us all to meet in the mess,” a shrill voice called.

Divya.

He groaned, the pain too much to bear.

“Ivan? You okay?”

A primal yell escaped his lips. He couldn’t hold it in. He wasn’t in control.

“Ivan?” The door swung open, and a woman stood before him. A faint memory, a feeling of distant recognition called to Ivan through the intense pangs of pain and anger coursing through his mind. But something else called louder: Hunger.

He yelled, the sound of his own voice echoing against the bulkhead, and pounced on the fresh meat.

***

G
lenn jumped from the mess table, dropping his paperback copy of
Le Morte d’Arthur.
He pushed past his fellow Hunters and ran into the corridor before the book hit the floor.

He barreled down the passageway, his bulky frame filling most of the narrow space. Another wild scream echoed up the stairs from the crew quarters. He could hear footfalls filling in behind him, but he didn’t look back.

A metal spiral staircase spit him out on another cramped corridor. At the end of it, he saw two figures struggling. One of them was much bigger than the other.

Glenn ran at them. “Stop! Stop!”

The attacker paid him no heed as his victim struggled against his onslaught. As Glenn drew closer, he recognized Ivan Price’s hulking frame pummeling whoever lay beneath him.

A high, thin voice cried out for help. Glenn recognized it as Divya’s. Her thin arms covered her face. But the doctor’s small frame was not made to withstand an attack by a barrel-chested Marine.

With all the force of a charging rhino, Glenn threw himself at Ivan. They crashed against the bulkhead. Pain rocketed through his shoulder. He ignored it.

Glenn fought against the enraged Marine. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ivan didn’t answer but instead lashed out at Glenn. They tumbled into Ivan’s quarters and crushed his cot. Their bodies knocked against the walls. Like embattled titans, they fought, muscle against muscle, brute against brute.

At last, Glenn overpowered Ivan. He forced the man to the floor. But Ivan continued to kick, and Glenn dodged an attempted head butt. All the while, Ivan’s teeth gnashed together, snapping and grinding.

Glenn’s muscles burned as he held Ivan down. Footfalls echoed down the corridor, filling the small space. He figured he could use the backup. He stared hard into Ivan’s eyes. But the man’s brown eyes were no longer familiar. Beyond the mottled red of his bloodshot sclera, something else stared back at Glenn. Something hateful. Something hungry.

“What the—” a voice started.

“Christ!” another called.

“Get back!” said a third.

The voices were nothing but background noise. Glenn saw only the menacing eyes before him and the anger radiating from a man he’d always thought of as his friend, a fellow Hunter.

“Watch out, Glenn!”

A short
zap
. Ivan’s body convulsed, and his eyes bulged, and Glenn could feel the electricity of the stunner pass through Ivan’s flesh and sting his own. More footfalls.

“Let her through!”

Lauren squeezed into the quarters, already claustrophobically tight with Ivan and Glenn consuming the space. She jabbed a needle into Ivan’s arm.

As the effects of the Taser faded, Ivan struggled against Glenn again. His arm swung out and knocked Lauren backward. Glenn readjusted his grip and shoved Ivan to the floor until the sedatives kicked in.

His chest heaving, struggling for breath, Glenn loosened his grip but didn’t get up. “Is he down for the count?”

Lauren rubbed the back of her head, still wincing in pain. “God, I hope so.” She stood, almost stumbling, but righted herself. With noticeable effort, she bent over Ivan and tore off his shirt. She pointed to three yellowish scabs.