Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (68 page)

Graham grabbed his tray and followed Mark through the dinner line. “You’re on watch tonight?” he asked Mark as Olivia spooned the game catch of the day’s casserole onto his plate. “Thank you,” he said, grabbing a pan and tearing it away from the rest in the row. He was starving, and the smell of rolls rising all day had left him weak and salivating, even if they weren’t Tala’s famous rolls.

“Yeah, McCann and I,” Mark answered. “Rick said I couldn’t take watch with Marcy. She’s too distracting for me, he says.” Mark stuffed a roll into his mouth, then grabbed another.

“Is that where the girls are now?” Graham asked.

“Yeah, both she and Macy are on watch. Rick had them shoot and cleared them both for guard duty this afternoon while you were on duty.”

“Great. So, I’ll be relieving you after your shift tonight.” Graham found the table Tala had chosen and sat down beside her.

“Graham, why did you tell Rick I couldn’t take a shift on guard duty?” Tala asked. She was angry, and her eyes turned black as coal when she was mad at him. Graham looked at Mark, who’d heard the remark and suddenly became enthralled with his own meal.

“I’d think the answer was obvious,” Graham said.

“I can still shoot, Graham. You should have asked me. Or we should have talked about this before you made the decision for me. You know I don’t like that. I’m pregnant, not useless,” Tala said.

“Can we talk about this later? In the tent, maybe?” Graham kissed her on the head and touched the small of her back, pulling her against him on the bench. He hugged her, knowing all of this was new and different and she felt out of place.

Tala waited a moment and then leaned close to his ear. “I’m not sure you’re going to be in the tent with me tonight,” she whispered with a smirk.

“Yes I will, Tala. You’re not getting out of my sight. I’m trying to protect you and our child. You’re a powerful, amazing woman, but hell, I couldn’t live without you. It would kill me, and our baby is preciously close to life. No, Tala. I won’t let you do guard duty. You can be mad at me, but I’m doing it out of love.”

She leaned into Graham, resting her head on his chest. Pouting, she said, “I’m not mad. I’m scared and hormonal. I’m frustrated, and even
your
shirts aren’t even big enough to cover me now.”

He smiled into her hair. “You’re beautiful, Tala. My God, I think you’re even sexier now than ever, swollen with our child growing inside of you. It nearly killed me to leave you alone this morning.” Graham knew from experience that once he started talking like this into her ear, she would turn shades of red in front of everyone else.

Tala knew it too. “Stop, Graham, please. Not now.” She leaned into him again and whispered with a wicked smile, “Later, maybe.”

The Malefic Nation seeped through spring rains and slithered on their bellies in the mud, hidden by the early fog of day and the dark blanket of night. A few pathfinders at first, then legions of them. First a trickle, and then a steady murky stream, growing ever larger, lying in wait and watching.

Graham leaned back in the guard shack against the wall of the quarantine building. He blinked carefully, still not used to the night vision contacts.
I can’t believe I let them talk me into this
. He’d heard about these things, but didn’t think he’d ever find himself wearing them; knowing his eyes glowed green like a cyborg was unsettling.

Rick had assured him that these were better than night vision goggles, or NVGs, which were plagued with depth perception issues. He had recounted the time they’d descended out of a Nighthawk helicopter in Iraq when the approaching ground suddenly appeared to leap forward. Rick had landed hard and knocked himself out, wrenching his ankle in the process due to the damn thing;
items may be closer than they appear.
He then walked painfully for two days with his ankle wrapped in duct tape.

Graham and Sam had both opted for the contacts, a neat little tech invention that Rick was proud to have gotten his hands on before the world fell apart. They were even rumored to have been used in the Bin Laden raid back before all of this started. Rick explained that the recent discovery of graphene, an ultralight, strong carbon only one atom thick, made it all possible.

What bothered Graham at the moment was the gel magnet that powered the thing; you adhered it to your eyelid, and the weight of it took some getting used to; with each blink there was an extra thickness. Graham figured that in time he would get used to the feeling, but for now it distracted him every time he creased his eyelid.

He scanned the area in front of him from left to right and met Sam’s green glowing eyes peering back at him from the far right. It was an eerie sensation. He blinked again and peered to the west, scanning up and down the dark forest for anything unusual. With only starlight to shine through the night, the iridescent green shone bright. Had the moonlight drenched the forest, he thought it’d be bright as summer high noon through the scope, and he’d need sunglasses to get by without his eyes watering.

The earpiece clicked once and Graham spoke softly into the microphone clipped to his collar. “Clear. Rain’s picking up. Over.”

“Reuben’s relieving you in ten. Over.” Rick said.

“Copy,” Graham said back. The microphone remained open in case there was any feedback, or to save a panicked step if one became necessary.

Graham’s ear went silent once again, and the rain pattered softly against the lush leaves and long, desiccated needles covering the ground between the trees. He found his mind drifting to Tala, lying warm and swollen in their tent, and how he might put it gently to McCann to take Bang into his own tent for a night without revealing his amorous intentions.
Maybe insomnia
, he thought.
Yeah, that would work. The boy snores anyway.
He could claim for one night that Bang’s snoring was keeping him up
. It might work.

Suddenly his brain showed him an outline that shouldn’t be there. Graham thought it might be a trick of his imagination. He stared at the anomaly a millisecond longer, making sure it wasn’t his mind trying to make false logical sense of loose elements. But the more he stared, he couldn’t deny that there was someone there. He was out in the open, and the image knew he was there too, with glowing green eyes staring back at him. The hair on Graham’s neck started a slow procession toward saluting.

Without moving at all, he whispered into his microphone, “Rick, ten-fourteen.”

A moment passed while Graham observed the figure for any movement. Then he heard a confused breath over his earpiece, “What the hell’s a ten-fourteen, Graham?”

Graham suddenly realized he was using Ennis’s police code rules instead of the agreed-upon military radio code, but his mind just couldn’t recall what the hell the right response that was at this crucial moment.

“Talk to me, Graham. What the hell do you mean? Is someone there?” Rick asked him.

“Uh-huh,” he said softly.

“How many?”

“One, so far.”

“Where?”

“Northwest. Barely see him,” Graham said slowly, hoping his voice wouldn’t carry in what little wind there was.

“Don’t engage. We’re coming,” Rick advised.

“Yep, not engaging,” Graham responded, now observing the solid outline of a man. Then he saw what looked like a leg draped in a sheet move forward and, instead of crouching down, the man came sat on the ground. The glowing figure suddenly aimed something in his direction.

“Ah shit, he’s moving!”

“Down, Graham!” Rick yelled right behind him after catching sight of the guy aiming at Graham’s position. Sam suddenly began firing from a separate position, and then all hell broke loose.

Light streaks came at Graham, and what sounded like bullets whizzed by his head as he dropped to the ground. Something hit his chest and, for a second, Graham didn’t remember the vest he wore. The impact robbed him of his breath momentarily. Suddenly several more figures moved in the neon-green distance—those he hadn’t detected. What formerly looked like brush and twigs now morphed into human forms, their bodies draped in cloth.

Graham heard a scream coming from the depth of green, and a figure emerged, clutching a spear that was embedded in his chest. Another man yanked one from his thigh.

“Reapers!” yelled Dalton’s voice in Graham’s ear.

“Copy,” Reuben answered.

Graham aimed his rifle and looked through the scope at one of the increasing number of assailants, firing bright bursts of gunfire in his direction. He eased the nose of his rifle through an opening in the railing of the guard post while crouching on his belly. He fired three rapid bursts and the figure fell, only to be replaced by another.

They were coming now, more and more of them through the woods. The first mysterious figures were now replaced by a wall of men in sheets blasting tiny lights at them. When one went down, two more could be seen in the distance.

“Reapers ready,” Rick said through the earpiece.

Graham continued to fire from his concealed position and watched as a few fell, while others recoiled and continued on, blasting back at his position. He knew he’d have to move soon or he’d meet the same demise as his first kill.

“Ready.” Tala’s voice caught his attention.

He was nauseated now, knowing she had a lethal job to do, but he kept on firing. He knew the five reaper operators were Rick, Tala, Clarisse, Lucy, and McCann. Knowing Tala was safe but stressed operating one of the killing machines drove Graham nuts, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

He also knew Reuben, Mark, and the twins were hauling the rest of the camp’s occupants away and setting in motion their evacuation plan as the action unfolded.

He sighted another figure, and sent three short bursts to the guy’s chest causing him to fall. Aiming again to the left, he heard the reapers begin, and the chatter in his ear increased suddenly. He picked out a few frustrated huffs and expletives, and Dalton told the group to try and remain silent to keep the line open for commands. A few more four-letter words seeped through, but Graham didn’t have the time to focus on the voices, with machine gun fire coming from the reapers and the shrill screams of the surprised invaders.

Another bullet whizzed by his head and he felt a hand grab his jeans on the back of his thigh and yank him backward. Graham shot a glance backward. It was Dutch.

“Behind me!” Dutch yelled. Graham didn’t need to be told twice, and hustled behind the bigger man, both of them taking cover behind the quarantine building.

“Keep shooting!” Dutch yelled.

“I am! But they just keep coming!”

“The reapers will take out more of them soon. Don’t get discouraged. Keep going! Dalton will let us know if we need to fall back.”

Graham aimed again and fired. There was no lack of targets available. Sam fired repeatedly from his position to the east. He doubted the reapers would make a dent in this crowd. He could see that they were outnumbered; he only hoped they weren’t outgunned.

Each person knew his or her position and responsibility. And each knew that, above all else, this wouldn’t be easy. What Graham didn’t expect was the sheer number of enemy soldiers descending upon their location.

Dalton kept his eyes on the screens and the five reaper operators at the same time. They all sat or stood wherever they felt most comfortable. His main priority was to keep them safe as they battled the enemy less than six hundred feet from their position. If the enemy gained on them, he’d hustle them out of there fast.

With night vision goggles over their eyes, they adapted to each camera and the controllers in their hands. Dalton watched each move, toggle, and fire his or her assigned reaper. In doing so, he kept track of each operator’s progress through his own video feed. Five tree-affixed machine guns made a hell of a racket, and in an instant Dalton was back in the bedlam of Afghanistan.

He sat in his chair with one eye on the operators and the other on the monitors.

“One, go left. Don’t let them flank,” he said.

“I’m . . . trying,” McCann said.

“You’ve got a hundred rounds each. Make them count,” Dalton reminded them, spinning back to the monitors. They had no way of knowing how many there were. A Humvee appeared in the background as several assailants rushed for cover behind it when reaper number 3, Tala, yelled, “You goddamn cowards, come back here!”

“That’s right, Tala, keep after them!” Dalton cried. “Remember, this isn’t a video game. This is for real. Their guns are real, and if we let them through, we’re in trouble.”

Rick held his position on the right flank, but their numbers were increasing. A thicket of trees held cover for several, and the rapid fire of the number 1 gun rarely ceased.

“Talk to me, Rick,” Dalton said.

“Can’t. Busy now,” Rick said, his attention fully fixated on the killing task at hand. He was sweating, and Dalton began to worry that his friend wouldn’t be able to keep them back.

Seven to ten jihadists slipped past Rick’s reaper using their comrades for shields. “You fuckers!” Rick yelled, turning his reaper in their direction, heading right for Sam’s position.

“Sam! Take cover!” Dalton warned.

Rick shot down the first three, only to have the last two do the same thing others had done before, using the dead bodies of their brothers to shield themselves before they slipped behind the trees.

“Sam, you’re up. Three o’clock,” Dalton advised.

“Copy,” Sam said.

Rick had returned to his position, taking down as many as he could. He had slightly less than half of his hundred tracer bullets left to go when they showed how bad his aim was and revealed that the reaper was about to shake itself apart completely from the rapid-fire invasion. He continued to expel as many lethal shots as possible to make up for the numbers and account for the recoil, but at some point reaper number 5 ceased to work at all. “Fuck it,” Rick said, pulling it off.

“Number 4, hand yours to Rick,” Dalton said.

Dalton knew Clarisse had no problem tossing her controller over to Rick; she was capable of doing this work, but she was needed elsewhere. She pulled off her NVGs, and the dim light of the media tent momentarily blinded her. She blinked several times, and Dalton tipped his chin over to McCann. He’d noticed a blossoming bloodstain on the young man’s shirt, but there was no time to deal with examining a wound now. The tension in the tent could not be more profound.

“Clarisse, be a runner. I need to know how far Reuben is on the evac,” Dalton said.

She turned and left right away while the chaos outside continued.

“Sam, status,” Dalton asked.

“Oh, they’re done. Working up with the ceased number 5. They’re starting to come through there. I can do this all day, but I only have so much ammo, Dalton.”

“Graham?” Dalton asked.

“There are too many of them,” Graham said.

Then an explosion rocked the ground. The four remaining Reaper controllers all braced their footing.

“What the hell was that? Report!” Dalton yelled.

“Fucking mortar!” Dutch yelled over the din of war. “On fire, too. Pull back!”

“Incoming!” Graham broke in, shouting. The ground rocked again.

“Graham!” Tala yelled. “Graham!” She whipped off her NVGs and ran for the door. Dalton caught her just in time for yet another mortar round impact. He covered her body as she fell to the ground.

“Fall back!” Dalton ordered as Clarisse arrived and helped Dalton and Tala up. Reuben appeared with their own Humvee, and Rick pushed all the operators out of the burning tent and into the vehicle.

“McCann, go with Rick. Retrieve the others!” Dalton ordered.

Tala cried, and Clarisse held her. “Come on, Dalton,” Clarisse implored him.

Dalton cut his eyes away from her and closed the door. Pounding the metal twice, he nodded to Reuben, who floored it. Clarisse’s scream faded with his name as he turned toward the fire. Dalton’s silhouette stood out against the flames as he pulled out his pistol with one hand and a long knife with the other.