Fabler searched for Presley, sweeping the area with the tac light attached to the rail of the KRISS, and saw her exhausted and bloody and fighting with all the strength and heart of any soldier he’d ever had the privilege of serving alongside.

 
 
 
 
 
 

  Fabler didn’t think he’d be able to retreat. It took too long to get to this point. Too much planning. Too much work. Too much hope.

 
 
 

  All-around blackness had swallowed the all-around light. The rules of direction didn’t apply wherever they were, and Fabler had no clue where to find an exit. He didn’t even know if he’d recognize an exit if he saw it.

 
 

  He shouted at Presley; shouting because she’d left her walkie-talkie in her pack. “Come closer! Back-to-back!”

  Fabler shouldered a grey aside, catching a break when it toppled over, falling on top of it and getting its head between his legs. Then Fabler locked his right foot behind his left knee, squeezing until he felt the monster go limp. A moment later, on his feet again, Fabler faced Presley, wiping blood out of her eyes, looking like she’d crawled through a slaughterhouse.

 

  “I killed seven.”

  Fabler couldn’t read her expression behind the monocular, but she sounded on the verge of tears.

  “They aren’t human.”

  “I’ve never…”

  “Killed before. I know. But you can’t stop, Presley.”

  She nodded.

  The killing continued.

 

  Back in his BT days, Fabler had gotten tired of COs getting in his face. He’d always nurtured a problem with authority. When that authority had rank and could force him to clean the latrine or do push-ups until he puked, Fabler hated it even more.

  He and Grim once had a long conversation about being in charge, and how far removed the Generals were from the groundpounders. They’d even thought up a solution to mitigate threats and share responsibility. Any time a soldier died, every rank above him, every leader in his chain of command all the way to POTUS, should be branded with a one inch X on their body. If a man gives his life for his county, those who ordered him to do so should be reminded of it, with both immediate pain, and enduring memorial.

  It would go a long way toward teaching the higher-ups how much a life was worth.

  Throughout his military career, Fabler still clung to that belief. While he wound up embracing the Army as both boss and family, and became like a brother to many soldiers, including those who outranked him, there remained the nagging feeling of; those at the top don’t know what the guys at the bottom are actually doing.

  That belief vanished in Fabler, watching Presley fight
for both of their lives.

 
 
 
 
 

  Fabler howled like his voice alone held back every demon ever created in hell.

  “NO!”

 
 

  And they fought on.

  GRIM ○ 9:31+am

  When Grim opened his eyes, he wondered if he was still sleeping.

 
 

  Then reality came rushing back, hitting sucker-punch hard.

 

  Light returned, beginning with a colorful line that widened to his width of vision, and with light came sight and the reveal of who carried Grim.

 
 
 

  On either side of him, Kadir and Doruk, both bleeding, neither conscious, being carried on the same kind of floating gurney that Grim found himself attached to.

  He strained against his bounds, grunting and flexing and twisting with all he had. Though Grim only had a vague recollection of the pain caused by the collar he’d foolishly put on—the same sort of lingering feeling of weariness that accompanied the tail end of a bad bout of the flu—he also had some very real, very irritating pain on his face, arms, and hands. A tightness, mingled with heat.

 

  “Stop struggling, Mr. Pilgrim.”

  The voice, from before.

  “Who are you?”

  “You will learn. In time.”

  “Where’s my sister?”

  “In time, Mr. Pilgrim.”

  Again, Grim flexed, trying to get some of the tension out of the bands that held him to the table.

  “I dislike repeating myself, Mr. Pilgrim. I am going to activate your supplication collar.”

  “Here’s a suggestion. Why don’t you go choke on a bag of—”

  Grim’s collar lit up, and then every nerve in his body danced in white-hot fire, and this time Grim could only bear two seconds of full-body agony before blacking out yet again.