“Ten seconds,” Bill announced, slowing the Black Hawk. “Nine. Eight…” He continued the countdown as we neared the top of the factory, pausing about fifty feet overhead. “Four. Three…” I moved across the interior to stand behind George. Keep grabbed the rope, ready to drop it out of the helicopter. “One. Go!”

  He tossed the rope outside. It unwound smoothly down to the rooftop, plenty of extra rope gathering there. George grabbed the rope, aligning his hands and feet the way Bill had shown us, and vanishing within a couple of seconds. I stayed right behind him, swallowing hard when I looked down, but putting my hands on the rope anyway, I positioned my feet and slid down after him.

  All told, it took about eight seconds from the time Bill brought the Black Hawk in to hover above the building to when George and I landed on the rooftop. The rope retracted, and the chopper pulled away. I had to look up to make sure it was even there. As Keep had promised, the area around us remained totally silent.

  George signaled to me and we unslung our rifles, starting across the rooftop toward the two guards Bill had spotted. Thanks to Keep, they were still facing away from us and totally oblivious to our arrival. I almost laughed out loud at how simple the insertion had been, but I didn’t expect the difficulty to remain in easy mode.

  Signaling me to target the guard on the left, we lined up our shots. A part of me felt uncomfortable with the idea of shooting someone in the back. It brought to mind why we were even there, and what was at stake. When George signaled to fire, I didn’t hesitate.

  Energy bolts slammed into the backs of both guards, burning through their armor and severing their spines. Both men crumpled quietly to the rooftop. George ran over to them, quickly removing their helmets and putting a second round in each of their skulls to make sure they were dead and wouldn't give us away. “Clear,” he said into our comms.

  “We’ve reached cover altitude,” Bill announced. “I’ve got eyes on the junkyard. No sign they’ve noticed anything amiss.”

  “Copy that,” George said. “We’re moving to the stairwell.”

  We crossed the rooftop to the nearby access stairs. Believe it or not, my heart rate had settled, now that the anticipation was gone. I didn’t have time to worry anymore about what was going to happen. I only had time to react to the situation as it presented itself.

  George reached the door and tried the handle, grinning back at me when the knob turned. He opened the door slowly, leading with his rifle as he pushed through the opening, holding it open with his foot. He waved me in and then carefully let the door swing closed, keeping the creaking of its hinges to a minimum.

  “You good?” he asked, voice low.

  “Affirmative,” I whispered back.

  We started our descent, stepping lightly to reduce the sound of our boots on the steep metal steps winding down an enclosed shaft. That didn’t mean we moved slowly. No doubt the guards outside were checking in at regular intervals. Assuming there was a check-in every quarter hour, Bill had timed the drop to give us twelve minutes to get as far into the factory as we could.

  We burned two of those minutes going down the steps. George repeated the exit process at the next door, opening it slowly and checking the area around us. He stepped out and then waved me through. We emerged onto a catwalk overlooking the main portion of the plant. Three rows of scrap metal recycling machines were aligned in the center of the building. Additional machinery to strip, crush, and separate the rubber, glass, and wiring from incoming cars were situated at one end, with units to handle the sorted scrap at the other. Thanks to the fire that had shut the place down, the interior was scarred and layered in soot, everything hastily shut down in the middle of their normal processes.

  The partly-stripped cars had all burned to rusted, hollowed out shells. The machines were blackened and broken, lines of scrap metal still resting on the belts awaiting processing. Sorting bins sat half full at the end of the line. A pair of tractor trailers intended to haul off the materials were frozen in their bays, their backends destroyed by the heat. Limited light filtered in from the holes in the walls and the open bay doors.

  “There,” George said, pointing to what appeared to be a control room in the corner of the plant. Unnatural light filled the smallish room, offering an obscured view through the soot-coated but undamaged windows.

  Sitting near one of the windows, back to us, was the unmistakable apish bulk of Sheri’s boyfriend, Nick. I didn’t see Mom, but if he was there, I knew she had to be there too.

  Of course, they weren’t alone. A pair of guards stood outside the door to the control room. As I scanned the floor a second time, I spotted more black-clad and dark-helmeted figures nearly hidden by the darkness, likely invisible from the ground.

  Where I would have been if I had come for the exchange.

  We'd all suspected it would be a trap, and we were right. From our perch above the factory floor, it was painfully obvious nobody was supposed to leave the plant on any terms other than the enemy’s.

  Screw that.

  CHAPTER 27

  “How should we approach this?” I whispered, going over the visible targets inside the plant for a second time. There appeared to be nearly a dozen around the perimeter plus the two near the control room. Plus the ones I was sure were there but couldn’t see because we didn’t have full coverage of the floor.

  “Looks like the stairs are there,” George replied, keeping his voice barely audible even through the comms. He pointed to the closer end of the catwalk. “Judging by the guard’s posture, they’re bored and tired of the inaction. That’s good for us. I think we should…” He froze, and we both heard footsteps on the stairs he had just pointed out. “That’s bad for us. Come on,” George said, directing me back into the stairwell. He didn’t panic, opening the door slowly and keeping his rifle trained in the direction of the exterior steps as we slipped back inside. He closed the door equally carefully, leaving us just inside the path to the rooftop.

  We could both hear the guard’s movements, steel-toed boots clanging on the catwalk as he made his approach. George put the muzzle of his rifle right against the seam of the door, ready to shoot if it opened even a hair. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I released it when the guard went past our position, headed to the far end of the upper level.

  George didn’t seem that happy with the outcome. “Damn it,” he hissed, voice still incredibly low despite his frustration. “It would have been better if he came this way.”

  “Why?”

  “He opens the door, I blast him and pull him in before anyone’s the wiser. Now he’s got distance on us so it’s harder to make him disappear, and if another guard comes up, we’re caught between them.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Did you spot the top of the conveyor belt off the catwalk? Straight over the railing, about a six foot gap.”

  “You want to jump it? That guard will see us.”

  “We can’t get out there without taking him out. But the top of the belt will give us a better view of the entire floor. I’ll hit that tango on the way out and make the jump. You make a move on the stairs. Once you reach the bottom, I’ll cover you from the high ground. It won’t be pretty, and the risk is high. But there’s no way to sneak up on them the way they’re spread out. Our best chance is to get your people free and run them outside through a hole in the wall while we keep the defenses pinned down.”

  “How will you get out?”

  “I’ll reverse course and retreat to the rooftop. Bill can pick me up there.”

  “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “I’ll make it back.”

  I shook my head, aware of the sigiltech ring on my finger. “I have a different idea.”

  “It’s been a while since I saw combat, but I’ve got a lot of experience, Ben. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

  “I know. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I couldn’t live with it if you didn’t make it back to Kyrie, and you may not be accounting for certain advantages.” I pulled the heavier gloves off, revealing the slight bulge of the ring beneath the tactical.

  “From what I understand, you don’t know how to control it.”

  “I don’t know how to minimize the effort that well. But I don’t need to. You saw all the debris out there.”

  George eyed me for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay. We’ll do it your way.”

  “You take out the guard on the catwalk and then head for the control room. I’ll create the diversion.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Keep, did you copy that?” I said.

  “I’m listening in, kid. Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “You said you picked me out in part because of the way I took charge. I’ve been letting everyone else call the shots because I’ve felt so out of my element, but this is my family that’s at risk. It’s time to do it my way.”

  “Fair enough. You’re running out of time before the next check-in anyway. We’ve got you covered. Just say when.”

  “Oh, you’ll know when,” I replied.

  I breathed in, activating the ring ahead of time. I already knew what I wanted to do. I was pretty sure I had enough strength to do it. But would it work?

  It had to.

  “Now!” I said, prompting George to throw open the door to the catwalk. The guard whirled toward us in response to the noise, George quickly cutting him down with a pair of energy bolts, one to the chest, one to the head.

  I stood at the railing, eying the debris nearest the control room. “Distra,” I whispered, using the focus word to help concentrate on the push. A tingle ran down my arm to the ring, which glowed in response to my mental command. The bins of discarded glass and other car parts, the crumpled cars on the conveyor belts, and even the machinery itself shook from the pressure. The lighter bins toppled over like the tree stump, the detritus inside blasting off as if it were fired from a shotgun. My arm began to go numb as cars crumpled and flew from the belts, crashing to the floor. Most of the building's interior—everywhere but the area around the control room—got caught up in the sudden maelstrom.

  Enemy guards cried out, caught in the tornado and impaled by the debris. Others ran for cover, desperate to escape. George reached the base of the steps and opened fire, energy bolts flashing through the chaos and cutting down the pair of guards outside the control room.

  I couldn’t see what was happening outside, but I heard the thwip of the Black Hawk’s rotor blades and the whine of the engines as Keep let go of the commands that kept it silent, freeing the sleeve for other uses.

  Still routing energy to the ring, my shoulder throbbed painfully and then went numb. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Even though the pain crept inward toward my heart, I needed to keep going, to keep the pressure on until George set my family free.

  He reached the control room and yanked the door open, vanishing inside. I winced and struggled to maintain the push as the sorting machines shifted on the floor. The bulk of the debris either hit the far wall or blasted out through the holes.

  “Ben, I've got them; they’re safe,” George said over the comms. “We’re getting out of here. Bill, we’re coming out.”

  “Copy that. Exterior threats are neutralized. We’re on our way.”

  Mom appeared in the doorway, immediately looking up at me. Tired and frightened but in one piece. Sheri and Nick were right behind her, trailed by George. I exhaled a sigh of relief, letting go of the effort to fuel the ring. The pain in my chest doubled as soon as I did, but I settled for a pained grunt and stumbled toward the stairs. “George, get them out,” I said. “I’ll catch up.”

  I saw George wave my family to the nearest opening in the plant wall, and then I lost track of them. I reached the steps and was about to descend when an energy bolt hit the bottom of the riser just ahead of me, burning through the metal. A second struck the railing. I ducked to avoid the third bolt and reversed course, scrambling back in the other direction. The surviving guards emerged from cover, converging on me. I nearly cried out to George for help before thinking better of it. I didn’t want him coming back until the others were on the chopper and safe.

  I made a run for the stairs, weakened by the effort I had put into the push, yet surprisingly lucid. No dizziness or shaking despite the stress I was under, and the increased blood flow to my brain. Was it just good fortune or something else?

  “Ben, where are you?” George said over the comms. “Do you copy?”

  “I copy,” I replied, forced to drop my rifle to open the stairwell door and duck inside. Energy bolts punched through the metal as it swung closed, missing me by inches. “Are my mother and sister in the chopper?”

  “We’re all loaded up. You were supposed to be right behind us.”

  “I got cut off. Meet me on the roof.”

  “Copy,” Bill said. “We’re on our way.”

  I didn’t slow, hitting the steps and climbing as fast as I could, the opposition close behind me. I heard the door bang open, the enemy’s boots pounding on the stairs at my back. I didn’t dare slow or turn my attention away from the path ahead.

  No gun. No ring. One arm. It all came down to a footrace I wasn't winning.

  I also wasn’t losing, my progress nearly evenly matched that of the guards.

  I had a five or six second lead on them. Would it be enough? It had to be. Reaching the door at the top of the steps, I had to slow to pull it open, giving back a couple of seconds of my lead. An energy bolt, poorly aimed, went over my head and zapped the wall. I ducked through the door and out onto the roof. The Black Hawk hovered overhead, Keep and George both near the open chopper door. They opened fire on the doorway the moment I cleared it, taking out the first guard who ran right into the assault.

  “Where’s the rope?” I asked, slightly panicked to see Keep hadn’t dropped it yet.

  “You don’t need a rope,” Keep replied.

  Energy bolts whizzed past me, fired from the guards hiding further back in the stairwell, out of George’s line of fire. I noticed the glow from the bottom of the helicopter as one of the sigils on the sleeve activated.

  My feet kept moving, the ground falling away beneath me as what seemed like an invisible hand lifted me skyward toward the waiting helicopter. Energy bolts flew past me as Keep reached out for my hand. “Gotcha, kid,” he said, tugging me into the Black Hawk. He wrapped his arms around me, clutching me tight to keep me from losing my balance. “Bill, get us out of here.”

  “Copy,” Bill replied, already picking up speed.

  I looked back at the rooftop. The defenders rushed out as soon as George stopped shooting, turning to aim their weapons at us while we pulled up and away.

  “Distra,” I heard Keep whisper.

  A shockwave sped out from the bottom of the chopper, hitting the guards with enough force to knock them down, ruining their last chance to stop our escape. Below us, the stacks of junk I had seen on the approach were strewn all over the yard, fires still burning around the perimeter. While I had been laying waste to the inside of the plant, Keep had lain waste to the outside.

  I turned my attention to the helicopter’s interior, tears immediately streaming from my eyes at the sight of Sheri and Mom huddling in one of the seats, Nick in the seat across from them.

  Alive. Unharmed. And out of danger.

  We had done it!

  CHAPTER 28

  As per the plan, both Gloria and Marie were slated to turn around and head back to the farm once they reached the halfway point between the farm and the junkyard. That should have occurred somewhere within a few minutes before or after our arrival at the target. I was sure the enemy had used their satellites to fix their attention on the meeting place and us as soon as possible after that, realizing they had been tricked. The idea of their reaction brought a smile to my face, though it wasn’t as big as the smile that came from rescuing my family.

  “George, Bill, thank you,” I said to the two men through the comms, even as I crossed the interior of the chopper to reach Mom and Sheri. They both looked up at me, likely surprised to see me in a flight suit and helmet, looking something like a soldier rather than the geeky computer nerd and musician they had known for so long. But the expressions of surprise quickly shifted to gazes of admiration at what we had done, and then looks of concern, especially from Mom, when she saw the way my left arm hung at my side.

  “Ben, you’re hurt,” she said. “Your arm.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied. “It’ll wear off. I catalyzed too much plasma to power the sigiltech ring.”

  “You did what with the what?” Sheri said in confusion.

  “It’s not important right now. It’ll get better in an hour or two.”

  “Does it hurt?” Mom asked.

  “A little. Not too bad. Are you all okay?”

  “I think I’ll have PTSD whenever I hear electronica for the rest of my life,” Nick said. “Other than that, I’m good.”

  “Mom? Sher? What about you?”

  “Physically fine,” Sheri said. “Emotionally? I need some time to process.”

  “What she said,” Mom added. “Ben, what is all of this? And where did you get a helicopter?”

  “It’s Bill’s. The pilot. Keep chartered it for us so we could come rescue you. This is George Frasier. He’s a retired Marine gunnery sergeant and a farmer. Keep and I crash landed our starfighter on his farm. He volunteered to help us get you out.”

  George raised his hand in a wave. “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Mom replied. “That’s definitely not what I would call nothing. You aren’t married, are you?”

  George laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”