“What happened to the water taxi?”

  “He didn’t want to leave his horse.”

  “His wife is missing, and he didn’t want to leave his horse?”

  Hicks smiled and shrugged.

  “What else?”

  “There’s a small settlement about ten klicks from his farm. It used to be a winery or something, but now the farmers all go there to drink and trade with scavengers passing through. He was worried she was trafficked through there and already passed back east out of the UWT.”

  “Toward Salt Lake City?” Hayden asked. “We’ve got eyes out that way.”

  “Further north. It seems word has spread that Ports is clear, and Seattle is thinned out.”

  “There are still nests in Seattle.”

  “Smaller ones. You know the criminals would rather take their chances with trife than get too close to us.”

  “Let’s add Seattle to our to-do list.”

  “I think we’re out of space on the to-do list.”

  Hayden smiled. They were perpetually out of resources for everything he wanted to accomplish. One thing at a time.

  The helicopter continued northeast, crossing the water and continuing into more open space.

  “Is that Alpha?” Jackson asked, pointing out into the distance.

  Hayden looked out that way, finding the silhouette of the goliath in the distance. Only the upper half of the giant was visible past the hills.

  “Too small to be Alpha,” Hayden said, referring to the largest of the creatures. “And traveling alone.” He continued staring at the silhouette. “It is a little closer to the city than I would expect. There aren’t any trife within at least fifty klicks of here.”

  “I’ve seen them this close before,” Bronson said. “Usually when their bellies are full. He’ll probably grab some shuteye against that hill.”

  The chopper continued north, leaving the goliath behind.

  “Is that it?” Hayden asked twenty minutes later, pointing to a long stone building in the distance.

  Large torches were arranged along the outside, while light from LEDs was visible glowing from within. A handful of horses and a group of customized armored cars sat in a circular driveway, around a large, crumbling fountain.

  “Looks like it to me,” Hicks confirmed. “But since when do farmers have modboxes like that?”

  “Is that a bus?” Bahk asked, pointing to a dark area away from the building.

  “Confirmed,” Hayden said, noticing the vehicle. Like the cars, it was modified with armored plating and steel spines to help protect it from trife attack.

  “I don’t like this, Sheriff,” Hicks said. “That doesn’t look like a farmer’s market to me.”

  “Me neither,” Hayden agreed. The setup was suspicious to say the least. “Maybe there’s something to Josias’ fears about his wife being trafficked. Bronson, bring us in over there. Not too far, not too close.”

  “Roger, Sheriff,” Bronson replied. The helicopter began to descend, coming to rest in the field beside the building a few minutes later.

  “Wait for my signal.”

  “Roger, Sheriff,” Hicks said. “We’ve got your back.”

  Hayden jumped out of the chopper and ran across the field toward the building. There were no guards stationed outside, and nobody had come out to see them land even though the helicopter was anything but quiet. He understood why as he got closer. Loud, live music was blaring out through the windows, a deep rumbling bass escaping into the night. He could drop a bomb on the place and they probably wouldn’t hear it.

  What the hell was happening inside?

  Hayden made it to the side of the building, crouching low and pressing himself against the wall. He laughed at himself, straightening up a moment later. There was no reason to act like he didn’t belong there. He walked right past the open windows, the smell of tobacco, alcohol and cheap perfume wafting out with the pulsing noise. They had landed at the back of the building, and the closest door was around the side. Hayden reached it and tried the handle. It was unlocked.

  He slipped inside, nearly bumping into a woman in a short, straight dress carrying a tray of drinks. She gasped and backed up, one of the glasses tipping over and crashing on the floor.

  The music was deafening, but somehow a bearded thug nearby heard the glass break and was on them in a second.

  “What the hell did you do?” he screamed at the woman.

  “It was my fault,” Hayden said, getting in front of him. “I bumped into her.”

  “Is that right?” the man said.

  “That’s right.” Hayden met the heavy’s eyes, challenging him.

  “You don’t look familiar,” the man said.

  “This is my first time here,” Hayden replied, breaking eye contact to look around the room. Wine barrels had been converted into tables, and men were standing around most of them, barely dressed women at one side or in some cases both. They were playing cards. Gambling.

  The man smiled. “You got notes?”

  “I’ve got UWT chits,” Hayden replied. “Are those good here?”

  The man’s smile increased. “Hell, yeah. Who told you about the Wheat?”

  “Josias. You know him?”

  “The farmer?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That little shit was supposed to be here tonight, dealing cards. Do you know where he is?”

  “Nope.”

  “Love the sunglasses by the way,” the man said. He held out his hand. “Name’s Albert. Sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Any cowboy with chits and notes is welcome here, as long as they like good booze, loud music, and expensive women.” He laughed.

  “The girls are for sale?” Hayden asked.

  “Rent,” Albert replied. “We bus them in from up north. They belong to Hanson.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “You’ve never heard of Hanson? Where are you from, cowboy?”

  “All over.”

  “Scavvy?”

  “Just a loner.”

  “You want a drink?” Albert asked, reaching for one from the woman’s tray. She hadn’t moved since the glass had broken, but two other women had come over to pick up the glass.

  “No thanks,” Hayden said.

  The music was making his head hurt, and the smoke was beginning to clog his lungs. The drinking wasn’t illegal. Neither was the gambling or the music, though he was starting to question if it should be. The women? Albert said the women belonged to Hanson. That made them slaves, part of the trafficking Josias had mentioned.

  Even if there wasn’t a khoron involved with this, it needed to be put to an end.

  “I’m not much for the music,” Hayden said. “Do you have somewhere a little more quiet to spend some time with one of your girls. Or maybe two or three.” He offered his most lascivious smile.

  Albert smiled back, putting his arm over his shoulder. “I like the way you think, my friend. What’s your name again?”

  “Earl,” Hayden replied.

  “Earl. That’s a good ole cowboy name, isn’t it? I like it. Show me the money, and I’ll show you the goods.”

  Hayden spread his duster to reach under it, the move flashing the handles of his revolvers. He noticed Albert noticing them, but the man didn’t say a word. Not until he produced an entire roll of UWT chits.

  Albert’s eyes lit up at the sight of them. “Where did you get so many chits?”

  Hayden widened his smile. “I do the dirty work because it pays well.”

  Albert laughed again. “You need to meet Bryant. Follow me.”

  Hayden trailed Albert as the man led him through the first room and into the next. The music was originating from there—four huge speakers connected to amps, which were connected to the band’s instruments and a laptop. Cages flanked the group, women dancing inside them. They were putting on a show, but Hayden could see the fear in their eyes and the tension in their faces.

  A dozen men were watching the show, dancing with more girls intermingled among them. The bus probably seated at least sixty, and it seemed to have arrived full.

  “How long has the Wheat been in operation?” Hayden asked as they crossed the room, shouting into Albert’s ear.

  “About six months. You can thank Sheriff Duke for clearing out the trife. He made this all possible.”

  49

  Hayden

  Hayden froze in place, heart thumping. He had made this possible? He had cleaned up the trife so people could break free of the cycle of violence and mistreatment that had caused Proxima to label them savages. He had done it with the belief that people were fundamentally good, and they wanted to help one another more than they wanted to harm one another.

  In one instant, Albert had shaken that belief to the core. This place existed because he had taken away the greater threat. He had allowed human evil to replace alien nature without providing enough oversight to ensure it couldn’t happen. He had put his faith in goodness without paying enough attention to the downside.

  His eyes shifted to the women in the cages. Maybe if he hadn’t cleared out the trife, they would still be prisoners. Perhaps they would be dead. There was no way to know what the alternate future might be. But this was the present reality.

  And it was his responsibility to fix it.

  How many other places like this existed across the UWT? How many other laws broken or ignored? Why weren’t more people reporting this? Josias had only come to them because his wife was gone, not because he wanted to put a stop to this abuse. Hell, the farmer had been working here.

  “Earl, you okay?” Albert asked, noticing he had stopped. “It’s cool if you want to listen to the music.”

  Hayden forced his face to relax. He looked at Albert. “Are they available?” he asked, pointing to the women in the cages.

  “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  Albert smiled. “We can take a break. It’ll cost.”

  “I can pay.”

  “Consider it done. Wait here.”

  Albert walked over to another thug near the stage. This one was carrying an MK-10 USSF assault rifle and wearing a military bodysuit like Hayden’s. He glanced over and then moved to the first cage.

  “They’ll meet you downstairs,” Albert said. “This way.”

  He led Hayden out of that room and into a third. A few men were on couches, snuggling with a few of the women. Syringes were spread across the table between them, some used, some fresh. They eyed Hayden as he passed before returning to their activities.

  “I’ve seen other places like this outside the UWT,” Hayden said as they approached a set of open wooden doors leading to a stairway. “I didn’t think there were any here.”

  “This may be the biggest one to the north,” Albert replied. “Hanson keeps a tight grip on things if you know what I mean. But there are smaller operations across the whole region. He who has the most guns wins.”

  Albert laughed again. Hayden smiled along. They descended a set of stone steps into the cellar. Old wine barrels filled a portion of it, possibly still full, though it had likely all turned to vinegar by now. He paused and looked back as the four women from the cages filed in behind him, and then the two doors swung closed, helping to block out the noise.

  “All for me?” Hayden asked.

  “You’ve got the chits,” Albert said.

  “I’ve got a lot more in my other pockets.” Hayden smirked. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “We’re businessmen, Earl. Not common thugs.”

  Hayden nodded. Could have fooled him.

  “Ladies,” Albert said to the women coming down the steps. “This is Earl. Earl, this is the ladies.”

  “A pleasure,” Hayden said. His gut wrenched when he looked at them. Frightened, but resigned.

  “Albert, who have you brought?”

  Hayden turned around again. A new man had joined them. Well-dressed, well-groomed, with dark hair and a trimmed goatee. Thin, athletic, arrogant. Blue eyes. Fair skin.

  “Bryant, this is Earl. Earl, Bryant. He’s a first-timer with a lot of chits to spend.”

  “My favorite type of clientele,” Bryant said, flashing a gold-filled smile. “I see you already made a selection. What’s your pleasure, Earl?”

  “Pain,” Hayden replied. “Fear.”

  He hated to say it, knowing how the women behind him would react. He understood how things went out there. All of them had probably been raised under the thumb of a tyrant or collected off the streets as kids. Probably long before he had come into the picture and deposed King, the former warlord from Sanisco.

  Bryant’s smile increased. “I see. Well, we can accommodate any taste so long as the chits are good. In fact, you’re welcome to join my private party if you’re interested. You can bring those girls with you.”

  “Sure,” Hayden replied. “Why not?”

  Hayden followed Albert and Bryant away from the stairs, past the wine barrels to a closed door in the corner.

  “You aren’t squeamish, are you, Earl?” Bryant asked.

  Hayden reached up, grabbing his sunglasses and tapping on the temple six times, signaling the Rangers that it was time to move in. The onboard ATCS had already fed the scene out to their helmets, providing them a full schematic of the building and a look at the positions of the operators inside. Now it was up to Hicks and his team to take out the bad without harming the good.

  He held the glasses in his hand, making direct eye contact with Bryant. Either the man was infected by a khoron, or he was the most disgusting masochist Hayden had ever encountered.

  Either way, he was going to take him out.

  “I’m used to pain,” Hayden replied, slipping the sunglasses back onto his face. He squinted his right eye a few times, activating Hicks’ feed in the top right corner. The Rangers were running toward the building at full speed.

  “I doubt you’ve seen anything like this before.”

  Bryant pushed open the door. Hayden looked through. His breath caught in his throat.

  He expected to see men and women with whips and chains, tied up and possibly beaten. If he went to an extreme, he expected knives and blood, cutting and choking.

  This was worse.

  Much worse.

  The room was full of creatures that looked like someone had merged a human with a trife. Taller and more muscular than a standard demon, a nearly human head with a mouth full of sharp teeth, and five fingers and toes sporting thick claws. They waited patiently, staring back at Hayden, their mouths spreading into smiles.

  “Have you ever seen a Reaper before, Sheriff Duke?” Bryant asked.

  50

  Hayden

  Hayden started reaching for his revolvers. The women behind him screamed. Bryant backed away from the door to give the Reapers room to maneuver. Albert tried to grab Hayden’s arm.

  “You should have taken the offer you were given, Sheriff,” Bryant said. “The Master is gracious to those who are worthy. And terrible to those who deny them.”

  The Reapers started toward him, baring their teeth and howling. Hayden was already in motion. He slammed his hand into Albert’s face, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling backward. Then he backpedaled, grabbing his guns and turning them on Bryant. The first Reaper was on him before he could shoot the infected man and he changed targets, quickly pounding the Relyeh creature with slugs from both guns. He emptied the revolvers into it.

  It barely reacted.

  Hayden brought up his forearm, activating the Axons shield and catching its attempt to slash his face. Claws scraped against the energy shield, the force of the blow pulling Hayden’s arm down. A slash from the other side nearly decapitated him as he barely got under it in time.

  “Hicks, a little help!” Hayden shouted, throwing himself backward. The women were screaming and fleeing behind him, trying to get away.

  “I love the fear,” Bryant said. “Don’t you, Sheriff?”

  Hayden skipped sideways, ducking between a stack of wine barrels and narrowly avoiding another slash from the Reaper. Its claws went clean through the barrel, sending old, spoiled wine gushing from the wound and onto the floor.

  Controlled gunfire sounded on the floor above, followed by sharper screams. Hayden glanced at Hicks’ feed. The Rangers were inside, hitting the targets he had identified earlier. He watched them drop under the quick ambush, shot before they could react.

  He looked away, backing down the column of barrels and quickly reloading while the Reaper recalibrated, slowing to follow. He aimed a second time. It had caught a dozen rounds in its chest, but he didn’t see any of the wounds now—only small stains of blood from the original damage. He had seen quick healing before, but he couldn’t believe how fast the creature recovered.

  He was about to squeeze the trigger when something hit the top of the barrels above. He looked up in time to see another Reaper there, looking back down, wearing a monstrous smile. The distraction was intentional. He returned his attention to the Reaper in front of him, getting his arm up again to block its attack, but falling back under the weight of the assault and slipping on the wine that had already spilled. He landed on his back, the Reaper looming over him, a sadistic grin spread across its hideous face.

  He closed his hand, switching the Axon material from defensive to offensive. Claws sprouted over his wrist, and he slashed at the claws reaching for his face, severing the limb from the Reaper. It howled and backed away, giving him a moment to recover.

  But only a moment.

  Another Reaper came in from behind just as Hayden got to his feet. He spun on his heel, firing his revolver in its face, the rounds puncturing its eyes and breaking some of its teeth. It fell back, and he snuck past it, heading down the aisle along the wall. Another Reaper chasing behind him.

  He looked into the HUD again. The targets the Rangers had dropped were back on their feet, proving Bryant wasn’t the only infected.

  It was a trap. A carefully laid, perfectly timed trap.