Nothing but dust and ruins. And us, stuck here in this building until we decide to go outside and let Tucker shoot us from five hundred yards.

  Sergeant G shouted over their radio net again.

  “Romeo-Whiskey, move it!”

  Jed backed down the narrow room until he couldn’t see the parking lot through the door anymore. He heard footsteps clattering down stairs from somewhere behind him.

  “Welch, let’s go,” Reeve called to him.

  Jed turned to see Reeve coming down a flight of steps and going down a hallway that ended in a corner. With a measured pace, and still expecting a sucker face to come in the parking lot door at any moment, Jed moved past the stairs Reeve had been on. A faint glow like filtered sunlight came from around the landing, and he heard the hiss of a radio signal.

  He checked back the way he’d come, through the little day room. The air around the doorway seemed to shake, but nothing moved into his sight picture. No monsters came flying through full of spittle and blood and scrabbling claws.

  Jed finally let himself relax and moved around the corner to join Reeve and the others.

  — 12 —

  Jed followed the sound of Sergeant G’s voice around the corner in the hall and into the open space of the apparatus floor. Thick pillars supported the roof, forming three separate places for the firetrucks to park. Heavy hoses hung from the ceiling, dangling like guts. Everywhere he looked, Jed saw signs of the ruin that New York had become. He couldn’t help it.

  Nothing looks alive anymore. Nothing should be. I’m amazed any of us are still standing.

  “You made it,” Sergeant G said over her shoulder. “Make it faster next time.”

  “Rah, Sergeant.”

  “Post at the end there.” She pointed with her right hand toward the last pillar in a line that supported the high ceiling of the bay.

  Jed moved to where she wanted him and did a quick scan of the apparatus floor, remembering how Meg had shown him where they’d kept protective gear and first aid in her station. The same lockers and cabinets lined the walls of this room, only the doors were all open and most of the equipment was gone. Only a single trauma bag and one case of bottled water were left.

  Jed reminded himself to stay focused and on mission. He kept his weapon up and roved the muzzle across the line of people they’d found on the apparatus floor.

  Seven people, a mix of men and women of different races, sat on the floor or on cots over in a corner. An injured man and woman, both white, were a little apart from the other five. They all sat on the cots and wore hospital scrubs or dark blue uniforms. Jed could just make out a shoulder patch on one of them showing the number 53.

  A line of bullet holes decorated the wall above the couple’s heads. Sergeant G stood at the left end of the group with Mahton and Reeve standing to her right. Jed glanced at Mahton and saw him twitching. His face was pinched, and he had a hollow look in his eyes.

  Dude’s out for blood, just like Reeve. Somebody’s gonna get theirs.

  “We want to think you’re all good guys,” Sergeant G said. “Most of you look legit, except for you two…”

  She pointed at the couple, who sat by themselves. The man sat closest to the others, with the woman on his right. Her eyes darted side to side, stopping on each of the Marines for half a second. Jed guessed they were married from the way they stayed close together, and especially now that the woman put her arm onto the man’s leg, resting her palm there like he was a life raft on the open sea. Not that he or the woman could do much in their condition. He had his left arm in a sling and the woman’s legs were both wrapped in bandages, along with the right side of her face.

  The man stared at Sergeant G, Mahton, Reeve, and Jed in turn, like he was taking their measure or something. It wasn’t the eye-balling that Jed was used to on the block, but he knew when he was being sized up. The guy didn’t even try to hide it. Jed gave it back to him, but kept his attention open, watching for any movement among the group of people in the corner.

  Something about the way they were sitting caught his eye. They were much better off than the couple, with no injuries he could see. But they still didn’t look that great. They were all hunched over. The men sat with their hands between their knees, like they were scared to even speak. Jed didn’t see any visible wounds on them, and was about to ask why they were on the cots. Then he saw they were zip-tied, wrists to ankles, and had more ties holding them to the cots.

  “What the—They’re prisoners!”

  ***

  “We’re first responders,” one of the men said. He wore a set of pale green scrubs and looked young, maybe twenty years old if that. He had a narrow face, pale brown skin, and a strong Spanish accent. Back in school, he could have been one of Gallegos’ friends.

  “You’re all firefighters?” she asked.

  “Sí, chica. This was our house until these pinche culeros and their friends showed up and started giving orders.” He whipped his head in the direction of the couple sitting off to the side. “I sure hope you a different bunch of gun-crazies.”

  “Cool it, Luce,” said another young man in the group. He wore a firefighter’s uniform. His skin was darker, and his English wasn’t accented. He sat in a relaxed pose, even with his hands tied to his ankles. “We’re EMTs, except for Luce,” he said, nodding at the man next to him. “He’s a phlebotomist.”

  The young man looked back at him and pinched up his face. The other man half-whispered, “She’s not with them. I think we’re good here.”

  “You think, Dom? You think? I know this girl is pointing a fucking gun at my face and yours. So—”

  “Where are the others?” Gallegos demanded. She had to cut Luce off before he got on a roll. Mahton and Reeve both had their weapons back at the ready, but as soon as Luce started hollering, the men lifted their muzzles a bit, like they were going to draw a bead on his ass.

  “Which others do you mean?” asked the firefighter named Dom.

  “We know Tucker has at least two teams in here. One for each truck. The other truck is still outside,” she said, then motioned with her weapon at the injured couple. “These two have been laid up for a while, unless that sling is a fake. So where the fuck is the other team?”

  “They all left,” said a woman at the back of the group.

  “Jo, don’t say nothin,” Luce told her. “We don’t know who they’re with. Maybe they’re just—”

  “You don’t give the orders, Luce,” Jo shot back. She and the other woman in the corner were older than the two Latinos. They were both white or mixed, Gallegos didn’t really care. What she needed to know was who could be trusted, and right now it was looking like the people on the cots really were prisoners, not col-labs playing possum, and that they weren’t lying when they said Tucker and his people had all left.

  The two women in the corner were bound just like the men. The last man in their group was black. He sat up against the wall with his head drooped down over his chest. Gallegos thought he was dead at first, but she could see his chest rise and fall evenly, like he was asleep.

  “They all left?” Reeve asked, letting out just enough of his frustration that Gallegos knew she had to get control of the situation and fast.

  “Yeah, they left. All of them,” Jo said. “They do that sometimes, when they need supplies. We’re running low on food and water.”

  “It was a chow run,” Reeve said. “Good thing they don’t know—”

  “Shut it!” Gallegos ordered.

  Over on the cots, the black man’s head jerked up and he took in the Marines with wide eyes. Reeve swallowed whatever he was planning to say, but Gallegos could see the damage was already done.

  The old Reeve would never make a pog mistake like that. Dios, we’re all slipping. We’re all so beat down.

  The wounded couple had their eyes locked on Reeve, and the man had shifted his injured arm to the side. Gallegos still didn’t see a weapon anywhere, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t holding. When the man shifted again, she trained her weapon on him.

  “Mahton, back me up. Reeve, you watch the others.”

  Mahton shifted his aim to cover the injured pair. Reeve brought his weapon up and ready to cover the people on the cots.

  “What the fuck? We’re on your side you dumbshit,” said the woman next to Jo.

  “How do we know that?” Gallegos asked, still sighting on the couple. “Maybe that sling is just a cover for a gat.”

  “It’s not,” said the black man, as he leaned away from the wall. “His arm was broken in two places when they came in here. We set it as best we could and bandaged up the other wounds they had. She was the worst of them. I tried to convince them we should go to the hospital. It’s only a few blocks away. Tucker didn’t want to leave, and neither did they.” He tilted his head in the direction of the couple but kept his eyes on Gallegos.

  She felt the M4’s weight dragging on her neck. The sling rubbed against her collar and pressed her vest tight against her shoulder.

  Something doesn’t break soon, everybody here is getting capped.

  The man with the busted arm shifted on his hip and made a jerking movement with his good arm. Mahton’s weapon cracked loud, echoing in the open bay.

  — 13 —

  Jed had the SAW up, but didn’t know where he should aim it. Mahton fired into the wall and the bandaged woman screamed. The man rolled away from her to his left, cradling his injured arm with his good one and turning to show his flank to the Marines. Mahton had only fired a warning shot, but it had done the trick. The guy with the bad arm whimpered and started sobbing.

  “My ass is going numb on this floor. I had to move. I won’t move again. I promise.”

  Jed roved his weapon back and forth, covering the couple as best he could. If either one of them made a fast move—

  “Who’s in charge?” Sergeant G demanded.

  “That’s me, chica,” Luce said.

  “The hell you are,” Jo said to him. The other woman, Dom, and the black guy all shook their heads and eyed Luce like he was an idiot.

  “Yo, Luce, is it?” Sergeant G asked him, bringing her muzzle around to aim at his chest. “You don’t call me chica because you don’t fucking know me, cabrón.”

  “And you don’t fucking know me, so you don’t call me Luce. The name is Luciano, like my cousins who went to be with God on 9/11.”

  For a little guy, Luce had plenty of fight packed inside. He stared down Sergeant G and Jed’s finger hovered over the trigger guard, ready to snap back. The room buzzed around him, and the tension threatened to drop him where he stood. Mahton and Reeve kept switching their aim from the couple to the group in the corner. Jed was sure he was about to witness another bloodbath until Sergeant G lowered the muzzle of her weapon, still holding it ready but no longer aiming right into anyone’s grill.

  “Okay. Luciano. You like to talk, so talk. Tell me what’s up. I’m not an idiot. You’re not in charge, but who is? And are these two with Tucker, or were they hauled in as hostages?”

  “We’re not with Nat Tucker or any of his people,” the bandaged woman said. “My husband and I were living upstairs from him when it all happened. He said he’d look out for us because we—”

  She flicked a look at the firefighters on the cots and Jed caught her lingering on the black guy. Sergeant G must have noticed as well.

  “So he’s that kind of pendejo?” Sergeant G asked.

  “Uh-huh,” the black guy said. “If you wouldn’t mind cutting us loose, we could get the hell out of here. Or we could wait for them to come back and kill everyone they don’t need.”

  “Need?” Mahton asked. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

  Luciano answered him. “Means he’s only keeping us alive because he doesn’t know shit about first aid. Matty here knows how to set bones better than any of us. Tucker would have shot his black ass otherwise.”

  Matty didn’t even flinch at Luciano’s words, except to crack a grin.

  “It isn’t my black ass I’d be worried about, Luce,” he said. “You know that man has a hard-on for killing anyone in this city that doesn’t look like him. Dominic here is about as dark as it gets around the Barrio.”

  Jed caught a flash of anger in Luce’s eyes. A wave of fear crossed Dominic’s face, but it passed just as fast and he was back to his casual self.

  “Just cut us loose, please,” the woman named Jo said. “We’re on your side.”

  The other woman added her voice, and pretty soon the whole group was hassling Sergeant G to cut them all loose. The injured couple stayed huddled close together, and quiet as church mice. Finally, Mahton lowered his weapon and reached for his bayonet. Sergeant G nodded at him and came over to Jed while Mahton went to cut the firefighters free.

  “Welch, you and Reeve secure the hallway back there.”

  “Rah, Sergeant,” he said and moved out. He posted at an oblique to the entrance, so he could catch anyone coming down the hall before they got close enough to shoot into the room. Reeve joined him a few seconds later, taking up position to watch the opposite side of the hallway.

  Back in the corner, Sergeant G was talking to everyone, getting their names and asking what they were trained for. Jed heard things that made him feel better about their chances. They didn’t have Meg with them, but they did have a team of professional medics.

  “We all have a common enemy,” Sergeant G finally said aloud to the group. “So who wants to show him what happens when you make an enemy out of people with friends?”

  For the first time in a long time, Jed felt something he hadn’t known he was missing. The sense of having a mission again helped him get his legs, find a place to stand even if it was at the bottom of the totem pole. But Sergeant G’s words about having friends gave him something else.

  He had a crew around him again, people who would look out for him just as he looked out for them.

  And together they were going to put Tucker where he belonged: six-feet-the-fuck-underground.

  While the firefighters rubbed circulation back into their limbs, and the injured couple took their places on the cots, Sergeant G made the introductions.

  “Dominic Cardeñas, Emmanuel Luciano, meet Private Mahton. I’m Staff Sergeant Gallegos. Over there watching the door is PFC Reeve. Private Welch has the machine gun. Who else is with your crew?”

  “I’m Matty Washington,” the black guy answered. “Technically I guess I’m highest rank. Jo King and Dom here drove an ambulance, but didn’t work in the station. Leigh Barton was here with us when the shit started. When’d you all get here?”

  “We came in two days ago. You said your name was Washington? You’re highest rank?”

  “That’s right, and call me Matty.”

  “Matty then. Why’d Luce say he was in charge?”

  “He likes to be on top,” Matty said with a chuckle.

  Jed had to resist the urge to keep looking back at the group as they continued to chat and talk shit together. Sergeant G even laughed once, but Jed had to keep his eyes front and on mission. He hadn’t heard any echoes of a truck motor outside since they’d come into the building. Still, he knew better than to turn away from his post again. That’d be when the hit would come.

  You never hear the one that gets you.

  He remembered his platoon sergeant saying that once. That was the day they went out on patrol and Jed saw his first and last firefight. The day his platoon sergeant died.

  “Yo, Welch,” Reeve said from his position opposite Jed.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re spacing out, man. Back to earth.”

  Jed focused again, eyes front, monitoring the hallway back to the corner.

  “That’s enough bullshitting for now, rah?” Sergeant G said behind him. “We’re taking the second truck back to our location. Reeve found the keys hanging on a hook when he was upstairs.”

  Reeve held them up and laughed. “Oh, dah-ling, the Lexus is a mess. I suppose we’ll take the Toyot-ah.”

  “I said cut the shit, Reeve. Watch that hallway.”

  “Errr,” he said, pocketing the keys again.

  Jed refocused on his zone of fire. Weak light glowed from back down the hallway to the parking lot entrance. If anything came around that corner—

  He sent a burst down the hallway when a heavy shadow broke the light.

  “The fuck?” Reeve asked, tensing up. “What’d you see, Welch?”

  “Something down there. There’s something around the corner.”

  Sergeant G was ordering the firefighters to find shelter behind anything they could. Most of them crammed together around the pillars behind Jed and Reeve.

  “Welch,” Sergeant G said. “What’s up?”

  “Just a shadow, Sergeant,” he said. “But something’s moving in the hallway. Around the corner.”

  She stepped up next to him. “Move to contact. Flash-bang in case it’s friendly. Be ready to light it up if it’s not.”

  “Rah,” he said, already letting the SAW rest on its sling while he reached into his vest pouch for one of the grenades. He had it in his hand and was two steps from the hallway when another shadow split the light.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Throw the banger, Welch, then we move in with a purpose. We’re clearing rooms, just like in boot.”

  Jed cupped the safety lever in his palm and yanked the pin, then shuffled toward the hallway entrance. He heard Sergeant G behind him, directing Reeve to keep an eye on their approach.

  “You cover us, rah? The rest of us will—”

  A loud shriek cut her off, and was followed by the sound of countless claws scraping across stone and brick. Hisses and howls filled the hallway as a mass of greasy pale white flesh poured along the ceiling, racing into the apparatus floor. Needle teeth and claws flooded Jed’s vision as the suckers dropped to the floor in front of him. A few smaller ones spread onto the walls.