Page 56 of Crimson Moon Falling

“There’s another entrance on the west slope, about half a mile from here. A tunnel that looks like a cave. Two soldiers in Apex uniforms are guarding the entrance, and active cameras are mounted above it.”

The storm front was a dark bruise on the horizon, growing thicker by the minute. The temperature dropped steadily as the sun vanished behind the ridge. My stomach clenched. Actual Apex soldiers all the way out here?

“Are the cameras wired?” Malcolm asked.

“Yeah. If we cut the power, they’ll go down. There might be motion sensors, but the storm will fuck with those too.”

The implant ran the variables. Can infiltrate, but move fast. Stay quiet. Medium risk of detection.

“Are they regular soldiers or operatives?”

“They don’t move or smell like operatives, but the older one’s a shifter. He’s also about fifty pounds overweight. The younger one is a Normal or maybe a Cog.” Parker turned to me. “Do you want to try and take them alive?”

A year ago, I would’ve said yes, maybe even before Roswell. Not now. “It’s too risky.” The implant suppressed my emotions, but the past year had changed me. Sometimes hard choices had to be made.

Parker kicked into Marine mode and ordered Bart and Freda to take out the power. “Find the junction box or transformer feeding this place, then kill it when the storm hits.”

Freda scowled. “I’m Riley’s bodyguard, which means I need to stay with her.”

He shook his head. “While I’m here, that’s my job.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “We know each other inside and out. I trained her, and can protect her better than anyone.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Fine, but you’d better keep her alive. We’ll meet you at the tunnel entrance.”

The wind picked up, and the first fat raindrops spattered through the canopy. Thunder rolled in the distance, a long, low rumble that vibrated in my chest. During thunderstorms, my energy came alive, crackling along my veins and sending tingles down my spine.

When the rain hit in earnest, we moved out, Parker taking point and Malcolm covering behind. Cora and I took the middle with the hellhounds flanking me. The forest went dark fast, and the trail turned slick. This wasn’t a soft summer rain, but a hard, gray cloudburst. When Parker glanced back to check on us, his eyes were crow-black.

The tunnel entrance came into view, a dark mouth cut into the hillside, partially concealed by undergrowth. Two figures stood in the shelter of the overhang. We took cover about fifty yards out, behind a fallen pine with a clear line of sight to the entrance.

Pulling my binoculars out, I tried to count their weapons in the darkness. The older soldier held a standard MP5 on a sling. The younger one had a sidearm and what looked like a comm unit clipped to his vest. Both wore the Apex Mentis black tactical gear. Parker was right. The older soldier did look about fifty pounds overweight.

Something crashed in the forest to our left, making my heart lurch as Malcolm brought his gun up. I crouched lower, and we all froze as a bull moose came lumbering through the trees. His head swung up, and he froze when he sensed us. We stayed perfectly still as he sized us up. The rain drummed on the dead wood, steady and loud as Mangus pressed against my leg, his body radiating that supernatural heat.

If the moose decided to charge, our cover would be blown. He turned his head to the side, his massive antlers scraping against a low-hanging branch. Then his head went down, and he continued on, likely looking for shelter from the storm.

My heart rate settled, and I slowly relaxed. Lightning cracked directly overhead, a white-hot fork that lit the entire hillside in stark, blinding detail.

Then the lights went out, and the camera’s red eye died. The guards straightened, their postures shifting from bored to alert. The older one reached for his comm unit.

“Now,” Malcolm murmured.

Parker didn’t hesitate. His crow burst from the undergrowth, blending with the night. He flew in a tight circle above the guards’ heads, cawing loudly enough to be heard over the rain.

The younger guard tried to track Parker’s flight with his gun, the older one barking something I couldn’t hear. The distraction bought a few seconds, and Malcolm moved in like smoke.

I lost sight of him for three heartbeats, and then he was behind the older guard, one arm locking around the man’s throat. The shifter bucked and tried to rip away, but Malcolm ended it quickly, slicing his combat knife across the older soldier’s neck in a clean, brutal cut. Blood hit the wet rock in a dark spray, instantly diluted by the rain. The guard went limp, his weapon clattering to the ground.

I aimed at the other soldier’s head and wondered for a split second whether he had parents who would mourn him and a girlfriend or boyfriend back home. Freda materialized beside him and raised her SIG, pressing it against his temple. The rain muffled the shot as his body slumped to the ground.

Malcolm and Parker strode forward, searched them, then dragged the bodies into the trees. Parker picked up the younger guard’s knit cap, his eyes shadowed.

We stood inside the mouth of the tunnel, sheltered from the rain. My black water-resistant jacket was soaked through, and my damp, cold skin prickled. We all switched on our headlamps, and I squinted to see. The air coming out of the tunnel was surprisingly warm. A shiver went through me as Mangus growled, low and subsonic, the sound vibrating through my body.

“Stay sharp,” Freda murmured.

The tunnel was about ten feet wide, its walls slick with mineral deposits that sparkled in our headlamps. Water dripped, and the warm air carried a sharp mineral scent.

The area opened into a wider concrete corridor, similar to the one we’d found under the hatch. Overhead, someone had removed the fluorescent light fixtures and installed new lighting, but the walls were the same industrial gray, stained with decades of moisture.