The Tsuchi bucked and twisted under the barrage of high caliber rounds, clearly confused about what was happening. But Reynolds could tell they weren’t doing any real damage.
“I’m in my office on the fifth floor, and I hear gunfire,” a voice said in Reynolds’s ear. It was Brice. “Have you killed it?”
While Cross continued to fire, Reynolds reloaded his rifle without looking. “The target Tsuchi is dead.”
“Then why do I hear gunfire?” The scientist sounded irritated, unaware that his research facility was about to go to hell.
“Because the thing reproduced!” Reynolds shouted, backing away and firing as Cross reloaded. The Tsuchi was still twitching from each round, some of them actually punching through its thick, black skin, but most of it ricocheting off its armor plating.
“I told you to shoot your men if—”
“Most of my men are dead,” Reynolds said, his magazine empty again. “The Tsuchi reproduced with Nemesis’s corpse!”
The line fell silent.
“This thing is the size of a truck!” Reynolds opened fire again, stopping when his back struck the far wall. He wasn’t far from the exit.
“But there is just one?” Brice asked. “The Tsuchi reproduce in sets of three.”
Reynolds glanced toward the holes in Nemesis’s dead skin. Three of them. “I’ve seen only one, but there is evidence of three.”
“My god...” Brice said. “I’m coming down.”
“I feel better alread—”
A long, armored tail snaked down from above. Reynolds looked up and saw a second Tsuchi clinging to the wall. He shouted a warning, but it was too late. The spear tip stabbed into McAfee’s back, three times in rapid succession, each time spurting a white blob and writhing larva onto the floor. But the Tsuchi must have seen this and understood the man wasn’t a host for its young, because it lifted McAfee up and shoved him head fist into its open maw, every mandible chomp crackling with electricity. A torrent of blood fell between Reynolds and the exit.
As he considered running through it, a roar, like a high-pitched squeal mixed with a gurgle, echoed through the massive hangar. Reynolds gasped as a third over-sized Tsuchi flew through the air, spinning out of control. It landed inside the jumbled remains of Nemesis Prime.
What the fu—
A shift of movement, so large he nearly missed it, slid across the western side of the building.
It was an arm.
The size of three buses, end to end.
Dropping his useless weapon, Reynolds ran through the curtain of McAfee’s blood. There was nothing he could do to stop what was coming. Nothing any of them could do.
Nemesis was alive.
Even worse, she was awake.
14
I snap awake at the sound of a text message chime. In a daze, I dig my phone out of my pocket, then fail to punch in the unlock code three times, before finally getting it right, looking at the screen and realizing the text wasn’t mine. With a yawn, I look around the interior of the big rental SUV. I’m alone in the back, sprawled out over the seat. Collins and Alessi are in the front. We left Woodstock at the Santa Maria Airport, where a shiny, dark blue, Bell 525 Relentless, one of the world’s most expensive corporate helicopters—sporting a Zoomb logo—awaited him. It didn’t have a mounted gun, like helicopter Betty, but it would get us around in style...if necessary. The helicopter would be used for a quick getaway, but we were hoping to get in and out without being noticed, using fake GOD IDs, also courtesy of Zoomb.
I’m not sure Alessi’s allocation of Zoomb resources could possibly go unnoticed, especially while she is ‘on leave,’ so I’m sure there are unsaid strings attached, or an alternate agenda, but right now I don’t care. The FC-P—my family—is under threat because of these guys, and I’m going to do what I can to turn that around. For the moment, I’ll play the role of Faust.
I blink my eyes open wider and sit up. We pass a sign for Vandenberg Air Force Base. I could have very easily requisitioned a flight directly to Lompoc, landing minutes away from our destination, but there is no doubt our arrival would have been noticed. Alessi’s thumbs tap out a message on her phone. Collins sits behind the wheel.
“Welcome back,” Collins says.
I slept on the flight across the country, my third in far too few hours, and I never really woke up as we transferred to the vehicle. “What are the odds that these phony keycards will get us into GOD’s cafe? They must have great coffee, right?”
“Look to your right,” Collins says.
I turn my head and find a cup of coffee, steam slipping through the hole in its plastic cap, sitting in a cup holder. “We stopped?”
“You slept through it.” Collins glances back at me. “Pushing yourself too hard.”
“Don’t really have a choice,” I say, raising the coffee cup as though making a toast and taking a sip. The warm liquid seems to spread out through my body, waking my mind, and reminding me how much I already ache. Ignoring the pain, I lean forward and peek over the seat.
“That Endo?” I ask Alessi.