“I’m going with them,” said the radio on Diana’s shoulder, and I realized it was Potash’s voice, rough with static.
“Stay in the car,” said Diana. “You can barely breathe.”
“No,” said Ostler, “I’m sending you both—first in the door, since you’re the only personnel with any experience fighting Withered. If we can save even one of these idiots’ lives, we will.”
“Yes ma’am,” said Diana, and she ran off with her rifle—not her long sniper, but a short automatic that would be better in close quarters.
Ostler handed me a radio. “If you have any brilliant insights, now’s the time to let them know. They’re the only people who can fight these monsters, but you’re the only person who can think like one.”
I looked at the radio in my hand, then back at Ostler. “No radio silence?”
“The cops are going to be broadcasting the whole time anyway.”
“All right then.” I paused. “Do you and I get vests, too?”
“You’re not going in there,” she said firmly.
“And you’re so sure that what’s in there isn’t coming out?”
She frowned, but walked to her car and opened the trunk, revealing an array of armor and weapons. I took off my bulky coat, shivering in the night air, and pulled on a vest. Ostler did the same. I clipped the radio to a strap on the front and switched it on.
Words hissed across the radio channel like ghosts.
“Team One in position.”
“Team Two move to the back entrance.” It sounded like Detective Scott, but I couldn’t be sure. “Team Three, stay here to cover the retreat.”
“Potash,” said Diana, “you need to hurry it up.”
The only answer from Potash was labored breathing and the sound of boots in the snow.
“Form up along this wall,” said Detective Scott. “Weapons hot.”
“Shoot anything that moves,” I said. “Chairs, shadows, cats, I don’t even care. Anything you don’t kill will kill you.”
Ostler scowled. “That’s your great advice?”
I laughed dryly. “If you thought the raid on Mary Gardner was reckless and stupid, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“You’re broadcasting,” said Diana.
“Go team,” I said. “We’re all out here cheering for you.”
I should be in there, I thought. Not part of this raid, but the only one on the raid, and instead of a raid it would just be quiet, unassuming John Cleaver, picking up a night job to make a few extra bucks. I could learn about the hearses, dazzle Elijah with my knowledge of mortuary life, and over weeks and months find the cracks in his armor. I could kill him if they gave me time.
But there was never any time anymore. The war had started and this was its future: terrified men without a hope of survival, future corpses lining up for The Hunter to eat.
Elijah absorbed memories from the dead. The Hunter ate people and possibly controlled their minds. Gidri we had no idea about, and we didn’t even have a name for the final man. I had nothing I could tell the team.
“Go,” said Diana, and the hiss of the radio was joined by the click of a lock opening, of a door swinging wide, of weapons being readied. Boots thumped and spare magazines jangled.
“They’re arguing,” Diana whispered. “No, they’re fighting. Something’s gone wrong.”
I heard crashes and a loud, feminine scream that was probably Rose, followed by an inhuman roar whose origin I could only guess at. Seconds later the channel erupted in the sound of gunfire, and I heard Diana shout “Potash, fall back!”
What could I tell them that could save their lives? That Elijah should have been good? That kidnapping Rose felt like a betrayal I didn’t even understand? I heard Potash’s ragged breath and something that sounded for all the world like an axe biting into wood. The woman screamed again, and then I heard Diana’s voice, her words short and clipped.
“I have one still alive in here but I can’t hit him without hurting the woman.”
“So try harder,” I said, but something didn’t feel right. She’d said she had “one still alive.” Were all but one of the cops already dead? But I could still hear them shouting over the radio. Was she talking about a Withered, then? Did she have one of them already dead and another alive but not killing her? How was that even possible? Unless they weren’t Withered at all.
“I need backup,” said Diana. She sounded like her teeth were clenched tightly shut from fear. “He’s healing.”
So they were definitely Withered. What was going on?
“Please don’t shoot us,” said Rose, barely audible through Diana’s radio, and I froze. Don’t shoot us. She’d said “us.” One of the Withered was still alive, so close to Rose that Diana couldn’t risk a shot. And now Rose was pleading for his life.