“Rhett,” Meg reached into her pocket and tossed him the remote for the barn doors. Keep it on channel 3,” Meg tapped her earpiece as she called over the noise of three dozen soldiers urgently mobilizing equipment and weapons. “Oh, and I left the front door unlocked for you guys.”
Rhett nodded once in acknowledgement before adding, “You two leave some bad guys for us. Copy?” Meg knew he was hiding his worry behind a composed facade. She sent him a targeted wave of calm and confidence. His shoulders instantly pulled back further, pushing his chest forward and his chin up.
“Not makin’ any promises, sir,” Valen grinned.
“Yo, Meg! Valen!” Nate called as he ran up to them, his arms holding two small packages. “Water and MREs—just in case.”
“Thanks Mom,” Valen teased as she took her package and slipped it into the camo backpack she was about to sling over her shoulders. Meg did the same with the satchel at her hip.
“I imagine we’ll be thanking you even more in a couple hours when we’re parched and ravenous.” Meg offered a genuine smile. Nate couldn’t help but stare at her. Something about Meg drew people to her, and Nate wasn’t immune.
Valen turned to lock eyes with Meg, awaiting orders.
“Let’s roll,” Meg turned and walked through the narrow opening Rhett had created with the remote.
By the time the two women disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the doors, Rhett had moved to stand beside Nate.
“Will we see them alive again, sir?” Nate asked in a low whisper so as not to be heard by the others.
“Are you asking if I think they will die? Or we will? Or neither, or both? I don’t know Townsend. What I do know is we’re finally fighting on the right side,” Rhett thumped his friend on the back heartily, “and we’re in for one hell of a night.”
“Copy that, sir.”
55 Monarchs and Milkweed
Michelle spent most of the flight gathering intel and preparing for their assignment. In that planning, she had secured satellite images of the Winter ranch and the surrounding area. She made it her business to know not just the weather, wind direction and velocity, but the topography of the land and roads in the area. Using the data and the known location of 17th Company, she already determined two valid campaigns that would serve their purpose. She wanted to be prepared when she approached Company Leader Hays. With his onsite surveillance and her added muscle, Meg Winter was never again going to see the light of day.
Michelle was smiling as she plucked her phone from her pocket to call Rhett Hays. As it rang, she looked around. The driver of her truck was a trusted metamonarch who, like all of them, had several names for his alter personalities, but primarily went by Gipson. His eyes skillfully took in the road before them while glancing into his mirrors to be sure the rest of the convoy was following as they should.
“Hays,” he answered.
“Hays, it’s Michelle Andrews. My team is en route to your location with an ETA of twenty minutes.”
“We’ll be ready for you,” Rhett assured.
“Excellent. Andrews out,” she ended.
“Copy, Hays out.”
Michelle replaced her phone and watched the scenery go by beneath a dark and moonless sky.
Exactly twenty minutes later the trucks had maneuvered down a path just wide enough to fit their trucks. Michelle’s senses were heightened. Something was wrong.
“Is this the exact GPS coordinates?” she asked the driver for the fourth time in five minutes.
“Yes, ma’am. We’re still receiving the signal from just around that hill.” The driver nodded toward the slightly elevated ground their headlights were bouncing from as they slowed to mount it.
“Where are the lights?” Michelle thought aloud.
“Maybe their leader had them snuff out all lights once the sun went down to hide the base.”
“Maybe,” Michelle said, although the frown hadn’t left her forehead. “Maybe it’s something else. You don’t know Meg like I do.”
“Excuse me, ma’am, but she’s just one girl, right? How much of a threat is she against all of us?”
“I would rather face an army of metahumans than take on that ‘one girl.’”
Her driver glanced at Michelle’s face—sure she was exaggerating. Instead, Gipson saw Michelle’s eyes crackle with hatred.
“Meg Winter is brilliant and powerful—unpredictable and influential. She always has been, but now she knows how to wield her gifts.”
They rounded the small hill and pulled into a clearing.
“Stop the truck.”
Gibson obeyed immediately.
The two trucks behind followed suit, stopping to a duet of squeaking brakes that echoed too loudly. Headlights were left on trying to light up the site.
Michelle opened her door and looked around. The others followed her lead.
“Here? Are you sure this is the correct location?” she asked no one in particular.
A monarch marched up to her holding out his phone. “This is where we were to meet, ma’am. We’re standing on the exact coordinates.”
“The grass is trampled,” another monarch noticed aloud.
“We found tire marks here,” a third reported.