“Can’t speak them,” she whispered. “Don’t speak them.”

Her head fell to the side.

Red, last of the Neanderthals, was dead.

Queen returned moments later, weapon at the ready, but unnecessary. After working her way through the sea of bones, she stood over Rook, who was still kneeling over Red.

“You okay?”

“Thanks to her.”

He moved, giving Queen a clear view.

“Red?” she asked.

With a nod, he added, “She said they wanted the ‘bad words.’”

“Bad words.” Queen thought back over their last year of training; training that was supposed to have prepared them for the strange and unusual events they were encountering. But the reference was too vague to even speculate about. “Could be anything.”

“Yeah,” Rook said. “Well, I can think of at least one bad word that’s applicable after what I just experienced: we’re fucked.” He closed Red’s eyes with his fingers, stood, and looked at Queen. “God help anyone else who tangles with these things.”

FIFTEEN

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

TO THEIR CREDIT, King’s mother and father didn’t say a word as he pushed his car to one hundred twenty miles an hour. As they reached the highway exit for Fort Bragg, his mother’s only comment was that it was miraculous they hadn’t been pulled over. En route, King had put in calls to every member of the team, including Deep Blue, and finally to the office at Bragg itself. No one picked up. It could mean the team was engaged in a phones-off meeting, but Bragg not answering combined with the warning he’d received was ominous and he kept his foot pressed heavy on the gas pedal.

As they sped down the entry road to Bragg, disregarding the thirty-mile-per-hour speed limit, King saw the first security checkpoint ahead. He took his foot off the gas, intending to have the men there send word ahead. But as they drew nearer he saw that the metal gate lay broken and bent on the side of the road. The guardhouse still stood, but one of the walls had been shattered. He stopped next to the small building and saw the two guards lying dead in the grass.

“Stay here,” he said to his parents before opening the door.

As soon as the door opened, the distant sounds of battle filled his ears. Despite his urge to hop back in the car and tear off into the thick of it, his training kept him rooted. First he checked the downed guards for pulses. Finding none, he collected their M4s. Before heading back to the car he stopped by the shed, kicked through the rubble, and found a handheld radio. He turned it on and shouting voices filled the air. He quickly dialed through the channels and found the same on each; soldiers shouting orders, asking for reinforcements, describing large, fast-moving objects that couldn’t be stopped.

King dropped the radio. The strangeness of the attack confirmed the warning he’d received. Someone was after Fiona.

He rushed back to the car and slid into the driver’s seat. He handed one of the M4s to his father. “Can you handle this?”