Grabbing his trauma shears from the clip on his belt, he flipped them to the small metal point on the back. Screwing up his face, he slammed the metal point into the window. Cracks splintered across the surface.

  “Damn,” Judd whistled.

  Blake cleared the remnants of the window. “They also have a ring cutter.”

  “Handy.”

  Reaching in, he unlocked the driver’s side door and stepped back, balancing on the serrated running board. He supposed it was too much to hope for the keys to be in the ignition.

  “You know how to hot-wire a vehicle?”

  Judd grinned lazily, extending a hand for Blake’s trauma shears. “Hell,” he drawled, ducking into the foot well to yank out a panel. “Lost the keys for every farm truck we ever had.”

  The more Blake learned about Judd’s farm, the more he was convinced it was a lawless wasteland. He’d have liked to visit.

  After a few minutes, the truck rumbled to life. The diesel engine was cacophonous in the quiet of the park and Blake felt like they were going to get caught at any moment. Judd returned the trauma shears, and he slid them back into his belt.

  Hauling himself into the truck, Blake settled into the driver’s seat.

  “I should be the one—” Judd said, reaching up for Blake.

  “We’ve been over this,” he said distractedly as he looked around the cab for familiar buttons.

  How different from an ambulance could it be?

  “You need to stay focused on the shooting and soldiering. I have no idea what’s going to happen. If I get vaporized, you need to get Victoria out of here.”

  Judd exhaled slowly. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  “None.”

  “I don’t know why, but that makes me feel better.” He stepped back, gesturing for Blake to continue.

  As it turned out, besides the hydraulic controls for the blade at the front, the snowplow wasn’t that different from driving an ambulance. It barely shuddered as it rammed through the chain link fence, dragging the twisted metal a few feet before it finally dropped off.

  Victoria watched with an inscrutable expression as the truck rumbled towards the barrier. Blake chose a spot a good distance from the SUV. It was the only working vehicle they currently had, and he didn’t want to risk destroying it. Not that he was sure distance would help, he might blow them all up for all he knew.

  Shifting back in the seat, he released the wheel long enough to click on the seat belt. Couldn’t hurt.

  Snowplows weren’t built for speed. The heavy angled blade on the front of the truck was controlled by hydraulics attached to the engine for power. A small lip on the bottom of the blade helped it skirt over gravel and grass, so it glided rather than bulldozed. He didn’t think any of that mattered for his purposes. He needed a workhorse.

  Actively crashing into something went against all his instincts. Clenching his fingers around the wheel, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and let the truck lurch the final few feet.

  Blake felt the moment the blade hit the shield. The entire truck shook, the metal creaked and groaned as the back tires spun in the grass. He had to fight the wheel to keep the back end from wobbling back and forth as the momentum looked for other ways to expend itself. Something at the front of the truck cracked, metal screeched, and Blake’s ankle ached with how hard he was pushing down on the accelerator.

  The engine thudded, whirring as it pushed past its limits. A bolt snapped from the blade attachment and ricocheted into the windshield. Cracks splintered across the glass and Blake instinctively ducked.

  When he looked back up, he could see something happening. Through the cracks in the windshield, the barrier began to shimmer. The filaments pulsating and hardening. They glitched, growing hard and then soft as if they couldn’t decide what they needed to do to stop the onslaught.

  Blake had suspected the shield used the same force exerted on it to repel. Like the pressure of flicking a rubber band. If the aliens used in space, then that would be impact only as the space debris pinged off it. It wasn’t designed to hold something back long-term.

  Especially not while it was also holding back an onslaught of zappy balls.

  At least, that’s what Blake hoped.

  Smoke began coiling from the engine. Blake swallowed back the acrid smell, narrowing his eyes as he willed the truck farther. Clunks and groans echoed from the undercarriage. The whole thing shook so hard he felt like his fillings would rattle right out of his teeth.

  “C’mon!” he screamed at the poor vehicle, pushing himself out of the seat with his shoulders as if the accelerator just needed more weight. More persuasion.

  The steering wheel started to shake. It wobbled so hard Blake could barely keep his hands wrapped around the pressed leather. He leaned in harder.

  And then suddenly, the barrier was gone.

  The snowplow lurched forward and the airbag exploded. Pain blasted across his face and chest. His vision swam, lungs burning from the powder. Blake couldn’t open his eyes—he didn’t want to move at all.

  The seatbelt dug into his collarbone, and he had just enough presence of mind to know it wasn’t broken, which was far from any kind of consolation when he couldn’t breathe.

  Pinpricks of pain danced across his face. Burns from the airbag crackled in the cab, the dust coating his tongue. He didn’t taste blood, so his nose was miraculously intact. Small victories. Fumbling, he pushed the deflated bag out of the way so he could unbuckle his seat belt with unsteady hands.

  But, before his sluggish fingers found the button, the entire truck shook. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear a boom, but at this point, it could have been anything.

  The driver’s side door groaned and then wrenched open. “Time to go!” Judd reached in, and Blake just managed to depress the button on his seatbelt before he was bodily pulled from the truck. He landed on wobbly legs, which was fine because Judd seemed content to drag him across the lawn.

  Blinking crap from his eyes, he squinted up into the sky in time to see the second ship getting lower. Zappy balls were flying through the air, electricity crackling across their surface as they splintered and struck. Explosions rang across the city, dust and flames flying into the air. The first ship responded, rail guns booming as they fired back.

  Blake clung to Judd’s forearm.

  What have I done?

  CHAPTER

  It all happened so fast. One moment they were standing on the roof, puzzling through the appearance of a second ship, and the next, everything was moving.

  The first explosion was dangerously close. It rattled Gabriel’s feet out from under him as he dropped to the ground. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself up and grabbed the first person his fingers closed around. Scott squawked as he dragged him back into the station.

  “Get inside!”

  Gabriel wasn’t sure how, but the barrier had come down. Whatever was holding back the second ship’s firepower was now gone; their ordinance was hitting the ground. From his shaky visuals, he could see the balls break apart like buckshot, falling to the ground with an electric snap. If there was nothing to conduct the electricity, it fizzled short.

  The effects weren’t quite as devastating as the molten metal from the Handlers, but it was still bad. Especially when the first ship started returning fire. An all-out war had broken through the previous silence, and they were caught in the middle.

  He was the last through the door, bolting it behind him for whatever protection that gave them. Falling down the stairs, he took a deep breath. The air was stagnant with old sweat and fear. Scott was snarling at the roof as if the aliens could see him.

  “What the hell is going on?” Phin snapped, hand on his gun, Tommy pressed between him and the wall. Gabriel didn’t know if that was intentional or accidental.

  Scoot was still glaring at the ceiling. “They’re shooting at each other.”

  He was right. The second ship didn’t target any ground targets until they started firing back at them. All their fire was concentrated on the ship. None of that made sense. Why would a second force attack the same place the first had already conquered?

  Unless…

  He looked towards the darkened window. “This was never about us.”

  The group was staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

  He turned to Phin. “What’s the first thing you’d do if you had to fight in unfamiliar territory?”

  “I’d clear the area. Make sure there were no—” he trailed off, understanding dawning. “Make sure there were no native hostiles.”

  Tommy inhaled shakily. “You’re saying they never cared about us at all?”

  “I don’t think this is an invasion. I think this is a battlefield.”

  Scott’s eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head. His messy dark hair was falling in front of bruised eyes. He looked so achingly young. His entire platoon had been killed for nothing. For the land they were standing on. Had they not picked up arms, they might still be alive.

  That was a heavy thing to realize.

  “It’s why it stopped chasing us.” Phin squeezed the stock of his gun so hard it squeaked. “Back in the ambulance. I thought it was weird that they didn’t chase us more than a couple of blocks. But it’s because they weren’t interested in us at all.”

  Washington, DC, and all the people in it were just collateral damage.

  Gabriel felt his stomach drop and he braced himself on the wall to steady himself.

  Phin was talking. His mouth running while he pieced things together—why the barrier was down, why their energy source might be damaged, why the second aliens used electricity. Gabriel couldn’t hear it.

  The blood was rushing in his ears. He failed. He came here to help, to fight back, to protect his country and her people, but they didn’t even see him as a threat. They were nothing more than a bug on their alien windshield.

  Aliens who had decided to drag their battle to Earth. Was this even real? Were they just playing? Like a game of paintball, they chose a battlefield and then settled in— damn the locals! Was every city suffering like this?

  And oh god, he’d let Blake go out into that. He sent men, he sent Blake, into that. He pressed his fucking handgun into his hand and⁠—

  Visions of exploding, electrical ordinance flashed behind his eyes.

  He was choking back his failure. It wasn’t right; as their commander, he should be rallying his men. With the barrier down, they could leave. But he couldn’t focus. The arguing in the background and his radio crackling on his chest meant nothing. Just white noise⁠—

  Gabriel jerked, ripping his radio handset off his plate carrier and pressing it to his lips as if that would help.

  Garbled static hissed across the line. The room fell silent as they all stared down at the black plastic.

  “…Red One?”

  He pressed the ‘talk’ button so hard he thought the thing would shatter. “Red One, over.”

  The radio fell silent just long enough for his anxiety to ramp up before it crackled back to life.

  “Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  Phin snatched the radio. “Fuck Irv! You managed to⁠—”

  “I told you not to call me that,” Irving snapped. Gabriel could picture the constipated look on his face. “Report.”

  This wasn’t a secure line, and they had no idea how long it would last, so Gabriel made it succinct. It was difficult imparting everything he had discovered, even more difficult to decide what was important and what wasn’t. To him, it was all groundbreaking, but he knew Irving was only interested in what could be used against the aliens.

  Turned out, Irving did have a telegraph machine, and it had picked up their Morse code message. He just couldn’t return it. Until now.

  Until the shield went down.

  Gabriel froze. The shield. It was never meant to contain anyone. It wasn’t meant for humans at all. Because the shield was broken, the first aliens must have withheld it until the last moment—when the second set ship arrived. That’s why it wasn’t up when Gabriel and his team came through.

  Voice sounding faraway, Gabriel depressed the talk button on his radio. “There’s a second ship. We think they’re fighting each other.”

  “I know,” Irving said, voice tinny. “What was left of the government was trying to organize a counterattack when the second wave of ships arrived.”

  Ships?

  Irving continued to update them. “What the first attack didn’t destroy, the second did. Infrastructure, military bases, power grids, and most major cities are gone.”

  All the blood drained from Gabriel’s face. He tightened his fingers around the radio to keep from dropping it. It was impossible to fathom. The entire country? How could⁠—

  Shaking his head, he realized Irving was still speaking.

  “—managed to get drones in the air just after the shield went down. Before they were shot down, we noticed a pocket of friendlies—looks like a National Guard Unit is protecting some civilians inside a small gift shop to your west.”

  Scott jerked like he’d been shocked.

  “I’ll try to find an evac for you, but—there isn’t…” the silence crackled over the radio. “It’s like Dresden.”

  Gabriel looked up to meet Phin’s eyes. They were wide and vacant. The firebombing of Dresden, Germany, the carnage had been unthinkable. DC was already rubble—they weren’t going to risk any more lives. And they’d done that to his country. To his people.

  “We have to help those Guardsmen!” Tommy shouted, looking over at Scott.

  Phin still looked shaken. “There’s only three of us, and Scott is hurt.”

  “Fuck you,” Scott snarled, hefting his gun. He swiped the back of his hand across his nose. “That’s a Guard group out there. I’m going to help them.” He didn’t wait to see what the response was; he stomped off toward the ambulance bay.

  Tommy pushed past Phin, following Scott.

  “What the hell?” The grenadier grabbed Tommy’s bicep, dragging him back. “The fuck you think you’re doing? This isn’t your fight.”

  Tommy smiled sadly, prying Phin’s fingers off his arm. “It might not be my fight. But I will always fight for my humanity, Phin.”

  The big soldier watched him leave, face drawn. He stared at the space Tommy just vacated before groaning and muttering to himself.

  “…fucking twink with a goddamn moral compass to rival Gandhi…” Then he followed Tommy with his shoulders so high his head almost disappeared.

  Gabriel lifted the radio to his lips. “We’re going to rescue those civilians. If possible, get us coordinates for the evac.”

  “I can’t guarantee anything. I’ll try to get transport at the rendezvous but…”

  Everything was going to hell in a handbasket, and nothing was guaranteed.

  He tried not to think about the scope of it all. Of what any of it meant, long term. His home, his parents—no, focus. There was no time for that.

  There had been many times in Gabriel’s career when it didn’t look good. When he was convinced he would die with dirt in his mouth and his dog tags rusting in some foreign soil. But it had never been like this. This wasn’t foreign soil. But it didn’t matter. He had priorities.

  Because this time, it wasn’t just him. It was his team.

  It was Blake.

  When Gabriel had been dropped into DC, his mission had been clear, but now it had changed. Blake was his new priority. He didn’t have a reason for it. And it certainly didn’t make sense.

  Blake was his. And he would punch E.T. right in the fucking face to get him back.

  CHAPTER 17

  CROSSFIRE

  The .50 cal spat out gleaming rounds of brass as the skinny National Guardsman held on for dear life. His entire body vibrated with the effects of the gun, legs braced, and head bowed. Well placed rounds were chewing through the ranks of FUDs prowling along the street. Handlers were placed strategically behind the four-legged aliens, shooting towards the mass of Guardsmen with precision.

  Gabriel swore when he saw the scene.

  Scott was hovering over the steering wheel, one eye closed against the pain from the concussion. The National Guard Unit was backed up against the river. They had nowhere to go, and a horde of FUDs and Handlers were pushing in on them. Behind the line of trucks, the soldiers were using as a makeshift barricade, a group of ragged-looking civilians were hunkered down. Hands over their heads, covered in debris and blood.

  It was going to be a slaughter.

  Priority needed to be getting the heat off the Guard Unit so they could safely evacuate the civilians.

  “Phin, need you to lay down some serious cover fire. We need those big bastards to look at us.”

  Phin pocketed some of the extra magazines Scott gave them, tossing a couple to Gabriel. “Really saved us with the extra ammo. Where did you get it?” he called forward.

  Scott scowled as he flicked on the lights and sirens, accelerating into the street. “Pulled it off my dead squadmates.”

  Phin grimaced. “Bet you’re really fun at parties,” he mumbled just before he broke the back window, clearing the glass out and laying his rifle against the window, sighting it. The moment they screeched onto the street, he began firing. Between the gun and the buffeting wind from the open window, it was impossible to hear anything.

  The aliens immediately turned to assess the new threat. One Handler seemed to stumble back as Phin’s rounds struck its head and face area. A drone whizzed by just as a FUD turned to pounce. It barely missed as Scott swerved, jumping up onto the curb with two wheels.

  Gabriel couldn’t see out the back of the ambulance, but he could hear Phin’s swearing. Tommy was just behind him, offering him fresh magazines from the pile at his feet. It was getting smaller by the second. They couldn’t keep wasting ammo like this.

  The aliens advanced toward the National Guard, the civilians had slowed but not stopped. Several soldiers were running backwards, helping the civilians get into a minivan with a flat tire. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

 

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