“Hey, O’Neil, we got more hostiles!” Loeb said, standing behind Van’s seat at the front of the MRAP. “Look!”
He was pointing out the windshield of the MRAP.
O’Neil navigated between the prisoners and toward the front of the vehicle. He hunched to see what Loeb had spotted.
On the roofs of the buildings, Skulls raced between the forests of satellite dishes and umbrellas. But unlike the beasts that had been rolling through the streets after them, these ones carried rifles strapped over their back.
He counted at least four of the monsters. Half-human, half-Skulls. Hybrid monsters.
Before he could so much as poke out of the top hatch and try to pick them off, one of the beasts jumped from the roof. He heard the scratch of its claws over the Typhoon. It didn’t try to beat its way into the vehicle like the mindless Skulls had, though.
“The hell is he doing?” Tate asked, pointing his rifle up at the hatch.
“Scrape him off, Van,” Loeb said.
“Will do,” Van said, aiming the Typhoon for another narrow passage between buildings with canopies reaching out over the road.
Just ahead of them, two hybrid beasts crawled over Alpha’s typhoon, too. They pressed themselves flat on the roof. Looked like they were trying to pry open the hatch or—
Reality hit O’Neil like a stack of bricks, his gut twisting into a painful knot.
The two Skulls jumped from the Typhoon, lunging through the broken windows of a café. At about the same time, the thump of the two hybrid creatures sounded from the roof of Bravo’s MRAP. Through a side window, he saw them throw themselves into a shop filled with rugs and scarves.
“They just planted explosives on top of the MRAPs,” O’Neil said, checking his watch.
In twenty seconds, the charges they had left at the lab were set to go off. A thousand thoughts whirred through his mind. Of the noises he had heard at the lab before they left. How quickly the Russians and monsters must have retaken the lab.
That they must have guessed the SEALs were out to sabotage their efforts. It wouldn’t have been all that difficult for them find the charges—and then instead of just disarming them, those hybrid creatures had taken them to use against the SEALs.
The MRAP might have survived a hail of bullets. Might have even withstood a hit from the RPG. But with the explosives they had laid out to bring down the lab, there was no way they were getting away without a scratch.
“We need to bail!” O’Neil said.
Van slammed on the vehicle’s brakes.
In front of them, Alpha screeched to a halt, the vehicle ramming over a low-lying stone wall in front of a riad. Stone and dust flew from the impact.
“We need to go!” O’Neil yelled. “Now!”
He barged through the troop hold, unlocking the rear hatch and pushing it open, waving at the prisoners to follow. A few hopped out right away, not questioning his command or urgency. Others appeared frozen in shock.
Hassan was trying to rally them in Arabic. Barely managed to convince a couple more to follow O’Neil. Loeb hopped out of the front of the hatch.
Tate grabbed another guy by the shoulders, practically dragging him off. Hassan ran off after Tate. Van ran back through the troop hold, pulling on the sleeves of a couple prisoners, yelling at them to leave.
“We don’t have time to help!” O’Neil said. “Come on, Van!”
Van looked up at him, still trying to pry the prisoners from their seats.
“Come on!” O’Neil shouted again. “Move, move, move!”
He gestured toward a narrow passage between a souvenir shop and a tour operator stand. Loeb and Tate were leading the prisoners to what O’Neil hoped was safety.
Just as Van started to get off the truck, he heard a pop and a low boom from Alpha’s MRAP. A blinding flash of light exploded from the vehicle followed by an intense wave of heat. O’Neil had just enough time to throw himself to the ground as the pressure wave rolled over him.
The charges on top of his team’s MRAP went off with another thundering roar. O’Neil was thrown through the broken window of the souvenir store. Hot shards of glass ricocheted around him. Pain stabbed through his eardrums, followed by an intense ringing. He pushed himself up, crunching over the glass, agony coursing up his back and through every muscle.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Blackness encroached on the edges. At some point in the blast, his NVGs had been busted, twisted on top of his helmet.
But he didn’t need them to see the orange flicker of flames coursing from the MRAP. The top of the vehicle was puckered open. Looked like it had been chewed on by a massive Skull. Fire crept up the canopy of a neighboring café and bits of other twisted debris scattered over the road.
O’Neil tried to stand, stumbling forward, his head filled with dizziness. Stars seemed to blink in his vision, and he fought not to pass out, his brain feeling as though it had been smeared against the inside of his skull.
He managed to hold himself upright, his palm against one of the walls inside the store. His boots smashed broken statuettes and shattered dishes. Through the window, he saw the charcoaled pieces of smoking body parts from the prisoners who had refused to get off the Typhoon scattered over the street.
A wave of sickness welled up inside O’Neil. He tried to choke it down. Couldn’t tell if it was from the concussion or the gruesome scene.
But the why didn’t matter.
He needed to find Van. He tried to call the operator’s name, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice. Nearly falling over, he stumbled toward the front door of the shop. Dust was shifting through a crack in the ceiling, pouring over his head. He blinked, covering his eyes as he stepped out into the street.
Leaning back against the front wall, his ears still ringing, he saw Van. Half the man’s uniform was torched. Embers burned up a pant leg, and blood trickled from his nostrils and mouth. He wasn’t moving, his body pressed up against the tour operator stand that was now host to dancing, ravenous flames.
“Van!” O’Neil tried to yell.
As he started toward Van, he realized he wasn’t the only one.
Across the street, from the restaurant and the store with the rugs, he saw the hybrid monsters peering above the rubble-lined walls. This time they had their rifles shouldered and sweeping down the street.
One caught sight of O’Neil, raised his weapon, and aimed it straight at him.
-26-
O’Neil squeezed off a wild burst. Just enough to force the hybrid soldier to duck. It gave him the time he needed to get to Van. He let off another burst to keep the monstrous Russians back as he reached for Van’s shoulder.
“Come on, brother!”
His hearing started to return. The crack of gunfire and roar of the flames sounded as though they were coming through water. He thought he heard voices over his comms, too.
“Van!” he grabbed the man’s collar and started dragging him toward the passage where the others had gone.
The four hybrids pushed up over the wall again, sighting O’Neil up. He fired on them with one hand, pressing his rifle tight against his shoulder. But trying to pull Van to safety and fend off these monsters was damn near impossible. Each of his rounds hit the walls or slashed past the Russians.
Then he heard the muffled pop of suppressed gunfire to his left. Rounds punched toward the beasts, cutting into their position. One of the monsters toppled forward, dropping his rifle and collapsing over the road.
Tate and Loeb were kneeling at the entrance to the passage to cover him.