Wildfire

“He’s coming with me,” she said. “I need a spotter.”

“Thank you for coming with us,” Rogan said.

I remembered to pick my jaw up off the floor and climbed into a personnel carrier.

Riding in a personnel carrier was about as comfortable as riding in a tank. It felt like sitting on a bag of potatoes while it bucked and jumped over every tiny bump in the road. The carrier had two rows of seats along the walls, facing each other. I sat next to Rogan toward the front. My mother and Leon rode across from us. The older Japanese man sat quietly on the other side of me, watching Leon and my mother. Further on my left, within the depths of the carrier, uniformed bodies and helmeted heads filled the space. The hum of human voices hung in the air as Rogan’s people talked. Fragments of conversation floated up, interrupted by sudden peals of laughter.

An odd expression claimed my mother’s face. The corners of her mouth had turned up slightly. The frown wrinkle between her eyebrows that had been permanently there for the last three days smoothed out. She sat relaxed, calm, and perfectly at peace, as if she was riding to a picnic at the beach. There was something almost meditative about her gaze. Next to her, Leon could barely stay in the seat. If he could, he would’ve jumped up and bounced around the carrier.

The older man next to me touched his headset and said in a deep, calm voice, “All right.”

My helmet’s comm system channeled his voice into my ears.

All conversation stopped.

“This is for the new people and those of you who didn’t pay attention. House Harcourt occupies a fortified facility. It’s U-shaped, with left and right wings protruding. The entrance is located between them. There is only one approach, through the front door, through a corridor between the two wings. This is their killing field. When we enter it, the shooters from the two wings will fire. The front gate will open, and the Harcourts will release the MCM.”

MCM stood for magically created monsters. My memory served up the mouth of a bat-ape gaping at me, about to sink its teeth into my face. A chill rolled down the back of my neck. I sat up straighter.

“The snipers, including Mrs. Baylor and her spotter, will disembark prior to engagement and take positions at the Magnolia Apartment Towers, buildings A and F. They will concentrate on taking out the shooters in the two wings of the Harcourt building. Upon arrival to the Harcourt building, the carriers will form a barricade. You will position yourselves behind that barricade. The Major will be behind you working on his circle. Melosa will shield the Major. Tom and Li Min will provide top shield for the line. House Harcourt relies on blitzkrieg tactics. They will send wave after wave of creatures trying to overwhelm our defense. We will hold that line until the Major finishes the circle and deploys the grinder.”

What the hell was the grinder?

“No matter what nightmare comes out of those gates, you will hold the line. Am I clear?”

A chorus of voices exhaled at the same time. “Yes, Sergeant.”

“Major and Ms. Baylor are VIPs. You will keep them alive. Do you get me?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

The sergeant settled back and looked at me. “My name is Heart. Stay on me, Ms. Baylor.”

I nodded.

The carrier rumbled. Moments built into minutes. Rogan reached over and took my hand. He didn’t say anything. He just held my hand in his.

“What’s the grinder?” I asked him quietly.

“A House Rogan spell.”

House spells were of the highest order. They unleashed incredible magic, but required a lot of preparation and complex circles.

Leon was grinning to himself.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” I told him.

“I won’t.” He rubbed his hands together. His smile looked positively evil.

“We’ll need to talk after this.” I looked at my mother to make sure she got the point.

“Is Heart your real name?” Leon asked the sergeant.

“It’s the name I chose.”

“Why?”

“Because I care too much,” the sergeant said.

Leon decided to shut up.

I had been in a firefight before, but this sitting still while riding to one was completely different. The urge to jump up, scream, do something hummed through my body. My rifle felt too heavy in my hands. My adrenaline was up and the fight hadn’t even started. My mother was still in her serene place. Sergeant Heart on my left had an almost identical expression on his face. Rogan on my right was smiling quietly to himself. At least Leon hadn’t gone to his happy place.

My cousin fidgeted in his seat. “Why don’t we just shoot a rocket at the building? It would be faster and easier.”

“Because the Verona Exception obligates us to avoid unnecessary loss of life,” Rogan answered. “When you blow up buildings, fallen debris and explosives don’t discriminate between combatants and civilians.”

“What would happen if we did it anyway?” Leon asked.

“Your sister and I would be hauled before the Assembly and forced to explain ourselves. Depending on our answers, we would be released with a fine, jailed, or killed.”

“But you’re Mad Rogan. A Prime.”

“Primes have rules,” I told him. I was learning them, and none of it made me happy.

“Weapons check,” Heart called out.

I checked my rifle. I had a thirty-round magazine and three more in the pockets of my ACUs. My helmet felt too heavy. Sweat gathered on my hairline.

Heart leaned toward me. “Don’t worry. It will be fine. Watch me, watch what the others are doing, follow orders, and you will survive this.”

I pulled my phone out and made a group text message, tagging my sisters, Bern, and Grandma Frida. I love you so much.

That’s it. There were other things to say, but that would have to be enough. I turned off the phone and put it away.

The carrier came to a stop. My mother rose and nodded to Leon. He unbuckled his harness and went toward the side door. I had this terrible feeling that I would never see them again.

My mother fixed the sergeant next to me with her sniper stare, distant and cold. “Keep my daughter alive.”

“I will,” he told her.

“I love you,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you too. Don’t forget to breathe.”

My mother exited the vehicle, the door slammed shut, and we were off again.

Rogan’s phone rang. He answered it and put it on speaker.

“Liam, what a pleasure.”

“As I said, we don’t know where Vincent is. So I suggest you turn your transports around and go back the way you came.”

“I prefer to ask your father in person.”

“Not going to happen.”

“I must insist.”

“No, you mustn’t. We have four Primes in residence. Do the lives of your soldiers mean so little to you? They think they’re going to come in here and kick our asses. We both know it’s not going to happen. If you care about them, take them home.”

“Your concern for my people is touching. If you want to avoid bloodshed, open the gates and we can talk like civilized people.”

“No. You’re not coming in. You’re not talking to anyone. Don’t come here with your bullet-meat soldiers and threaten us. Nobody is scared, Rogan. If you persist in your idiocy, we’ll wipe you off the face of the planet.”

“That’s a big promise.” Rogan smiled.

“Suit yourself. Your funeral.”

Liam hung up.

Rogan slid the phone into an inner pocket and squeezed my hand. “Hold on.”

The vehicle made a sharp turn and my insides went sideways. The back of the carrier dropped open, turning into a ramp. Rogan was already moving, lost ahead of me behind bodies in fatigues. Sergeant Heart thrust himself into my view and barked, “Follow me! Move!”

I grabbed my Ruger and got the hell out of the carrier.

Outside, the bright sunlight slapped me. Bullets buzzed by us like pissed-off bees, striking the top of the armored carrier with metallic pings. The space directly above us pulsed with blue as the two aegises shielded us with magic.

“Move!” Sergeant Heart roared.