“Why don’t Icari have B.O.?” John wondered this several times since the invasion.

“Cause we’re not smelly humans,” Caedes growled. Not that he spoke in any other tone.

Cypher checked in over the earpiece. “Thirty-four of them patrolling the perimeter. I’ve never seen so many outside of a big compound. Something stinks.”

“Not Caedes.” John shifted to ease the pressure on his amputation site against the cliff’s rough surface. He observed Iona-29’s recent suspicious activity through binoculars from about thirty feet above it.

Caedes laid out beside him scouting the installation, relying on nothing more than his keen Icarean eyesight. He rolled his eyes at the stink joke. “Pehton will drag our asses to Gait if we fuck up a simple recognizance mission because you messed around on the comms.”

John hated field work. He’d hoped the whole amputation thing benched him for the rest of the apocalypse, but recent events hit the good guys too hard for him to stay retired. They wore identical regulation recon gear in black. No skin showing. Sweat spilled everywhere from John. He suspected he smelled ripe even in this gorgeous mountain fresh air. With their equally keen sense of smell, he worried his B.O. offended the Icarus. Clutching the M16 on his left, he swallowed the urge to distract himself from oncoming phantom limb pain with conversation. He failed miserably. “So Tameka—”

Just as Caedes’ head snapped toward him, Cypher hopped on the comms, “Look sharp. Fancy motorcade. Three o’clock.”

In the strangest demonstration of prestige John witnessed this side of the apocalypse, two armored S.W.A.T. trucks flanked four BMW X5’s. All black. All recently waxed. He voiced his concerns on the comms, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Gotta be—Fuck!” The sound cut out.

“Cypher?!”

“Shh!” Caedes cut him off and glanced around. Listening. One second he laid on the rock beside John, the next he held both of them in the air. Behind them, an unfamiliar Icarus fired a bizarre cannon rifle. Scant enough time for Caedes to dive off the cliff and enclose John in his wings. The explosion barreled into them and sent them skating across the tall grass which surrounded the installation. The landing hurt. He couldn’t imagine how much it sucked for Caedes, who withstood the worst of it.

“Are—” John’s jaw refused to respond. It creaked and popped and hurt like a motherfucker.

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Caedes groaned and checked a pinion in his wings. “No good for at least three hours.” The side of his face was peeled away. The blue blood attracted dirt and grass as a compress.

After seeing that, John kept any complaining to himself. Should be easy considering he couldn’t talk. Caedes stood first and threw John unceremoniously over his shoulder. “I can’t fly, but I can run. Hang on.”

John strove to pronounce, “Cy… pher.”

“We’ll come back for him. Let’s get you back to—”

Caedes dropped to his knees and kissed the dirt. John tumbled and groaned. Everything hurt. “Cae—”

A CoN soldier aimed a strange gun at Caedes. It was the size of a Derringer and made of metal, seamless. Alien technology? Whatever it was, Caedes curled around himself and held his stomach like he was afraid it might fall out.

John crawled over to the Icarus. The butt of a gun slammed into his cracked jaw. He spat blood and fought not to puke from the taste of it. An ATV pulled up to collect them. Every single soldier armed with automatic weapons. They wrapped straps around Caedes’ ankles. The straps tied to the back of the ATV. This was bad.

“No—”

One soldier aimed a gun at his forehead. The monster shook his head. Quiet. They wanted quiet.

The ride back to the installation racked John with rage, shame, and disgust. Caedes never screamed, but he suspected the Icarus begged for death once or twice. They pulled into one of the many hangars. A cobalt stream followed in their wake.

John repeated the mantra which got him through the ride: nacres healed almost anything. He’d recover. When they turned Caedes over, he lost resisting the urge to vomit. Blue ground beef.

“The rodent will fully recover by tomorrow.”

John recognized that voice from the radio. He never expected to hear it in person. He wiped his mouth and faced King Nox of Cinder. If he never met Tumu, he’d call the man a giant. His stature certainly fit his station. The Icarus looked so similar to their mentor it crippled his reason. Same angular jaw and cheekbones. Nox’s nose was sharper. Xelan’s eyes more almond-shaped. Aside from that, they almost passed for twins. His black stare measured John. The overall effect of his physical presence intimidated him. This man took Rayne. Killed Xelan.

With little left in him, John wrenched a combat knife free from the nearest CoN member and charged at Nox with it. He could die this way. It would be fine. Even if he didn’t succeed, this was the right thing to do.

Soldiers made to intercede. Nox waved them off. John sunk the knife home, piercing his brain. The monster provided no resistance. He grunted. At least John did this much. He collapsed to a puddle at the beast’s feet.

“This is the kind of loyalty she inspires in her warriors. Understand it. Never underestimate it.”

Everything sounded fuzzy after the explosion, and now Nox’s words grew distant.

With little more than a wince, Nox withdrew the blade from his chest. John let his eyelids flutter. He was so tired. In so much pain.

“Secure the rat in the basement. I want information from all three. Use any means of extraction, but hear me without mistake.” He pulled the nearest soldier off the floor and into his face. “Do. Not. Kill. Them.” Dropping the minion, he stared down at John as he spoke to the freak. “If even one dies, you’ll be the first human on Earth to experience the Villam.”

John glanced at the bloodied Caedes. They would live through this and recover the base from the inside. For Xelan.