The door at the upper tier slammed shut once the briefing room emptied. The blinding letters and black background faded from Alex’s vision while the rumbling drumbeat in her ears also became fainter. The pounding of blood rushing into her head and behind her eyes persisted.

What happened? What was that all about? What were those symbols? Why did Dad clear the room?

Bedford moved toward the stairway and began a slow ascent to the second tier. Lunde stayed near the front of the room, sitting with his hands folded on the table and looking toward the Directorate’s emblem on the wall. When Bedford reached Alex’s tier, he edged down the aisle and sat beside her.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. He smelled of shaving lotion. The shadows accentuated the familiar lines and jowls of his face. He kept his gaze toward the floor.

“Sir?” she said, timidly.

Bedford didn’t move although his eyes glistened from the beginnings of tears. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday,” he said, and Alex recognized the thick, throaty growl that meant deep emotions.

About yesterday? But what about just now? What about those symbols… those words and their meaning? Why is he thinking about yesterday?

“I knew you had met with John… with General Martin. I thought the chances of your meeting him were small because it was only a reconnaissance, to discuss a meeting place. But… everything went wrong.”

She felt uneasy and almost frightened. Her father, who was always so certain and so strong, now looked weak, lost, and ashamed.

“When you met with General Martin, did he say anything about this?”

She shook her head. He glanced at her, and something seemed to catch his attention.

“Your eyes.”

“What?”

“Your eyes. They’re swollen and red.”

She blinked and rubbed at her forehead. The pounding sensation was subsiding into a vague distraction. Back in New York, Shepherd had thought for a moment that her eyes were red after she demolished the apartment buildings. “I… think it happened at the firefight, too.”

“Does it go away… with time?”

She heard the concern in his voice and nodded. “I think it was those symbols in the subway. It should be okay in a few minutes.”

Bedford was silent again, looking down at his shoes. Up front, Lunge remained at his desk, unmoving with his hands folded.

Everything is so… strange. As if we’re in another world.

“I’m sorry, too,” Alex said.

“Why?”

“Because I ran away. Because I didn’t stay to talk it over. I felt like… like you lied to me. And that Mom lied to me. I was angry. I didn’t know what to say.”

Bedford gave her a sad nod. “You had a right to be.”

His voice sounded so broken that she felt like hugging him. “But…but it doesn’t change anything,” she said.

He nodded again. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“What I mean is that you’re still my dad. Martin is my biological father, but you and Mom raised me. You’re still my dad.”

He turned away from her, stifling a cry.

“I probably… when I saw his eyes and heard his voice…”

“No! No! That’s not it! You still don’t understand!”

As if in answer to his cry, the room shook and heaved with a deep rumble that she felt more than heard. Reflexively, she leaned far over and covered her head. One of the projectors broke from the ceiling and shattered against the second tier on the right side of the room. When the shaking stopped, Lunde was already on his feet and hurrying toward the door.

Bedford stood and turned to Lunde. “Find out what that was.”

Lunde picked up the phone near the door. “This is General Lunde. Get me the watch floor.”

The room shook again as an explosion sounded in the distance. The overhead lights flickered and then died, plunging the room into darkness. Alex started to call out for her father, but he took hold of her arm.

“It’s all right,” Bedford said calmly. “Wait for the emergency lights.”

“The phone is dead!” Lunde said.

“We need to get to the operations floor.”

“Let me try the door. Maybe I can…” Lunde’s voice trailed off as the red glow of the emergency lights flickered to life and an alarm sounded across the complex.

“Stay close,” Bedford said.

Alex followed him to the exit. Lunde shoved open the door and stumbled out into the short hallway outside the briefing room. A pair of security guards rushed through the bulkhead door from Building Seven heading for the next door straight across to Building Ten. Alex caught a brief glimpse through the open door and saw the same red emergency glow illuminating the rock walls of the tunnel outside. The first of the security guards passed the briefing room and almost crashed into Lunde. He reached out and grabbed the man by the shoulder. The guard jerked away and whirled back, but his angry expression evaporated once he recognized the two generals.

“What’s going on?” Lunde said. “Where did those explosions come from?”

The sweat on the guard’s face and uniform glistened in the dim emergency lights. His finger was on the trigger of his M4 carbine. Shepherd had taught her never to touch the trigger until she was ready to fire.

“Sir, it’s the Building One infirmary,” the guard said.

“What about the infirmary?” Lunde said.

“That’s where the explosions came from.”

“Webb,” Alex murmured. “It must be Webb.”

“Okay, son,” Lunde said. “You’d better get down there.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard ran off after his partner. Lunde exchanged a worried glance with Bedford and then crossed the hall and yanked open the door leading onto the short cross-structure walkway that would take them to Building Two and the main operations watch floor. Just as Lunde started to go through the doorway, a seismic blast rocked the structure and tossed her against the wall. Dust and smoke cascaded in through the open door.

As she struggled to orient herself, she spotted Lunde lying on the floor with blood pouring from a gash in his forehead. Bedford appeared beside her and helped her to her feet. He was speaking but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears.

Bedford leaned her against the wall and then pulled Lunde back toward the door into the briefing room. He crouched beside Lunde and began to turn him over. His eyes fluttered open and then closed. Bedford yanked off his tie and bound it around Lunde’s forehead. Fresh and clotted blood covered half of Lunde’s face.

Distant gunfire reverberated from one of the other structures. Alex looked out the open bulkhead toward Building Two and saw the walkway had collapsed. She could make the short jump between structures without difficulty, but the next door was shut without as much as a ledge to stand on. If they wanted to reach the operations floor, they would have to detour around through Building Three or Building One. Bedford followed her gaze and seemed to read her thoughts. “Forget about ops! We need to evacuate!”

Outside the briefing room, they were near the center of the complex’s grid, at the far end of the middle tunnel. The fastest way toward the blast doors would be to follow the security guards into Building Ten, head down to the first floor, and then out near the loading dock on Eleven.

The structure heaved again. The walls and ceiling creaked as if threatening to tear themselves apart. This time, she kept her footing although she braced herself against the wall until the springs beneath the building ceased trembling.

Through the open bulkhead, a concussive blast of rapid gunshots further agitated the ringing in her ears. Then the shots ceased and a second plume of dust blew in through the doorway. Pebbles and small rocks plummeted from the tunnel ceiling and pelted the building’s roof like hail. Alex moved toward the door to glance out into the cavern, but Bedford grabbed her shoulder and pointed toward Building Ten.

“Stay with me!” Bedford yelled and then gestured at Lunde. “Help me move him!”

Alex approached her father but then hesitated as the bulkhead door leading to Building Ten opened and let in more dust and smoke. A figure walked out of the haze carrying a rifle and wearing a blue medical gown. She recoiled at the sight: Webb, but not as she had seen him in New York or during the journey back to Colorado Springs. The skull-tight helmet and black cover over his eyes were gone. Where his eyes should have been, there were glittering lights like fireflies moving and projecting from the sockets like worms. Instead of an upper scalp, he had a pulsing membrane covering the corrugations of his brain.

The fireflies joined into a single light as Webb concentrated on Alex and Bedford. He smiled and raised his rifle.

Alex focused on the weapon. Two reports sounded from the rifle before it blew apart in Webb’s hands. Webb cried out and simultaneously a blow to Alex’s left shoulder spun her around and backward. The bullet had passed through the skin and deltoid muscle. She refocused on the apparition only a few feet away but then two white-hot lances of pain drove into her skull and she fell to the ground, holding her head.

Webb also recoiled but kept his footing. Blood trickled from his nose. The grotesque membrane over his scalp pulsed and expanded along with a swelling of his brain tissue. The wriggling worms in his eyes were also blood red. He rubbed his wounded hands together and then grinned. “I’ll see you later,” he said before rushing back across the walkway into the second floor of Building Ten.

Alex searched frantically for anything she could use as a weapon. Then she spotted Bedford on the floor with a bullet hole in his uniform, over the right upper chest. He looked surprised. She scrambled to his side and almost slipped in the maroon puddle spreading from his back.

“Dad!”

“A-Alex” he managed before coughing red phlegm onto the floor. Every time he inhaled, a wet sucking sound came from his chest wound.

“Hank!” Lunde said groggily from nearby.

A metallic thud came from the bulkhead door across the open span toward Building Two. The door swung open. Colonel Dawes and two soldiers stood across the gap. Dawes set his hands on either side of the doorway, leaned out, and looked down between the structures toward the tunnel floor. Then without hesitation, he leaped across the gap and landed between Alex and Lunde. “What happened? We heard gunfire.”

“Tim!” Bedford called out. Bloody sputum flew from his mouth as he coughed again.

Dawes, still in his formal uniform, ripped off his tie and began to stuff it into the hole in Bedford’s chest. He moved to the other side of the corridor and knelt beside Lunde, opened his eyelids and checked his pupils.

Dawes motioned to the two soldiers across the gap. The men exchanged glances and jumped across one-by-one. “You two stay here,” Dawes said. “I’ll go get Reilly from the infirmary.”

“That’s where the first explosions came from,” Alex said.

“What caused them?” Dawes said.

Alex looked down at her father. “It was Webb. He was the ‘kinetic we captured. He shot Dad.”

“I’ll find some help,” Dawes said and rushed off in the same direction Webb had vanished.

Blood flowed from the bullet wound in her right arm and trickled to the floor as she took her father’s hand. She watched the rise and fall of his chest through his uniform, but the signs of his breathing grew fainter as the red puddle on the floor expanded. “Dad,” she said, “just hold on.”

She heard a shuffle and glanced over to see Lunde crawling toward her. He looked disoriented, although the flow of blood from his forehead seemed to have stifled. Bedford attempted to smile at her, but a pained expression took over as Lunde reached them and applied pressure to the bullet wound.

“Alexandra…” Bedford’s eyes fluttered, and she could tell he was having difficulty staying awake. He stared at her and then turned his head toward Lunde. His labored words came in short bursts with long pauses in between as he tried to catch his breath. “Gene. Make sure… you keep her safe. Don’t… Don’t let them find out.”

His eyes rolled back as he settled into the pool of his blood.

“Dad!” Alex shook his arm. Bedford did not respond. She turned to Lunde. “I-Is he… is he…?”

Lunde closed his eyes and then shook his head. “No. No, not yet.”

Another explosion from somewhere within the complex preceded strings of automatic gunfire and then another detonation. She kept her balance through the tremors, watching as Lunde tried to apply first aid to Bedford’s wound. A desperate voice came over the radio belonging to one of the soldiers behind Lunde. “This is Sierra 2-6. We need reinforcements at the main doors! We’re getting wasted up here! Command, do you read?”

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“We’re sending help,” someone else said over the radio. “Hold position.”

“We can’t hold, damn it! I’ve already lost three—”

The radio transmission cut off as the building trembled. It seemed Cheyenne Mountain was a volcano on the brink of erupting. The two soldiers exchanged nervous looks and then returned to staring at Bedford and Lunde. Intense anger swelled within her as she knelt beside her father. Webb’s monstrous face flashed into her mind. That smile in the moment he shot her father. Those strange lights in his eye sockets focusing on her. She shuddered.

They can’t stop him! They’ve never faced something like this. It has to be me. I’m the only one who can take Webb out!

With a grimace, she squeezed Bedford’s hand and then lowered it to the ground. She stood and approached the guards. “You two, watch my father and General Lunde,” she said, trying to sound assured. “Get them somewhere safe. Not the infirmary. Take them to the operations floor if it’s secure. See if you can find any medics.”

The face of the guard closest to her was white and beaded with sweat. His pupils were wide and dilated.

“Got it?” Alex said.

He nodded.

She glanced at the other guard. “Okay?”

He stammered, “Y-y-yes. The ops floor. Got it.”

Her anger burned bright red in her mind like a flow of a volcanic eruption. As both guards stared at her, she shouted, “Then get going!”

The guards began to sling their weapons. Alex raised her arm. The guard closest to Alex shouted in protest as his rifle quivered in his hands and then flew toward her. She ignored him and seized the weapon from the air.

She started toward Building Ten but Lunde called out, “Alexandra, wait!”

“No! I’m going to kill him! We should have killed him in New York!”

“The guards can stop him. Stay here with your father.”

“No they can’t! I’m going after Webb before he hurts anyone else!”

“Alexandra! I’m ordering you—”

She blocked out Lunde’s voice and ran in the direction Webb had fled.

I’m going to kill that freak! As she ran, her breaths came in gasps, but not from fatigue. Her throat constricted with anger, causing her to grunt with every step. The anger, the rage, and the pent-up frustration seemed strong enough to burst out through her chest.

She made it into the next building and hurried down to the first floor. Only the emergency lights were on. The door of one of the rooms had been blown off its hinges and lay twisted back on itself like a drunk holding onto a wall. In the darkness, she felt her foot catch on something. It was a man. She leaned down and realized it was the guard from outside the briefing room. His eyes stared frozen in amazement as if he couldn’t believe what he had seen. Blood leaked from the smashed frontal part of his skull and in narrow threads from his ears.

She passed out of Building Ten and crossed the walkway into Building Eleven. Near the loading dock, corpses lay scattered along with chunks of debris: the ceiling lights, twisted steel beams from the walls and ceiling, and broken automatic weapons. She smelled the tangy metallic odor of blood over the dust and gunpowder and was suddenly grateful for the dim emergency lights.

As she approached the exit into the cavern, she almost tripped over another body. The man groaned. She switched on her weapon’s light. Another of the guards. His helmet was gone, and instead of the white MP band on his right arm, there was an empty socket dripping blood. She knelt beside him. His skin was pale and waxy and his gaze was unsteady. He’s dying, she realized.

“Where did he go?” she said.

His focus shifted to her for a brief moment before returning to the ceiling.

“Where did he go! Webb! Where did he go!”

“You… you’re the general’s kid,” he said.

“Tell me where he went. I’m going after him.”

He smiled in spite of his obvious pain and shock. “You… and who else?”

When she didn’t laugh, his eyes began to wander. A moment later, they rolled back under his eyelids. She felt against his neck for a pulse. He was gone. She stood and looked down both hallways. He’s going to try and escape. He’ll try to get to the entrance tunnel.

She leaped out the gaping and blackened hole in the loading dock’s gate and out into the cavern. Smoke hung in the air, obscuring the rock nets and tarps along the ceiling. Shouting and weapons fire erupted from up ahead. She set off at a jog down the passageway leading toward the blast doors. As the noises grew louder, she slowed and edged forward along the wall. She passed an unconscious guard with a bulging bruise on the back of his head and a woman slouched against a stack of MREs. The woman’s neck bent to the side at an odd angle, and her eyes stared blankly towards the tunnel ceiling.

Alex reached the end of the passageway and leaned around the corner. Here, the tunnel led right toward Building One and left toward the blast doors. Webb stood near the inner blast door exchanging fire with the guards out in the main entrance tunnel beyond the first blast door.

A guard fired down the choke point. He missed Webb but sent a string of rounds into the wall inches from Alex’s face. She ducked back and checked her rifle. Webb shot again, a three round burst that echoed sharply in the confined space. She leaned out and set the red dot in the center of the weapon’s sight onto Webb’s skull. She exhaled and pulled the trigger. The weapon kicked in her hands. Blood erupted from Webb’s shoulder.

She cursed. In an instant, she had Webb back in her sights. Before she could fire, her attention shifted to a violent cracking sound from above. The walls and floor trembled, throwing off her balance and nearly tossing her to fall to the ground. Without thinking, she switched the fire selector switch to automatic and held down the trigger. She emptied the magazine in Webb’s direction. Rubble from the ceiling broke through the nets and landed in front of her. She treated back toward Building One as part of the ceiling collapsed, releasing dust and debris into the tunnel.

Gunfire continued from Webb’s direction, followed by two shouts of panic and then a cacophony of sound as a blast rocked the facility. She glanced at the chamber of her M4. The bolt had locked back on an empty magazine. She set the weapon on the ground and then set off over the rubble, her vision obscured by the darkness and the thick dust. As soon as she crossed the obstacles, she pressed herself against the wall to keep hidden. She glimpsed Webb’s blue medical gown disappearing beyond the first blast door. Blood droplets marked Webb’s path. She hurried to follow.

Between the blast doors, she found one of the security guards on the ground. There were no wounds on his body, but he lay sprawled face-down. She picked up his carbine and noticed the empty chamber. She slung the weapon and heaved the guard onto his back. The man’s face no longer resembled that of a human. Something had crushed and flattened his features together from three dimensions into two. Because of the pressure, his orbits had exploded and the eyes had splayed outward like two fried eggs. She suppressed the urge to vomit while she opened a pouch on the guard’s chest rig and removed a fresh magazine.

As she approached the first blast door, she dropped the empty magazine from the M4, slammed the new one into the lower receiver, and then pulled back and released the charging handle.

She followed Webb’s blood trail out into the main access tunnel. As her eyes adjusted to the darker lighting, she saw the red droplets leading toward the south. The Directorate’s security forces guarded both the north and south portals into the Cheyenne Mountain complex although the south was little more than an opening onto the slope to help channel out the firestorm of a nuclear blast. Security would be lighter in that direction. A few men, at most. They wouldn’t have a hope of stopping Webb.

Alex sprinted down the tunnel. Her anger was still a warm fire in her gut but her energy was waning. On a normal day, the tunnel’s length would have been a warm-up jog. Now, with her shoulders aching and blood leaking from the flesh wound, she was less alert, less focused, and she knew it. He’s just ahead. I have to hurry. I can do this. He dropped his gun when I shot him, he can’t—

The tunnel walls brightened for an instant. A sharp whip-like crack beside her right ear preceded a concussive blast from ahead. She bolted to the left as a second shot rang out. The muzzle flash revealed Webb crouching against the tunnel wall and aiming at her. She needed cover but the tunnel was empty. What was Shepherd always saying? The best defense was a good offense. She had to pray that was true. She concentrated on the rifle in Webb’s hands. An image of the weapon resolved in her mind and she began to clench her left hand into a fist.

At first, her body failed to register the pain as a third muzzle flash erupted from the rifle. There was pressure against her chest, and she found herself unable to continue moving. Her legs gave out, and she crashed down against the rough concrete. She looked down to see a hole through her jacket and a red stain expanding outwards from the perforation. She tried to sit but then hot knives were tearing apart her chest from the inside out, causing her to cry out in agony.

Webb appeared in her field of vision. The bright fireflies in his eye sockets focused on her wound. “Damn. I was aiming for your shoulder.”

“W… What?” Alex said.

Webb ripped away a piece of his medical gown and stuffed it into her wound. He picked her hand up off the floor and then placed it against the wad of fabric and applied pressure. She fought to keep from crying as the pain began to overwhelm her.

“Look at me,” Webb said. “Are you listening? Keep pressure on this if you want to live.”

In spite of the fog in her eyes and mind, she realized he was genuinely concerned.

“Why are you…?”

“It doesn’t matter why. Now tell me if you can stay conscious and keep pressure on the wound.”

“Y-You shot my dad. Why don’t you just—”

Webb slapped her hard in the face. “Shut up and answer my question.”

“I’m going to kill you!” she said and spat at Webb. Even in the dim light, she noticed the blood in her saliva.

Webb ripped off another piece of his medical gown and then bound it over her eyes. She struggled and raised her left arm up to remove the blindfold but Webb grabbed her hand and pushed it back against her wound. “Stop moving.”

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t need you to blow my head open while I leave these accommodations.”

She tried to lift her hand back to her face to rip off the blindfold. As her hand left the bullet wound, a wave of nausea struck her and she leaned her head to the side. She gagged and then vomited up a mixture of blood and bile onto the floor.

“Lovely.” Webb pressed her hand back against the wound. “Keep pressure on this. I think help is on the way.”

Webb’s bare feet pattered down the tunnel and then disappeared amidst an eruption of noise from the south entrance. In spite of his warning, she wrenched the blindfold off with her left hand. The effort and pain almost caused her to vomit again.

She tried to stand. Her shoulders hurt whenever she moved. She tried to brace herself using her abdominal muscles but her vision clouded as she inched forward. She took her pulse and found it was rapid, perhaps over a hundred. She knew if she tried to rise any further, she would pass out.

She lay back and closed her eyes. Can’t panic. Just stay calm. Help is coming. She slowed her breathing, relaxed her body and imagined she was lying under a clear night sky. The hard, cold floor of the tunnel became soft and fragrant, and she found herself on her back in a field of grass outside the north portal. She wore a green dress and lay with her fingers crossed behind her head. She was thirteen. It was summer and warm out, and cicadas sung over the light rustle of wind blowing through the trees. The clear sky stretched for miles, interrupted only by the occasional silhouette of a lonely cloud against the field of stars.

Alexandra? Bedford called out, his voice possessing an ethereal quality, almost ghostlike in the way it echoed in her mind.

I’m over here, she said

Oh, there you are. Bedford’s footsteps approached and then stopped beside her in the grass. It’s getting late. You should be inside.

Can’t I stay just a bit longer?

He chuckled. I suppose. Not too much longer, though. We’re going to have an early day tomorrow.

She sighed and looked back at the sky. I’m still nervous that I’ll do something wrong.

You’ll do fine. It’s just a few tests.

Yeah. I guess. She had just begun to show telekinetic abilities, and the doctors and scientists had a full schedule for her the next day.

Her father lay back on the grass and took a deep breath. I know you’re still confused about these new abilities, but you don’t have anything to worry about. You’ll be fine.

I just don’t get why I can do all these things and no one else can. I’m not afraid, but…

I understand. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.

She didn’t reply. Both of them looked up at the stars in silence. After a few minutes, she said, Dad?

Yes?

Can you tell me a story?

He chuckled. It’s been a while.

I know… I just want to hear one again… about the big cities.

Okay. He paused and then gazed back up at the sky and began to speak in a slow, soothing voice that she remembered from her childhood when he had sat at her bedside and read stories to help her fall asleep.

New York. They called it the Big Apple because it was the biggest city in the United States. Over eight million people lived in that small area, packed together like sardines. At rush hour, there were so many people on the sidewalks, the streets, in cars, buses and cabs that no one seemed to move. They also called it the City That Never Sleeps. Something was always open somewhere. The noise, the traffic, the people… they never stopped. It was like a steel and concrete mountain range with skyscrapers that disappeared into the fog, even into low-lying clouds. The few times I got out there with your mom, we went to musicals. There was a street called Broadway. It was also called the Great White Way because of all the signs advertising the shows. Your mom liked the musicals, like Cats, Phantom of the Opera, Miss Saigon.

Alex heard the throaty growl in his voice and saw the faint smile, almost unnoticeable in the familiar crags and valleys of his own geography. She loved to hear about the cities. She loved to hear about her mother.

General! General Bedford, sir? someone called from the security checkpoint.

Her father sat up. What is it?

A guard jogged over to them. Sir, General Lunde radioed. You have a call from the Committee.

I see. Tell him I’m on my way.

Yes, sir, the guard said and then walked away.

I’m sorry, Alexandra, it looks like—

It’s okay. I’ll head in, too.

He stood up, brushed himself off, and helped her to her feet. They went to the Humvee waiting at the checkpoint.

Everything began to fade as the vehicle started up and moved past the checkpoint toward the north portal. The Humvee’s interior darkened and blurred together. Someone was calling her name. Her father’s voice, perhaps, but without the ethereal quality. She fought the urge to let herself go deeper into the emptiness and struggled to open her eyes. When the world returned, a blurry silhouette was kneeling beside her in the tunnel.

“Alex? Alex? Can you hear me?”

Her father’s face resolved above for a brief moment. “Dad?”

“We need to get her to Peterson.” A woman’s voice – Doctor Samantha Reilly, the director of the medical department. “She’s going into shock. We need to hurry.”

The man beside her stood. Her vision cleared enough for her to make out Shepherd’s familiar features. Her voice came out weak and uneven, “C-Captain Shepherd?”

“Yes. Stay still and don’t try to talk.”

She closed her eyes as Shepherd retreated to allow Reilly to kneel down next to her. There was a dab of wet on her forearm and then a sharp needle poke. Her eyes flew back open as she cried out, “Ouch!”

“Listen, hon,” Reilly said, leaning down to her ear, “you’ve lost a lot of blood, and your right lung is collapsed. We have to start an IV and get some fluid in. I’m also going to put a tube into your side to get the lung expanded again. I just need you to stay with me. Can you do that?”

She tried to nod but a weak, “Yes,” was all she could manage. She wondered what the tube was and where on your side they were going to put it.

A medic knelt next to her and began to cut away her uniform. She stirred feebly with her hands but they were too weak. A warm blanket replaced the clammy clothing.

“My dad…” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Reilly said. “I’m sure he’s okay. Right now you just need to worry about yourself.”

“But—”

“Okay, now,” Reilly interrupted, “just a little stick.” A sharp jab in her right side below the armpit. Then another poke a few seconds later. Without warning, hot pain radiated from her back up to her neck.

“I…,” she said but there was no air in her lungs to allow her to finish.

“Get that thing hooked up,” Reilly said.

She heard a sucking sound before the whole of her right chest lit up with a feeling of agony that almost lifted her off the ground.

“Sorry, kid,” Reilly said, sounding pleased with herself. “Tube’s in, and we’re getting your lung re-expanded. There’s some pain when the lung lining hits the tube. It’ll go away in a moment.”

She heard herself wheeze, heard the sucking, plopping sound from the tube, and slowly she realized her chest was moving. She was getting more air. The pain persisted as a nagging catch in her side.

Shepherd returned to her side, almost knocking Reilly’s assistant out of the way. “Is she going to be all right? Is she going to live?”

“She’s young. Healthy. She should…”

“Don’t give me that ‘young,’ ‘healthy’ bullshit! Is she…?”

Reilly looked at Shepherd but didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry. She’s a member of my team. I’m responsible for… her.”

Reilly nodded slowly and then said, “I know.”

Alex’s eyelids felt heavy. She struggled to keep them open. Each second felt like a battle. Am I going to die? Maybe it won’t be so bad. It’ll be like going to sleep. Her eyelids fluttered, and she gave up fighting. Her eyes shut as she let out a long, labored breath.

“Alexandra! Alexandra!” Reilly shouted. “Captain, keep her awake until we can get her out of here.”

Someone shook her left shoulder. Alex groaned and opened her eyes again. Shepherd touched her cheek. He looked down at her, and as she watched, he took hold of her left hand and held it tightly.

“Everything will be okay,” Shepherd said. “Help is on the way. Just stay with me.”

“It’s cold.”

“I know. We’ll get you out of here soon.”

“Tell… Tell my dad I’m sorry for not—” she began, but a feeling of something welling up in the back of her throat caused her to gag and start coughing. She began to choke, and the coughing continued as she tried to expel the liquid blocking her airway. Red droplets flew from her lips with each cough. Her mouth was full of blood.

So much for that tube.

Shepherd looked alarmed. “Alex, don’t talk. Just hold on.”

She continued coughing but with each cough, it got harder for her to breathe. For the first time since Webb’s bullet had torn into her chest, she was afraid. She struggled to clear her airway. Her body refused to cooperate. Blood leaked out from her mouth as she turned her head and coughed onto the ground. I don’t want to die. She wanted to scream the words but all she could manage to do was to repeat them in her head.

“Medevac’s on the way from Peterson,” Shepherd said. “We’ll get you to the hospital. You’ll be okay. Just stay with…”

Shepherd’s voice faded. More blood filled her throat. Shepherd took hold of both sides of her face. He was shouting something, perhaps calling for help or trying to get her to stay awake. If only she could reach out and hold him. He could anchor her and keep everything from fading. Except her arms wouldn’t move.

Her eyes fluttered and then closed. The world became darkness.