Fireteam Delta by J. Halpin (ebook reader that looks like a book txt) 📕

as he rifled through a bag. She was summarizing most of what he said, which was largely unimportant. But she didn’t want to offend the man. He was, if nothing else, a friend to her friends.

Nowak continued to take one document after another. He’d been like that for a while now, not even pretending to pay attention to them.

“Asle . . .” Nowak spoke without looking. “We need to get the others. Right now.”

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“What do you mean there are more of those things?” Cortez looked pissed, staring down at the paper on the table in front of them.

Servants had come looking for Summers and Cortez, hurrying them back to the castle. Asle sat, looking just as confused as Summers felt.

“This is why the army sent someone to our base.” Nowak pressed a finger to the document in front of them.

It was a map, one that denoted the progress of something called the “adversary.” It led from Nevada, all the way to the city they found themselves in.

“They’re hunting these things down.” Nowak covered his face with a hand. “I don’t know how, or why, but Rhodes was supposed to link up with the 63rd. I have containment procedures that make it sound like these things are contagious, some raw data I can’t make sense of—point is, they were ready for two of them. And by the sounds of it, there are even more than that.”

“If one of these was anywhere near us, we’d have seen it,” Cortez pressed.

“Maybe we did,” Summers countered.

The others looked at him with concern.

“I think it’s in the springs. The same one that’s making that fog,” Summers concluded. “It explains why the army was interested in the ‘drug,’ and why I’m . . . like I am. Maybe it got trapped there. Maybe something else got to it.”

He didn’t want to mention the half-remembered vision of something in that water. As if it were calling to him.

“Wait, so you’re . . .” Cortez looked at Summers, more than a little worry on her face.

“I’ve been using parts of the things I eat, just like that creature. But . . . slower. I don’t know why it works like that, but it matches up. Synel even said the fog was new.”

Summers took a breath. What they’d learned about the creature the locals called the hamr hadn’t amounted to much. Most of the elves understood the meaning of “hamr”—it literally translated to “body”—but only a few knew what it meant in terms of a god.

Most villages had some form of patron gods, forest gods, and gods of the home. But the hamr was more of a boogeyman. It came from a creation myth, a story that explained how life had come about by accident, created from the pieces of some incomprehensible being. And that, eventually, it would return for what it was missing.

After what Summers had seen, he could understand why the locals might think the story held some truth.

“What makes you think there are more?” Cortez looked at Nowak, then back to Summers.

“Because this was breach four.” Nowak indicated a few documents on the table. “I don’t know what that means to the rest of you, but it sounds to me like there was a breach one, two, and three.”

Cortez took a breath.

“We should take another vote.”

“A vote for what?” Nowak looked at her, confused.

“Whether or not we go to Nevada.” Cortez gestured to the room around them. “Rhodes might have had the right idea here. We should stay put and wait for the army to find us.”

“And then what? How are we going to explain a city of fully armed, trained elves?” Summers cautioned.

“That it’s what it took to survive that thing. I got nothing waiting for me there. And we don’t know what’s happening with Summers,” Cortez cautioned. “Not trying to be a bitch here.”

“If anyone’s going to have answers, it’s the army,” Nowak countered.

Cortez held up a hand. “I’m just saying, it’s something we should think about.”

“How about we vote after we know where we stand with the city?” Summers looked over at Nowak. “That sound fair, Sarge?”

“Fine.” Nowak cleared his throat. “We, uh . . . we should get ready. That ceremony’s tonight.”

“Right . . .” Summers hesitated a moment before standing.

As they headed back to their rooms, Summers took one last look at the others. They were all starting to feel the strain of what they’d been through.

He just hoped they could hold it together for a little longer.

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That night, they gathered outside the castle. They’d been supplied with furs that Summers assumed was some kind of formal attire. Pat led them to a cleared area of the market, where a truly gigantic pyre had been built.

Bodies lay on top of it, arrayed one after another. They were those who had fought in the war, were victims of the creature, or casualties of their bomb. Seeing now how many that had been was more than a little unnerving. The few guards who lined the streets watched them as they passed. Even through their normal, placid expressions, Summers could see something . . . strange on their faces.

From this distance, he could recognize Logan’s face at the highest point; he assumed that was a place of honor. He was dressed just like them, his arms folded over his chest. They’d taken his dog tag, adding it to the growing pile.

Asle cried softly from beside Cortez, doing her best to hide her face.

The pyre had already started burning by the time they arrived. In front of it, thirty men stood facing them. Summers recognized a few—Orvar, though the man was hunched over slightly, the twins, and more than a few from each of their squads. Pat led them through the crowd to