Part 3 (2/2)

Flying wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I pointed my body in the direction I wanted it to go, and willed myself to move. And I did, closing in on the pack of Freaks like a rocket.

It was almost too easy to stab the wounded monsters. They were hurt and couldn't bank or change alt.i.tude fast enough. I was quick, praying the big one didn't drop Parker before I got there.

Once they were out of the way, I hovered over to the last Freak. Parker squirmed in its talons, turning his head so he could see me.

His face was white as plaster. ”Help.”

G.o.d, he sounded so weak. The monster must be slowly squeezing the life out of him. I shot over the Freak, trying to get its attention, not sure what I'd even do. If I killed it without being in exactly the right place, Parker would drop. If I missed and didn't kill it right off, it might crush my wielder.

I had to force it to fly lower. Then if it dropped Parker, he might survive the fall.

I circled back and dove straight at its head. It swooped beneath me and I swerved to cut a jagged line through its wing.

”Just like Afghanistan, sir,” I said, hoping he could hear me. ”We know how to deal with winged monsters. We got this.”

No answer. The monster turned and flew at me. I went low and swiped at the other wing. Finally, it faltered, gliding toward the ground and the rest of the team. It was going to drag its load before crash landing right on top of him and half the men below.

I zoomed underneath it and slashed at its talons. With a startled cry, it released Parker and wheeled away. I caught him as the Freak crash landed in the Potomac. The tanks immediately opened fire, blowing it to pieces.

What a hand-held rocket launcher couldn't do, heavy artillery could. If only we'd had this kind of support in Africa and Australia. But by then, Congress was already suspicious and moving a tank to a foreign country without a U.S. military installation nearby would've been the last nail. Too bad we had to get their attention by destroying half the capital and suffering civilian casualties.

I carried Parker down and set him on the gra.s.s near the closest Humvee. Ramirez dashed over and fell to his knees next to me.

Parker's eyes fluttered open. ”Get them all?”

”Yeah,” I said. ”That was the last one.”

His smile was faint. ”Good, then I'm done. The last flight.”

”Hey, none of that, okay?” Ramirez said. ”Help's on the way.”

”Not this time,” Parker whispered. He lifted a hand from his abdomen, revealing a bloodied Cla.s.s A s.h.i.+rt. ”My job's finished. This was it for me.”

”You aren't finished,” I said, desperate to keep him talking until the paramedics came, but knowing they wouldn't arrive in time. ”Hang on.”

He took a breath and wheezed. ”Dark's coming. Stay strong. And don't let ... your brother give you ... any more ... s.h.i.+ners.”

I managed a laugh despite the film of tears covering my eyes. ”I can't believe you remember that.”

”I remember.”

Parker's back arched and his eyes rolled back in his head. Blood saturated the ground beneath him. He jerked twice, then went limp.

Ramirez reached out to take his pulse. His shoulders slumped. ”Gone.”

He leapt to his feet, stalked a few feet away, then screamed curses at the sky. Ramirez, the POW survivor, the stoic one, the guy with the steadiest head, came completely unglued in front of fifty men and three other wielders. But he'd been closer to Parker than the rest of us. For a horrible second, I imagined Parker was Will. I would've done more than scream at the sky. I would've raged against the universe as a whole.

Now, though, I felt empty. All this death, and for what? We'd lost another wielder but we were no closer to ending this war, and now we had the blood of hundreds of civilians on our hands, too. People who simply had the misfortune of being here when disaster struck.

”Where's Parker's knife?” I asked.

Will put a hand on my shoulder. ”I'll go search for it. You stay with Parker.”

Jorge squatted next to me. The rest of the soldiers moved around us, picking up the pieces and clearing the battlefield. He sighed long and deep. ”He was a good man.”

”Yeah. Probably the nicest one of us. Always polite, which is pretty rare in this outfit,” I said. ”His mother is a manners coach at a school for rich girls.”

Jorge's smile was quick. ”He told me.”

”So what now?” I asked. ”Do we have to search for a new wielder?”

”The knives seem to find the wielders for us.” Jorge glanced downrange.

True, and one problem I wouldn't have to solve. ”My girlfriend is out here somewhere. And Will's.”

”I'm sure they're safe, but I'll ask one of the men to call your support team and have them locate the girls for you.” Jorge pointed downrange. ”William found the missing blade.”

I looked up in time to see him stoop and reach for something. A moment later, he jumped backward, shaking his hand.

”I think he needs your a.s.sistance,” Jorge said. ”Go. I'll stay here.”

Too tired to ask why Will would need my help, I weaved my way through the devastation that used to be West Potomac Park. Ramirez beat me there.

”What do you mean, you can't touch it?” he asked Will.

Will shrugged. ”It burned me, sir.”

He held up his hand, and red marks scored his fingers. Nothing serious, but like when you accidentally touched the stove. Ramirez frowned and squatted down to pick up the knife. Its blade was driven into the dirt so that only the handle stuck up.

The major reached for it, but as soon as his fingers touched the handle, he s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand back. ”What the h.e.l.l? It's red hot.”

Maybe you should get that, Tink said, sounding both tired and coy. An odd combination, and one that made me suspicious.

”Why?”

Because you can.

Sighing, I bent and wrapped my fingers around the handle, expecting to be burned, too.

Instead, a quiet male voice said, Take me to my new wielder, please. You're the only one who can help.

Then a picture of Uncle Mike's house flashed through my mind.

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