Part 27 (2/2)

Julie s.h.i.+fted her gaze to me. ”Matt, are you okay?”

I kept shuffling down the path toward the group of men huddled around our wounded. Two lumps, covered by survival blankets, lay to one side. A boot stuck out of the bottom of one of them. We hadn't come out of this unscathed. Not by a longshot.

My breath caught and Will tensed up. But I wasn't going into cardiac arrest again-at least not yet. Where were my guys? Who'd we lose? Was that Blakeney under the blanket?

Ramirez came around from the back of a Humvee, saw us and turned to call someone. Lanningham and Blakeney appeared and started jogging our way. Lanningham had a long, shallow gash on his left arm and Blakeney's face was bruised, but they were okay.

I closed my eyes, thankful. ”They're alive.”

”Alive, nothing,” Julie said. ”Blakeney figured out if you shot these things in the head enough times, the ammo would eventually get through. He killed at least ten of them himself. It probably took four hundred rounds, but he mowed some down for us.”

Pride swelled in my chest, replacing some of the residual fear I was hanging onto from the cave. They met up with us and took over for Will, one on each side, to support me on the way back to the vehicles.

”Are you going to tell us what's going on?” Julie asked.

”Too much to explain,” I said. ”Except one thing, and it's time I was straight with all of you.”

”Wait,” she said as I staggered by. ”Where are you going?”

”Fort Carson,” I said. ”We're going home.”

Lanningham helped me climb into the nearest Humvee, while Blakeney hurried to the driver's seat.

Uncle Mike took the seat next to mine and confused soldiers were slowly following suit. Will climbed into the seat across from me and I waved for Jorge to join us.

As soon as Blakeney was settled behind the wheel, I said, ”Airport. Go.”

Blakeney didn't even confirm the order with the colonel; he put the vehicle in gear and took off, not bothering to check if the others were behind us.

”Sir?” Lanningham asked. ”Want to tell us why we're bugging out without even cleaning up the scene? We're leaving those things to rot.”

”After what happened to us in that cave, if Matt says go, we go,” Uncle Mike said. ”I'll have the general's office coordinate a clean-up effort with the local security forces.”

”Are you all right?” Jorge leaned forward and peered at my face in the failing light. Sunset had begun. ”You shouldn't be moving around so much. You need to recover.”

”I know I died, but-”

”Died?” Blakeney stared at me in the rearview mirror.

”Long story. I have some important things to tell everyone first and I need to do it before the memories fade.” Even now, the whole trip seemed blurry. ”The best place to start, I think, is at the beginning.”

For the next twenty minutes, I told them everything I knew. About the dark hall, the Master, Mamie-Supreme, and how I'd moved between worlds. How Dr. Burton-Hughes was right, and we were p.a.w.ns in a game between cosmic players. I didn't tell them about the Master's bargain-none of that mattered. I was going to fight, even if he said I'd die. That decision was made.

I did, however, reveal the most important thing: my vision in Peru.

”A dark army,” I said, ”Plowing across bright desert sands, with us racing toward them in Humvees. Here's the thing, though-every desert we've visited had red sand, not yellowish or white. So, I wondered if it was the Sahara or the Gobi, someplace we'd never gone. Then the Dark Master said something about being 'under our noses the whole time,' and I figured out exactly where they'll strike.”

Not one of them questioned the validity of my vision, or if I'd been brain damaged while I was dead-a testament to everything we'd been through together, everything we'd seen, and how the power of the knives was to be trusted.

”Where?” Uncle Mike asked, urgent and angry.

”Colorado.” I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. I was exhausted. Being dead had tired me out. ”They're hiding in the Great Sand Dunes.”

”The national park where I took Brent climbing for his fifteen birthday?” Someone punched the car door. ”That means they're less than two hundred miles from Fort Carson.”

”Right on both accounts,” I said, as the last of my energy burst slipped away. I would slide into unconsciousness soon. ”Tink? If they need anything, talk to Jorge.”

I will. You gather your strength. It's time.

I rubbed the pentagram tattoo on my wrist. Soon I'd find out if my worst fears for the future would come true. As sleep swallowed me up, I hoped we wouldn't be too late.

I slept until we were somewhere over the Atlantic. Consciousness came in stages, but I finally woke up to a raging post-magic hangover. Ignoring the headache, I sat up to stretch muscles cramped from lying across a row of airplane seats. Out of nowhere, a flash of a mission with Schmitz popped into my mind, with his dog tags swinging toward my face. G.o.d, I missed him. I missed all of them. Instinctively, I reached for my own tags and clutched them in my fist. Would this be all anyone remembered me by? Would Ella forget me after I was gone?

Most of the team was either asleep or playing cards, but Ramirez, Aunt Julie, Uncle Mike, Jorge and Johnson were huddled around a laptop a few rows over.

Murphy came plodding down the aisle and saw I was awake. ”Hey, Sleeping Beauty, all better now? Cardiac arrest aside, a nine-hour nap is excessive, especially when we had to carry your heavy a.s.s onto the plane.”

He was smiling, so I knew he wasn't mad, but it was like he read my mind. Enough wallowing-I had work to do. ”What's up with them?” I pointed at the officers. ”They're staring at that laptop like their lives depend on it.”

His smile faded into a scowl. ”Our lives do depend on it. You should get over there and take a look.”

Wondering what fresh h.e.l.l was in store, I joined the group. ”Everything okay?”

Uncle Mike's eyes met mine. ”Not even close. You were right.”

”About?” I asked, getting a bad, bad feeling.

He sighed and moved to one side so I could see the laptop screen. ”This is a live feed from Great Sand Dunes. The President ordered a state of emergency and put the park under National Guard control until we can get there.”

Great Sand Dunes park, at least from the pictures Brent had brought home from his trip, was a wildly beautiful place. Where else would you find a mix of mountain hiking, a river to play in and giant dunes all in one place? It was like a mini-desert dropped into the middle of a ski resort.

Now it was shrouded in darkness. ”Where are the mountains?”

What we were watching was a CNN live simulcast of the park. The dunes stretched out in the forefront, but behind it, where a view of the mountains should've been, was a dark haze that stood out against the sky. Haze wasn't the right word, though, because the fog writhed and changed shape too much.

It was my vision from Peru. Only real, and worse than I ever imagined.

”Here they come,” Johnson said, his deep voice tense. ”See? There.”

”G.o.d, I hope they know what they're doing,” Julie said.

Before I could ask what they meant, a pair of fighter jets streaked into the frame. Small projectiles shot out from them into the dark ma.s.s and the planes veered sharply away.

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