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He was done for.

The creature brought its right fist back to its ear, aimed the bone-blade at Clarence’s chest.

I’m sorry, Margaret … I’m not going to make it …

A clink of metal on broken gla.s.s. Just inches from the monster’s left temple, the barrel of a Benelli shotgun slid across the bottom edge of the winds.h.i.+eld housing.

The monster turned.

“FUUUUCK …” it had time to say, then the shotgun jumped and the monster’s face disappeared in a spray of blood and yellowish flesh. The creature fell to its back, twitching.

Through the winds.h.i.+eld, Clarence saw the ashen face of Ramierez.

“Hooyah, motherf.u.c.ker,” the SEAL said.

Clarence turned, letting the bullet-ridden truck carry his weight as he slid to the driver’s door. He opened it.

Bosh was slumped down in the seat, covered in his own blood. He was still blinking, but not for long. The monster had torn his throat open. Clarence could see the front of Bosh’s vertebrae.

Clarence shut the door. Out in the park, he saw a Seahawk helicopter coming in fast, nose tilted up for a landing.

“Everybody out!” he screamed as he stumbled around to the other side. “Move, move! Get to the chopper!”

He opened the pa.s.senger door to see that Ramierez had pa.s.sed out again, shotgun still clutched in his hands.

Clarence lifted Ramierez out of the truck and started toward the helicopter. To his right, Tim stumbled along, supporting the limping weight of Commander Klimas.

Just one man missing, the only man who really mattered.

Clarence stopped only long enough to shout over his shoulder.

“Cooper! Come on!”

GAME OVER

Cooper Mitch.e.l.l’s head hurt, really, really bad.

He saw the horde scatter. Despite the pain, he felt elated. He’d won.

“Suck a bag of d.i.c.ks, you f.u.c.king douchebags.”

He looked up to the sky, saw a slow-moving plane — just a dot, really, but whatever it was, it had ended the fight. Too bad it hadn’t arrived sooner; Roth might have made it.

Cooper had blood all over his hands. His blood, pouring out of a cut on the back of his head. He was probably going to throw up soon, thanks to the eye-narrowing throb going boom-boom-boom inside his skull.

He grabbed the water cannon’s post, used it to pull himself to his knees. He put his right hand down to press up, felt something smooth and hard beneath it — the fire axe.

His pistol was empty. For that matter, he didn’t even know where the thing was. He grabbed the axe handle, lifted it as he stood. His legs felt like rubber. He sat on the bullet-ridden metal box and slid his legs over the side. He dropped, almost fell when he landed.