Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
By now Cold Chaos’ guild coordinator would have gone into the breach with a piece of a core stone and shocked it with a taser. The moment the charge hit that rock, the cheesecake the assault team carried would light up and start humming. It was the breach equivalent of an SOS signal. The assault team would realize that a fatal event occurred, and they were being recalled. They would turn around and head back for the gate.
They were only an hour ahead of us. By now they should have been here to neutralize the threat and retrieve the bodies. Nobody came for the corpses or for the incredibly valuable adamantite. That meant only one thing: the assault team was dead.
Bear whined softly. I reached out and petted her back.
Right now, Cold Chaos was likely putting a new assault team together. The level of threat in this breach was beyond anything I had seen. They would need their top Talents for this, and those people were usually occupied. High ranking guild members made more than celebrity actors, and the guilds worked them to the bone for that money. Getting them all in one place could take days.
The gate opened eight days ago. Judging by the power readings, Cold Chaos had anywhere between four to eight weeks to clear it. They thought everyone was dead, so they wouldn’t be in a hurry.
There was another unpleasant possibility. If London did own up to leaving me behind, Cold Chaos could choose to deliberately delay. If I was alive, they would face intense scrutiny. Things would be a lot simpler for them if I was dead. Given enough time in the breach, I would be.
There would be no rescue. I was on my own. If I died here, the kids would be alone. Roger would let them go into foster care. I was sure of it. They were living reminders of his failure as a father, and he had very little tolerance for being held accountable these days.
I’d made a promise to my daughter. I would keep it.
Digging through the cave-in was out of the question. The integrity of the cave ceiling in that passage was shot, which meant moving any of the rocks risked another collapse. No, I would have to go around, through one of those passageways.
I glanced at the end of the cavern. The tunnels stretched into darkness. I would have to go into that darkness, make my way through the breach filled with monsters, ones that probably killed an entire assault team, find the gate, get out, and make sure Cold Chaos didn’t have a chance to stop me. Too easy.
I would need supplies. And a weapon. In a few minutes, the generator would die and take the lights with it.
I had to act fast.
John Costa, thirty-two years old, honorably discharged after eight years in the Marine Corps. He and his husband had just celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary, and before the dive, he had shown off the necklace he received as a gift – a clover charm in gold with a small breach emerald in the center. For luck.
John sprawled on the rocks, face up. The left side of his skull and face were sliced off, and the cut was so sharp, it was like half of his head simply disappeared. His one remaining eye stared up at me, dull and lifeless.
I squatted by the body. My leg whined in protest, so I sat on the ground and picked up John’s SIG Spear.
“This probably won’t work,” I told Bear.
Bear enthusiastically panted.
Originally the SIG Spear was developed as a civilian version of the US Army XM7, a multi-caliber rifle that answered the military’s need for small arms with greater firepower. It offered higher muzzle velocity and better long-range shot placement. This version of the SIG Spear was developed specifically for the gates. I knew all of this because I had been briefed on it and taught how to fire it.
There was just one problem.
I turned the rifle on its side and found a small black selector. It could be turned only two ways: toward a stylized bullet etched into the gun or toward the identical bullet with a line through it. Fire, no fire. As my retired Marine firing range instructor put it, private-proof. So easy even a soldier could do it.
The selector was in the safety position. John died too fast to fire off a shot.
I flipped the selector toward the bullet, raised the rifle to my shoulder, and pressed the trigger. Nothing. As expected.
A small red light flared on the rifle and faded.
The use of guns inside the gate was strictly controlled. Only smart guns were permitted, and only combat-rated Talents could carry one. Nobody wanted the civilians grabbing weapons dropped by their injured escorts and firing them in a wave of panic. Nobody wanted to hand a working firearm to the enemy either. That technology needed to stay in human hands as long as possible.