"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!'"
— Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Nina lay naked and alone on a steel table. It felt cold and sterile.
Darkness surrounded her. She felt no breeze, smelled nothing in the air, heard no sounds. A solitary light hovered above.
A circle of people emerged from the blackness and swarmed toward her. Faceless, emotionless. She fidgeted; squirmed as they surrounded her, as they reached to touch her. First one hand from anonymous eyes, feeling her flesh and caressing…sliding over the rigid muscles of her strong body. Then another hand stroking her cheek.
Her exhales changed to sighs.
Then another. And another. Reaching for her ankles and calves. Sliding along her thighs and ribs…teasing her chest and feeling her bare shoulders. Hands and palms grasping her legs and tugging them open.
With the hands came lips. She closed her eyes and felt firm kisses on her neck and legs and… a sigh became a moan, her body tingled from head to toe.
She sensed their desire for her. It felt like love.
More probing and welcomed invasion. Lips and fingers and hands and now more across her whole person. A swarm of caresses; an onslaught.
Her breath grew rapid. She felt a mass inside building toward critical as her body rocked atop the metal slab. Her head slid back and over the edge baring her throat to the besiegers.
She sensed their desire for her. It felt like lust.
The horde grew heavy, pressing against her: legs in iron holds, arms pinned.
So many reaching for her, wanting her; yet the table still felt cold. No matter how many came, they could not warm her. A crowd around her, yet loneliness remained.
Her exhale became a shuddered groan, even as she felt trapped.
"No…"
They covered every inch of her body. She felt them on top and under, inside and around. Pressing and pushing.
They did not listen. They would not stop.
"No…please…"
Nina opened her eyes as the mass reached critical and saw Trevor Stone standing alongside the table. He watched the swarm work her without mercy. He wore a perverse grin, enjoying her struggle; finding sweet music in the sound of her sighs as they changed to cries.
She sensed his desire for her. It felt like possession.
The mass inside exploded. Her entire body rippled. A moan of both release and panic trembled from her lips…
…Nina jerked awake.
She lay not on a metal table but a military cot. Smoldering embers inside a portable coal stove radiated a soft, hazy glow from the center of the tent. The three other members of the Dark Wolves team shared the tent. They were awake now. It had been difficult to sleep with the…the noises coming from her bunk.
They sat in their cots staring at her with disbelief, wonder, and something else. She did not want to know what that something else was.
"What?" She scowled even as she struggled to find her breath, even as her heart raced.
"Um, I ah," Carl Bly stuttered. "I have to hit the latrine," he stood quickly and-slightly hunched over-grabbed his coat and walked outside.
"Time for a shower," Oliver Maddock said bravely in his Welsh accent. "Yes that’s it. A cold one at that," and he too marched away after grabbing a heavy jacket.
Vince Caesar stared silently at her for a moment longer and then exited the tent as well.
Nina collapsed to the cot, puffing an exhale of frustration in the process.
She never dreamt like that before. Weirder still, it had not felt as if it were her dream. More like…more like someone else’s dream; someone else’s nightmare.
– Captain Forest emerged from her quarters to another overcast January morning, inhaling flavorless cold air that stung her lungs as she pulled her blond hair into a short ponytail and then zipped tight a green parka. Nina worked her way through the maze of tents and temporary shelters comprising the headquarters unit for Army Group North.
Soldiers-dressed in clothes ranging from smart-looking Arctic gear to eclectic bundles of sweaters, jeans, jackets, and cargo pants-crisscrossed the grounds mumbling about the weather or cursing whatever passed for breakfast. If not for the rifles and salutes the group would more resemble refugees than an army.
In any case, the headquarters unit sat atop dead farmland adjacent to the Sugar Creek Baptist Church off old US 35 near Washington Court House, Ohio.
In the sixteen months since the destruction of the Hivvan forces at Columbia, South Carolina, Nina Forest and her Dark Wolves commandos shuffled north, south, east, and west. Sixteen months of fighting reptilian aliens in Georgia and Alabama, giant snakes in Florida, monsters infesting New York City, and human pirates ambushing supply convoys in Connecticut.
For the last four of those months, her unit supported "Army Group North" and its role in the massive "Fall" offensive.
While Army Group South knocked the Hivvan remnants across Mississippi and Army Group Center pushed through lower Kentucky and Tennessee, General William Hoth's force began a blitzkrieg to cross Ohio and thrust into Indiana. It all kicked off in late September-one year after the carnage at New Winnabow and the liberation of Columbia, South Carolina-and planned to meet all objectives before winter set in.
So much for grand plans.
Winter had, in fact, set in; weeks ago. While the other two prongs of the attack achieved their aims, Army Group North measured progress in fractions of miles.
Part of the problem came from home. Newspaper editors wrote that the already-fragile economy deteriorated with the introduction of an official Imperial currency. Even Nina-who lacked a head for economics-realized that was when the supply problems started anew; problems revolving around work stoppages, transportation issues, and political squabbling.
Then came a surprise from in front of the army. It seemed Intelligence underestimated the numbers and capabilities of the "Plats" or "Platypuses", so nicknamed because the three-legged uglies sported humorous duckbills where a mouth should be. The plasma rifles they carried, however, did not elicit chuckles.
Things became even less amusing when the Plats revealed their own war vehicles; wooden, wheeled boats armed with a high-powered energy cannon.
The Plats' "War Skiffs" nearly destroyed two brigades of infantry outside of Chillicothe in November. Only General Hoth’s skillful deployment of an armored reserve saved the day.
Fortunately, the Platypuses lacked the numbers and organization of the Hivvans. By Thanksgiving, the 2 ^ nd Armored Division annihilated every enemy formation east of the Scioto River, destroying nearly five thousand Platypus fighters and a hundred vehicles during two weeks of pitched battles.
Alas, bad news followed the good as scouts found Columbus, Cleveland, and Cincinnati entirely infested with new, alien ecosystems full of dangerous extraterrestrial animals. No humans could possibly survive in such environments and Hunter-Killer teams would require armor and infantry support to clear those places.
Instead of becoming bogged down in urban pacification operations, Hoth bypassed those cities with the aim of wiping out the Plats first. Supply shortages, bad weather, a horrendous wave of flu in the ranks, and stiffening enemy resolve conspired to undermine his strategy.
So on Wednesday, January 19, as Nina walked from her tent in search of General Hoth, Army Group North sat idle east of Interstate 71 some forty miles southwest of Columbus. Horrible progress-or lack thereof-for an offensive that began last September.
On the other side of Interstate 71 waited a few more Plat War Skiffs and scattered infantry formations, probably the last the enemy had to offer but an obstacle that could not be tackled until the supply situation and weather improved.
Nina’s boots crunched on the frozen ground of what had once been a farmer’s field. Military trucks, tents, crates, fuel drums, and horse-drawn wagons turned that field into an encampment.
A freezing wind whipped across the porch of the upscale farmhouse serving as the General’s headquarters, causing a banner depicting a hand wielding a hammer to flutter violently. Nina moved between two shivering sentries and walked through the main entrance.
A wood burning furnace heated the interior filling the inside with a pleasant, almost maple aroma. Lighting came from lamps filled with whale oil harvested hundreds of miles away off the eastern seaboard and shipped via steam locomotives.
The farmhouse bustled with activity, no doubt because people preferred working inside as opposed to doing nothing outside in the cold, even if that meant dealing with General Hoth.
While others found the man short-mannered and overly stoic, Nina held him in high regard.
Like thousands of others, William Hoth vanished hours before the alien invasion began only to reappear years later encased in a blob of green goo, a phenomena now known as "riding the ark." In his case, Hoth had been teaching a summer course at West Point when the world took that sudden left turn.
A man of few words and even fewer facial expressions, Hoth wore broad shoulders and a wide frame. From a distance, he appeared a few pounds overweight. Closer inspection revealed a big-boned and solid fifty-something officer who could cut lesser men in half with a glare.
She walked into a large parlor where a billiards table served as the centerpiece of Army Group North’s operations room and a roaring Rumford fireplace cast flashes of light on a mounted moose head, dusty velvet curtains, and long-neglected antique furniture.
The folding tables, chairs, lap top computers, and communications gear from the military interlopers contrasted sharply with the home's original garish furnishings creating a strange mishmash of styles.
General Hoth stood near the billiards table dressed in woodland BDUs over a black turtle neck. At his side hovered General Casey Fink, commander of the newly-formed 4 ^ th Mechanized Infantry Division.
A large, muscular man, Fink could easily pass for a professional wrestler or a linebacker yet Hoth's presence loomed larger, regardless of a disadvantage in size.
Nina knew Fink had been career Army prior to the end-of-the-world. She also knew his post-Armageddon credits included inspired fighting during the Battle of Five Armies as well as an equally impressive performance as part of Jon Brewer's expedition more than sixteen months ago to capture the mysterious 'runes' at the top of the world.
Fink studied documents and maps while Hoth carried on a conversation via a radio headset. After finishing that conversation with a curt "understood," Hoth said to Fink, "He confirmed contact. Estimates five hundred Roachbots around Cincinnati."
Captain Forest stood at attention in front of her two superior officers. Hoth glanced at her saying, "At ease, Captain."
Fink said to Hoth, "They're about fifty miles to our southern flank."
Nina understood that five hundred of those SUV-sized robots equated to a substantial fighting force. She asked, "Are they approaching?"
General Hoth answered, "Not yet, but the book says they will attack once they are aware of our presence."
Fink, who squared off against those psychotic, six-legged mechanical monstrosities during the Battle of Five Armies nearly five and a half years ago added, "They can't resist a chance to harvest human brains. Must be a couple of assembly lines down there by Cincy."
Hoth said, "We have the assets to deal with five hundred Roachbots. However, it is another impediment to any progress we hope to achieve."
Fink mumbled, "That's been the story since this whole thing started. It's like this whole offensive has been nothing but bad news after bad news."
Hoth halted Fink's complaint with a stern glare but said nothing. What could he say? Fink spoke the truth, something that everyone in the ranks felt; this mission had been cursed. Not rational and therefore not something Hoth would consider, but the series of obstacles, surprises, and missteps gave the entire undertaking a decidedly irrational feel.
Hoth told Fink, "If Washington Court House is secure we can transfer the camp into town. I want you to confirm that the town is safe to occupy. I will realign our armor to face any threats from the south."
Fink accepted his orders and marched from the room.
Forest waited silently while the General studied the tabletop map with seemingly glazed eyes. She knew better than to think he daydreamed.
It impressed Nina that she could hear the crackle of the fireplace. Impressed because half a dozen technicians and specialists worked in the room examining communiques, intelligence information, supply requisitions, readiness reports, and more. Yet they remained quiet enough that the burning kindling made the loudest noise in the room. No idle conversations. The command staff reflected the personality of their General.
"Captain, I want to make sure I understand the situation fully," he went over again that morning what he had discussed with Captain Forest last night. "Yesterday we received a radio communication from a group of survivors outside of Dayton, over thirty miles behind our front lines, warning of imminent danger to our entire Army Group. The voice on the radio specifically requests that you- Nina Forest — fly to her location to discuss this threat."
Nina continued what the General started, "She says she won’t tell us about the threat because she wants guaranteed evacuation to our lines, but she isn’t willing to wait until the whole force rolls over to her. She wants out now. She'll trade this info for extraction."
He said, "She will only trust you because you were good friends."
Nina rolled the name from the radio around on her tongue: " Jolene Crawford. I knew a Jolene Crawford during basic training. We bunked together for a while. The only thing I remember is she constantly complained about a bias in the Army against women whenever she came up short on a drill. I suppose maybe she thought more of me than I did of her. I’m just saying, I never thought of her or saw her after basic training."
Hoth returned his attention to the tabletop and exhaled roughly; his version of a sigh.
She appreciated his frustration. Facing a host of Wraiths, or a Hivvan Corp, a pack of Jaw-Wolves, or the radiation signature of a Shadow would be preferable to this mystery. The entire operation felt like a stroll through a minefield. Nina wondered if they might not be better off extricating the entire army from Ohio and waiting until summer to try again.
Yet she knew that was not an option. It was the promise of victory-not embarrassing retreats-keeping the people back home from descending into anti-inflation riots or work strikes.
Those victories must keep coming because the people must have faith in the military. That military served as an extension of the Emperor and it was his power- his will — holding together the scattered settlements comprising humanity's hope for survival.
"Captain, what is your opinion of this request?"
Nina weighed her thoughts aloud. "Seems to me I have to go through with it. I mean, if it’s The Order or something like that, they wouldn’t gain much by luring me into a trap. It doesn’t make sense to try and net me or even the Dark Wolves unit. On the other hand, it's been six and a half years since the invasion. Survivors tend to be desperate to get behind our lines, particularly if she knows something big is about to happen."
The General stood silent for several seconds. Nina could nearly hear the gears turning as the man analyzed the situation and prepared a strategy.
"This Jolene Crawford wants you to rendezvous at her location in three days. Instead, we send you in tonight a few miles from the meeting point. You can survey the situation and decide either to leave or make contact. It will be your call."
"That sounds like the easiest way to go."
"Captain, since we marched into Ohio, nothing has been easy."
– "Hello, Denise? Is that you?"
Nina, in a farmhouse bedroom turned communications center, struggled to hear the voice on the other end of the phone.
Communication across the growing Empire proved spotty at best. In the case of Army Group North, they managed to tap into hard lines connecting with a switchboard outside of Pittsburgh which, in turn, connected to more lines all the way back to Annapolis, an amazing technical feat in the post-Armageddon world.
Nonetheless, Denise sounded as if she spoke through a tin can at the other end of a mile-long string.
"Mom, that you?"
It had taken Nina a long time to accept being called "mom". The opposite had been true of Denise. The girl longed to call someone "mother" after losing her real parents in the fires of the invasion at six years old.
"It’s me, honey, how are you?"
"What?"
"I said, it’s me. Yes, it’s me, mom. How are you?"
"Oh. I’m good."
"Are you going to school? No skipping, you hear?"
"That was one time, geez. No skipping, I promise. School is actually pretty cool."
Nina broke the bad news, "Hey, I’m going on a…well…I’m going on a mission. You know I can't say much, this isn't exactly a secure line."
Denise groaned, "So much for our weekend in Pittsburgh, I guess."
"I'm really sorry. I pulled a lot of strings to try and meet up for your birthday, thirteen is a big one. You're a teenager now. I can't believe it."
"This sucks. Mom. Things were better last summer. Can't I just live with the groupies?"
The families, loved ones, merchants, and traders who packed their belongings into wagons, horses, and backpacks to follow the troop formations were known as "groupies." The teachers among the "groupies" held classes for kids offering basic ABCs. However, Nina and her commando unit often changed Army Groups at a moment's notice. She wanted something more stable for Denise, even if it meant seeing her less.
Nina told her adopted daughter, "I’m sorry, honey. I really am. This will be over in a few days I think. We’ll see about next weekend. We were already celebrating a little late, so what's another week, right?"
"Yeah, Mom, whatever."
The line clicked, a burst of static, and the connection broke.
– The black painted Eagle transport ship cut through the frigid darkness above the Till plains of western Ohio.
Nina Forest did not remember the first time she rode in an Eagle air ship. That memory had been one of a year's worth of memories wiped away by the aliens known as The Order. She also did not remember how to fly an Eagle, a skill Trevor Stone taught her before the stealing of those memories.
She did know, however, that humanity had captured four Eagle air ships from the invading force nicknamed "The Redcoats" during the battle of Wilkes-Barre six years ago. The ships exemplified humanity adapting extraterrestrial technology for use against the invaders.
Engineers improved upon the alien design and now Eagles rolled off an assembly line at the old Philadelphia shipyards for use as transports, command vehicles, and cargo carriers.
This flying machine amazed Nina because of the lack of aerodynamics. Indeed, the Eagle resembled a flying brick sporting a triangular nose cone with a thin long windshield. Twin engine baffles marked the rear of the rectangular passenger compartment while landing gear sprouted from pods at each corner. Anti-gravity circuits in the undercarriage kept the Eagle aloft and the hydrogen-powered engines-fueled by fresh or desalinated water-pushed the ship along with a ride as smooth as an ice skater gliding across a frozen pond.
Most of the Eagles wore white paint but a few dressed in different colors, such as Nina's black special operations ride that night.
Nina knew how to fly helicopters, even big Blackhawk transports and Apache gun ships, but she had not found the time to take a training course for Eagle flight.
Captain Forest shook those musings from her mind and glanced around the compartment.
A small sealed bulkhead led forward toward the cockpit while another bulkhead led to the aft engine room. Storage compartments lined the walls of the passenger module and two sliding doors would open to the outside at the right time.
She shared the windowless yet brightly lit passenger compartment with the rest of her Dark Wolves team.
Oliver Maddock sat in one of the high-backed bench seats reading an issue of Know Thy Enemy, a magazine devoted to the thousands of different monsters that had come to Earth alongside extraterrestrial armies and overrun humanity nearly seven years ago.
Nina knew that a military expedition had traveled to the Arctic Circle and retrieved a device that shut down the alien gateways. The Empire had uncovered one such dormant gateway just outside of Atlanta; a big green arch serving as the Hivvan springboard in their assault across the American south.
From what she heard, the device recovered from Greenland also made it possible to send captured aliens home, a sort of one-way return trip to their planet of origin. A backlog of Hivvan prisoners waited in cells in Pennsylvania to take that trip. The location of this device, however, remained a closely guarded secret.
Alas, the Earth retained an incomprehensible number of dangerous alien life forms ranging from prey such as herd animals and giant rats to predators like armor-plated Jaw-Wolves and carnivorous Giant Jellyfish. Those animals did not need gateways to increase their number, they merely reproduced.
As for the sentient extraterrestrial races such as the Hivvans, Platypuses and Red Hands, they had descended upon the Earth seemingly to murder or enslave mankind. Often times the invaders fought amongst themselves, but just as often they worked together to attack Earth's indigenous population.
Nina did not understand why Maddock wasted his time reading Know Thy Enemy. Like her, Maddock received the most up-to-date information on the invaders including hard, scientific facts from scientists conducting tests on captured creatures at the underground complex in Red Rock, Pennsylvania.
Carl Bly, meanwhile, studied creatures of another sort as he sat in a corner "reading" a new issue of Playboy. The headline lured, "Girls of the 1 ^ st Armored Division!"
Vince Caesar, the fourth member of the Dark Wolves team, busied himself with cleaning his weapon. Caesar, she knew, read every report from Red Rock and would not allow his mind to be distracted by pornography, unless ordered to do so, of course.
Nina pulled a photograph from the pocket of her black BDUs and stared at a picture of the blond girl who called her 'mother' and who had recently turned thirteen.
Mother.
Nina did not know what that had meant in the old days, but she knew what it meant in the post-Armageddon world. It meant making sure Denise went to school. It meant standing in line at the distribution center to get enough food for the week.
It meant telling Denise that, no, she could not build bonfires at Highland Beach with the older boys from school. Nina did not care that Denise could fight with the skill of a second-degree black belt or that she could plug a Gremlin in the forehead at twenty yards with a handgun. The girl would be in bed at a reasonable time and not hanging out with older boys anywhere, let alone the beach at night.
It meant taking Denise to the doctor-where the lines were often times longer than the distribution center lines-for vaccinations and check-ups. It meant scrounging enough of the new 'continental dollars' so Denise could buy a cool skirt for the school dance.
It meant a lot of things that translated into headaches, heartache, shouting matches, spending lots of money, and bouts of self-doubt the likes of which Nina never experienced in all her life.
And it was worth every last second.
Then again, most of the time it was Barney-the caretaker at the complex where she and Denise lived-doing those things with Denise. The wounded combat vet treated the kids of all the military families living in the apartment building like his own, and Nina knew from the start she would spend most days away from Denise as part of her role in the war. Truth was, very few 'traditional' families remained anymore. None of that made it easier to be hundreds of miles away from the one person in the new world who gave Nina a reason to live other than battle.
The cabin intercom buzzed and the pilot announced, "Two minutes to LZ. Stand by."
Maddock and Bly stowed their magazines. Caesar re-assembled his rifle in seconds.
The bright interior lights switched off, replaced by a soft red glow.
Nina slipped on a black ski mask and warm gloves then wrestled a heavy backpack onto her shoulders. Next, she strapped a scabbard to her leg and checked the sword inside. That sword held special meaning to her; a prize won from the Mutant who had held Denise hostage in Wilmington, North Carolina.
With everything in place, the Captain led her team to the starboard door and waited.
Her stomach fluttered as she felt the craft descend, her body rocked forward and then back as momentum slowed to a stop.
"Prepare to disembark."
The side door slid open. A bitter breeze gust in. The red interior light radiated out and illuminated a patch of frosty dirt. The four members of the Dark Wolves jumped into the untamed wilderness more than thirty miles behind enemy lines.
– The first rays of dawn glimmered over the horizon.
Nina’s team had spent the night-a long, brutally cold night-nestled amongst the barren thickets atop one of the soft hills riding the gently rolling plains. Those plains marked the start of the corn belt: some of the best farming land in all of what used to be called the United States.
Most of that fertile land sat neglected. However, Nina and her team spied a stretch that had not withered: a farm house and barn with a field stretching behind. With the growing season long over, the farm equipment sat idle but the field appeared disturbed, as if it had endured the tilling, seeding, and harvesting cycle in the not too distant past.
From their position, the wolves observed three dozen men, women, and teenagers moving about a big house, a barn, and what appeared to be a guest cottage. At night they had watched the lights go out one after another, in the morning they watched the residents draw water from a well, feed livestock in the barn, and check game traps around the edge of their farm, finding several mice and rabbits in the process.
Despite the livestock and farmland, the majority appeared hungry and desperate. Their clothes-threadbare at best-hung from slumped shoulders on scrawny frames. They wrapped themselves in table cloths, curtains, and burlap sacks to face the cold. Through binoculars, she saw rotting teeth, bruises, and sores; the signs of malnutrition.
She did not find this surprising. When they came upon survivors they usually found people half-starving and mentally beaten by a world in which mankind no longer lived atop the food chain.
However, a number of the residents appeared in better condition both physically and in dress. Again, not surprising; she saw this plenty of times, too. The bigger the gun the more likely a thug could grow himself into a warlord. Although she refused to jump to conclusions based on a few hours of study, she suspected that some tin-pot dictator and a handful of friends controlled this farm, living off the fruits of others with the threat of violence.
Still, as Captain Forest watched the farm come to life that morning, she felt certain this was a colony of human beings, not The Order’s converts or aliens in disguise.
Carl Bly, next to Nina among the dead thickets, whispered, "Whachya thinkin', Cap?"
A freezing January wind blew across the frosted hill, reminding Nina of the uncomfortable night they had spent in the wilderness. Overhead, puffy white clouds raced across a blue sky as if late for a gathering storm.
"Unless someone here sees something I don't, I think we've got a bunch of survivors. I don't detect any threats."
"Looks clean to me, Cap," Vince Caesar agreed.
Bly added, "I'd sure like it a Hell of a lot better down there inside that farmhouse than out on this hill. It has got to be warmer in there. I see smoke coming out the chimney."
Maddock nodded his head enthusiastically at Bly's idea.
Nina said, "We’re early but let's introduce ourselves."
The four commandos stood and descended the slope. They were half way to the farmhouse when the residents caught sight of the visitors. One hurried into the main house. A few moments later a group of people rushed to meet the soldiers at the edge of the property.
A woman with shoulder-length brunette hair covered by a knit hat and watching through green eyes led the welcoming committee. She and her escort were from the better fed/better clothed faction of the community. She appeared unfazed by the early arrival.
"Nina? I’m glad you came!"
"Yes, I’m Nina Forest. Do I know you?"
"It’s me. Jo. Jolene Crawford. We were friends, right?"
Captain Forest studied the dark-haired woman bundled in winter clothing.
"Jolene. Jo Crawford?"
"Yes," and she turned to one of the men on her flank and said, "See, I told you she'd know me. I knew it!"
"We can have a transport here in a few hours to get you and your people out."
"That's awesome," Jolene struggled to suppress a bout of giddiness. "I knew we could count on you. Thank you for coming."
"How many people here?" Nina asked.
"Ah, well, there's a few. And we've got lots of stuff we might want to take back. Maybe your boys here can help us sort out what's what."
"You said in your radio message that there was a threat," Nina decided to move beyond the niceties. "What were you talking about?"
"My boss can break it down for you. C'mon inside."
Nina turned to her team and looked them each in the eye as she instructed, "Check out the rest of the camp here. Take a census of the survivors and their condition."
While her words sent one message, the glare in her eye contact sent another. A message of caution and suspicion.
Jolene and her escort then led Nina toward the farmhouse. As they approached, the scrawnier-looking residents stepped aside, like peasants scurrying from the path of royalty. Stranger still, they regarded her-Nina-with something akin to awe. Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and she overheard hushed gasps.
They entered through a rickety front door. Jolene led Nina into the house's living room. The only light there came from slivers of sun sneaking in through seams between drawn curtains.
Jolene presented, "Here she is."
Nina saw a shadow on the far side of the room.
A voice spoke, "Well. Isn’t this something."
The voice sounded oddly familiar to Nina. She knew it from somewhere.
The shadow moved closer.
Nina saw.
From somewhere far away, she heard a shout of warning-Vince, perhaps-and the sharp report of a solitary gunshot. From behind, she sensed concealed weapons drawn.
Yet none of that mattered. The sight in front of Nina held her attention to the fullest. As that sight came in to focus, her senses corkscrewed as if her mind fell into a whirlwind. Nina gasped short breaths. Her entire body shook.
"No…it’s not… it’s not possible."
The combat veteran, the mother, the natural-born warrior…
Nina screamed.