Стефани Перри: Zero Hour

It was over a second later, the silence so sudden and complete that she thought she'd gone deaf, all movement stopped. Then she heard the tick of metal, the strangled last gasp of the engine, and her own thundering heart, and realized that they were down. Kevin had done it, and without a single bounce.

“Everyone okay?” Enrico Marini, their captain, was craned around in his seat.

Rebecca added her own shaky nod to the chorus of affirmations.

“Nice flying, Kev,” Forest said, and there was another chorus. Rebecca couldn't have agreed more. “Is the radio down?” Enrico asked the pilot, who was tapping at controls and flipping switches.

“Looks like everything electrical is fried,” Kevin said. “It must have been lightning. We weren't struck directly, but it was close enough. Beacon, too.”

“Can it be repaired?”

Enrico addressed it as an open question, looking at Richard, their communications officer. Richard in turn looked at Edward, who shrugged. Edward was the Bravo team's mechanic.

“I'll take a look,” Edward said, “but if Kev says the transmitter's toast, it's probably toast.”

The captain nodded slowly, absently brushing at his mustache with one hand as he considered their options. After a few seconds, he sighed. “I called in when we were hit, but I don't know if it went through,” he said. “They'll have our last coordinates, though. If we don't report in pretty soon, they'll come looking.”

“They” was the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team. Rebecca nodded along with the others, not sure if she should be disappointed or not. Her first mission, over before it started.

Enrico wiped at his mustache again, smoothing it down at the corners of his mouth with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “Everybody out. Let's see where we are.”

They filed out of the cabin, the reality of the situation hitting Rebecca as they gathered together in the dark. They were incredibly lucky to be alive.

Struck by lightning. On our way to search for mad killers, no less, she thought, amazed at the very idea. Even if the mission was over, this was hands down the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.

The air was warm and heavy with impending rain, the shadows deep. Small animals rustled through the underbrush. A pair of flashlights clicked on, the beams cutting through the dark as Enrico and Edward moved around the helicopter, examining the damage. Rebecca fished her own flashlight out of her bag, relieved that she hadn't forgotten to pack it.

“How you holding up?”

Rebecca turned, saw Ken “Sully” Sullivan grinning down at her. He had his weapon out, the nine-millimeter's muzzle pointed to the overcast sky, a grim reminder of why they were there in the first place.

“You guys really know how to make an entrance, don't you?” she said, smiling back at him.

The tall man laughed, his teeth very white against the darkness of his skin. “Actually, we always do this for the new recruits. It's a waste of helicopters, but we have our reputation to maintain.”

She was about to ask how the police chief felt about the expense—she was new to the area, but she'd heard that Chief Irons was notoriously stingy—when Enrico joined them, pulling his own weapon and raising his voice so everyone could hear.

“All right, people. Let's fan out, investigate the surrounding area. Kev, stay with the 'copter. The rest of you, keep close, I just want this area secured. Alpha could be here in as little as an hour.”

He didn't complete the thought, that it could be a hell of a lot longer, but he didn't need to. For the moment, at least, they were on their own.

Rebecca slid the nine-millimeter out of its holster, carefully checking the magazine and chamber as she'd been taught, raising the muzzle to avoid inadvertently aiming at anyone. The others were moving out to either side, checking weapons and turning on flashlights. She took a deep breath and started to walk straight ahead, swinging the flashlight's beam around in front of her. Enrico was only a few meters away, moving parallel to her position. A low mist had cropped up, wafting through the underbrush like a ghostly tide. There was a parting in the trees about a dozen meters ahead, a path big enough to be a narrow road, though it was hard to tell for the mist. It was quiet except for a rumble of thunder, the sound closer than she would have expected; the storm was almost upon them. She swept the beam across trees and darkness and trees again, then a glint of what looked like—“Captain, look!”

Enrico stepped to her side, and within seconds, five more beams of light had jerked toward the gleam of metal she'd seen, illuminating what was, in fact, a narrow dirt road—and an overturned jeep. Rebecca could see mp etched on the side as the team moved closer. Military police. She saw a pile of clothes spilling out from beneath the shattered windshield and frowned, stepping in for a better look— and then she was holstering her weapon and fumbling for her medkit, hurrying over to kneel next to the crashed jeep, knowing even before she sat back on her heels that there was nothing she could do. There was too much blood.

Two men. One had been thrown clear, was crumpled a few meters away. The other, the fair-haired man in front of her, was still half under the jeep. Both wore military fatigues. Their faces and upper bodies had been badly mutilated. There were massive tears through skin and muscle, deep gashes across their throats. No way the crash had done all of it.

Rebecca reflexively reached down and felt for a pulse, noting the chill of the flesh. She stood and moved to the other body, again checking for any sign of life, but he was as cold as the first.

“You think they're from Ragithon?” someone asked. Richard. Rebecca saw a briefcase near the pale, outstretched hand of the second corpse and crouch-walked to it, half listening to Enrico's answer as she flipped the case's lid.

“It's the closest base, but look at the insignia. They're jarheads. Could be from Donnell,” Enrico

said.

A clipboard was on top of a handful of files, an official looking document attached to it. There was a small headshot in the upper left corner, of a handsome, dark-eyed young man in civvies—neither of the corpses looked like him. Rebecca lifted it out, reading silently—and then her mouth went dry.

“Captain!” she managed, standing.

Enrico looked up from where he was crouched, next to the jeep. “Hmm? What happened?”

She read the pertinent parts aloud. “ 'Court order for transportation . . . prisoner William Coen, ex-lieutenant, twenty-six years old. Court-martialed and sentenced to death, July 22nd. Prisoner is to be transferred to the Ragithon base for execution.'” The lieutenant had been convicted of first-degree murder.

Edward pulled the clipboard from her hands, saying what was already formulating in Rebecca's mind, his voice heavy with anger. “Those poor soldiers. They were just doing their jobs, and that scum murdered them and escaped.”

Enrico took the clipboard away from him, scanning it quickly. “All right, everyone. Change of plan. We may have an escaped killer on our hands. Let's separate and survey the immediate area, see if we can't locate Lieutenant Billy. Keep your guard up, and report back in fifteen, regardless.”

There were nods ail around. Rebecca took a deep breath as the others started to move out, checking her watch, determined to be as professional as anyone else on the team. Fifteen minutes alone, no big deal. What could happen in fifteen minutes? Alone. In the dark, dark woods.

“Got your radio?”

Rebecca jumped and turned at the sound of Edward's voice, the big man standing directly behind her. The mechanic patted her on the shoulder, smiling.

“Easy, kiddo.”