Operation Zulu Redemption: Collateral Damage - Part 1 (13 page)

Darkness laid in wait. Haunting. Daring. On the prowl.

Nuala shrugged and leaned her cheek against the butt of her sniper rifle. Prostrate on the rooftop, she too waited. In trembling. It was wrong. Something was wrong. She felt it in the warm, sticky air. In the oppressive gloom that coated the city.

Green washed the scene before her, bathing the warehouse and other structures in a pale green shimmer. She traced the reticle to the right, along the tree line that guarded the city and its inhabitants. There sat Zulu, ready for the mission that would establish them.

Téya and Annie huddled near an old, rusted-out truck twenty yards from the warehouse. They had point. Back and over a street, the rest of the team waited inside an empty storefront. But. . .it was weird. They weren’t there. Yet they were.

Nuala rubbed her eyes and looked back through the scope. There again. Gone again.

Ghosts.

They were ghosts. A sudden rush of cold air down her spine startled her. Nuala shuddered, firming her grip and reverifying her range to target. Something floated into her sight. A skull. A hollowed-out skull with strips of clothing for a body. The face shifted, becoming that of a small child.

Riveted to the ghoulish, midair dance, Nuala couldn’t tear her gaze from the scope. Yet everything in her railed, shivered, demanded to be free of the terrifying image. She pushed back, but it felt as if something had permanently secured her face to the rifle. The droning tick of a timer pounded in the back of her mind.

No.

Finally, Nuala pried free. When she looked around, panting, her clothes drenched in sweat, she found. . .nothing. Only a cold night smothered in the pale light of the moon and distant fluorescent street lamps. No ghoul. No childish-skull-thing.

“Sitrep, Fire-eye.”

Fire-eye. Hearing her call sign jogged her out of the moment of terror. Trace wanted an update. Right.
Focus.
With a stuttering breath, she lowered herself to the ground again. She took up her position again. Her limbs shook as she adjusted the dials. She momentarily switched to thermals and traced the building.

Spotted Téya and Annie slipping into the warehouse, setting the charges. Wiring it up. Candice and Jessie hurried through, clearing their area. Moving on target with their projected timeline. They’d be clear in a few mikes. The building would be gone. And Zulu would have saved the day from terrorists.

But something, some darkness hung over a portion of the warehouse. Blotted out her view. Black. Jet black. She scanned left. Found the girls. Bright yellows and reds mingled with some blue.

Nuala slid right. Black. Jet black again.

She adjusted a dial. Slowly, the black began to fade. Lighter. . .lighter. . .gray. A little more.
Keep adjusting, you’ll miss your shot.
She turned it again and—

Lined up, row upon row, she spied children on beds. And they were singing. But they were asleep. No, they can’t be singing.
How can I know they’re singing?

Just as the question flooded her mind, she realized she could see the children, as if looking through a glass rather than through thermal imaging.

This doesn’t make sense.

A child sat up from the bunk. Black hair hung in perfect ringlets. Her dress was yellow and fluffy with tiers of ruffles. Pretty yellow ribbons and beads in her hair. She smiled up at Nuala, as if she peered up the wrong end of the scope.

Heart thundering, Nuala froze.
That’s not possible.

“Fire-eye,” came the terse voice of the team commander. “Sitrep. Over.”

“Uh. . .” Her voice trembled and cracked as she stared through the scope at the perfect brown eyes that gazed back with utter affection and adoration. “Fine. All clear.”

No! It’s not clear! There are children in there!

As if she were two distinct persons, a war erupted. One that told her to order the team to abort the mission, save the children. The other that seemed ignorant of the children, so hyper-focused on the mission and success that it ignored what it saw.

“Roger that,” Trace replied. “Stay sharp. Ten mikes.”

Ten minutes. The children had ten minutes.

Nuala blinked, easing away from the scope and the image of the girl in the yellow dress. She looked down, at the dirt. At the rocks. At the. . .blood!

She yelped and shoved backward onto her rear end, hands braced at her side. She checked the spot—but it wasn’t there. No blood. She stared hard, shoving her palm against her temple. She was losing her mind.

What is going on
?

“Five mikes,” Trace called. “Eyes out, everyone.”

No! The children!
Have to get the children out.

Throwing herself back to the weapon, she adjusted. Sat right. Had to tell them. Had to warn Zulu. Her friends would save the children. They had to.

“How we doing, Zulu?”

“Alfa and Tango, almost done,” Annie said.

“Charlie and Juliet all clear,” Candice radioed through.

Nuala keyed her mic. “No! Stop. Listen—”

“Good. RTB and let’s move!”

“Wait.” Nuala’s throat felt five sizes too big. Drenched with adrenaline. “Stop! It—”

“Copy that. Charlie and Juliet RTB.”

“Copy.”

“Tango and Alfa en route now.”

Why couldn’t they hear her? Why were they ignoring—

Something poked her in the cheek. She flinched and turned to find out what was pricking her. Her heart jumped into her throat at the severed coms cord. A strangled cry gargled up her throat.

Unable to breathe, unable to move, she sat in horror as a high-pitched whistle shrieked through the night.

BooOOOooom!

Amid the yellow ball of fire rose screams. The screams of children. They took form, ghoulish, childlike skulls in shredded clothing. Flying right at her.

“
Noo!
” Nuala jerked forward.

“Hey hey hey.” Arms came around her.

Nuala shoved them away and scrabbled backward. Pain thudded against the back of her skull as she blinked. Blinked again and found herself staring at the concerned faces of Téya and Annie.

Relief detonated in her chest.

Followed by a squall of grief.

She dropped her face into her hands and cried. Comforting arms wrapped around her as sobs wracked her body. Hauling in a deep breath, she detected a fruity scent that proved somehow calming and reassuring. Nuala burrowed into the warm embrace of a friend, wishing the images, the nightmare could be bleached from her mind.

Eyes burning and puffy, she straightened, unsure how long she’d made a spectacle of herself. Palming away the tears revealed how hot her face had become. Gave her a vague knowledge of how splotchy her cheeks and eyes must be. “Sorry,” she sniffled.

Hugging her knees, Annie sat beside her. “No,” Annie said. “It happens to all of us.”

Disbelief spread through Nuala. “Seriously?” She looked to Téya, who sat backward on the rolling chair in front of the bunk. “You have nightmares?”

They both couldn’t meet her gaze. But she saw their pain. The grief.

“I would do anything—
anything
to make that day go away.”

“We all would.” The strong bass voice startled them all, pulling their attention to the door, where Boone, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt but barefoot, stood holstering his weapon. “It was one messed up day.” He nodded to them, then to Nuala specifically.

Her heart did a jig as his gray eyes met hers. The angular jawline. The thick neck and shoulders. But the eyes. Boone’s eyes. . .

Thanks to the flush from crying, Nuala knew he wouldn’t see the blush creeping into her cheeks as his eyes lingered on her.

“Need something to rest?” he asked, his voice deep and quiet. Caring.

“No—” Her voice croaked on the word. She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “No, I’ll be fine. That. . .” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, not wanting him to worry about her. Wanting to be strong like Téya and Annie. Neither of them had cried out in terror since they’d come to the bunker. “The nightmare wore me out. That’s all.”

He wasn’t buying it, she could tell. But he also wasn’t the type of man to embarrass her further. “No shame remembering what happened.” Boone gave her a curt nod. “Get some rest.” And he vanished.

No, there wasn’t shame in remembering the past. There was shame in not being strong enough to stop it from controlling her mind. And
that
shame was reserved for Noodle-Brain.
Me.

Sleep clinging to her heavier than a dew-drenched blanket, Téya trudged from the bathroom to the small kitchen area. She started a pot of coffee then dug through the fridge for something. Emerging with a single-serve yogurt, she yawned so hard it made her ears pop. At the six-foot table, she tucked a leg under herself as she sat in the chair and hooked her other leg up and propped it on the edge.

Peeling back the foil of the yogurt, she heard someone else shuffling in. Annie appeared around the corner, her blond curls perfect. “You make me sick,” Téya muttered as she stirred the yogurt, churning the fruit on the bottom. “Oh my gosh—you’re already dressed.”

Annie stopped and frowned. “Of course I am.” Her gaze skated to the briefing room.

Téya smirked. “He’s not here. Won’t be today.”

Cheeks pinked, Annie went to the pantry. “Who?”

“You two really went at it yesterday. What was that about? Old passions revived?” Téya snickered as she spooned the first bite into her mouth.

Annie popped her on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Dropping the yogurt on the table, Téya scowled. “It is too early in the morning for that abuse.” She lifted her breakfast again. “Especially when I’m hitting the mark.”

With a bowl and box of health-nut cereal, Annie joined her. “You’re not even close.”

Wagging her spoon at Annie, Téya couldn’t help but rub it in. “You’ve always been a bad liar.”

Annie rolled her eyes, then poured her cereal and milk. “Sam is nosing around, trying to find me. He went on a news show and said he wouldn’t give up. Trace wants to neutralize him.”

Nearly choking on a blueberry, Téya coughed. “He said that?”

“No,” Annie said as she returned the box to the pantry and the milk to the fridge. “He said Sam had to be dealt with.”

Mouth full of yogurt, Téya laughed. “And you took it he meant to kill your hunky boyfriend.”

Annie glowered. “What else would he do?”

“Get him arrested? Shut down his accounts. Blacklist him.”

“He’s a SEAL, not a spy.”

“There’s a difference?” Téya nodded and pointed. “Oh! There is—this one’s gorgeous. Am I right?”

Annie smiled.

“What’s the scoop on him? Name, rank, and serial number, girlie.”

After swallowing a bite, Annie shook her head. “Tell you and the whole world knows.”

“All I have to do is ask Houston.” Téya grinned. “He’s sweet on me.” They both laughed and Téya leaned in. “So. . .dark hair? Blond?”

“Dark.”

“Brown eyes? Blue eyes?”

“Brown.”

“So he’s the opposite of Trace. Was that intentional?”

Annie’s frown vanished. She stood and went to the coffeepot, where she poured a cup for herself.

Touché.

Téya felt a bit of prodder’s remorse, but the questions had been killing her since the fallout with Annie and Trace yesterday. She went to the counter and bumped her hip against Annie’s.

“Sorry. I guess that was uncool.”

“Very.” Sipping from the mug, Annie met her gaze to let her know she wasn’t mad then returned to the table.

But there were questions. A lot of them. With her own coffee, Téya sat back down. “Did you hear from him after—”

“No.” Annie scooped more cereal into her mouth, clearly ending the conversation.

Thwarted again, Téya knew it was a talk best left for later. “What do you think of Noodle?”

Annie shrugged. “She’ll be fine. I spent the first year with more nights of terror than nights of sleep.” Taking another bite, she seemed to be forming a fortress around herself.

They’d been close since day one, but Téya had admired Annie from that moment, too. Cute, tanned, blond, and so incomprehensibly focused. Where Téya loved a joke and giggle, Annie wanted discourse and theology. Brainy stuff. Where Téya loved combat boots, jeans, and a T-shirt, Annie almost had that FBI thing going on with her slacks and blouse. Elegant, classy, beautiful to Téya’s tomboy comfy-ness.

Hiss-click-click.
A deep groaning rattled through the room.

Lights flickered on in the command and data areas as the access door creaked open. Houston with his wild golden-brown Jheri curl hair stepped into the bunker. He flinched, looking over at them. Then smiled. “Morning, ladies.”

Téya eased back in her chair and waved as she glanced at the clock. “A bit early, isn’t it?”

Shifting on his feet, he nodded. “Uh, yeah.” After flashing them another smile, he hurried to his bank of systems.

Annie and Téya laughed and finished their breakfasts. Within ten minutes, Boone emerged, wafting an Old Spice scent through the steel trap.

Téya glanced at the access door, then at Boone. He’d been
right there
last night when Nuala woke up screaming. “Where are you staying?”

Boone made himself some coffee. “In the house.”

Tilting her head, Téya looked to the ceiling. “You mean someone can live in a ramshackle place like that?”

“Hey,” Boone growled as he turned. He blew over the rim of the mug. “That’s my grandfather’s house you’re talking about.”

“It
looks
like a grandfather’s house—a great-great-grandfather’s house. I thought it was condemned.”

Boone placed his large hand over his equally large pectoral. “You wound me.” He slurped as he moved toward the table and dragged a chair out. “I’m renovating it.” He took another long drag of his coffee and breathed deeply. “At least, that’s the cover we’re using.”

Annie shifted to look at him better. “Are you really renovating it?”

His shoulder bounced. “When I can. I’ve got plans to make a secret egress from here to the house, and vice versa. Thought it’d be good cover for any foot traffic—ya know, like Houston coming/going all the time.”

“Could we help?” Annie asked. “With the renovations. I love doing that sort of thing.”

“Uh,” Houston called from the data area. “Are you forgetting the whole ‘out of sight’ thing?”

Annie looked to Téya. “Once Boone gets that egress tunnel done, we can slip up there and work. It’d be a nice break from the monotony of this drab place.”

“Hey now,” Boone protested. “I worked my hands to the bone building this kingdom.”

“Kingdom,” Téya said, teasing as she cleared her coffee mug, yogurt container, and spoon. “You need a dictionary.”

“Oh crap,” Houston muttered as the keys surrendered beneath his racing fingers.

“Houston, we have a problem?” Boone asked, sniggering.

“Ha. I’m amused,” Houston said as he worked, not looking up. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Boone smiled as he stepped backward over the chair before shoving it back to the table. “What’s going on?” He crossed the room.

Téya started to join them but saw Nuala standing in the opening to the lounge area. The girl looked as pretty as ever with her olive complexion and pale blue eyes and all that dark, wavy hair tumbling around her shoulders. It just wasn’t fair—even with partially puffy eyes from crying all night, she was still cheerleader cute.

“Might want to grab some coffee before Boone drinks it all,” Téya said, winking at Nuala.

“Thanks,” her friend managed.

Hushed whispers between Boone and Houston snaked into her awareness, but she focused on the cutie. “Did you manage any sleep?”

Rubbing the back of her neck as she reached for a cup, Nuala shook her head but said, “Yeah. A little.”

“Shakes ‘no’ but says ‘yes.’”

Grunts and hissed words drew her attention to Boone. One hand on Houston’s desk, he was punching a number into his phone.

Houston sat, arms crossed as he chewed on his thumbnail. His gaze slid around, hit Téya, widened, then ricocheted off.

What. . . ? “What’s going on?”

Boone turned toward her, his expression grim.

Téya lifted her chin, feeling the color drain out of her face.
Grossmammi. . .

“It’s David,” Boone said. “He’s been rushed back to the hospital.”