Date: 1:25 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington

  The air reeked of gunpowder and alien ichor, a bitter tang that stung Sarah’s throat as she crouched behind the barricade. The Carnifex loomed fifty yards away, its armored bulk shrugging off a hail of bullets, each step a thunderclap that cracked the pavement. Around it, the swarm churned—gaunts, Rodriguez had called them—clawed horrors scuttling over corpses, their screeches blending with the bells still tolling from nowhere and everywhere.

  Rodriguez fired beside her, steady bursts from his rifle dropping gaunts mid-leap. “Hold the line!” he roared, voice hoarse over the chaos. “Focus the big one—eyes, joints!” A dozen soldiers obeyed, their weapons chattering, but the beast barely slowed, its tusked maw snapping a turret in half.

  Sarah clutched her borrowed rifle, fingers slick with sweat and rain. Her last shot had hit a gaunt’s spindly leg, sending it tumbling—dumb luck, not skill. She aimed again, the Carnifex’s glowing eyes like beacons in the dark. Her first pull missed, kicking up dirt. The second grazed its shoulder, sparking off chitin. It roared, turning toward her, and she ducked as a claw swiped, shredding the barricade’s edge.

  “Move!” Rodriguez yanked her back, rolling them behind a wrecked Humvee. Shrapnel rained down, a soldier’s scream cut short nearby. “You’re not dying yet, Thompson.”

  “Not planning to,” she gasped, though her shaking hands disagreed. The bio-ship overhead pulsed, tendrils coiling, spitting more gaunts into the fray. The courtyard was a graveyard now—bodies strewn, vehicles burning, the floodlights flickering as power faltered.

  A chopper’s thump cut through the din—finally, air support. Two Apaches rose from the west, missiles streaking toward the Carnifex. Explosions bloomed, rocking the beast back, ichor spraying as one arm dangled, severed. Sarah’s hope flared—until a swarm of winged horrors, gargoyles, launched from the bio-ship, slamming into the choppers. One spiraled down in flames, crashing into the barracks. The other veered off, pursued.

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  Rodriguez cursed, slamming his fist against the Humvee. “That’s it. We’re out of time.” He grabbed his radio. “All units, fallback to the armory! Bunker down—go!” Static answered, then a faint, “Yes, sir,” drowned by gunfire.

  Sarah peeked out. The Carnifex charged again, slower but unstoppable, trampling a soldier who’d lingered too long. Gaunts flooded past it, a tide of claws and teeth. “We can’t outrun that,” she said, voice cracking.

  “We don’t,” Rodriguez snapped. “We fight ‘til the end. Armory’s got heavies—RPGs, maybe a shot.” He hauled her up, sprinting across the courtyard. She stumbled after, legs burning, rifle banging against her hip.

  They reached the armory doors—steel, dented but holding—as survivors poured in. A sergeant with a bloody gash across his face shoved an RPG into Rodriguez’s hands. “Last one, sir. Make it count.”

  Rodriguez nodded, turning to Sarah. “Cover me. Anything moves, shoot.”

  She raised the rifle, adrenaline numbing her fear. The Carnifex was thirty yards out, gaunts swarming ahead. She fired—wild, sloppy shots—dropping two, missing more. Rodriguez knelt, aimed, and fired. The rocket streaked, slamming into the beast’s chest. A gout of green-black gore erupted, and it staggered, roaring, before collapsing, its bulk crushing a dozen gaunts.

  A cheer rose, thin and desperate. Sarah lowered her weapon, panting—then froze. The bio-ship rumbled, a new slit opening. Something bigger dropped, twice the Carnifex’s size, wings unfurling as it hit the ground, shaking the earth. A Hive Tyrant, its psychic presence a weight that crushed her mind.

  Rodriguez paled. “Inside. Now.”

  They retreated, the armory doors slamming shut as the Tyrant’s roar split the night. The bells sang louder, a victory hymn for the invaders. Sarah slid to the floor, rifle clattering. “We’re dead,” she whispered.

  “Not yet,” Rodriguez said, though his eyes betrayed him. “Not yet.”

  Outside, the swarm closed in.