Date: 2:00 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: Airborne, En Route to Fairchild AFB, Washington

  The C-130 shuddered, a wounded beast clawing through the storm. Sarah clung to her strap, the cabin tilting as Captain Nguyen banked hard, fighting to shake the last gargoyles. Smoke streamed from the left wing, a black scar against the rain-smeared porthole. The bells hummed faintly, a sinister undertone to the engines’ faltering roar and the screams of passengers strapped in behind her.

  Rodriguez leaned against the hull, flare gun spent, his shoulder wound staining the makeshift bandage dark red. He caught her eye, grimacing. “We’re not dead yet,” he said, voice rough over the chaos. “That’s something.”

  “Barely,” Sarah shot back, her rifle bouncing against her chest. She’d emptied the magazine on the gargoyles—useless now, just dead weight. A soldier near the hatch fired bursts through a jagged tear, downing a winged shape that screeched and fell away. The plane leveled, but the shaking didn’t stop.

  Nguyen’s voice crackled through the intercom, strained. “Engine two’s toast—running on three and prayers. Fairchild’s two hundred miles, forty minutes if we hold. Brace for turbulence.”

  “Turbulence?” a civilian—a wiry man with glasses—shouted, clutching a sobbing kid. “We’re gonna crash!”

  “Shut it!” Rodriguez snapped, staggering to his feet. “Panic, and you kill us faster.” He gripped a rail, steadying himself as the plane jolted again, a metallic groan echoing from the wing.

  Sarah peered out the porthole. The bio-ship loomed behind, a distant colossus, its tendrils probing the ground where JBLM smoldered. No more gargoyles launched—at least not yet—but the sky flickered with those eerie lights, bioforms circling like vultures. “They’re not chasing,” she said, half to herself.

  Rodriguez joined her, squinting. “Maybe they don’t need to. Ground’s theirs now. We’re just stragglers.”

  A thud rocked the cabin—something heavy hitting the roof. Soldiers aimed up, rifles trembling. “What now?” Sarah muttered, heart sinking.

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  The hull dented inward, claws punching through. A gaunt’s head followed, eyeless, jaws snapping, its shriek cutting through the noise. Rodriguez grabbed a fire axe from a wall mount, swinging hard—the blade crunched into its skull, ichor spraying as it fell limp, dangling through the hole.

  “Seal it!” he yelled. A soldier—Evans, from the airfield—slapped a metal plate over the breach, hammering it down with a wrench. The plane lurched, altitude dropping, and Sarah’s stomach flipped.

  Nguyen cursed over the intercom. “Lost pressure—something’s in the tail. I’m compensating, but we’re bleeding fuel!”

  Rodriguez wiped ichor from his face, leaning close to Sarah. “If that was a scout, more’s coming. We’re a sitting duck up here.”

  “Then what?” she asked, voice cracking. “Land and die?”

  “Fight ‘til Fairchild. Or crash trying.” He forced a thin smile. “Your brother’d want that, right?”

  Jake. The name stabbed her. Those psychic flashes—four eyes, kneeling—felt like a taunt. “He’s not himself anymore,” she said, barely audible. “But yeah. He’d fight.”

  The plane shuddered again, harder, a grinding screech from the rear. Evans stumbled back from the hatch, pale. “Sir—tail’s compromised. Something big’s on us.”

  Rodriguez grabbed the radio, shouting, “Nguyen, sitrep!”

  “Tail rudder’s jammed!” she replied, panic edging her words. “Bioform—huge—clinging to the back. We’re losing control—altitude’s dropping fast!”

  Sarah unstrapped, staggering to the rear porthole. Through the rain, she saw it—a hulking shape, winged, latched to the tail. Not a gaunt—bigger, a tyrant’s kin, maybe, its claws shredding the rudder. The plane tilted nose-down, gravity pulling her forward.

  “Options?” she yelled at Rodriguez.

  He braced against a seat, eyes darting. “Cut it loose—open the ramp, shoot it off. Risky as hell.”

  “Crash isn’t?” She grabbed a soldier’s rifle—loaded, thank God—and nodded. “Do it.”

  Rodriguez hit the ramp controls, the hydraulic whine piercing the din as it lowered. Wind roared in, sucking at them, the tyrant’s silhouette framed against the storm. Its wings flared, psychic pressure slamming Sarah’s mind—Jake’s face again, twisted, screaming. She shook it off, firing. Bullets sparked off its chitin, useless.

  Rodriguez tossed her a grenade. “Last one. Pull and throw—now!”

  She yanked the pin, hurling it. The blast lit the night, shrapnel tearing into the beast. It screeched, grip faltering, and fell, tumbling into the dark. The ramp slammed shut, but the plane didn’t recover—spiraling, engines whining.

  Nguyen shouted, “Brace! We’re going down—emergency landing!”

  Sarah strapped in, Rodriguez beside her, as the world spun. Trees loomed below, black and jagged. The bells returned, a final taunt before impact.