Date: 3:15 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: Fairchild Air Force Base, Eastern Washington

  The jeep rattled over the final stretch of highway, Fairchild AFB rising from the dark like a fortress under siege. Floodlights blazed along its perimeter, razor wire glinting atop concrete walls, and gun turrets tracked the sky. Sarah sat in the back, hands empty—pistol gone, flare gun lost in the wreck—her body a map of bruises and exhaustion. Kessler slumped beside her, scalp wound clotting, while medics stabilized Hayes in another vehicle behind.

  The lieutenant driving—Ramirez, his tag read—kept his eyes forward, radio crackling with clipped reports: “Perimeter secure. Tyrant retreated east. Air patrol holding.” He glanced back. “You’re damn lucky. That thing chewed through three squads before we got the tanks up.”

  “Lucky,” Sarah echoed, the word tasting like ash. Rodriguez’s face flashed—bloodied, firing into the dark. Jake’s too, four-eyed, unreachable. She stared out the window, the base’s gates swinging open, a steel maw swallowing them whole.

  Inside, Fairchild buzzed with controlled chaos. Humvees rolled past, soldiers unloading crates—ammo, medical supplies—while a KC-135 tanker plane taxied on a distant runway, engines whining. Civilians huddled under tarps, faces hollow, kids clinging to parents. The air smelled of jet fuel and burnt rubber, a faint psychic hum lingering like a bad dream.

  Ramirez stopped near a command tent, hopping out. “This way. CO wants a debrief—anyone from JBLM’s gold right now.”

  Sarah climbed down, legs shaky, Kessler following with a grunt. “Hayes?” she asked.

  “Med bay,” Ramirez said. “Leg’s bad—might lose it. He’s alive, though.” He led them into the tent, canvas flapping in the wind.

  Inside, a woman in fatigues—Major Ellis, sharp-featured, gray streaking her hair—stood over a table strewn with maps and tablets. Screens flickered behind her—radar blips, footage of bio-ships dotting the coast. She looked up, eyes narrowing. “JBLM survivors?”

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  “Yes, ma’am,” Ramirez saluted. “Sergeant Kessler, National Guard. Sarah Thompson, civilian—journalist. Pulled ‘em off the highway.”

  Ellis nodded, sizing Sarah up. “Colonel Rodriguez with you?”

  Sarah’s throat tightened. “He… stayed back. Distracted a Hive Tyrant so I could run. Last I saw, he was in the forest, mile marker 20.”

  Ellis’ jaw clenched, a flicker of grief buried fast. “Understood. He was a good man. What else?”

  Kessler spoke, voice steady despite the blood on her face. “JBLM fell—hybrids inside, bio-ships dropped heavies. Carnifex, Tyrant, swarms. C-130 evac crashed—Thompson and I got out. Tyrant tracked us ‘til your tanks hit it.”

  Sarah added, “It’s not just Fairchild. Seattle’s gone—cult took it, hybrids everywhere. My brother…” She faltered. “He’s with them. Saw it—psychic, maybe. They’re calling something bigger.”

  Ellis tapped a tablet, pulling up a grainy feed—Seattle’s skyline, dark, bio-ships hovering, tendrils coiling into streets. “Genestealer cult. Intel’s patchy, but NORAD’s got chatter—West Coast’s overrun, East’s holding, barely. These ‘Star Children’ they’re summoning? Tyranid Hive Fleet. We’re seeing the vanguard.”

  “Tyranid?” Sarah frowned.

  “Alien. Hungry. Been prepping this for years—cults infiltrating, hybrids turning. JBLM was a domino.” Ellis pointed at the radar. “Bio-ships are massing offshore, dropping more. Fairchild’s next if we don’t move.”

  “Move where?” Kessler asked.

  “East. NORAD’s rallying at Cheyenne Mountain—last stand, maybe. We’ve got planes fueling—evac in two hours. You’re on one, Kessler. Thompson, you too—civilian priority.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m not running. My brother’s out there—I need to know what he’s become.”

  Ellis’ eyes softened, but her tone stayed firm. “He’s gone if he’s with them. Psychic link means he’s hybrid—or worse. You’re a witness, not a soldier. Get out, tell the story.”

  “She’s right,” Kessler said, touching Sarah’s arm. “You’ve seen enough.”

  Sarah pulled away, anger flaring. “Not enough to quit.” She thought of Rodriguez, buying her seconds; Hayes, broken for it. “I’ll go east—but I’m coming back. For Jake.”

  Ellis sighed. “Your funeral. Rest ‘til takeoff—barracks, west side. Dismissed.”

  They stepped out, the base’s hum filling the silence. Dawn hinted gray on the horizon, bio-ships’ shadows faint but growing. The psychic buzz pulsed—Jake, a whisper in the void. Sarah clenched her fists. Fairchild was a lifeline, not an end.

  She’d fight her way back, or die trying.