Date: 3:45 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: Fairchild Air Force Base, Eastern Washington

  The command tent’s air crackled with urgency as Sarah and Kessler burst in, Ramirez on their heels. Major Ellis spun from her maps, face taut, barking into a radio: “—turrets on the north wall, now! Bio-ships inbound—eta five minutes!” She saw them, nodding curtly. “Good, you’re here. Evac’s live—planes rolling, but we’ve got trouble.”

  “More hybrids?” Sarah asked, still gripping Kessler’s knife, her pulse racing from Carter’s attack.

  “Worse,” Ellis said, pointing at a screen—radar blips swarming, bio-ships dropping from the clouds, smaller dots—gargoyles, gaunts—spiraling toward Fairchild. “And inside—three confirmed hybrids hit the med bay. Hayes is dead. We’re compromised.”

  Sarah’s stomach dropped. Hayes—mangled but alive—gone. “How many more?”

  “No clue,” Ellis snapped. “Screening’s useless—they turn fast. Evac’s our shot—two C-17s, east to Cheyenne. You’re on the first.” She handed Kessler a pistol. “Move—runway’s half a mile. Ramirez, get ‘em there.”

  A boom shook the tent, dust raining from the ceiling. Screams echoed outside, gunfire erupting. Ramirez cursed, “They’re here—go!” He shoved the flap open, rifle up, leading them into chaos.

  Fairchild burned. Gargoyles swarmed the sky, strafing troops with barbed tails, while gaunts breached the north wall, scuttling over razor wire. Soldiers fired from turrets, tracer rounds arcing, but the bio-ships loomed closer, tendrils coiling down. The psychic hum surged, a wave that nearly buckled Sarah’s knees—Jake’s voice, “Stay…” She gritted her teeth, pushing it back.

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  They ran, dodging debris—a wrecked jeep, a soldier’s corpse, claw marks raking his chest. Kessler fired at a gaunt lunging from an alley, dropping it mid-leap. “Keep moving!” she yelled, blood streaking her face anew.

  The runway glowed ahead, two C-17s roaring, ramps down, soldiers and civilians piling in. Ramirez waved them on, shouting into his radio, “Alpha bird, hold for three—coming hot!” A gargoyle dove, claws outstretched—Sarah ducked, Kessler’s shot clipping its wing, sending it crashing into a fuel drum. Flames bloomed, heat searing her back.

  They reached the ramp, Ramirez firing behind as gaunts closed in. Sarah stumbled aboard, Kessler beside her, the hold packed—soldiers strapped in, a medic tending a screaming woman, kids crying. The ramp whined, starting to close.

  “Wait!” Ramirez yelled, turning—too late. A hybrid leapt from the crowd, four-eyed, claws slashing his throat. He gurgled, collapsing, as panic erupted. Kessler fired, hitting the hybrid’s chest, but another emerged—a pilot, uniform torn, lunging for the cockpit.

  Sarah tackled it, knife sinking into its neck. It thrashed, ichor spraying, then stilled. She rolled off, panting, as soldiers restrained a third suspect—a civilian, eyes flickering, dragged screaming to the rear.

  The C-17’s engines roared, the plane lurching forward. “Clear!” Kessler shouted, slamming the ramp shut. Sarah strapped in, hands slick with alien blood, as the craft lifted, shaking under gargoyle impacts. The intercom crackled—“Alpha One, airborne—heading east. Beta’s hit, staying.”

  She peered out a porthole—Fairchild shrank below, north wall breached, bio-ships descending, Beta C-17 flaming on the runway. The psychic hum pulsed, Jake’s whisper fading—“You can’t run…”—as altitude climbed.

  Kessler slumped beside her, pistol loose in her lap. “Close one.”

  “Too close,” Sarah said, wiping the knife on her jeans. Hayes, Ramirez—more names on her list. The plane steadied, but the hum lingered, a promise of pursuit. Cheyenne was hours away, a fragile hope in a sky full of monsters.

  She closed her eyes, gripping the knife. Jake was out there, and she’d find him—even if it killed her.