Chapter 18 · The Crate Talks

The crate wouldn't shut up.

Every thirty seconds it sent another ping. Coordinates. Altitude. Grid reference. The thing sat in the corner of the supply room like a rat chewing through wires, broadcasting our position to anyone with the right receiver.

Cole had his rifle in hand before I could say a word.

"Where do you think you're going?" I didn't move from the doorway. My leg was still bleeding through the wrap Leah had slapped on twenty minutes ago. The ambush at the roadblock had chewed through our perimeter team and I'd dragged two of them back myself. Now this kid wanted to run out and play hero.

"That thing's calling them in." He didn't look at me. His eyes stayed on the crate. "I can blow the transmitter. Five minutes."

"You'll be dead in two."

"Then I'll be fast."

I stepped in front of him. Close enough that he had to either look at me or shove past. He stopped. Jaw tight. Knuckles white on the rifle grip.

"It's a trap," I said. "Hammer wants someone to go after that crate. He's waiting."

"So we just let it scream?"

"We move the crate. Or we move us.