Ballistic: Icarus Series, Book Two by Aria Michaels Page B

metal, which was engraved with an eight-digit string of numbers and letters, was uncomfortably tight against his skin. Unfortunately, according to the man who had clamped it in place after he registered, they were also not removable.
    “What is this for, anyway?” Lucas had asked the man at the next station. “It’s hurting my arm.”
    “Don’t worry about it.” The soldier handed Lucas his bag of toiletries and shoved him down the line. “Next!”
    There were at least a couple of hundred people at the refugee camp, some of whom had been brought in from as far away as Wisconsin and Iowa. Lucas and his foster siblings represented three of the seven children who currently resided at Camp Seco. The rest of the refugees they had seen at processing had been adults, but none, Lucas suddenly realized, had been particularly old.
    Had the elderly lost their lives during Icarus? Was that even possible, or had the soldiers simply left them behind to fend for themselves? Lucas shuttered at the thought and pressed on.
    Jazz caught up and stayed close at his heel. Bo kept watch behind them to make sure no one had followed. He needn’t have worried. As was so often the case with children, their presence had gone completely unnoticed. The kids cleared the corridor that housed the bunkrooms and found themselves at the entrance to the main lobby.
    Lucas held a finger to his lips and poked his head around the corner. Three soldiers stood around a folding table behind the large laminated counter top area that had once been the receptionist desk. They were all so busy posturing and complaining that none of them noticed when the children crept past them along the front of the desk. As soon as their backs were turned, the kids crept quickly across the open space and into the corridor that led to the ladies locker room.
    “If this keeps up, we are going to need more supplies,” the youngest soldier said, and Lucas stopped in his tracks.
    “What we need is fewer diseased parasites,” groaned another, as he crept to back to the end of the hall. “They grays have us outnumbered two to one, now.”
    “What are you doing?” Bo hissed at Lucas.
    “Getting answers,” Lucas pressed his finger to his lips then crouched down to listen.
    “Jesus, Deckland,” the young man narrowed his eyes. “Those are people in there.”
    “It’s not that simple anymore, Faber,” Deckland shook his head. “You know as well as I do that anyone outside the clean zone is carrying the virus. I, for one, am not interested in becoming one of those freaks . I doubt Weaver does either.”
    “Lower your voices,” a third man grunted, rubbing his hand down his tired face. “Look, Faber, I don’t like Deckland’s attitude any more than you do, but he has a point. Seco’s ambulatory operating capacity was never meant to exceed seventy-five. We bypassed that two trucks ago and we are still waiting on Delta Crew to dock in.”
    “What about the I.C.T, Sir?” Deckland added. “What’s the latest?”
    “Nothing good,” the tired man sighed. “They were sweeping the asset site fifty clicks out when they ran into some hostiles. Unfortunately, Corporal Metz had already taken it upon himself to redeploy the bulk of his unit to the secondary site, so he was shorthanded and unprepared for the attack.”
    “Damn,” Deckland whistled and shook his head.
    “Did they make it out all right, Sir?” Faber asked.
    “For the most part,” Weaver nodded, “but they blew the charges at MCH, destroying most of the doc’s samples and equipment. Plus, now we are down a deuce, a generator, and half of the grays escaped. As if the whole mission wasn’t enough of a soup-sandwich already, the hostiles burned James’ house to the ground. Most, if not all, of our actionable intel went with it.”
    “I knew it,” Deckland muttered. “I don’t care if Metz is his bastard son, Vladinov should have known better than to send that arrogant little grunt on a mission like