finally get ahead of the parasite. Maybe it’ll keep things from getting out of hand.”
Du Trieux raised an eyebrow.
“...more out of hand,” he corrected himself. He had meant Harris’s plans for nuking the Infected at Lawrence Point, but he didn’t clarify.
“Well,” du Trieux said, “when you’re ready, board. Looks like the crew’s done cleaning out your bird.”
“You be careful up there,” Miller said.
There was an odd hitch in du Trieux’s face as she nodded and turned away. “You too.”
M ILLER ADJUSTED THE night vision goggles on the top of his head and watched the phablet’s infrared display.
Searching for communes at night was risky, given the unreliability of the helicopters’ equipment—not to mention the wildlife.
Since titan-birds were believed to be diurnal, and rarely seen after sunset, Miller hoped the airways were clear, for now. What happened to the days when you didn’t have to worry about being swallowed whole by a colossal lizard with wings?
“Twelve minutes on the fuel lines,” the pilot said.
“Copy that.”
Miller scanned the phablet display. It was surprisingly sparse down in the depths of the streets. Either the Infected were doing a better job of hiding their communes, or there were fewer of them. The majority of movement came from wildlife. On the display, large red blobs of heat slunk up and down alleys—which had to be terror-jaws—while larger, titan-bird-sized blobs crowded rooftops and upper levels of skyscrapers. Out on the avenues and streets, enormous heat signatures—thug behemoths—crowded in clusters but stayed still, most likely keeping in herds to protect their young at night.
In all that confusion, it was difficult to find batches of human heat signatures at all. In fact, so far, he hadn’t found any.
If he didn’t find one soon, this whole trip would be for naught. Miller didn’t want to waste the compound’s dwindling supply of chopper fuel, and frankly, didn’t fancy sitting next to the wasp containers on the way back, either. Their buzzing and movement inside the cardboard containers was unnerving. Hell of a prize inside this cereal box, Miller thought.
Movement on the phablet screen caught his eye.
“West,” Miller said into his earpiece. “Thirty degrees.”
“I saw it, too,” the pilot said. “Swinging back around.”
The chopper banked and Miller reached out, unthinkingly grasping the wasp containers to keep them from tipping—before whipping his hand back with disgust.
He went back to examining the phablet, trying to ascertain where best to drop the boxes.
Given the size and dexterity of the heat signature he saw dart between two buildings, it was human—or Infected, given how many of them bunched around one another. It joined a faint cloud of body heat clumped into what Miller could only suppose was the lobby of a building of some kind.
They were three blocks east of 34th and 12th—and from what he could tell from the readings, a pair of titan-birds had taken control of the top of the building, forcing the commune down into the lower levels. The only evidence the commune was there at all was because they seemed to be on the move—their heat fading right before Miller’s eyes.
Wait. Fading? Why would their signatures disappear like that?
Down . They were occupying basements, Miller realized. Moving underground as he watched.
The subway system was probably teaming with communes. That was why they were having such issues finding them on infrared.
Miller switched his earpiece to the all channel. “Aim for the subway entrances, they’ve gone underground.”
“No wonder we can’t find the little blighters,” Doyle said. He almost sounded impressed.
“Drop payload near or into subway stairwells and get back to the compound ASAP,” Miller said. “The wind’s picking back up.”
“That’s like dropping a ping pong ball into a coffee mug from a hundred meters away,” Morland said, a hint of a
Du Trieux raised an eyebrow.
“...more out of hand,” he corrected himself. He had meant Harris’s plans for nuking the Infected at Lawrence Point, but he didn’t clarify.
“Well,” du Trieux said, “when you’re ready, board. Looks like the crew’s done cleaning out your bird.”
“You be careful up there,” Miller said.
There was an odd hitch in du Trieux’s face as she nodded and turned away. “You too.”
M ILLER ADJUSTED THE night vision goggles on the top of his head and watched the phablet’s infrared display.
Searching for communes at night was risky, given the unreliability of the helicopters’ equipment—not to mention the wildlife.
Since titan-birds were believed to be diurnal, and rarely seen after sunset, Miller hoped the airways were clear, for now. What happened to the days when you didn’t have to worry about being swallowed whole by a colossal lizard with wings?
“Twelve minutes on the fuel lines,” the pilot said.
“Copy that.”
Miller scanned the phablet display. It was surprisingly sparse down in the depths of the streets. Either the Infected were doing a better job of hiding their communes, or there were fewer of them. The majority of movement came from wildlife. On the display, large red blobs of heat slunk up and down alleys—which had to be terror-jaws—while larger, titan-bird-sized blobs crowded rooftops and upper levels of skyscrapers. Out on the avenues and streets, enormous heat signatures—thug behemoths—crowded in clusters but stayed still, most likely keeping in herds to protect their young at night.
In all that confusion, it was difficult to find batches of human heat signatures at all. In fact, so far, he hadn’t found any.
If he didn’t find one soon, this whole trip would be for naught. Miller didn’t want to waste the compound’s dwindling supply of chopper fuel, and frankly, didn’t fancy sitting next to the wasp containers on the way back, either. Their buzzing and movement inside the cardboard containers was unnerving. Hell of a prize inside this cereal box, Miller thought.
Movement on the phablet screen caught his eye.
“West,” Miller said into his earpiece. “Thirty degrees.”
“I saw it, too,” the pilot said. “Swinging back around.”
The chopper banked and Miller reached out, unthinkingly grasping the wasp containers to keep them from tipping—before whipping his hand back with disgust.
He went back to examining the phablet, trying to ascertain where best to drop the boxes.
Given the size and dexterity of the heat signature he saw dart between two buildings, it was human—or Infected, given how many of them bunched around one another. It joined a faint cloud of body heat clumped into what Miller could only suppose was the lobby of a building of some kind.
They were three blocks east of 34th and 12th—and from what he could tell from the readings, a pair of titan-birds had taken control of the top of the building, forcing the commune down into the lower levels. The only evidence the commune was there at all was because they seemed to be on the move—their heat fading right before Miller’s eyes.
Wait. Fading? Why would their signatures disappear like that?
Down . They were occupying basements, Miller realized. Moving underground as he watched.
The subway system was probably teaming with communes. That was why they were having such issues finding them on infrared.
Miller switched his earpiece to the all channel. “Aim for the subway entrances, they’ve gone underground.”
“No wonder we can’t find the little blighters,” Doyle said. He almost sounded impressed.
“Drop payload near or into subway stairwells and get back to the compound ASAP,” Miller said. “The wind’s picking back up.”
“That’s like dropping a ping pong ball into a coffee mug from a hundred meters away,” Morland said, a hint of a
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