Ghost Book Two: The Death Machines

– Chapter Eleven –

High on a neighboring hilltop, shielded from the explosion’s full fury, the rangers watched as fire and ruin claimed Base Cochise. The blast hadn’t just blown up the facility, it had vaporized the entire top of the plateau. The trees on the surrounding hills had been blown flat and burned like matchsticks before they vanished in the billowing cloud of dust that rapidly expanded to cloak the whole area. Soon, all that could be seen of the facility was a boiling brown fog with a white–hot glow at its center.

“No way Ghost survived that,” said Angie as she bandaged Thrasher’s leg.

“No,” said Vargas. “I’m sorry.”

Angie shrugged, then wiped her nose. Then her eyes.

“He was wrong about himself though,” said Ace. “He wasn’t just an echo of an echo. He was a good man in his own right.”

“And a hell of a ranger,” said Hell Razor. “Right to the end.”

“Just not the ranger we knew,” said Thrasher.

“We oughta give him a proper retirement party this time,” said Angie. “That last one he had kinda kicked him in the teeth I think.”

“Good idea,” said Vargas. He squinted into the still–expanding cloud. “I just hope that malignant motherfucker AI died with him. Fucking thing almost ended all life on earth.”

“Don’t worry,” said Hell Razor. “Unless it somehow slipped out the back door when we weren’t lookin’, that mainframe is as dead as week–old road kill. Looks like we saved the world.”

“For now,” said Thrasher.

Vargas laughed. “Always the optimist, ain’t you, Beto?”

He tucked his shoulder under Thrasher’s arm to support him. “Fall in, rangers,” he said. “Long walk back to Ranger Center.”

“And a shit–ton of paperwork when we get there,” said Angie.

The rangers turned and started south, with the black column of smoke rising from base Cochise like a funeral pyre behind them.