41The camp sits silently beneath the early dawn light. From my perch halfway up the Iona tree, I crouch on a cluster of Illyrians and look out into the jungle beyond our camp. Half-light has just begun to brush the farthest reaches of the canopy, and in the slender divide between night and day, the world is strangely subdued, as though even the creatures of the forest know better than to be out right now. A hot wind blows, so thick and ponderous the leaves barely rustle under its power, and it seems as if all of Iolanthe knows—

The enemy is coming.

A trickle of sweat runs down my chest, and despite the heat, I can’t help shivering slightly. We’ve been tested before, but never like this. Never with everything on the line. All of us, from the weakest to the strongest, are here, arrayed in groups of three and four around the camp, ready to defend our home. A victory could make us stronger than ever.

A loss could destroy us all.

My jaw clenches. The squatters may be older, better trained and better equipped, but this is my home. This is my forest. This is my command. And we will not lose.

Heart thrumming, I glance at the footage from my reserve drone just in time to see the last figure disappear off the edge of the frame. One thought crystallizes in my mind.

They’re here.

Almost immediately, black-clad figures materialize in the forest around us, no longer figments on a feed but shadowy forms creeping into the trees surrounding camp. In the dawning half-light, more suggestion than illumination at this point, they’re nearly invisible to the naked eye—silent stalkers come to catch us unawares while we yet sleep.

Or so they think.

I quietly watch as a group of six comes to a halt just inside the tree line, barely a stone’s throw from my position. Their stunners move left and then right as they scan the area for signs of life, and a few heads tilt up as they check for threats in the trees above. My breath catches, and I press myself down into the fungus, using the Illyrians’ natural warmth to hide my heat signature from their infrared. Barely daring to breathe, I keep perfectly still, fully aware that even the slightest of movements could give me away . . .

They drop their gazes, seemingly none the wiser, and I allow myself a smile of quiet satisfaction. They may have the tech, but I have the forest.

With the immediate danger past, I lift my head and look to the north. A second group waits in the trees near the girls’ shelters. In the forest to the south, near the boys’ sleeping area, is a third. They hover among the trees, no doubt conferring on their helmet coms as they wait to attack. None of them seems to have noticed the teams of students hidden strategically around the camp.

With the forces on land identified, I take a second to magnify my lenses and look out across the camp to the river beyond. Nothing is stirring in the water or on the opposite shore. No surprise there. The forest provides far better cover than the open surface of the river, and the waterfall makes sailing downriver into camp prohibitively difficult—one of the main reasons I chose this site. Still, I link Vida, who’s in charge of securing the riverbank, just in case. Her answer comes back quickly.

All clear.

I’m about to link back, but movement in the corner of my eye preempts me. My heart jumps, and I whip my head back around toward the jungle.

All three teams are on the move, groups of five and six closing in on the tents from the north and south while the remaining squatters fan out along the perimeter. Like ghosts, they glide swiftly through the last vestiges of night, their shadowy forms hugging the ground as they zero in on their targets in perfect sync. As they near the shelters, one of them pulls something from his belt. It catches the burgeoning light for a single instant, gleaming dully in the pale wash, and then disappears into the shadows once more. I magnify my lenses, zooming in on the man until suddenly the item pops into perfect focus.

A stun grenade.

Eleven squatters, eleven tents. I see their plan perfectly now. Sneak in under the cover of darkness, stun us while we sleep, and then haul our unconscious bodies back to HQ for interrogation, infection, or both. Doubtless the squatters on the perimeter are mainly there to help with the mop-up and to catch any stragglers who might manage to make a break for it. It’s quick, it’s bloodless—it’s exactly the sort of thing I would do. The ideal plan for a camp of scared students on the run, except for one tiny detail.

We’re not running. We’re fighting.

Anticipation, like a shot of adrenaline, floods through my veins. Bringing my chit hand to my mouth, I queue up the group com where the others are linked, all waiting breathlessly for my command. Timing is everything; surprise is our greatest advantage. Everything has to happen in perfect sync.

“All teams,” I subvocalize into my chit, “choose your targets and prepare to fire on my mark.”

The first squatters reach their targets, waiting quietly by their designated shelters while the rest of their teammates take up position at the farthest tents. Everyone in place, they exchange a look, and then they holster their weapons and pull out their stun grenades.

“On three . . .”

Grenades in one hand, the invaders reach out with the other and begin slowly feeling along the tents, searching for the nearly invisible door seams in the front walls.

“Two . . .”

Ever so gently, they begin easing the seams apart, taking special care not to make a sound in the quiet morning air.

“One . . .”

Heart hammering, I watch as, one at a time, the doors come free, peeling silently open in the heavy morning air. Throwing arms cocked, the squatters lift the flaps just enough to admit their cargo, then pause. My breath catches as I wait for them to make their move. While we used the fungi in the trees to conceal our heat signatures, we used the shelters to do the opposite, programming the heating coils embedded in the tent walls to simulate the heat signatures of thirty-five students sprawled fast asleep inside. From a distance, the simulation is indistinguishable from reality, but up close?

My jaw tenses, and I move my chit hand closer to my mouth, prepared to give the order the moment I see the smallest indication that they’ve seen through the ruse. Seconds pass, and I’m nearly positive they’ve made us, then—movement!

Eleven tents blaze white hot as the grenades go off in perfect unison.

“Now! Now, now, now!”

The command has barely fallen from my lips before the clearing explodes in a storm of stun bolts. Streaks of energy light up the darkness, sweeping in from the trees, the cliffs, even the river. Caught by surprise, the enemies whirl around, automatically falling into defensive postures as they search for the source of the unexpected ambush. White lightning dances across their armor as a second barrage of stun bolts follows right on the heels of the first, scoring direct hits on several squatters.

None of them fall.

A soft curse issues from my mouth. They have stun-resistant armor! Specially made to absorb and disperse stun energy, the low-grade stuff can usually take a couple of bolts before it hits maximum capacity, and the high-grade armor can take half a dozen. Either way, until the armor’s stun capacity is maxed out, only a direct hit to human flesh will take down the wearer—an impossible shot when the enemy’s armor covers them from head to toe.

I thumb my com. “They’ve got SR armor! Team leaders, coordinate with your groups. Concentrate your fire on single targets.”

More shots fly out, random at first, then slowly shaping into coordinated salvos as the others take heed. One squatter finally goes down, struck by three near-simultaneous bolts blazing from the direction of the river. A second follows soon after, dropped by a volley of fire from the cliffs by the waterfall. A rush of satisfaction fills me, but the victory is short-lived. Already the remaining squatters are regrouping, using the flashes to pinpoint our locations and seeking cover behind the shelters and among the brush. Our stun bolts continue to fly, but now they’re being returned at an increasing rate as the enemy takes aim at their invisible foes.

A flurry of movement rustles the tree line behind me. They’re calling in reinforcements!

I glare at them fiercely. Oh no you don’t!

With a few flicks of my wrist, the enviro-shield comes surging up, wrapping the camp in a dome of energy—just in time! The first squatter hits the invisible barrier full-on. He bounces back with a cry, holding his arm as he yells something to the others. They stop short just centimeters from the shield, only now realizing they’ve been cut off.

My triumphant glee doesn’t last, as movement in the corner of my eye draws my gaze south. One of the reinforcements made it in! I thumb my com. “Kieran! Below you!”

“I see her!” he calls, rallying his team to face the new foe.

Ten seconds and half a dozen bolts later, she’s no longer a threat.

I turn my attention back to the squatters still trapped outside the camp. Already they’ve begun fanning out along the perimeter, searching for the generators that keep the shield up. Though technically the shield itself should protect the generators, I have no doubt that with their superior tech, the enemy will find a way through. But that will take time—time their companions don’t have. We’ll mow down the squatters inside one by one, and by the time the others break through, we’ll be ready for them!

Emboldened by the thought, I throw myself back into the battle, calling warnings, snapping orders, and directing tactics from my vantage point above the field. My weapon is glued to my hand, but I’m so busy commanding I barely have time to get off a shot. No sooner do I lift the barrel that I spot something else and am back on my com.

“Hegit, some squatters are hiding behind Xylla’s tent! Shoot it down, and they’ll lose their cover!”

“Watch it, Mercury! You’ve got guys creeping up on your right flank.”

“Trey, incoming!”

The team on the cliff scatters as a stun grenade flies up over the rocks straight at them. Three of them dive for cover, but the fourth isn’t quite fast enough. The grenade hits him square in the chest and detonates with a loud boom! With a scream, the lone figure pitches over the waterfall into the pond below.

My heart plummets. “Xylla!” I yell into my com.

“I’ve got him!” Stunfire and splashing bleed through the com as Xylla pushes off from the bank, swimming in rapid strokes for the victim while her team covers her from the bank. She ducks under the water, coming up seconds later with an unconscious Gavin. Crisis averted, I slide my gaze back into the thick of things, already searching for the next one.

For heated minutes, the battle rages across the camp, neither side quite able to gain the upper hand. For all that we got the initial jump on them, the enemy is better armed and better trained. After Gavin goes down, two more students follow, shot up with stun bolts when they duck out of cover to shoot. Dani merely slumps into unconsciousness where she lies, but Divya almost pitches out of the tree where she’s perched. Only a quick grab by Jovan saves her, and I breathe a sigh of relief when she disappears behind a branch, dragged to safety by him and Matteo before they turn back to the shooting.

“Everyone, stay low!” I call into the com. “They may only be using stunners for now, but a fall from the trees could still kill you.”

A chorus of acknowledgements comes back—not that it does Mercury’s team any good. Two squatters manage to circle around and come up on them from behind. The three are immobilized under a force net before they even know what’s hit them.

I swear out loud at the bad luck, but despite the loss, I realize that slowly but surely, the battle is turning in our favor. Not only do we have the numbers, but their cover is limited, and our positions are better. Even with their superior armor, they’re down from twelve to six—make that five! Already they’ve begun to retreat, using what ground cover they can find to pull back toward the fringes of the camp.

A wicked smile crosses my lips. Not that they’ll be able to get out with the shield still up.

I turn back to the squatters on the perimeter. I’ve been checking their progress periodically throughout the battle, but though they’ve located most of the shield posts, they’ve yet to take any down. My smile falters when I finally spot them—not working away on the posts like they were before, but . . . retreating?

I shake my head. Impossible! They can’t seriously be planning to abandon their companions inside the shield—and yet that’s exactly what they seem to be doing. I watch them as they continue their withdrawal, fading back into woods until suddenly they stop, halting their retreat ten meters or so outside the shield-line.

Alarm bells ring in my head. I’ve missed something. Though the enemy has backed off, they’re not actually retreating, not anymore. Now they’re just hanging back in the trees, holding position, waiting.

One of the squatters happens to glance upward. My heart stops as realization slams down on me like a door. I fumble for my chit, frantically searching for the encrypted signal I know I’ll find, and that’s when they suddenly appear, rippling into being in the air above our camp.

Drones.

My eyes widen as I take in the new threat, nearly a dozen in all. These aren’t like the drones we have—little survey drones, made to map landforms and take bio samples. These are military assault drones: silent, swift, and deadly.

Tzzooom!

The entire shield shudders as the first drone fires down into the camp. Golden sparkles light up the barrier, expanding out from the point of impact like ripples in a pond. Another drone fires, and then another, and soon the sky above us is filled with fireworks.

My heart sinks. There’s no way our shield can stand up to an attack like this! It isn’t a professionally installed military-grade security shield; it’s a jury-rigged amateur enviro-shield cobbled together from fifty-year-old generators dug up from the forest. Their main purpose was to keep leaves out of the exhaust vents, not repel a prolonged attack by MDs. It’s not a question of if the shield will go down, but when.

The shield shivers again, and just like that, I can see the scenario playing out perfectly in my mind. With these drones, the enemy will take down our enviro-shield, pull out their wounded, and then strafe us all from the sky. Stun bolts, gas, grenades—it doesn’t matter what they use. The end result will be the same.

Game over.

A drone fires directly into the shield above my head, and I watch our imminent doom ripple out through the sky like the final rays of a setting sun.