Free The Orphan Army by Jonathan Maberry Page B

the soldiers, and they weren’t preparing for a fast evacuation. They were getting their gear together for a mission.
    Which meant Mom was going out, too.
    Which meant Mom was going hunting for monsters.

W hy do you have to go?”
    It was maybe the eighth time Milo asked his mom that question. He had no doubt the answer was going to be the same. It was the only answer she ever gave at times like this.
    â€œBecause I have to,” said Mom as she adjusted the Velcro straps of her shoulder holster. “We talked about this. This is my job.”
    â€œI know, but . . .”
    Mom turned to him. She was short and so thin. Milo could still remember when she was plump. Not fat exactly, but round and soft and full of smiles. That was before they came. That was six years ago, back when Mom was a school librarian. Milo had seen pictures of her from before that, when Mom—who wasn’t even married yet—had been a soldier in a war somewhere far away. She’d been thinner then, too, but it was different. In those photos, Mom was always in good shape, always smiling, but to Milo she was a different person entirely. Now Mom was thin and hard, with sharp cheekbones and sharp edges everywhere. And she never smiled anymore.
    â€œBut what?” she asked.
    â€œBut can’t someone else do it? Just for once? Why can’t you stay here and let someone else go? There’s Captain Allen and Sergeant Lu. They’re tough and—”
    â€œIt’s not just about being tough, Milo.”
    â€œI know, but why can’t they go instead of you?”
    â€œWhy them and not me?”
    He almost said, Because I don’t want to lose you , but he bit it back. Stuff like that hadn’t worked when he was six or eight or ten, and it wasn’t likely to work at eleven.
    The real truth was that he was still freaked out by what had happened in the forest. He’d planned to tell his mom everything, but when he came in and found her packing, he hadn’t. She would have enough to worry about. So would he.
    That was half of it.
    The other half was that he’d had a bad dream last night. A nightmare of fire and screams. In the dream, everyone in the camp—all of the soldiers, all the refugees, all the others kids—vanished behind huge walls of flame as the Dissosterin shocktroopers swept down from the sky. Grinders and bangers flew through the air, blowing apart the trucks and the Humvees and the last helicopter. And through the fire and smoke, something huge and terrifying came stalking. Even in the dream, Milo couldn’t tell what it was. It had to be one of the Dissosterin, but it was too big, too strange-looking, and it was surrounded by other even more freakish shapes.
    The dream went on and on until Milo snapped awake, shivering, soaked, his heart hammering like gunfire in his chest. He snatched up a pillow and jammed his face into it to keep from screaming.
    You don’t scream in the night. Not unless you wanted to get everyone killed. Sound carries at night.
    There had been screams in the nightmare, though. Milo’s. The other people in the camp.
    And Mom.
    He remembered that.
    Milo remembered the sound of his mother screaming as that big, strange, awful dark shape dragged her away from him.
    Now, sitting in her tent, watching her get ready to lead a mission, Milo felt haunted by the dream, but he didn’t know what to do about it.
    â€œI just don’t think it’s fair that you have to go all the time,” he said.
    â€œMilo,” she said with strained patience, “how many times do we have to talk about this? This is my team. All of these people look to me. Not just to make decisions, but to lead them. Do you think it’s fair for me to send Captain Allen and Sergeant Lu out and I stay here?”
    â€œNot all the time, but you go out more than anyone.”
    She nodded. “I know. And do you understand why?”
    â€œBecause it’s your