Free Callsign: King II- Underworld by Jeremy Robinson Page A

encountered Nina, King glimpsed a sliver of light. He cautiously poked his head out and tried to get a look at the mayhem that had descended upon the camp.
    The shimmering mist was everywhere, hugging the ground and obscuring his view, but through it, King could see shapes moving—a few soldiers still standing their ground and firing their carbines, but many more running, pursued by enormous humanoid silhouettes. The air was alive with noise: the harsh crack of M4s, the screams of men dying and other inhuman shrieks, and in the distance, a deep bass rumble of thunder.
    A soldier had fallen only a few feet from where King now lay. The young man’s body was bent unnaturally; his upper torso had been twisted completely around. The heavy body armor had afforded little protection from the raw physical strength of the unknown attackers. King felt a pang of sorrow that another brave American soldier had fallen, but there wasn’t time for grief. He spied a familiar object on the dead man’s belt and scooted in close enough to grasp the hilt of the KA-BAR knife and draw it from its sheath.
    Working by feel alone, King slipped the razor sharp blade under the plastic zip-ties binding his hands and gave the knife a twist. The plastic parted with hardly any effort. With his hands freed, he rolled back toward the collapsed tent and cut Nina’s bonds as well. Only then did he poke his head above the blanket of mist.
    The camp was completely unrecognizable. All of the tents had been knocked down, as had the overhead Klieg lights and the satellite dish. A fire was raging in one corner of the compound, possibly from one of the overturned diesel-powered electrical generators. The mist emitted an eerie glow that gave little illumination, but off in the distance, brilliant tongues of lightning mixed with fast-moving orbs of ball lightning were stabbing down from the sky, revealing the scene in brief flashes, like a strobe light on a dance floor.
    In the surreal light, King saw a few soldiers still standing, but there were many more of tall, shaggy creatures identical to the one in the video Aleman had sent him. They seemed to be everywhere.
    King saw Nina gaping in amazement at the mayhem, and pulled her down into the relative concealment afforded by the mist. With the naked KA-BAR stashed under his belt, he checked the fallen soldier’s carbine.
    The bolt was locked back, the magazine empty. He checked the gear pouches attached to the man’s body armor vest, and found two full replacements. One went in the magazine well, the other in a pocket. If the soldier’s fate was any indication, the 5.56-millimeter rounds hadn’t been very effective against the creatures, but it was better than nothing.
    “Stay close to me,” he told the wide-eyed Nina. “And keep your head down.”
    His thoughts returned to Pierce, but a glance at the collapsed tent showed no hint of bodies—moving or otherwise—underneath the canvas in the area where he had last seen the archaeologist. He resisted the urge to start tearing the heavy fabric apart with his bare hands; it would have been a futile effort, for Pierce was plainly gone. He had either escaped on his own or…
    King shook his head, refusing to consider the alternative. George is here, somewhere, and I will find him .
    But even as he made that silent promise, he realized that the search for his friend could no longer be his first priority. He had come to Arizona to learn the truth about the strange creatures that had attacked the day before, and now, even though he was right in the middle of a major incursion by the same species, he still knew nothing about them, or what had prompted this attack.
    He recalled how Magnuson had repeatedly checked the time in the moments leading up to the assault. The officer had known that something was about to happen and had wanted to get the detainees out of the way before that deadline.
    No, I’m missing something. If Magnuson had known an attack was imminent, he