Page 85 of Echo: Burn
And painted targets on our backs so bright they can be seen from space. Cross was right—we're all marked now.
"How long?" Stryker asks quietly.
"Before they move on us?" Tommy pulls up tactical displays. "Could be hours. Could be days." His face is grim. "But they're coming."
I look around the operations center. At Stryker and Mercer, warriors who've followed me through hell. At Tommy, brilliant and loyal despite everything. At Sarah, treating Odin's minor injuries from the fight. At Khalid, young but learning fast.
At Willa, who came into this running and scared and has become someone who stands and fights.
My team. My family. All of them in danger because I pulled them into this war.
"Then we prepare," I say. "Fortify the base. Stock ammunition. Plan escape routes. We're not going to make it easy for them."
"And if they come in force?" Rourke asks. "If they send everything they have?"
I think about Kessler's words. About Hart's choice. About the man I was versus the man I'm trying to become.
"Then we fight," I say simply. "We fight, and we survive, and we make them regret ever threatening the people we love."
Willa steps up beside me. Takes my hand without a word. That's answer enough.
Outside, dawn breaks over the Montana mountains. Beautiful. Peaceful. Deceptive.
Somewhere out there, the Committee is mobilizing. Protocol Seven activating. Killers and operators and tactical teams preparing to descend on Echo Base.
We have forty-eight hours.
Tommy's screens flash with movement—satellite data updating in real time.
"Kane," he says quietly. "We've got vehicle movement. Multiple convoys heading northwest."
Toward us.
"How long?" I ask.
"Eighteen hours. Maybe less."
18
WILLA
Countdown: 24 Hours
The staging facility transforms into a fortress in a matter of hours.
From the operations center, I track Kane's team fortifying every entrance, planting motion sensors in the tree line, establishing firing positions on the roof. This isn't Echo Base—it's a secondary defensive position fifty miles north, chosen specifically to draw the Committee away from our actual home. If they come for us, they come here. And if we fall, Echo Base stays dark.
Stryker coordinates defensive sectors. Rourke sets up a sniper nest with overlapping fields of fire. They move with the efficiency of people who've done this before, who've survived worse.
Tommy's screens show the news feeds on mute. Every channel carries the same story: inauguration security elevated to unprecedented levels. Chemical weapons protocols active. Secret Service sweeping every venue, screening every attendee. The leaked documents—our documents—spreading across the internet faster than the Committee can contain them.
"They're calling it the biggest intelligence leak since Snowden," Tommy says, fingers flying across keyboards. "Senate's demanding hearings. Pentagon's in full damage control. The Committee's operation is blown wide open."
"Will they cancel the inauguration?" Sarah asks from her station, where she's monitoring medical supplies and preparing trauma kits.
"No." Kane enters the operations center, tactical vest already in place, rifle slung across his chest, ignoring the pain from his wounds. "They'll go forward with increased security. Can't let terrorists dictate American democracy. But the chemical attack is off the table. Too much scrutiny now."
"So we won," Khalid looks up from where he's helping Odin with his detection vest. The young man has become essential over the past weeks, learning fast, earning trust.
