Page 102 of Shared Omega

He hands me my clothes and boots.

Kane growls low.

“Who put you in charge, Dog?”

Again, he pronounces Dog’s name with an obvious note of disdain. If it gets under Dog’s skin, however, he doesn’t show it.

“I’m assuming that you don’t know how to drive, Kane.”

Kane’s face pinches with annoyance again.

“Besides,” Dog goes on. “If we have to stop and debate every step of the way, this mission isn’t going to come off well.”

“Fine,” Kane grumbles.

He and Truk hop into the back of the vehicle, and we shut the hatch behind them, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Then we head to the cab and hop in, me in the passenger seat and Dog behind the wheel.

He puts the vehicle in gear and we rumble off into the night, leaving the Quarantine Wall and the Zone far behind.

CHAPTER 32: DOG

We’re making good time.

Right about now, those two marines in the lockbox in the back are missing their patrol check-in. Pretty soon, that whole sector of the Quarantine Wall will be on high alert.

But we’re already long gone.

Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be inside the city.

The colossal tiered structure of the hive looms in front of us. It is like a giant, industrial termite mound rising into the night. Level upon level of grimy spires and belching smoke stacks all connected with a network of roadways and train rails. Massive searchlights sweep through the sky above, illuminating the miasma of smog that hangs over the city like an evil spirit.

A few minutes more, and we’re inside the perimeter, following the winding, twisting overpasses that slither through the polluted heart of the city, lit by the nauseating orange fluorescence of chemical glow-globes.

There’s nothing I hate more than returning to the city hive after a long excursion into the Zone.

Luckily, this will be the last time.

Whether we succeed or fail, after tonight, I’ll never have to see this godforsaken shithole again.

Kane’s voice growls through the grate that connects the cab of the transport to the hold in the rear.

“How much longer?”

“We’re almost there,” Sloane answers.

She’s right. The claustrophobic stacks of towers and tightly packed habitation units seem to be pulling back, and ahead, through the haze of smog, the twin snakes of the SynerGen logo appear, glowing with a coldly sinister blue light.

This is it.

SynerGen headquarters.

This is where everything began, and this is where it’s going to end, for better or for worse.

“How are we going to get inside?” Sloane asks from the passenger seat.

I glance over at her.

Her beauty never ceases to amaze me. Even now, in her grimy tank top and tattered shorts, her skin smudged with dirt and flecks of dried blood, she is breathtakingly gorgeous. Hot desire surges through me as I gaze into those perfect, pale blue eyes.