Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent Read Online Free PDF Page B

trick.”
     

Chapter 1
    Fort Bliss, Texas
    December 22, 2015
     
    The three men were dressed in ninja black, looking more like choreographed warrior demons than human flesh. Thick body armor, vests bulging with pouches, and skull-like helmets added to the sinister effect. Mechanical-looking cylinders with glowing green pulses provided their vision. They moved with power and grace, electric pupils scanning right and left, looking for work.
    Down the hallway they progressed, silent, synchronized performers, executing a deadly ballet. Move . . . bound . . . cover . . . slide— precise motions, accented by sweeping weapons, ready to destroy any threat. The intent was unquestionable—they were hunting.
    Black boots stepped heel to toe, rolling the predators forward in a well-rehearsed march of coiled violence. Their advance boiled down the corridor, engulfing the passageway as dark clouds fill the sky before the thunderstorm unleashes its fury upon the prairie.   
    Finally, they arrived at a plain, simple-looking door and stopped. Caution replaced aggression as they were close to their prey, and the quarry was dangerous. Slowly the leader raised his hand to the entrance, and then it was open. 
    In a single motion, Bishop pushed back the covers and rolled his legs over the edge of the bed. A second set of neural commands left him standing upright, the pistol from the nightstand in his hands. Extended arms moved in blurs as they followed his eyes, sweeping the room for intruders. If the pistol could speak, it would protest the pressure exerted b y his grip. Thumb on the safety and index finger on the trigger—both were ready to engage at the same instant. Bishop’s lungs started to object to their lack of air, the desire for oxygen competing with the heartbeat pounding in his ears. The impulse to breathe was pushed back, every fiber of being focused on finding the invaders. He had to protect Terri and the baby. His mind raced with the taunt, Where are you—come on out and play . 
    Terri rolled over, the movement from the other side of the bed rousing her from a not-so-deep slumber. Bishop had been kicking and churning restlessly all night, keeping her on the edge of a deeper sleep. She blinked the fog from her eyes and looked up to see her husband standing with his gun pointing around the room. The light leaking through the window blinds was just enough to make out the detail of the tightened muscles and straining cords of his body. Had the situation been different, she might have let out a wolf-whistle at the sight. Bishop standing shirtless, glistening with sweat and flexing every muscle on his frame was an image a girl could appreciate. This big pistol in his hand ruined the image though, and her mind immediately shifted to concern for her mate. Her senses expanded for a moment, trying to feel out the room. Her female intuition straightaway determined they were alone. He’s been dreaming again , she instinctively knew. 
    Terri waited a few moments and then quietly whispered, “Bishop. Bishop, are you okay?”
    Her voice instantly calmed him. The pistol slowly lowered as he relaxed. He turned and faced her, his expression a combination of embarrassment and helplessness. Terri propped up on one elbow and observed as Bishop’s shoulders slumped and his head fell forward. The gun was returned to the nightstand, and then he perched on the edge of the bed. His voice was unsteady, “I’m sorry . . . I thought . . . I was sure . . . I just don’t know.”
    Terri scooted across the bed, reaching up to rub the back of her husband’s neck. His skin was cold and damp, the sinew around his shoulders taunt. Ter ri maneuvered beside her mate and simply held his hand. The couple sat motionless for several minutes, Bishop staring down at the floor, and Terri maintaining her warm and reassuring grip. Bishop finally broke the silence. “I hate this world. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all the killing. I’ve had enough of all