Chapter 43

• The table in Reese’s command post was a chaotic mess of maps, schematics, and hastily scrawled notes. For the last two days, it had been our world, a claustrophobic cage of strategy and fear.
• “It’s a fortress,” Val said, her voice a low, frustrated growl. She jabbed a finger at a satellite image of the processing plant, a dark, ugly blot on the ruined landscape. “One way in, one way out. A kill box at the front gate, and a moat full of infected around the rest of it. A frontal assault is suicide. Pure and simple.”
• “Nate said they use the old sewer lines to dump the waste from their experiments,” I said, tracing a faint, blue line on the map that ran like a dead vein underneath the plant. “He says the grates are sealed, but they’re old. Rusted. A well-placed charge could get us in.”