The dream was a repeat—a dredged up rehash that had plagued him for seven years. It didn't matter how it began: he could be in a Humvee driving through the desert on his way out of Kut; or he could be back at base playing cards with Davenport, while the sun set behind the rocky landscape; but just as easily he could be having dinner at home; or be a small boy again playing around the Jacksonville trailer park. It didn't matter how the dream began—eventually it led Maxwell into the accident. For some reason he would get in a car and at some point the road, whatever road it was, would turn into a sunbaked dirt track, because the dream always ended the same way.  Eventually Maxwell would end up  immobile, trapped under his  turned over vehicle with an IED inches from his face.

This wasn't something that had ever happened to him. It was a story they had told him his first week in-country. It had supposedly happened to a friend of a friend, who was state-side in a VA hospital. It might have been made-up for the sole purpose of scaring the fresh faces arriving through the Basrah port. Ultimately, it didn't matter if it was real or not—the fear had poisoned him and the story haunted him ever since, surfacing in the predawn hours on rare mornings when he had just begun to believe that he'd forgotten about it.

The booby-trap was half submerged in the rocky roadway, a rat's nest of wires around a silver canister. He couldn't see a timer but it was ringing. A shrill repeating bell burst from it and the sound was like a drill penetrating his skull. Imperceptibly, the hot Iraqi sun dimmed to the weak light his bedroom window and the bomb morphed into the phone by his bed.

He still had one foot under an overturned Humvee when he answered. The voice on the other end was frantic, barking details at him of an attack. Maxwell wasn't sure if he was still dreaming.

Why did his body and mind betray him? Why only at home? In the field, he'd be dressed and in the car already.

Did comfort and safety weaken him? Did thoughts of home and family lead him astray? Did they cause him to lose his guard and make errors in judgement?

A case could be made for it.

Maxwell stood up to shake off the sleep that weighed on him as heavy as an armored truck.

"How many," he asked. "Are they armed? Uh-huh. Put Brennan on."

He pulled on a pair of slacks while waiting for the Major. Struggling to get a T-shirt on with the phone still in his hand, Maxwell made his way to the desk and switched on the computer monitor. After a flicker, the feed from four security cameras came up.

The images had not perceptibly changed from when he left them at one in the morning to go to bed.

"Agent." Brennan's voice erupted in the receiver like a command from a drill sergeant.

"Major, what's the situation?"

"It's a cluster-fuck? Unknowns have crossed into the security zone and we have a containment breach in the labs. We're still trying to get details."

Threats from above and below. It sounded like the day of the raid. Four years ago, coordinated attacks had caught them unprepared and left The Music Box in tatters. Could it be happening again?

The timing was damn suspicious. Two days before the full moon and Amy's scheduled termination. Maxwell didn't believe in coincidences that much. This wasn't an attack but a rescue attempt. Whoever it was this time would be in for a horrible surprise. They had lots of time to correct their mistakes from last time. No one would be getting in.

"Major, listen to me, the priority is the external assault. Do not send people down into the bunker."

"I am aware of security procedures, Agent. The facility has been locked down until the hazard level is verified."

That was the first step: park the elevator at the quarter mile position and wait. The major and his men had no real idea what was housed down there. They believed it was a biological weapon. And in a way it was, it just wasn't the one they imagined. They likely thought that if it got out, all they'd have to was don hazmat suits and re-breathers before investigating.

If Amy was truly out and roaming the bunker, the call would have to be made to send in an assault team with shoot to kill orders or trigger the charges and bury The Music Box forever.

Was she out?

If so, who had she killed so far? How many would die in the attempt to contain her? Who was still alive down there? What losses were acceptable? Those were the questions he'd have to weigh. But one thing was for certain: the rescue would be a failure. Now that the alarm had sounded, there was no getting out.

Maxwell cradled his forehead in his hand, expending one second to commiserate for the girl whose fate had been sealed in this failed attempt.

"I have a team deployed to intercept the intruders. They'll be neutralized or apprehended shortly," The Major said. "We also have two contractors leaving the premises. Should they be detained for questioning?"

Maxwell's head jerked up. "Who are they?"

"Dr. Blass and Ms. Kendrick."

"Emily Kendrick? Are you sure?"

"Lt. Gonzalez was clearing them when things went to hell."

The rest of the room disappeared and only the four images on the monitor existed for Maxwell. He leaned back in his chair and stared intently.  The almost looked like black and white photographs because of the low light and lack of motion.

"Let them go," Maxwell said with a dry mouth. "Blass is deemed a high value asset and we had too many civilian casualties last time. It's better if they get clear of the enemy forces approaching from the east." Every word out of his mouth was measured. Everything had to sound like something Brennan would expect to hear.

"I'm on my way. Will be there inside of fifteen. Keep me posted on developments."

Maxwell ended the call and let the receiver clatter on the desk.

That son-of-a-bitch actually managed to do it.

Amy was out.

Did R.J. figure out the chip or did he find some other way? Maxwell had hoped that he'd get the hint when he waved the damn thing in his face, but R.J. hadn't seemed very swift on the uptake. But just in case, Maxwell had gone to the trouble of reactivating Jamie's chip and falsifying the records so it looked like Delgado had never disabled it.

Now that they were clear, how far could they get before the DTAA caught up with them?

That wasn't his concern. He had to keep up appearances and get to Aira.

Maxwell took one last look at his computer before powering it off. Each security camera showed live footage of a room taken from the high angle of the smoke detectors they were concealed in.

One was an empty living room. The second was an empty kitchen. In the bottom two squares Aaron and Emily were asleep in bed.

Home and safe.

***

The world was a terrifying madness assaulting her senses. Deep earthy and vegetal scents filled her sinuses. It was like nothing she had ever smelled before. Above her leaves and fronds creaked in growth, straining against their own fibers. Over the leafy canopy was a shield of glass and beyond that was the dizzying sky. Morning light crested the horizon and sprayed the lobby with dazzling, blinding rays of the brightest orange Amy had ever seen.

R.J. pulled her to her feet. Had she really still been crawling? How far had she scrambled before he came and helped her up?

He was talking to her but she couldn't hear anything beyond the wail of the alarm. It was a torturous oscillation of head splitting noise. A wrath stirred deep within her. It wanted to banish that demonic alarm from the Earth. The rage wanted her to tear into it with her teeth and claws and eradicate it so completely the concept of a siren would never be known again.

Yet, the alarm had saved her. Ylva had been right.

That man in the uniform with the dark skin and the bald head was turning to her when it went off. He was sharper than the others. Amy could smell his confidence and alertness before he entered the room. If he'd gotten a good look at her, he would have known she didn't belong. And in another second, he would have spotted her.

But Amy followed Ylva's instructions and dropped to her knees below the table and rushed for the door.

How had Ylva known?

R.J. was dragging her forward through this strange place. What was wrong with these people? They imprisoned her underground and they trapped a jungle in a glass cage.

R.J. reached the doors to this cell and pulled her through, with her feet stumbling over the threshold.

Immediately everything changed.

There was no gravity. The sky went on forever.

Amy threw herself to the rough pavement, clinging to it with her fingernails despite the urgent tugging at her arm.

The inside world was drifting away. Even the hellish alarm faded into a background whisper. Everything else was expanding. Or maybe it was she who was expanding—growing to fill all space.

Amy had found the jungle room large and disorienting but this world was unimaginable. It felt like every atom of her being was exploding outward in a nuclear explosion.

She could feel the heartbeats of people she couldn't see in the building and in cars out on the highway. She felt four men approaching on buzzing horses in the desert. The blood pounding in their veins was far off but they were moving quickly toward her. She knew without a doubt which was the weakest and the easiest to pick off.

There were other men heading straight for the four. The sounds and stink of their bodies was muffled behind glass and steel, but the armoring didn't stop Amy from feeling their strengths and weaknesses. One man in particular rose in her mind as a dangerous, blood thirsty predator who would require extra care to kill.

The rest of the world swelled around her in a limitless feast for her senses, stretching out into outer space. Her mind brushed past birds and jets flying high in the atmosphere. It pushed further, past the ozone layer with its low frequency pulsing and up into the cold reaches of space. Ignoring satellites and space junk, she continued on until her perception finally caressed the great orb of the moon.

The experience was the reverse of a diamond being formed. Now that the great weight of rock and stone was off of her, the pressure was released and the tight, dense ball of consciousness she had been confined in for all those years was growing into a great piece of coal—a massive incendiary blackness ready to ignite.

***

Author's Note:

So Amy is finally free? Is it what you were expecting?

At the beginning, I promised you Amy's world was going to get a lot bigger and this is where it starts. But as the rest of the book goes on, you'll see that getting out of The Music Box was the easy part for her and the rest of our characters. 

On the music: Prayer In C was a song I really wanted to fit in at some point and it felt like just the right mood to end this chapter on.