Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3

by A W Wang

  “I’m not sure I’d describe them as fun,” I say, acting nonchalant.

  “Well, you haven’t been wounded in any of them, so that should count for something, right?”

  I nod. Every word is true. Even though I can’t point to anything I’m doing that’s different, I’m doing better and my scores are improving. I’ve crossed 3.5 sigmas, and that has my optimism soaring.

  “My best stretch ever.”

  She grins. “Would you like to keep it that way?”

  There is a thud. Puzzled, I look around.

  “That’s me dropping the other shoe. You realize that she wants something, right?”

  I don’t answer, instead glancing at Jet and saying, “What do you mean?”

  “Join me and Block. We could be a team together.”

  “We are part of a team—”

  She unhooks her arm and steps backward. Anger flares in her voice as she says, “You are not this dense. If we’re going to have this conversation, you need to be honest. I can tell when you’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying,” I say, trying to react to her violent mood change.

  “Answering my question with an answer to a different question is the same thing.”

  “Fine, what exactly do you mean?”

  Her eyes cut into me. “Those words you dig into your arm.”

  “Red hair?”

  “They’re more than just words. They represent your goal, your sole reason for being here.”

  I dip my head, acknowledging the truth of her statement.

  She takes a determined breath. “I want to get out of here too. I want to get into the actual world.”

  “That’s what everybody wants.”

  “But not in the same way.” She spreads her fingers on my chest. “Just like me, there’s something simmering inside you. In that way, we’re kindred spirits.”

  “Kindred? I don’t know anything about you. You’ve never shared anything from your past.”

  A breeze chooses this moment to stir the surrounding dust. As I squint, Jet stares unnaturally, her eyes unblinking despite the conditions.

  When things still, she answers, “We’re all losing our memories. What’s in the past doesn’t matter.” Her hand shifts over my heart, and she gently presses. “What’s in here is all that does.”

  “That still doesn’t answer the question.”

  “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

  When I don’t react to the rhetorical question answering my question, she says, “Right now, you aren’t good enough. You’ll have to do things differently. There’s a secret, and you can be part of it.”

  I furrow my brows, realizing something is horribly wrong with the request but not understanding what. “How about Block? He doesn’t seem too keen on anyone joining up with you.”

  She moves close, and her warm, sweet breath brushes over my cheek when she says, “I can control him. And there might be a few other benefits for you too.”

  “Everything except for the military stuff is gone,” I say, laughing.

  Her full lips curl into a sly smile. “Are you so sure about that?”

  I step away, remembering the dim figures copulating in the barracks. Uncomfortable, and unsure of what to do, I start walking again.

  Jet doesn’t follow.

  When I glance backward, the setting sun rests behind her, the low orange rays outlining her flawless profile and glimmering off the garrote in her hair. The image seems oddly familiar, and I head back.

  As I near, she tilts her head upward in a model pose. In the muted light, her angelic face looks perfect except for red splashes under her jawline.

  “Here, let me wipe that blood off,” I say, reaching.

  She brushes aside my fingers and launches into a passionate kiss. As the heat from her body spills into my chest, her tongue darts into my mouth.

  I don’t react, feeling more inadequate and stupid than anything else.

  Breathless, she steps away. “You’ll have to change if you want to leave this place, Vic. Think outside of the box. Join me.”

  “Things are going fine. I’ll get better.”

  “You’re not getting better, and you’re not practicing with Cat.”

  I frown. Jet has more going on behind her sparkly green eyes than I’ve given her credit for. But if I go down that road, somehow, I know there will be no turning back. I repeat my words with anger. “Things are going fine. I will get better.”

  She giggles. “Have it your way. I’m only trying to help. And I know when you aren’t being honest. But, this time you’re not lying to me, you’re lying to yourself.”

  “Meat!” says an agitated voice.

  I step from her and turn.

  Block stands on the open upper floor of a nearby three-story.

  My eyes widen at zigzags of red covering his face.

  “Meat!” Block repeats, smashing his forearm into a broken wall and knocking a brick onto the pavement.

  “Sure I can’t get you to change your mind?” Jet asks. “You might have a lot of fun.”

  I shake my head, suddenly mute.

  “Meat, meat!” Block says, pointing east.

  The easy-going girl disappears. “Come on, hurry. The last two are down there, and I don’t want to miss the last kill.”

  I stay still, choosing to watch as she trots away.

  Block sends a long glare before running down the stairs and after her.

  Before they disappear beyond the next street, she turns, yelling, “I only wish these scenarios lasted longer.”

  After a moment passes, internal me announces, “She’s hot, but I don’t like her one bit.”

  “A woman’s intuition?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s wrong with her?”

  “Wrong? Nothing. As a matter of fact, everything about her is too right for this place.”

  “What was that?” an incredulous Cat asks. “A date? In the middle of a scenario?”

  “This was more like a weird stroll between friends.” I decide against mentioning the kiss Jet planted on my lips. In accordance with the acclimation process, I had no physical reaction to the passion, although somehow, the warmth and moistness of her tongue still linger in my mouth.

  Cat chortles, trying to stifle unrestrained laughter.

  I lean forward, glancing past the statues to the end of the arched hallway. While I’m not worried about the few onlookers, I need to make sure that Jet and by extension Block haven’t wandered into the museum by accident.

  The two aren’t present, and I sigh in relief.

  “So what else happened?” she asks with a smirk.

  “Nothing,” I reply, remembering the heat originating from Jet’s body.

  “Oh, come on.”

  Happy I wrangled Cat into a personal conversation, I refrain from making a quip about her being jealous, instead saying, “I give Jet credit for her creativity, that’s for sure. Block is never very far from her.”

  After she responds with a knowing nod, I add, “There was one thing that was really odd.”

  “What?”

  “When Block showed up, his face was painted. Painted with blood.”

  “Deliberately?”

  I shrug. “What other way would there be?” I move my finger over my cheeks in a zigzag motion. “It was done in this pattern. Have you ever seen anything like that?”

  Cat shakes her head. “It’s weird, like someone who’s been in combat too long. But remember, I told you they were bad news.”

  “We’re doing better with them.”

  “Given this face painting stuff with the blood, I’m not sure. We could break up the team and get away from them. This situation is really screwy, and I don’t think it will end well.”

  My teams without Cat, Jet, and Block didn’t end well. “I doubt that’s a solution. The next situation you find yourself in could be worse.”

  Cat nods, probably also happy with the success of the team.

  “I
’m still not clear on why Jet needed to speak with you alone.”

  “She wanted to ask why I haven’t accepted her offer. And she knows we’re not training together.”

  Cat ignores the revelation and says, “I don’t understand why she has this attraction to you. It’s not like you can do anything, right?”

  “I’m sure you want to,” internal me mocks.

  “No sex drive here,” I say, picturing what I witnessed Jet and Block doing that first night.

  Cat raises an eyebrow but stays silent.

  As the pause lengthens, I take a deep breath, deciding to get to the point.

  “There’s one thing Jet mentioned that’s bothering me. She said I needed to do something different to get better. Do you think that’s posturing? I mean, we’ve been doing really well. I’m getting better, right?”

  Anger radiates from Cat’s eyes. “This better not be why you brought me here.”

  “I still don’t understand why you refuse to train me. We’ve been together for a while now, so it’s not because you don’t want to know me.”

  “Can’t you just accept that I can’t do this?”

  “This is my life, so no.”

  Tense seconds pass while I wait for Cat to call Lan and split up the team.

  She glances at my forearm. “Fine, I’ll teach you under one condition.”

  “What?”

  “Stop cutting those letters into your arm.”

  “Red hair? Why?”

  “Because that’s what’s holding you back—”

  “This is my sole reason for being here.”

  Her finger moves between us as she speaks. “You want my help to move ahead? That’s the condition.”

  “These words are the only thing that’s keeping me moving forward. Ask for anything else.”

  “You’ll need to pick what’s more important. My help or chasing some phantom memory.”

  I stare at her, saying in earnest, “I want to work with you. We’d get along great.” I hold up my forearm. “But, I came here out of love. To find this person.”

  “Forget the past because you have to focus on yourself to get out of here. Does Lan give you points for teamwork?”

  “No, but I still can’t do this.”

  “Suit yourself,” she says with a trace of sadness.

  I break the awkward moment by returning to my original question. “Am I getting any better?”

  “What do you want me to say? Things are going better. Your score is getting higher.”

  When the pause lasts too long, I say with anger, “And?”

  “Who knows? Maybe you are getting better.”

  I don’t believe her. “Tell me the truth. Do I have what it takes to graduate this program?”

  Cat sucks in a long breath and looks away.

  That’s all the answer I need.

  “Okay,” I say, standing. “I’ll do this by myself.”

  As I leave, Cat remains seated but calls after me, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Shaking my head, I dismissively wave over my shoulder.

  I haven’t done all this to forget about why I’m here.

  Twenty-Nine

  Lightning flashes through the murder holes of the medieval castle. For a moment, the bright, flickering slats pierce the oily haze and touch the wooden ceiling. As the light fades, shadows gather between the jittering torches fastened on the stone walls. An instant later, thunder crashes, the concussion reverberating through the tiled floor. When the rumbles die, only the howling of the wind and patters of raindrops interrupt the silence.

  Despite the chill in the night air, sweat trickles down my back.

  I shift from unease and grip my one-handed sword tighter.

  After another roar of nearby thunder, clanks of armored feet rise above the storm.

  “They’re coming,” Cat says.

  Although the words are spoken with calm, her eyes are wide and her breaths short. Worse, her underlying fear matches the simmering panic steeped into the cold, smoke-infested atmosphere.

  We’re screwed.

  A horde is approaching, and only six of us are here to meet them.

  I wipe sweat from my blood-spattered face and glance over my shoulder.

  Atop a dais sprouting from the semicircular room’s one straight wall sits a king on a red velvet throne. But he’s not a person, let alone a monarch. The damn thing is a block of wood carved into a human shape with a golden crown resting on its crude head. Although just an afterthought compared to the other details layered onto this bloody scenario, the bland figure carries more importance than anything or anyone else.

  If it gets touched, we’re all going to zero.

  There’s no retreat from this wretched position.

  The rattling reaches a crescendo as the enemy thuds onto the flying bridge, which ends on the other side of the wide, barred doors opposite the dais.

  In tight leather and brass armor, Cat and three others march to the entryway, while I and a mustached-man named Zeke form a last line of defense.

  As the tension rises, my heart thumps. I force my attention to the dull pain of “RED HAIR” cut into my forearm. Whatever comes into this room will not stop me from getting back to her.

  Nothing will get past me.

  A crash lands against the doors, and the wooden locking bar groans.

  Boots scrape on the floor tiles as Cat and the others push, trying to brace the flimsy barrier against the irresistible force.

  The doors bend inward with disconcerting creaks.

  Another explosion of thunder drowns out the curses spewing from the doorway.

  Axes hammer, splintering narrow planks, then sharp metal pokes through the holes, stabbing at the defenders.

  I tap Zeke, and we charge, swinging our swords at the intruding blades and gloved hands. I deflect a dagger from reaching Cat and send my sword through a hole in the wood.

  Someone yelps. A second later, a wet spearhead crashes past the ragged edge of the opening and into my shoulder, piercing my armor. The shock of the impact sends me tumbling backward.

  My sword clatters away when I hit the ground with a jarring thud.

  I roll my shoulder, finding the joint functional and the sharp but familiar pain comforting.

  Odd.

  A rain-filled gust sweeps into the room as the locking bar shatters and defenders spill onto the floor.

  Lightning cracks. The blinding flash outlines the sopping forms of the enemy and in particular, one enormous figure. Similar to Block, the man has a large head to match the wide shoulders stretching his leather armor and holds a thick Scottish claymore sword.

  While thunder echoes, Cat and the three others scramble to their feet and meet the dark wall of wet, blood-streaked figures pouring between the smashed doors. As the torchlights dance in the swirling wind, the clangs and grunts of desperate combat rise. Although Cat’s haphazard charge blunts the initial surge, stragglers leak around the fighting.

  In the side shadows, a woman races toward the king.

  I leap over and kick out, my boot catching her shin.

  She tumbles with a crash of armor and swipes upward with her sword. The tip scratches the leather protection near my stomach, but I twist away, unharmed.

  Zeke stabs downward from the other side, driving his long blade through her chest.

  As she gasps her last breath, I grope for my fallen weapon. Just as my fingertips touch the pommel, a foot knocks the blade away.

  Another woman emerges from the broken line of battle, her wet armor glistening from the flames behind the wooden king.

  I’m not going to zero.

  I dive for my sword and fling it at her.

  Miraculously, the throw is perfect, and the sharp metal pierces her side, squishing through her abdomen. She grunts and collapses to the tiles, leaking torrents of blood.

  Cat’s boot bangs into my arm. Weaponless and chest-to-chest, she grapples with the giant form of the enemy leader. Through sheer si
ze, he’s forcing her backward.

  Almost slipping on the wet floor, I jump forward and help to hold the line.

  The huge man swivels, battling to get past her.

  With an opening, I smash my fist into his side, but thick leather absorbs the blow.

  A stomp kick hits my chest.

  I stumble over the dais and past the throne, smashing against the wall.

  The king, oblivious to everything, maintains its stoic gaze and unmoving posture.

  A cloaked form slips by the chaos.

  It’s do-or-get-zeroed time.

  The sunlit image of the cute woman with the dust-streaked face pops into my head.

  Win!

  I yank two of the torches from the wall. As the hooded person reaches for the king’s face, I bellow a primal challenge and leap forward, shoving the torch into the path of the coming disaster.

  A man cries out as the flame sears fingers and starts a fire on the tip of the king’s nose.

  I follow with a vicious swing that connects between the folds of his hood. As he stumbles away, I follow, smashing the torches into his head until he collapses, the cloth around his face and neck burnt to a cinder.

  A shriek for help draws me back to the battle. Zeke falls to the ground, the pommel of a sword protruding from his chest.

  The ragged edge of the fighting has moved dangerously close to the now fiery king.

  Picturing Jet’s audacity, I fling myself into the chaos like a man possessed, whirling the torches in a cyclone of flame.

  A heavy blow knocks a woman’s helmet off, burning her ear and singeing her hair. With a yelp, she tumbles into the next person in line.

  I follow with a back swipe into a woolen cloak.

  The tar from the torch catches on the top of the wet material, flaring around the collar of the terrified man. He jumps backward, tripping over a body, and falls trying to pat out the flames. The rest of the enemy attack wilts from my reckless charge.

  Emboldened by the results, I let their fear fuel my strength and plow after them.

  I’ll win this by myself.

  I block a strike from a halberd and, pushing forward, thrust the other fiery stick at the woman’s face. When she reacts by bringing her hand off the long weapon to protect herself, I shove the other torch into her chest. Leather sizzles and flames spread. A stab from one of my teammates ends her misery.