Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  Just not far or fast enough.

  On the horizon, I saw what Roark had warned of: the bridge solidifying the gate between the Tributary and downtown Phoenix. It was already being assembled, little ants and specks working in the ocean to forge a permanent entranceway. When that was finished, MagiTekk would be free to channel the power of the source to its own ends.

  I clutched the wet stone railing and eased my way back from the broken precipice. The sun blazed on the other side of the shattered bridge, beckoning us forward. But the chasm spanned at least fifty feet.

  “MagiTekk’s working fast.” I shook the mist out of my damp hair and took a deep breath. Every one of my bones seemed to crack and rattle. “We need to get to the other side.”

  “I think this is the end of the line,” Roark said, his brow furrowed in worry.

  “Not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “You can’t hear it?”

  I gave him a funny look. Aside from crashing water, I heard nothing. But that was because I hadn’t been listening—so caught up in what I might find at the source that I hadn’t been concerned about other matters.

  Like who might be following us.

  Surely enough, quiet footfalls pitter-pattered through the ancient city.

  “We have to head back.”

  “You know who that is,” Roark said, weariness permeating his voice. “Ghosts.”

  “Not very Ghost-like.”

  “Not everyone can be as quiet as you, Ruby.” We shared a moment of silence, allowing the compliment to linger. The gentle footfalls grew louder, until they were like mosquitos humming in my ears. Impossible to drown out.

  I looked frantically down the street from where we’d come. “There’s a junction a few hundred—”

  “You know they’ll find us if we hide.” Roark had his hand on his pistol. “Sweep the city.”

  “Then we’ll kill them all.” I reached for the shotgun, but Roark shook his head. “It’s a choke point.”

  “They’ll come from the windows. The rooftops.” Roark swung his head around three-hundred-sixty degrees, assessing the situation with practiced ease. “We’re in the choke point.”

  “And here I thought you were an optimist.” I wrinkled my nose, allowing my hand to slide off the gun’s stock. The river pounded beneath us, the threat of imminent death behind us. The glittering city on the hill, like so many others before it, had proven to be little more than a mirage.

  How fitting that it would all end here. Right at the beginning. With me giving MagiTekk the key to the garden of evil.

  “Check the bridge,” Roark said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m keeping an eye on the alleyway.”

  With no energy to argue, I dragged myself back to the edge, looking out at the torn corner of the world. Nothing had changed, at least not for the better.

  I heard him load his pistol with two rounds. It cocked sharply in the blue daylight.

  “I thought you said we couldn’t fight.”

  “We’re not fighting.”

  The mist showering down upon me, I turned and said, “Then what are you doing?”

  “Do you trust me?” He pointed the gun at me.

  “Have you gone fucking crazy?”

  “Do you trust me?” Roark repeated, his blue gaze steady. The gun didn’t waver.

  I saw a red dot on my sternum. His pistol didn’t come with a mounted laser sight. I glanced at Roark in confusion, not answering.

  Then the pistol barked twice, the bullets slamming into my shoulder, sending me hurtling into the roiling sea below.

  26

  I came to in a world of darkness, battling a formless, frothing monster. I tried to scream, but water rushed into my mouth, choking my throat.

  I was underwater.

  The events played back like a sped-up flipbook: do you trust me? Roark’s pistol firing. Crashing over the edge, hearing the Ghosts shouting above. The bark of a sniper rifle missing its mark before I plunged into the cold, churning water.

  And now, coming to seconds after impact, fighting for my life. I tried to move my right arm, but the howling pain reminded me of Roark’s betrayal. Trust you, my ass. I could’ve just jumped. Now I was drowning. Hardly the placid stream that had brushed against my toes hours earlier.

  Bubbles rushed from my lips as I unleashed a silent scream. I kicked and clawed at the shapeless churn, trying to fight my way to the surface. But I was caught in a sort of riptide, the current pinning me down. At less than full strength, even the will to survive couldn’t propel me to safety.

  Angry, I battled the water for a few moments longer before letting go. The corners of my vision darkened, my thoughts drifting toward an inevitable conclusion.

  You’re going to die, Ruby Callaway.

  That got the blood flowing again. Eyes searching the clear, cold water, I found a sliver of sunlight cutting through to my left. The Realmpiece had told me to head toward the sun, right?

  I had no other plan. Awkwardly paddling with my left arm, I turned my aching body toward the light. Using my last energy to kick, I traveled about fifteen feet, reaching the source of the light. It was as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted from my back. The riptide stopped holding me down.

  Elated, I burst upward, slicing through the water like a fish.

  I emerged from the river and drew a deep breath, choking and shivering. The current carried me a half mile downstream, back to the start of the forested area. It deposited me gently on the shore, where I huddled in a soggy ball, desperately trying to get warm. Pain rocketed through my wounded right shoulder.

  I battled against the seductive allure of sleep. But I knew if I slept out here on the perfect yellow sand, I’d be found by the Ghosts. Best case scenario, they’d drag me back to Malcolm as a war trophy. He could find out how far I would bend until the end of days.

  Worst case scenario, they’d shoot me in the head and toss my body in the river.

  Their studies were over. They’d found out how to traverse the Realms. What more use did they have for Ruby Callaway?

  Teeth chattering, the sun setting in the distance, I crawled off the sand, into the lush forest. I still had the shotgun and the knife. The Realmpiece, too, judging from the way its edges dug into my thigh. But I was shot and bleeding, already exhausted.

  Serenity hadn’t told me what to expect if I sustained additional injuries. But I suspected they could exacerbate still-healing wounds. Like the radiation poisoning I thought I’d kicked.

  Dragging myself on hand and knee through the verdant forest, I finally reached a position far enough from the beach where I was hidden from view. Panting heavily, I leaned against the solid trunk of a nearby tree.

  I wanted to sleep, but I had to stop the bleeding. After removing the soaking oxford slowly—feeling every small bump in my right shoulder—I slit the fabric into three strips. I used the cleanest as a bandage, wrapping it tightly around the bullet holes.

  I could feel the entry and exit wounds in my shoulder. No arteries, a clean shot. Didn’t make me want to forgive or trust Roark, though. I used the two remaining strips to secure the bandage. The tight binding made my right arm largely immobile, but that was fine. The pain was too great for it to be very useful, and the compression would slow the bleeding.

  In a vain effort to stave off sleep, I tried to work things through. What was Roark’s plan? Why hadn’t he simply jumped with me, and avoided nearly killing me in the process?

  It made no sense. And I didn’t think it was just my tired brain.

  But even the burning resentment of seemingly yet another betrayal couldn’t keep me awake. Slowly, my eyes fastened themselves shut, and I drifted off to sleep in a forest where no creature had slept in over 70,000 years.

  27

  Instincts die hard—even when you’re sleeping and half-dead. And all those training sessions in the forest—all those sparring sessions beneath a blazing sun—had been for this. Maybe Pearl had foreseen
me in this very forest, alone, scared, soaked in blood like an animal that had narrowly escaped the slaughterhouse’s guillotine.

  Because without even realizing it, I was gripping the knife and swinging it through the air. Thrust awake by a massive shot of primal adrenaline, I felt the blade clip fabric.

  The conscious realization came next: someone had found me.

  The punch came last, a gloved hand hitting me center mass, right in the stomach. I flexed and turned a second late, deflecting part of the blow. But it still sent me crashing to the soft forest floor.

  I rolled in the dense fauna, trying to find my attacker in the blind dead of night.

  “Who are you?” I asked, talking to shadows. “What do you want?”

  “I have my orders, ma’am,” came the reply from the darkness. I flipped over, ducking just in time to avoid another explosive punch. “It isn’t personal.”

  Ghosts. Polite. And totally lethal.

  “It’s personal when you’re trying to kill me.” As my eyes adjusted to the nocturnal world, I finally saw my adversary. His rippling musculature glowed like the ocean’s waves beneath the form-fitting suit. A visor shielded his face, making the Ghost inscrutable.

  And the magical aura, broadcasting that they weren’t totally human—but weren’t any creature I’d come across.

  “What are you?”

  “A biosynthetic magical organism,” the man replied. “Created from the mana wellsprings.”

  “Thanks for the history lesson.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.” A lightning bolt erupted by my head, charring the leaves.

  “You’re the proof of concept,” I said, the pieces of the MagiTekk puzzle finally coming together. “With the Tributary, they could create—”

  “An organism that will make us all obsolete.”

  I didn’t know whether he meant the Ghosts or humanity in general. It could go either way. I wasn’t sticking around to find out. Charging forward, I slashed at him with the knife. Quick as a leopard, he sidestepped and launched a crushing blow into my wounded shoulder. I tumbled to the dirt, the knife clattering out of my grasp.

  Slightly stunned from the pain, I crawled away.

  I heard a pistol ratchet behind me. “I will make it a headshot.”

  The wisps, in a last ditch effort to keep me alive, finally decided to show up—fatigue be damned. They danced in the night, just beyond where my left hand sat planted in the cool dirt. I clawed at the shadows, my fingers finding a smooth rock.

  I clutched it tight, listening for the Ghost’s footsteps. Timing it perfectly, I swung my arm back just as I heard him level his gun, hitting him square in the forehead. Bone cracked in the darkness as he pitched forward into the brush.

  I leapt to my feet, rock raised for another strike.

  But his still body told me that this Ghost was quite dead.

  I stared at the suit. By now, the Tributary was crawling with MagiTekk’s goons—and probably whatever nasties Odessa brought to the party, as well. Storming back to the city alone, running on empty, was a recipe for suicide rather than heroism.

  This Ghost—or, rather, his suit—was my ticket out of the Tributary.

  If I found Malcolm Roark, I could cut the head off the snake.

  Then the body would die.

  After half an hour—trying to get the tight suit on with a useless shoulder was nothing short of a nightmare—my disguise was complete. I put on the visor, taking in one last glimpse of the serene forest.

  “Here goes nothing, Ruby.” I walked gingerly out of the trees, into the brilliantly moonlit night.

  And straight into MagiTekk’s jaws.

  28

  MagiTekk’s gate security barely gave me a second glance as I walked right through the portal. Ghosts weren’t asked many questions, apparently, which suited me just fine. Traversing from the idyllic paradise back to the nano-built metropolis of Phoenix was a jarring contrast. It was as simple as walking from one block to the next—if one housed million-dollar mansions, the next a series of bombed out foundations.

  But I didn’t have time to be wowed by the marvels of modern magic or lament the downfalls of technology. Problems were heaped upon my plate like overdue bills, and the creditors were howling at the proverbial gates.

  Maybe not so proverbial. A well-heeled man in a suit approached me as I tried to exit the plaza and disappear into the city.

  “It’s all hands on deck, soldier.”

  I didn’t answer. I hoped my taciturn demeanor and stiff posture would convey just how little I wanted to be fucked with.

  “You are to report to the bottom level of that goddamn city immediately. Secure it, make sure there’s no one inside.” I heard his expensive leather shoe tap on the pavement. Glancing up at MagiTekk’s HQ, which stretched farther than the eye could see, I waited for him to leave.

  But he didn’t. Instead, the man put his hand on my wounded shoulder—roughly, without respect.

  “Are you goddamn listening to me? Your ass needs to be—”

  With a swift, single motion, I took the knife from my belt and jammed it in his throat. He clawed at my face, knocking the visor loose. The fear of death spread across his face like a virus as he crumpled to his knees. In a fit of poetic justice, he died right where the MagiTekk logo had been painstakingly laid out in the brickwork. Blood seeped between the cracks, staining it dark crimson.

  Across the plaza, near the gate, I heard someone yell, “She killed the CFO!”

  I jerked the knife loose from the dead man’s throat. What was one more sprint when you were almost dead already?

  The pursuit was half-hearted. Most of MagiTekk’s personnel were on the other side of the portal, combing the Tributary for threats and opportunities. They hadn’t left their crack squad behind in Phoenix. A few assorted Peacekeepers and low-level FBI agents. Even at half-speed, I managed to lose them before I even hit Downtown.

  But I didn’t stop running.

  Because, quite frankly, I didn’t know what else to do.

  Where does one run when they have no place to call home? Alice Conway was out of the question—I had no way of getting through the Fallout Zone’s gates. Serenity Cole was too far away—and taking an autocab was out of the question.

  So I stumbled through the doors of Kendrick’s midtown bar. The patrons glanced up at me from their drinks in a drunken stupor, nearly falling off their chairs at the sight of the Ghost gear.

  Kendrick said, “Ya take a wrong turn there, eh? Company bars are a little farther up the road?”

  No one laughed. I replied in a hoarse whisper, “It’s me. Roark’s friend.” I brushed my sweaty hair from my face and stumbled a few steps inside the doorway.

  “We don’t forget a pretty face.” Kendrick scratched his shaggy mountain of white hair and rubbed his ruddy cheeks. “You joined the other side, lass?”

  Staggering toward the bar, I said, “I killed one and stole their suit.”

  Kendrick gave me a funny look and then broke into a rowdy cheer. “Then drinks are on me tonight, boys. Old Colton has himself a real winner here.”

  The rest of the patrons murmured their assent. But as Kendrick poured my whiskey, I didn’t share their enthusiasm.

  I said, “I need a doctor. And a way to meet with Malcolm Roark.”

  “And you thought this is the place to find either of those things?”

  “No.” My eyes were half closed. “But you’re the best I can do right now.”

  Then I fell asleep on the bar.

  Because that’s just what you do after you make a statement like that.

  29

  Two Weeks Later

  Two weeks doesn’t sound like a long time. And really, in a normal life, it’s nothing. What can you accomplish in fourteen days? You might not even have to visit the grocery store more than once. Could stay inside the whole time, if you felt like it.

  Or you could go out and change the world.

  Because fourteen days was an eter
nity—if you had the power of the Tributary on your side. Malcolm Roark’s first two weeks of pseudo-dictatorship proved eventful—although not in a way that benefited anyone other than himself or MagiTekk.

  Indeed, MagiTekk’s illustrious mad scientists managed to stabilize the rift between the Tributary and Earth. Enough, in fact, to start pillaging the formerly lost Realm of its resources. MagiTekk had apparently sorted out the logistics years ago, for they had quickly started diverting the river back to Earth.

  They’d even opened another rift, this one near Malcolm Roark’s desert estate. The water flowed out of the Tributary, into a deep, wide moat on his property. I could watch it live, the newscasters complaining in cowardly, toothless awe about the ramifications.

  But they wouldn’t fix the problem. It would be up to me to launch an operation against a corporate behemoth from Kendrick’s cramped back room.

  Meanwhile, recovery had been slow. I still moved like I’d broken a hip—or almost died from radiating poisoning, then been shot twice in the shoulder. There had been no word from Roark. No explanation why I should trust him about anything. Whether he was alive or dead remained a mystery. His final words gnawed at the edges of my soul, turning my thoughts bitter.

  Trust him?

  He hadn’t saved shit. He’d pissed all over it and lit it ablaze.

  There was a knock at the refrigerator door which covered the back room. With a heavy grunt, I rose from the red cushions that doubled as my bed and slid open the secret entrance. Alice Conway stood outside, looking nervous.

  “Please tell me you found a way in.” Thus far, getting an audience with Malcolm Roark was proving difficult. The silver-haired bastard was w popular and busy man these days, it seemed.