Emergence (Eden's Root Trilogy Book 3)

by Rachel Fisher

  Like Nagaina, she thought, recalling her favorite Kipling villain. She’d never thought of it from the mother cobra’s perspective before, but Nagaina would do anything for her young. It was what made her dangerous.

  What price for a cobra’s egg? The mongoose had taunted Nagaina, her last uncrushed egg held between his paws. Only one could be saved: a desperate mother’s last hope. So desperate that she’d follow her egg and her torturer down into the Earth, to her most certain doom. Fi followed Sara’s gaze to the horizon. What price for a young cobra?

  “We’re next!” Asher’s voice broke her reverie as he hiked up the ridge toward them, with Sean just behind. His blond braid gleamed in the hazy sun, a bright spot against the gloom.

  “You girls ready?” Sean added.

  “Yup!” Fi jumped up and handed Luke over so Asher could nestle him into her pack.

  “Let’s hope that rain holds off,” Sara said, nodding at the growing pileup of charcoal in the western sky.

  “I guess we should hustle then,” Fi said, taking off. “Don’t let this old mama beat you, Sar!”

  They set out, racing down the ridge ahead of the others, Fi loving the coil and spring in her muscles. Only 9,504 more steps, she thought, and Dr. Carter Lawson would be within striking distance.

  ###################################################

  That evening, she thanked God for Asher for the millionth time as he rubbed her now aching feet. “I’ll do you next, I promise,” she murmured. His thumb slid down her arch and she moaned.

  “The runners are back!” someone called.

  A few minutes later, Zykeem strolled into their circle with Titan and a chagrined looking young girl on his heels, her hat, quite literally in her hands. Her white-blonde hair burned crimson in the flickering light. Fi recognized the medic she’d met the first day. Jonas’ charge. What was her name again? Hannah.

  “Commander Julius,” Zykeem said gruffly, “we have a problem.” He pushed Hannah forward gently. “You can explain, Hannah.”

  Julius raised an eyebrow, but Hannah couldn’t have seen it, her head was so far down already. “What happened, Hannah?” he prompted.

  “I…I followed Zykeem and Titan out on the run today.”

  There was a collective gasp.

  “You did what?” Jonas strode into the circle and wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I’ve been looking for you all day! Jesus, I was freaking out.”

  “Hannah, why would you follow the runners out?” Julius was stern. “You know we have rules here. This isn’t playtime. Do you want us to send you home like the little ones?”

  “No.” Hannah’s voice was quiet. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  Her head hung lower and she seemed to shrink. It reminded Fi of the time her family had saved a baby sparrow that had fallen from its nest. Actually, her heart squeezed, it was Kiara who saved the little bird. When Kiara picked it up with the towel, it squeezed itself into the tiniest ball of fluff ever…just like Hannah.

  Julius turned to Zykeem. “Everything turn out ok?”

  Zykeem saluted. “Yes sir, Commander. We recovered a great cache of SWAT gear with the help of the Cincinnati Nets.” His face softened. “And I’d like to add that Hannah did make herself useful, sir, carrying back rations and gear.”

  “That doesn’t make it acceptable,” Julius said. “Do you understand, young lady?”

  “I just wanted…” she began, and then stopped.

  “You wanted what, Hannah?” Fi asked, curious.

  “I only wanted to help! I’m young and fast, and I can run forever.”

  “But you knew better, Hannah,” Julius said. “You know that you’re here only to help Jonas, and are NOT to be involved in any high-risk duties.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Commander.”

  Fi’s heart twisted at the gravity in the girl’s voice.

  “All right, Hannah, Jonas,” Julius said. “Go get something to eat, ok? That’s an order. You too, Zykeem.” Titan whimpered and Julius softened, rubbing the big dog between the ears. “You too, Titan.”

  As they left the circle, Julius sat back and whistled. “I swear; I don’t know what gets into that girl.”

  Fi watched Hannah’s back as she melted into the forest with Jonas. She might be foolish, she thought, but she was certainly a brave little thing.

  After their meal, they continued their discussions. The SWAT gear stolen from Cincinnati’s police station would come in handy, especially given their devotion to reducing the bloodshed of innocents.

  “So what was the final tally?” Sean asked Julius, as they settled by the fire.

  “Ten smoke bombs, five canisters of tear gas, a ton of rubber bullets and fifteen SWAT shields and helmets.”

  “Good.” Julius’ head bobbed with each item. “That’s good.”

  “So we should be able to surround the settlers without killing them then, right?” Fi asked, relieved.

  Despite the fury everyone felt toward the Truthers, they knew that many of them were just women and children, not soldiers. It didn’t seem fair to attack them, and it wouldn’t help their cause to kill them. For that reason, they’d decided that the main siege force would bisect the colony, separating the cabins from the perimeter. The Army of Eden volunteers would surround and hold the Truthers non-violently, while the siege team took on the Lobo “Angels.” God willing, anyway, Fi thought.

  “It’s not great, but it’s the best we can do, given the circumstances,” Sean said. “It would be a lot easier if we were willing to just blow them all to heck. I’m sure the General could come up with some kind of weapon to help us do that.”

  “Yeah,” Fi said, “but we can’t. We can’t kill people that are just caught in the cross-fire between us and this lunatic.”

  “True,” Julius sighed. “But being right is always harder than being wrong.”

  ---------- Carter ----------

  Carter rushed toward the camp bathrooms, his fury blazing higher with each new howl emanating from inside. Hadn’t he told Silas to keep it quiet? He rounded the end of the concrete building and almost careened into a flushed Silas coming from the other direction. “What the hell is going on, Silas?” he growled, ripping open the door.

  It swung wide and he gasped. The emaciated hostiles sat in shivering bundles on the floor, too weak to stand, but that wasn’t what drew his attention. His eyes flew to the man strapped to a chair positioned over the central drain in the room. A single bulb swung above him, strobing across the purple landscape of bruises and lacerations that was his face. The two Lobo guards looked up in shock.

  Carter closed the door behind him with care. “What is this?” He spoke very slowly, unsure what would come out of his mouth if he didn’t take his time. For a moment there was silence, a dripping sink the only sound as the room held its collective breath.

  “What do you mean?” Silas asked. “You told me to question them.”

  “I said question them, Silas, not torture them! Jesus!” Carter’s eyes darted frantically to the now upturned faces of the others. Their eyes were hollow and most were covered in a kaleidoscope of bruises and lacerations. The only one who’s face was untouched was the woman’s. For a moment Carter felt relief, until he saw the bruises on her neck. “Mother of God, not the woman too!”

  He wanted to scream, but that would only make it worse. He swallowed his rage and pressed his hands together, as if in prayer. “Silas, we can’t do this. For one thing, their screams are too loud. I could hear you from the Main Cabin, for Christ’s Sakes.”

  “Why do you think I was rushing here, Father? I told them,” he glared at the guards, “to press them. I didn’t tell them to beat them to the point of screaming. Idiots.” He backhanded the guard closest to him.

  Carter rolled his eyes. He was surrounded by fools. His eyes darted to the woman, her thin neck mottled with a kaleidoscope of fingerprints. His stomach turned when he saw the bandages binding both of her hands. And monsters. “
Enough! Silas, all I said was to find out what they knew about Diaspora.”

  “No, you said, ‘Find Diaspora, Silas! We have to take it down, Silas!’ And we really tried, boss, but ‘pretty please’ just wasn’t doing it.”

  “That’s because we don’t know anything!” The man in the chair spoke, his fat lip garbling the words.

  “It’s true.” A thin man with a long beard murmured from the corner. “We told you what we know. North Dakota. That’s it. Please. Stop hitting him.” A stick for an arm extended, pointing to the stick sitting in the chair.

  One guard wound up to punch the bearded man and Silas grabbed his arm. “Don’t!” He turned to Carter. “What’s the move, Father?”

  Carter hesitated. He was backed into a corner. These people sickened him, but so did their obvious wounds. The strongest of them appeared to have taken serious beatings. What if they really didn’t know and he was having these people beaten for nothing? A wave of nausea rolled through him.

  But then the fury followed on the heels of his sickness like its shadow, as it always did when the memory came rushing back. The head of Diaspora I. His dour face. His condescending pat on the back on the way out. And a voice, Carter’s own voice rising to an agonized shriek as he fell to his knees and begged him…begged that horrifying excuse for a human being. To no avail.

  “No, Dr. Lawson,” he’d said, his fake expression of concern making Carter want to strangle him with this bare hands. “I’m sorry, but we can’t do that. You should know that better than anyone… Now get up, please! You’re making a scene.”

  Carter spun around — as if the movement could help him to run from his own memory — and faced the wall, splaying his fingers against the icy tile. His heart was racing and he’d broken out into a clammy sweat. “You should know that better than anyone…” It echoed in his brain. He jammed his hands over his ears, but it didn’t stop. “We can’t do that, Dr. Lawson. You should know…”

  “Aaaaaaaauuuugh!” he roared, whirling back to face the others. “The ‘move’, Silas, is that we keep trying. We can’t chop off the head that is Eden only to have Diaspora grow back in its place. They’re working together, so these Liars must know something. But we can’t have noise. So, nothing that makes noise. Nothing that leaves a mark. Keep them on half-rations. Oh, and Silas?” Carter stopped on his way out. “Try to keep your attack dogs in line this time, huh? If Nona catches wind of this, we’re done.”

  Not Your Average Bond Girl

  ----------- Fi --------------

  “What about the cover for Fi and me? Do we have any ideas about that yet?” Sara was huffing as they raced along the edge of a massive Dead Zone.

  Fi squinted against an all-white world: the sun, the sky, the snow-covered land, all fresh from the bleach cycle. “Yeah,” she added, gasping, “how are we going to take our weapons in?”

  It was this sticking point that led them to their ultimate plan. While brainstorming ways to hide the weapons, Sara suggested long skirts and something clicked in Fi’s mind. “That’s it!” she said. “It’s actually the perfect cover.”

  “Skirts?” Asher was bewildered.

  He wasn’t alone. Everyone stared at her as if she’d gone bonkers. Their heads literally swung around so hard that Julius tripped on a root and almost bit it. Fi would’ve laughed, but she didn’t have enough breath in her chest to spare it. “No, the skirts are just a part of the whole image. Sean, remember the Rodriguez girls?”

  “Ah.” Sean nodded as he ran. The Rodriguez kids had been in school with Sean and Fi since Kindergarten. Their family was deeply religious - Pentacostal, Rosa Rodriguez had once told her. And as part of their devotion to their faith, the girls always wore long, button-down shirts with skirts that swished just above their shoes. “That’s perfect,” he said. “You and Sara could be from a really religious family and that would explain the skirts.”

  “We’ll fit right in if we’re already super-Christian.” Sara’s eyes shone with excitement. “Right?”

  “Should be, yeah,” Julius agreed. “That could really work.”

  They turned west into the forest when the Dead Zone loomed in their path. The terrain got harder and conversation became impossible. It wasn’t until they settled in for the night again that they managed to hammer out the details.

  Sara and Fi would pretend to be the only remaining sisters from a strict Pentacostal family. They would say that Luke’s father had protected them, but that recently he’d gone out on a raid and never returned. They’d waited for him until they’d nearly starved, but then they’d been forced to move. A Truther family they came across was kind enough to give them food and they overheard Lawson’s broadcasts. Seeking help, they’d made their way to the settlement through the brutal cold.

  “By the time we arrive at their doorstep, we’ll be the saddest, most pathetically needy girls they’ve ever seen!” Sara crowed, waving her strip of boar jerky.

  Fi understood her enthusiasm. Sara was looking forward to deceiving Carter as much as she was. If it weren’t for lives hanging in the balance, she thought, this might almost be fun.

  Since Darryl’s information proved that Carter had listened to Asher’s book, Fi decided to go by her middle name, “Marie.” Sara was such a common name that they left it at that. Sara had started practicing calling her “Marie” around camp to get used to it.

  “But how are the skirts going to work if we need to get to our weapons quickly?” Fi asked.

  “Crap. That’s a good question,” Sara said, chewing.

  “What if you made them tear-aways, like sports warm-ups?” Asher said. “You know, the kind athletes just rip off. We had them for basketball. I think they’re usually made with Velcro or snaps.”

  “Hmmm. That’s a good idea,” Fi said.

  “Tear-away skirts?” Sean snorted. “You ladies better figure out what you’re gonna wear underneath, or you’ll be fighting in your underwear.”

  Sara grabbed Fi’s arm. “Ooooh, maybe we should fight in our underwear, Fi. That would definitely shock those uptight freaks. We could be like Bond Girls.”

  Julius choked on his water and Sean smacked him on the back, laughing.

  “Yeah,” Fi added. “They’ve probably barely seen a woman naked, most of them. They’d be too busy hiding their eyes to protect themselves.”

  At this Julius choked a second time and turned a delightful shade of plum, eliciting more laughter. Fi’s chortles transformed into a yawn that then skipped its way around their circle. Once every face had nearly split in half, they decided to call it a night.

  Asher stood and stretched, pulling her into his arms as he helped her up. “No matter what happens,” he said, his lips curling, “you two will change the meaning of ‘Bond Girl’ forever.”

  ################################################

  A few days later, Fi eyed Sara’s button-down shirt and long tiered skirt with derision. “Nice look, Laura Ingalls.”

  “Oh, like ‘prarie chic’ looks so great on you, Fi,” she snorted. “Don’t make me go all Nellie on your ass.”

  Fi grinned. Sara had a point. Fi didn’t need a mirror to know that she looked equally stupid in the getup. The Nellie reference drew some appreciation from the gathered audience, including the always-present Hannah Lemly. Every evening at last light, any members of the Army who were not too spent from traveling went through combat training with Asher and Julius. And those who couldn’t train, watched.

  Though Fi was often tired at day’s end, sitting around made her antsy, so she sparred with Sara whenever possible. Today, however, was a special day. Today they were trying out their “tear-away” skirts for the first time.

  “It’s a full dress rehearsal,” Fi said, just dodging a friendly punch. “What, Sar? You know I can’t resist a pun. So…you ready?”

  “Are you kidding? I was born ready, Fi. Hey, let’s back up and go at each other dual-style.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Makes it more f
un for the kids.” Sara waved at their audience, drawing gentle laughter as she backed away. “Just make sure your pea shooter has the safety on. I don’t want to get shot just because you have an itchy trigger finger.”

  Fi rolled her eyes and backed up. They faced each other in what had to be the strangest scene in history: two good, demure Christian girls, staring each other down...ready to draw. “Ok, Sara. On the count of three, you rip and draw, ok?”

  “Ok.” Sara’s left hand flexed beside the tab she’d sewn into the seam of her skirt.

  Fi shook out her arms. Her fingertips brushed the tab on her own skirt. “One. Twooooooooooo. Two and a half.”

  Sara blew a raspberry.

  “Three!” Fi ripped at the tag and the skirt fell away as she drew her gun and aimed in one smooth motion. Bang, she thought, staring down her sight at Sara, whose daggers gleamed in her hands. With the skirts puddled at their feet, the black leggings they wore beneath made them seem like secret ninjas. If ninjas had ever favored button-downs on the top half, Fi mused.

  “Bravo!” Marcus called as he came to join the onlookers. “Or rather, Brava! Now the important question is, have you ladies chosen your superhero names?”

  “Good grief, Marcus.” Fi lowered her .22. “Will you lay off the superhero stuff?”

  “Aw, c’mon. I’m just having fun. Besides, you two are going in all mild-mannered only to transform into warriors. What else would you call that?”

  “Hear, hear!” Sean appeared over the ridge, sweaty from training. “I agree. And I want another showing. We missed it!” He gave Sara a kiss. “Hey, babe.”

  “Hey. So you want to see the transformation again?” She picked up her skirt and then frowned. “Uh, oh. I think I tore the seam.”

  “Me too,” Fi said, fingering her own skirt. “Guess these aren’t built to be ripped off over and over again. Sorry, Sean. Sara and I will have to fix these first before we can show you.”