Ballistic: Icarus Series, Book Two

by Aria Michaels

  Ballistic

  (Icarus Series, Book Two)

  By Aria Michaels

  Copyright 2016 Aria Michaels

  Copyright

  This book is an original publication of Aria Michaels. Ballistic is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or have been adapted fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, as well as businesses, locations, groups, or organizations is purely coincidental. The publisher and author do not accept responsibility for any third-party website, social media personality or groups, or their content.

  Copyright 2016 Aria Michaels

  Edited by Claire Allmendinger of BNW Author Services

  Cover Design: L.J. Stock

  Rights

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without expressed written consent of the author and/or publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials. It is not only a violation of the author’s rights, but of copyright law. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Printed proudly in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Rescue

  (Lucas)

  Chapter 1

  Oregon Trail

  Chapter 2

  The Stranger

  Chapter 3

  Fit to be Tied

  Chapter 4

  Jekyll and Hyde

  Chapter 5

  Invasion

  Chapter 6

  The First Wave

  Chapter 7

  Safe

  Chapter 8

  Blame Game

  Chapter 9

  Camp Seco

  (Lucas)

  Chapter 10

  Apologies

  Chapter 11

  Strike Two

  Chapter 12

  Four More

  Chapter 13

  So Close

  Chapter 14

  The Message

  Chapter 15

  Rock and a Hard Place

  Chapter 16

  Off to Slaughter

  Chapter 17

  Pedal

  Chapter 18

  Risk and Reward

  (Lucas)

  Chapter 19

  Fight or Flight

  Chapter 20

  Survivors

  Chapter 21

  Exposed

  Chapter 22

  Déjà vu

  Chapter 23

  Light at the End of the Tunnel

  Chapter 24

  Stained

  Chapter 25

  Wax and Warriors

  Chapter 26

  The Ring

  Chapter 27

  Evolution and Ophthalmology

  Chapter 28

  Mulligan

  Chapter 29

  The Sword in the Stone

  Chapter 30

  Everclear and Present Danger

  Chapter 31

  Raid and Recon

  Chapter 32

  Cornered

  (Lucas)

  Chapter 33

  Into the Chipper

  Chapter 34

  Sleeper

  Chapter 35

  Broken

  Chapter 36

  Perception

  Chapter 37

  Escape Clause

  Chapter 37

  Cocktail Hour

  Chapter 39

  Plan D

  Chapter 40

  Ballistic

  Dedication

  For my tribe.

  You know who you are and you have my love.

  Prologue

  Rescue

  (Lucas)

  “We have to go, Lucas,” Layla said, peeking her head through the door. Her eyes were swollen and tired, betraying the fake smile she had kept plastered on her face for the last few hours. “The convoy is leaving for the refugee camp in two minutes, and we have to be on it. You want me to send Bo down to help you with your bag?”

  “No, I got it,” Lucas said. “I just have to grab my meds and find my inhaler quick. I’ll be right out.”

  “Alright, but you need to hurry,” Layla said, her brows knitting with worry as she looked over her shoulder down the hallway. She whispered when she turned back. “Please, Lucas. You know how they are.”

  “Come on, Skywalker,” Jazz peeked her head beneath her mother’s arm and smiled over at him. Her trademark braids dangled on either side of her angelic face.

  “Sixty seconds, Lucas,” Layla urged covering Jazz’s ears. “Remember what happened last time?”

  “Right behind you, Layla.” Lucas crossed his fingers and smiled at his foster mother reassuringly. “Promise.”

  He hoped she hadn’t seen the giant magic marker he was hiding behind his back or the multi-tool in his front pocket that he had stolen from Brian’s toolbox. Layla seemed satisfied, but Jazz narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Luke.” She shook her finger at him. She was only six years old and had Down’s Syndrome, but Jazz had a knack for seeing things others didn’t. “The storm troopers are mad.”

  “I know, Jazz.” Lucas met his foster sister’s stare with grim determination.

  Jazz cocked her head to the side, measuring him. She nodded slightly and dragged her mother away. “Come on, mommy. I forgot to get Chewy, and I can’t sleep without him.”

  “Okay, baby,” Layla said following cautiously in her daughter’s wake, “but we have to hurry.”

  The second Layla stepped out of his room Lucas jumped up onto his bed and set to work. He didn’t have much time, and he knew it was risky leaving a message for his sister. He would probably be punished, again, if Mayfield or one of the other soldiers caught him.

  He didn’t care, anymore. There was no doubt in his mind that his sister would come looking for him.

  She had promised.

  When Lucas finished, he took a step back and surveyed his work. It was sloppy and cryptic, but he was out of time, and it would have to do. Heavy footsteps approached from down the hallway. He tossed the marker behind his headboard and quickly taped the poster in place on the wall.

  Lucas spun toward the door just in time to see it swing wide and bang against his wall knocking a shelf full of action figures to the floor. His comforter twirled around his foot, but he managed to keep his balance, albeit just barely.

  “What the hell are you doing up there?” the masked soldier barked at him. He grabbed Lucas by the arm with a black, gloved hand and yanked him from the bed onto the floor. “You causing trouble again?”

  “No, sir. I swear,” Lucas said, holding up the Chicago Cubs pennant he had torn down from the wall. “I was just getting this. You know, to bring to the camp.”

  “Stupid kid,” the soldier scoffed.

  He dragged Lucas from the room and tossed him into Layla’s open arms. He ripped the small pennant from Lucas’s hands, dropped it to the floor, and then wiped his gloves off on his uniform. Lucas bent to pick it up, but Mayfield stepped on it, barely missing the boy’s fingertips.

  “Don’t bother,” Mayfield said grinding the pennant with his boot. “The whole city was overrun by gammas.”

  “What is a gamma?” Lucas asked, clutching at his inhaler through his pocket.

  “You hear that, Lane?” Mayfield nudged the soldier next to him. “Kid wants to know what a gamma is.”

  “Rich people.” Lane shook his head, glaring at them over his white mask. “Hiding in their pretty little castles while the world falls apart. Don’t worry about it. We took care of the Chicago problem. You won’t have to get your hands dirty.”

&nb
sp; “I—I don’t understand,” Layla said, her voice shaky and barely above a whisper. “Chicago problem? Took care of it…how?”

  “We fragged it, lady,” Lane clapped his hands together. “Kaboom. Problem solved.”

  “Fragged?” Lucas glared at him and then turned to Mayfield. “What is he talking about?”

  “Ain’t nothing left of Chicago, kid.” The soldier shrugged as if a city full of living, breathing human beings had been little more than a bug on his windshield. He nudged Lane’s shoulder with the butt of his gun, and leaned back against the wall, lazily. “Go and see if he’s ready to go, would you? This place is depressing.”

  Lane nodded, then turned on his heel and stomped off down the hallway and out of sight. They could hear the soldiers moving about on the floors above them, digging through drawers, and rifling through closets. Their heavy footfalls echoed like thunder through the stout corridors of the Foster’s basement. Every once in a while, something would crash to the floor, a family treasure of some sort being cast aside as useless garbage.

  The soldiers had been pillaging since they had arrived, taking food and medicine, clothing and shoes, and even the fifty-year-old, unopened bottle of scotch Mr. Foster kept hidden in his workbench in the garage. It was all for the refugees, they insisted, though Lucas had a hard time seeing what use the booze would be to them.

  “Brian,” Layla choked out as her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears as she pulled Jazz tightly against her side. “Oh God, no. He’s—.”

  “Mommy?” Jazz tugged on her mother’s shirt. “Mommy, why are you crying?”

  “You’re wrong.” Lucas glared defiantly at Mayfield as he rubbed Layla’s back. “God wouldn’t let that happen. He got out, Layla. He had to.”

  “Right,” Mayfield rolled his eyes, buffing a spot on his gun absently with his sleeve. “Or he didn’t. This isn’t a fairy tale, kid. In case you hadn’t heard, the world is pretty much in the crapper and your precious God left us here to clean it up.”

  In fact, they hadn’t heard much of anything since this whole insane mess had begun. At first, they had all gathered outside to watch the solar flare, just like the rest of the world. After the flash, however, Layla had gone into a panic and rushed them all down into the basement, locking the doors behind them. They had been holed up there, all this time, living off the secret stash of sugary snacks that Bo had covertly been hoarding in his room.

  There were two laptops, three cell phones, and a tablet computer in that basement. None of them worked. Layla and the kids had not had any contact with the outside world until the moment those soldiers busted down their door to “rescue” them. All they knew was that the solar storm (Icarus, one of the soldiers had called it) had been bad…like, really bad. There was a small backup generator for the house’s special air filtration system. Thankfully, it hadn’t failed them.

  According to Mayfield and the others, Lucas and his foster family were lucky to be alive. Layla’s husband had likely not been so fortunate.

  Silent sobs wracked her body. She clung tightly to her daughter, muttering Brian’s name repeatedly. A few minutes later, a high-pitched whistle rang out through the hallway as Lane swung around the corner of the stairwell and into the basement. He nodded at Mayfield, twirled his finger in the air, and jerked his head to the side before disappearing again.

  “Look, lady, we really don’t have time for you to have a breakdown right now,” Mayfield stood square and shouldered his weapon. “Either get these kids into the truck, or we will leave them here. What’s it going to be?”

  “I— of course,” Layla croaked, numbly ushering Lucas and the others along. “Come along, children.”

  “No.” Jazz resisted trying desperately to free her hand from Layla’s.

  “Come on, Jazzy,” Layla pressed. “We have to go with the nice man now, okay?”

  “He’s not nice, mommy,” Jazz whispered mutinously, “and I don’t want to go. I want to wait for Daddy.”

  “Hush, Jasmine,” Layla gritted, pulling her daughter close with one hand and wiping her eyes with the other.

  “Mommy, please. I don’t want to,” Jazz whined, crossing her arms.

  “I know, honey, but it’s not safe here,” Layla said smearing the last of her mascara across her cheek. “Mommy needs to make sure you are protected, okay? I can’t do that without their help. It’s time to go.”

  “If Daddy comes and we are not here, he will be scared,” Jazz pleaded, her voice less resolute. “We have to wait for him.”

  “We need to go, damn it. I don’t have time or energy to argue with you about this,” Layla snapped, dismissing her daughter’s pleas. “Where is Boh-nwa, Lucas?”

  Lucas shrugged, his brows knitting in confusion at her. He had never heard Layla speak to anyone this way before, let alone her own flesh and blood.

  “Mommy, please.” Jazz threw her stuffed Wookie to the floor in protest.

  “No, Jazz,” Layla said, scowling down at her. Her mouth tightened, and she rubbed her eyes again. The blackened smudges spread farther across her cheek, highlighting the gauntness that had settled there. “Quit arguing with me, and pick Chewy up off the floor so we can go. Bo? Bo, it’s time to leave!”

  “But, what if Daddy—?” Jazz’s lip quivered.

  “That’s enough!” Layla screeched, her eyes wild as she grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and jerked her hard. “He’s not coming, Jasmine. He’s never coming. You have got to stop this foolishness.”

  “Layla!” Lucas said, shocked.

  “What?” Layla shot him a look. “You heard what the soldiers said. The world is gone. It’s been overrun by monsters. We can’t stay here, or we’ll die. Do you hear me? We. Will. Die.”

  Jazz’s mouth hung open and her eyes filled with tears. She stared up at her mother in disbelief. The hallway fell eerily silent. Layla looked up as if in a trance. She was barely aware that all eyes were trained on her. Finally, she peeled her fingers away from her daughter’s shoulders and gripped the girl’s hand. A single tear rolled down Layla’s cheek, slicing the darkness in half to reveal a tiny shred of who she was beneath it. Jazz began sobbing. Layla’s shoulders drooped, her face fell, and the light left her eyes.

  It’s like watching someone die, Lucas thought to himself.

  “Daddy will be fine, Jazz. He—he is just running a little late, that’s all,” Layla said. Her voice was hollow, robotic. Dead. “I am sure he will come and find us at the camp as soon as he can. Everything is going to be okay, baby. We are going to be just fine. You’ll see. It’s time to go, now.”

  “E chu ta,” Jazz glared up at her mother. Her deep-set, brown eyes narrowed dramatically as she tried to yank her hand away. “Lurdo E chu ta!”

  “Language, Jasmine Elaine Foster,” Layla said pulling her daughter down the hall and toward the stairs.

  Jazz always swore in Huttese or the language of the Ewok’s when she was upset (as many times as she had seen Star Wars, it was no surprise she had picked up a thing or two). Under normal circumstances, her inexplicable proficiency in alien profanities would have Lucas on the floor clutching at his belly. These were anything but. Jazz was clearly devastated by her mother’s betrayal, and the hurt was bone-deep. Unfortunately, Layla didn’t seem nearly as interested in her daughter’s tears as she was in leaving.

  Bo stepped from his room into the hallway, closing the door tightly behind him as a soldier passed by. Jazz tore her little hand free of her mother’s grasp, scooped Chewy into her arms, and ran to Lucas’s side. She wrapped her slender arms around his waist. Lucas hugged her back without hesitation, and Bo fell into step beside them. Jazz’s shoulders shook in silent mourning as they walked together down the hallway, Layla pressing them on with the soldiers at her back. His heart ached for the girl’s loss and reminded him, suddenly, of his own.

  “I’m scared, Skywalker,” Jazz whispered, her hands trembling as she clung to Lucas’s shirt.

  Lucas was shaking t
oo, but he wasn’t scared anymore.

  Fear had given way to frustration. Frustration to anger. And anger to pure determination. Lucas was tired of being pushed around, tired of being a victim. He was sick of being broken. He had been bullied his entire life for things beyond his own control, and there was little he could do about that, but everything had changed in the last two days— Lucas had changed.

  Despite his small stature, his physical limitations, and a freshly acquired black eye, the boy felt strong. There was a fire in his gut that had been brewing for a while, now. While he did not truly understand what was happening to him, the persistent and undeniable weight of it grounded him and gave him courage.

  His foster brother, Bo, nodded curtly and walked next to them with his head held high, a scowl plastered on his face. He nudged Lucas lightly with his elbow and cleared his throat. His dark, almond-shaped eyes flicked downward, willing Lucas to follow and understand. Lucas looked over his shoulder to be sure the soldiers had not seen the exchange, and then quickly turned back at Bo. The older boy slid the bottom of his t-shirt up just far enough for Lucas to see the end of a small pocketknife (the same one Brian had confiscated from his room weeks ago) sticking up past the edge of his boxers.

  “Do I get a lightsaber, too?” Jazz whispered, looking up at the two boys through tear-filled eyes.

  “I got your back,” Bo said, lowering his shirt back over the hilt and grabbing Lucas’s hand. “You don’t have to be scared.”

  “I’m not.” Lucas glared at the masked soldier that shoved them up the stairs. “Not anymore.”

  Chapter 1

  Oregon Trail

  “Hang on, guys,” Zander grumbled, gripping the wheel tight as he wove around a clump of abandoned vehicles.

  The street was completely blocked. So many of them had been. This left us no other option but to cut through someone’s front yard. Thankfully, the truck we had stolen was not graceful, but it easily handled rough terrain. It lumbered over the curb, crushing a small pink bicycle and obliterating what was left of the mailbox out front. Shards of the wooden post flew up into the windshield and ricocheted in all directions.