Ballistic: Icarus Series, Book Two

by Aria Michaels

  He picked the animal up by its midsection to get a closer look. Its head flopped lifelessly against its chest as he raised it to eye level. Christa groaned in disgust. Eli grabbed its front leg and stretched it out to the side until the vestigial flap of skin behind the elbow was stretched as far as it would go. He cocked his head to the side again and moved the penlight close enough that his face was just inches from the creatures. His light shined straight through the translucent tissue.

  He turned the creature over onto its back and inspected its abdomen, lifting each of its legs and pressing at the junctures where limbs met the creature’s trunk. After a few more moments of complete silence, Eli set the creature back down and took the penlight from his mouth.

  “We are in trouble,” Eli said wiping the sweat from his brow on his shirtsleeve.

  “What is it?” Jake asked.

  “Our carnivorous little friend here has a fully developed set of gills,” Eli said. “Stranger still is the fact that aside from mammaries, it doesn’t appear to have any visible sex organs. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it is most likely internally hermaphroditic. If it’s a true amphibian, it could also be regenerative.”

  “Great,” Jake said sinking back onto his heels. “Just freaking great!”

  “It’s really quite impressive, from a scientific standpoint.” Eli stared at the creature in awe.

  “Sorry?” Ty shook his head in confusion. “I think I missed something.”

  “He’s saying that in addition to being venomous and having razor-sharp teeth and claws, our precious little scritter can also breathe on land or under water,” Jake said in a huff. “As an added bonus they seem to hunt in swarms. Even if we did manage to separate them, there’s a good chance they can reproduce on their own. Hell, if they’re amphibious, they can probably regenerate lost body parts, too.”

  “And let’s not forget the fact that they are apparently prone to frenzy,” Eli added.

  “In other words, we are screwed,” I said.

  “Basically, yeah,” Jake said.

  Chapter 8

  Blame Game

  After his examination, Eli stuffed the scritter into a plastic shopping bag from Jake’s pack, tied it shut and shoved it into the corner closest to the door. None of us wanted to be any closer to the thing than necessary. Its presence in our unfortunate sanctuary reminded us that there were hundreds of them on the other side of the vault door waiting to tear us apart.

  Time quickly lost all meaning. Minutes melted into hours. Eventually, exhaustion set in. With a little help from a valium from the med kit, Riley was sleeping soundly in her corner of the room, her head on Falisha’s shoulder. Jake and Christa had each claimed a spot on opposite sides of the vault. As much as the two of them fought, I couldn’t help but laugh when I noticed they had both fallen asleep in the same position; flat on their backs with their right arms over their faces.

  Eli had been the last of the group to fall asleep. The sound of him snoring was not exactly music, but it was a welcome reprieve from his constant battery of questions. As soon as he had discovered the scritter’s odd adaptations, the inquisition began. The list of queries he directed at Zander and me had been endless and overwhelming, but I had done my best to remain patient and answer to the best of my ability.

  That is until he ventured into the territory of reproduction. I was forced to make a hard line in the sand. I had no idea how much time we would have to spend in that vault. I refused to spend a single minute of it having “the talk” with Dr. Elias Given.

  Bella was asleep at my side with her head draped across my lap. Her front paw twitched, and she yipped softly in her sleep. I slowly stroked the soft fur behind her ears. Her sleek coat felt like silk against my dry, cracked hands. Sliding my fingers through it calmed me. I only wished there was something I could do to help Zander.

  For reasons we did not yet understand, the scritters presence had an adverse effect on Zander’s body. The closer they were to him, the more hypersensitive and agitated he got. Though his eyes had lost their inky glaze, he was still on edge and anxious; desperately climbing out of his own skin and shying away from all contact.

  Ultimately, Eli had recommended the same treatment he had given Riley. After a bit of persuading on my part, Zander had finally relented. It killed me to see him in pain and not be able to comfort him. At the moment, my touch would only cause more pain. Bella lay between us, a living, breathing buffer to span the distance that had been growing between us since we arrived here.

  “Can’t sleep, neither, huh?” Ty’s voice was dry and gravelly.

  “Not so much,” I said handing him a bottle of water. “How’s the leg?”

  “Just fine, I reckon.” He took a drink and handed it back to me. “That’s all thanks to you, I hear. Jake told me what you did for me. You gave me your blood. I can’t thank you enough for that, Liv.”

  “Please don’t do that, Ty.” I shook my head and took a swig from the bottle before capping it and stashing it back in my bag. “You wouldn’t have even needed the blood to begin with if it hadn’t been for my stupidity. You took a bullet because I acted without thinking. If anything, you should be pissed off at me, not thanking me.”

  “You kiddin’ me?” Ty narrowed his eyes at me and laughed. “Liv, that crazy guy with the sawed-off was the one who shot me, not you. You was just tryin’ to stop that bastard from hurtin’ anybody was all. Here you are actin’ like you was the one who pulled the dang trigger? Naw, that ain’t how it works darlin’.”

  “How what works?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “The world— life, however you wanna put it.” Ty shrugged and scooted closer along the wall. “My gran always used to say that people take blame that don’t belong to them because it’s easier than admittin’ that some stuff is outta their control. You ain’t the one that shot me, and you sure as heck didn’t shove in front of that bullet, Liv. You just wanna be mad at something so you up and picked yourself.”

  “I don’t know, maybe.” I slid Bella’s ear between my fingers and let it flop back against her head. “That’s surprisingly poignant, Ty.”

  “I have my moments,” he smiled proudly. “I know I ain’t the sharpest pitchfork in the hay, but if there’s one thing I get, it’s wantin’ to change things I ain’t got no control over.”

  Ty’s eyes glinted in the faint light of the single torch that was lit between us. He got this far-away look on his face and fidgeted with the frayed edge of what was left of his blood-soaked blue jeans. Eli had sliced straight up his pant leg during his impromptu surgery. Between Ty’s near-death experience and the scritter attack, wardrobe changes had not been high on the list of priorities.

  “There’s a pair of cargos in Zan’s bag that should fit you,” I offered pointing to the gray pack by my feet. “I’m sure he won’t mind. Besides, everyone else is asleep, so now’s your chance.”

  “Thanks,” he nodded and reached for the bag. The shorts were right on top, so he slid them free, closed the bag, and rose to his feet slowly. He reached for the button on his jeans and undid it, then froze where he stood. “Oh, hey. Would ya mind?”

  “Right, sorry.” I covered my eyes and turned away feeling my face heat. Crap! Had I been staring? Suddenly self-conscious, I blurted the first thing that popped into my head. “So…Tennessee, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ty laughed softly. “My family owns the Ramblin’ Rose Ranch down there in Cold Creek. The Triple R, my daddy calls it.”

  “What’s it like there?” I heard his jeans drop to the floor and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “You’d love it there, Liv. It’s real pretty, and the weather is just perfect,” Ty whispered as he wrestled into the shorts. “Our ranch is set in the valley and surrounded by fields and forests far as the eye can see. You can look now.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said, turning toward him as he fastened the snap on the shorts. I tried not to notice how tightly they fit him. “So, what on Earth made you come to
Illinois, of all places?”

  “Long story,” Ty dodged my gaze and lowered himself back down to the floor. “I had a fallin’ out with my dad. We agreed it might be best for me to head out on my own.”

  “Seriously?” My brow furrowed. “You’re what, sixteen?”

  “In a couple of months, yeah.” Ty sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

  “That sucks,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Ty said. “Anyways, I don’t reckon any of that matters anymore.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “When we was in that holdin’ cell at the hospital, some of the people was talkin’,” Ty leaned in. “They had overheard some of the soldiers. Sounds like most of the big cities were gettin’ bombed on accounta the virus.”

  “Jesus, are you serious?” I whispered looking around to make sure no one had overheard.

  “Yeah,” Ty shook his head. “My family’s place is just outside of Memphis, Liv. What are the odds that it would survive a blast big enough to level a city that size?”

  “That’s horrible,” I said reaching out to put my hand on his. “I’m so sorry, Ty.”

  “See, there you go again,” he smirked, but there was little amusement there. “It sucks for sure, but ain’t none of it your fault any more than it’s mine, so you ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for. Sometimes bad stuff just happens, is all. All you can do is figure out how to deal.”

  The silence stretched out between us, but neither of us felt the need to fill it. After a few minutes of quiet, Ty finally fell asleep. I clicked off the flashlight and let my eyes adjust to the darkness as I continued to stroke Bella’s fur. I wished I could shut off the thoughts racing through my mind and sleep like the rest of them. Not because I was tired but because I was sick of the constant noise in my head.

  Constant worry over my brother’s safety was bouncing around in there along with the fear that something horrible may have happened to him. Guilt over what I had done to Gunther, as well as how things had gone down with Micah swirled together with the weight of the lies I had been telling by saying nothing. Zander was suffering, and the rest of them were in constant danger by simply being near me.

  Eli was right about one thing. There was something different about me; about my blood.

  I didn’t know what that something was, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was going to get everyone I loved killed.

  Chapter 9

  Camp Seco

  (Lucas)

  “I don’t like it here, Mommy.” Jazz crossed her arms and glared at her mother. “The sky is scary, and those men are mean to us. I want Daddy, and I want to go home.” She stomped to emphasize the last word.

  “Jazz, honey, this is home,” Layla said flatly. “Everything will be fine.”

  She didn’t even look at her daughter when she spoke. The lies tumbled from Layla’s mouth and into her lap as she sorted through the meager box of rations they had been given at processing.

  The soldiers had taken everything from them when they arrived. By sheer force of will (as well as the volume of her tantrum), Jazz had managed to retain possession of Chewy. She clutched the ratty, stuffed toy tightly to her chest and buried her face in his fur.

  For just a moment, Lucas missed his Courage. That manky old lion had gotten him through some pretty scary times. He shook away the memory as fast as it had snuck up on him. The old Lucas had been childish, and it was time to put away childish things.

  “I have an idea, Jazz,” Lucas said forcing a smile across his face. “How about you, me, and Bo go exploring, huh? It’ll be fun.”

  “Curfew is in less than thirty minutes. Don’t go far,” Layla said absently, all emotion gone from her voice.

  “We won’t,” Lucas said grabbing Jazz’s hand.

  “Where are we going, Skywalker,” the girl whispered conspiratorially.

  “Anywhere but here.” Lucas looked over his shoulder at the mannequin that had replaced his foster mother.

  He had been trying his best not to judge Layla for the way she was acting, but it was becoming more and more difficult as the hours stretched on. The light had left her eyes when the soldiers had told them what happened to Chicago. It was as if something had broken inside of her. Lucas wasn’t sure if it could be fixed.

  “Come on, guys,” Bo muttered scowling at Layla. “Let’s blow this crap heap.”

  “Language, Bo.” Layla cocked her head to the side, staring blankly at the plain white box in her hand labeled, sanitary.

  It was as if she hadn’t heard herself speak. The rhetorical scolding had been more a reflex than anything else. Her body was here, but her heart and mind were buried somewhere in the smoldering ruins of Chicago. The Layla that remained was little more than a husk.

  The three of them walked together down the long row of bunk beds, ducking and weaving their way through the chaos as they went. Finally, they emerged into the corridor. Soldiers in white bio-masks marched back and forth with their guns at their shoulders. They turned up their noses at the refugees who littered the hallways. Some of the people were still sobbing over their losses while others argued quietly amongst themselves. Most simply stared off into the distance as they meandered aimlessly about.

  Even the brightest of souls felt lost in this dark place.

  From the moment they had all been rescued, Lucas and the other “grays” had been treated more like livestock than people. They were shoved onto trucks and packed in so tightly that they were forced to stand the entire time. The ride had been hot, bumpy, and miserable. A few people had even gotten sick along the way. There was nowhere to go to escape the smell or the vile liquid that ran up and down the bed of the truck with every turn and stop.

  When the refugees arrived, they were shoved from the back of the truck and separated into two lines. The men went one direction and the women and young children another. From there, they were herded into the restrooms where they were required to urinate into a small cup. As was his nature, Bo had fought the guards on this. Ultimately, his struggle did little more than delay the inevitable.

  Once their “samples” had been collected and their pride effectively crushed, the groups were then escorted to the Refugee Processing Center. Aged folding tables lined with hotel-style toiletries, slippers, and stacks of muddy gray scrubs formed a perimeter around the room, each manned by soldiers in strangely colored uniforms.

  “Name?”

  The woman who sat behind the first table sounded bored. When Lucas didn’t answer immediately, she sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

  “Name, please?” She folded her hands on top of her clipboard and looked up at him from behind the rim of her protective white mask.

  “Luca—,” he stammered. “Just Luke.”

  “Wonderful.” She tapped her pen impatiently against the form in front of her. “And do you have a last name, Just Luke?”

  Bo stepped toward him and shook his head furiously. Don’t give them your real name, Bo’s eyes said. Lucas squared his shoulders. He was tired of keeping that part of him quiet. Foster kid, or not, he had family out there, and to deny his name was to deny his blood.

  “Larson,” Lucas said with his head held high. “Luke Larson.”

  “Wait your turn, gray,” another masked soldier shoved Bo back with the butt of his gun.

  “Okay, Mr. Larsen,” she said not looking up as she scribbled on her paper. “Any dietary restrictions, allergies, or pre-existing medical conditions we need to be aware of?”

  “No,” Lucas said firmly. “I am—”

  “He has asthma,” Layla chimed in. Lucas hadn’t even noticed as she and Jazz made their way over from the line of women on the other side of the room. “Bo, here, is diabetic and my daughter, Jasmine, has Down’s Syndrome.”

  “Seriously?” Bo glared at Layla, but she was so busy trying to wrangle Jazz she didn’t notice.

  “Gray number 219, asthma, got it.” She scribbled something on the form and then turned the page.

&
nbsp; The top of the next form was marked Camp Seco Designation- Pending Retinal Scan. There was a large empty box at the top of the page labeled administrative notes.

  Below that was a section of fine print Lucas was sure the human eye could not discern. What had him worried were the last four, bold letter lines at the bottom of the page. Each had a checkbox next to it that spoke of finality.

  Adaptive (Include Compatible Pair Match)

  Draft

  Drone

  Extraction

  Whatever that last one was, the word alone made his skin crawl. He tried to get more info, but the woman caught him snooping. She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes at him, then tilted the clipboard back so he could no longer see the documents it held.

  “Now,” she said, adjusting her mask. “Any special skills or contributions?”

  “Like what?” Lucas narrowed his eyes in confusion. “I’m nine.”

  “It’s on the form, kid. I have to ask,” she droned without looking up. “Examples include, but are not limited to, military combat training, medical or paramedical education, law enforcement instruction, mechanical or technical proficiency, nutritional planning or meal prep, marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, etcetera.”

  “I am really good at the claw game. Oh, and I can touch my nose with my tongue,” Lucas smirked and stuck out his tongue to demonstrate.

  “Right.” The woman shielded her page, drew a mark at the very bottom, and closed it before Lucas could see. Once complete, she pulled the papers free of the clip and slid them into a plain, beige folder. At the top of it, she wrote Larson, Luke, and then dropped it onto the pile next to her. “Please remove your shoes and proceed to station two.”

  As the boys made their way around the room, they were slowly stripped of everything that represented the outside world. Their clothes and shoes were confiscated and dumped into a rolling bin marked incinerate. They were outfitted with a set of baggy, gray scrubs and a pair of equally depressing paper-thin slip-ons.