Then, the real challenge begins. But after what happened to Toby, my resolve to save Mira has tripled. Toby's death gave me a boost of adrenaline laced intensity to get back and do whatever it takes to make sure my father does everything he can to save her.
I glance beside me at Ming, who sits quietly. She catches my gaze, and leans over to place a warm hand on my arm.
“It's going to be okay,” she shouts above the noise. “We're going to save her and find that cure for everybody else.”
I wish I could share the optimism, but I know we're fighting an uphill battle. I'm in a bad place and my options are crappy at best.
I can't figure the best way to try to save Mira. At first, I considered charging into the fortress, guns blazing. I would send Ming to Mira to watch over her while I hunted down Damian and threatened to torture or kill him unless he saved her. The problem with that is I know very little about his personality other than the fact that he seems like a cold-hearted snake. But for all I know, no amount of threatening or violence will work.
Of course, there's always the possibility that Damian knows of my failure and Mira is already... I stop myself. I can't even think the thought. No, I refuse to even consider that possibility.
There's another problem as well. Even though I hate him and would love to put an end to his miserable existence, Damian is very likely the only person in the world that can combat this new strain of The Virus being carried by animals. As much as it makes me want to scream, I can't justify killing off the only man who may be able to truly save humanity from this hell we're living in.
I shake my head in frustration for the thousandth time since waking from my recovery. I may only have one true option, and I can only pray that Damian will be reasonable enough to consider it. I can go to him and plead and beg that he save Mira with my promise that no matter what it takes or how long, I will track down Archer and finish the job. Even the thought of subjecting myself to him makes bile rise in my throat and engulfs me with a feeling of strangulation. The idea of being at his mercy is completely and utterly repulsive, but what better choice do I have. I know in my heart I'll do whatever it takes to save Mira. Even if it meant my own life, I'd do it without a second thought.
The surly man from the run-down townhouse was good to his word. We found the Wraith fully fueled and prepped for the return flight to Santa’s shop of horrors.
When I first brought the helicopter over the field to land, I had a few moments of panic. The jet was gone, or so I believed. But upon closer inspection, as we loomed nearer to the ground, I could see that it was still there, only covered by a massive camouflage tarp.
This time there was no Fester attack. We quickly stripped the tarp from the jet, climbed aboard, and were in the air again within fifteen minutes.
Now the Wraith streaks across the night sky, the moon looming large and foreboding outside my canopy. On occasion I catch a glimpse of the ocean far below, but it’s difficult to see. It’s desolate and dark, much like my state of mind. It stretches on seemingly without end, but before long, we’re over the ice shelf, and the waves fall behind us.
Ming speaks for the first time in a long while, her voice crackling over the headset in my helmet.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
I say nothing, ashamed to say it, but I know what I’ll do. I know what I must do.
“Cray?” she says when I don’t respond.
I take a trembling breath and hold it in, trying to quiet my nerves. I swallow hard. “I’m going to beg,” I say, the words distasteful. “I’m going to promise I will keep going until I kill Archer as long as he saves Mira.”
I expect her to say something along the lines of how begging is beneath me, that I should have more pride than that. Instead, she speaks softly, and what she says tears at my heart.
“There’s no shame in that.” Her voice is gentle, kind. “In your position, I would do exactly the same thing – whatever I had to. I don’t know what I can do, but you don’t have to go through this alone.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. Not without breaking down. After everything that’s happened, I feel like I’m losing control. My mind is exhausted, my body wracked with pain and desperate for rest. But there’s no end in sight. There’s nothing but to push through the agony.
I think of Andrew, and find myself again whispering a prayer of desperation. God help me. Don’t let me lose her. I don’t think I could survive it.
Beneath me, the giant bird continues on through the night, every second drawing me closer to the inevitable confrontation.
“Roger black bird, you’re cleared for landing.”
I pilot the Wraith over the arctic landscape, the fortress growing ahead, larger and larger, a black smudge on the pure white of its surroundings. To the north, the gargantuan hangar door rolls upward to reveal the chasm leading to the underground runway, and I angle the fighter towards it.
I hear Ming's voice crackle over the headset. “We're landing in there? You've got to be kidding me. Uh, can I just get out now?”
I don't bother to answer. This is easy for me, even if my mind is sluggish and filled with thoughts about Mira and convincing Damian to save her. I'm almost working automatically as I steer the jet through the maw, expertly touching down on the runway mere seconds after clearing the hangar door. A minute later, and we're climbing down from the jet, three of Damian's guards forming a welcoming committee in front of us.
“Good to have you back,” one of them says. He doesn't sound convincing.
“Who's the girl?” the man in the lead asks.
“She's a friend. She's been helping me. She's not a threat.”
Despite my assurances he brings his machine gun up to bear on Ming who immediately raises her hands innocently.
“I'll let Damian be the judge of that,” he says. “Until then, she stays here under guard. You're free to go, Cray. He's been notified of your arrival and is waiting for you in his office.”
I turn to Ming. Her face shows concern, but no fear that I can discern. She's definitely a tough girl.
“Don't worry,” I say. “You'll be alright until I get back.”
“I'm fine. Do what you need to,” she says giving me a pointed look. “I'll just be hangin' with the boys here.”
I turn to walk away, but my feet get tangled and I fall to one knee. Ming and one of the guards are there in a flash pulling me up.
“Are you okay?” Ming says.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired.” It’s a lie. I feel like death.
Ming isn’t convinced, but she knows what I’m facing and doesn’t protest.
I move to the elevator, but not before giving “the boys” a look that says if Ming comes to any harm, it'll be the worst mistake they've ever made.
The elevator ride from the hangar bay to the main floor feels interminable. I tap my foot, my thoughts screaming through my brain in near incoherence. Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm me, and I feel faint, sick, addled.
I’ll go to Damian as quickly as possible to plead my case, but first I have to check on Mira. I have to see that she is still there, still okay.
The elevator door opens and I stumble out, forcing my feet to move, but feeling like they’re as heavy as stones. I pass through the dome. The people there stare at my haggard, beaten appearance with open mouths, but I ignore them and keep moving.
Someone breaks off from the crowd, a massive man with rippled muscles, and comes up beside me.
“Cray!”
“Not now, Graelin,” I say.
He grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop. “Please,” he says.
I reach out and close my fist around his throat, leaning into his face, my voice a menacing snarl.
“I said, not now!”
He stares back at me, but not with anger. He nods, pulls my hand away, backs up, then turns the other way and runs off.
Nobody else approaches, and I leave.
Minutes later, I walk into the room where Mi
ra’s metagenic chamber is and stride over to it, dizziness engulfing me. My legs feel like jelly. A distant warning bell chimes in my head. I’ve pushed myself too hard for too long. My body is fighting against me, my mind dulled. But that only reminds me of Mira’s body short circuiting, and I shake my head angrily to clear it.
I lean over the tube, and my heart stops. She’s not there! Oh God!! Please, God, don’t let her be gone! Don’t let her be…
With a surge of adrenaline, I run, crashing through the hallways, toppling people in my way, my emotions stretched beyond their breaking point. The world becomes one long, dark tunnel of misery.
If she’s gone…
At last I reach Damian’s office. The automatic door slides open at my approach, and there he is. He rises quickly from behind his chair and circles around his desk.
“Cray…” but I grab him, pushing him back against the desk, the things on top sliding off and hurtling to the floor.
“Did you kill her?” I growl. “Did you let her die?”
He shakes his head vehemently.
“No, no. She’s fine. Listen, just calm down.”
Alive?! I feel a trickle of hope, but can he be trusted? I have to trust him. I can’t deal with the other possibility. I’ll break.
I release him and back up a few steps and point a shaky finger in his face.
“No you listen. Make no mistake about it. I hate you. I will always hate you. I hate that you're my father, and I hate that my...”
“Cray...” Damian begins again, but I cut him off.
“No! Just listen.” My voice threatens to crack, and I'm not sure if it's with emotion or disgust, but either way, I know what I have to do, so I swallow hard and continue. “Whatever it takes, I'll find him. I'll track Archer down and kill him, if I have to hunt him to the ends of the Earth.”
“Alex...” he tries again, the first time I've ever heard him use my real name.
“Please, let me finish. I'll do whatever I have to, just don't let her die.” I suck in a long, ragged breath. “Please.”
Now that I'm through it, Damian stands there looking at me as several seconds pass. I try to gauge what he might be thinking, but I have no way to know for sure. Everything inside me wants to scream, to lash out, to retch at the torment I feel inside, but instead, I stand quietly, exhausted, waiting for his verdict, my head hung low, my desperation almost tangible.
Finally he speaks, taking a small step towards me, then stopping as if he's uncertain.
“You don't understand, son.”
Something snaps. Something elemental. Son. I feel something rising in me at the sound of the word, something dark and horrible and violent and foul. Despite everything I've felt to this moment, my grief and hatred multiply to a new level. I have a vague awareness of my body starting to tremble with rage. Before I know it I'm on top of him, slamming him to the ground. He's crying out in fear and pain as I bring my fist down onto his face once, twice, three times...and in that instant, I know, I can't stop myself. Logic screams at me to spare his life, this man who could save the world, save Mira, but something wicked and mad drives me...four....blood covers his face and my fist, I’ve completely lost control of reason...he chokes out something unintelligible...five...!
The door explodes inward like it's been smashed with a battering ram. Whatever hit it was moving too fast for the sensors to have time to react. I turn, startled, and I barely have time to look up before the name leaves her mouth.
“Cray!!”
Mira stands there in the doorway, her eyes filled with horror at the scene before her. Suddenly, I feel light headed, and I slump backward off of Damian's chest, only now aware of the burning tears coursing down my face. I sit there looking at her, dumbfounded. I can't make sense of what I'm seeing, can't process it.
She stands there, silhouetted against the bright lights of the hallway beyond, lovely as an angel, and I almost start to believe I'm hallucinating. The beautiful creature before me is nothing like the one I left.
Chapter 23
Her face is the same, radiant and perfect, green eyes glittering in the lights like diamonds, her jet-black hair pulled back in her requisite ponytail. But that's not what leaves me breathless, because there's been a transformation.
She's wearing a tank top and loose fitting shorts, looking for all the world like a runner going out for a jog, except her feet are bare, like they were that night on the roof of the Soho so many months ago. I can see the change due to the fit and reveal of her clothes, but even if she were wearing a trench coat, I would know the difference immediately just from the change in her stance.
The backs of her calves and thighs are partially visible from my angle, and I'm stupefied. The gouges are gone, the nasty trench-like scars that marred her body have disappeared, her muscles and sinews smooth like a living sculpture.
I'm still sitting on the floor when she moves first, like a flash, and pulls me up and bodily into a crushing hug. Fresh pain shoots through my own battered body, but I don't care. I'm already running my hands up and down her back, her shoulders, her neck. Nothing. No wounds. No damage.
“I don't understand,” I stammer. “You're alive. You’re okay.”
“Yes,” she whispers gently into my ear, squeezing me tighter. Her body is warm against mine, and I feel like I have no strength left, but she keeps me up, her arms powerful, yet gentle.
I'm dimly aware of movement behind me as several people rush into the room to Damian's side. I feel like I'm coming out of a haze, but the pieces start clicking into place, and I'm even more confused than before. Despite the fact that Damian forced me to try to kill Archer at the expense of Mira's life, he did the opposite of what he threatened and repaired the damage to her body. Or he cloned her. That thought makes me sick.
“Are you a clone?” I say. My speech is slurred, my tongue thick, uncooperative.
“No. It’s me.”
A fresh wave of tears pours from my eyes. I lean back to look at her.
“Mira…” I say the name, then agony hits me. My chest constricts. It feels like something is crushing me. I…can’t…breathe. I fall.
Chapter 24
Mira
I stand over Cray, wires and tubes snaking from his body. Like me before, he lies in the restoration tube. Damian said it would be best to incubate him. He’s been through a terrible ordeal, and his body is a mess. I’ve been worried sick about him, but nothing compared to the fear I felt when that stricken look twisted his face as his heart gave out.
For the hundredth time I think about what his mental state must be, and I force the thoughts from my head. I can’t dwell on it long without breaking down. I can’t imagine the stress and mental suffering he experienced on Damian’s mission. Damian thought he could handle it. I on the other hand, am a little more concerned with Cray’s ongoing sanity. Bodies heal. Sometimes psyches don’t.
The tube itself is a scaled down version of the cloning chambers that Damian uses. Though unable to produce a clone from conception to full growth, it is able to restore tissue and correct damage.
Cray’s eyes are closed in an induced coma while his body heals.
My thoughts go back to the snow, the day I was going to tell him everything, the day I collapsed and nearly died. At the time, I thought it best to tell all, but now I’m not so sure. Cray is one of the strongest, most resilient people I’ve ever known, but looking at him now, he seems so fragile. Perhaps Damian was right. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid for a time. It can be overwhelming to suddenly have everything you know flipped upside down.
Ming has been checking in on Cray periodically while learning everything she can about the fortress. I’m thankful for her. Without her help, Cray would probably be dead. She seems nice enough, if a little stand-offish. She has a tough exterior, and from what I can make out, she’s even tougher on the inside.
She told me how Cray found her and about her history as a Sweeper and faking her own death. She told me the way Cray’s a
ttempt on Archer’s life failed miserably. I’m glad. Even though he’ll have to live with the fact that he tried to do it, at least he won’t have to live with knowing he killed him in cold blood.
Also, she’s had several conversations with Damian behind closed doors, but I haven’t been privy to them and neither one of them are wanting to share it seems.
And so I spend the next several days in the same way, standing vigil over Cray, and thinking, always thinking. After three days, it’s safe for him to come out of the incubator and he’s moved to our apartment. As Graelin and I move him from the stretcher to the bed, he stirs and opens his eyes, his consciousness slowly coming back.
I smile, and lay a hand gently on his forehead.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice husky and dry sounding.
“Your heart failed.”
“Sheesh. Are you serious?”
He tries to sit up, but falls back onto the bed.
“Easy. It takes a while for the weakness and grogginess to wear off.” I can see the question in his eyes. “You’ve been in the same type of incubator Damian put me in to heal my wounds. You were pretty beat up.”
He manages a frown. “How long?”
“Just a few days.” I can tell he’s not happy about that, but I don’t really care. “You needed it.”
Cray spies Graelin standing on the other side of the bed and offers a weak smile. Graelin smiles and nods in return, then excuses himself.
“He came to get me,” I say. “When you came back intent on killing your father.”
The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 16
