by Aral Bereux
The narrow river continued its aggressive course downstream, bubbling over the jagged rocks, making it dangerous to cross even for the most experienced outdoorsmen. To abandon such a key location must have bothered Caden just as much as her thought of him removing the pin from the map. The blue were outnumbered three to one by the red pins. She knew very well who the blue pins were, they weren’t Militia.
Taris was winning his battle and Caden liked the drink a little too much. He wasn’t what she remembered.
Still, twelve months in the Rebellion would change anyone, and judging by his impeccable record, Caden and Bas had experienced more frontline action than anyone should ever experience in a war. They were the key to the west front. A strong hold. Most camps had retreated; some obliterated under attack. Theirs was the last camp standing.
Katherine added to the insult – she was just another casualty, but one that hurt them. It was in Bastiaan’s eyes more than Caden’s, but they were hurting as much as the next person was. She sighed at the thought. All she wanted was for her mind to quieten down. Just for one moment of peace.
She startled.
He crouched with her knife extended by the blade tip, held precariously between his fingertips, waiting for her to take it. She hadn’t heard his footsteps, but he was there. Under the moonlight, he looked as he had on the eventful night of their meeting, but for his heavy eyes betraying him. He looked weary.
Their lingering kiss backstage at the club flooded back to her.
‘It has an extra score.’ Caden held it out again. ‘Since the other night.’
She took it gently and folded it into the pocket of her pants, wincing at the pain it caused. ‘I like to keep track. His name was Shaw. Katherine worked with him at Command.’
‘I didn’t intend my abruptness. It’s not been the easiest of days.’ He paused. ‘You dancing up there the other night...’ She saw his smile. ‘Damn, girl, I’ve been thinking all day I should’ve slipped you a fifty and taken you out back for more.’
The mood lightened. His attempt at an apology worked. A laugh escaped them both and his nose crinkled a little at the bridge as he glanced in her direction. She studied his face as he studied hers before they broke their gazes for the river and trees behind it. It was dark on the other side; it was dark behind them. The stars were thick and bright and the trees danced in the low breeze. She stretched her legs. Blood trickled into her pants and the dampness caught by the band of her knickers made them tug more at the damaged skin.
‘Christ,’ she said quietly, peering down her pants.
‘Been asking about you. Last I heard, you were chasing intel for the Guild – of all prets, I might add. You know they hate us watchers, what were you thinking?’ He worked his legs so he could sit beside her. The sharpness of the stones didn’t bother him.
Her hand slipped between the band of her pants and her stomach to move the uncomfortable rub of material. A wave of relief washed over her and the sting eased. The mention of the Guild was unexpected. Had Isis known after all about her stint with them? He’d never mentioned it and she’d worked hard to keep it hidden. The sound of the water passed them by and they sat in each other’s company, listening to the acoustic ringing its song.
‘I’m not a watcher,’ she said quietly.
‘You’re elusive, missy, that’s what you are.’
She nodded. ‘Coming from the Master watcher himself.’
His face eased. ‘Don’t worry yourself about the comms. We have codes on them for this reason.’
She felt the strain.
‘Tell me he doesn’t have the codes,’ he said. ‘J Rae?’ He turned to her and waited, and she looked up at him with an apologetic gaze. ‘Please tell me I’m right.’
She shook her head regretfully and he cast a stone into the river that he’d hastily grabbed. It dropped heavily under the white foam.
‘I’m sorry, Taris was—’
‘You can camp in my crib tonight. We’ll sort a bed for you once we’re settled at the new location.’
‘I’m heading back in the morning,’ she said.
He cast another stone into the water. ‘Don’t think Isis wants you back right now.’ He paused. ‘We’re trying to keep you safe and now you’re making it hard.’
‘Taz has someone I want. Today he added to it, so once I help you guys bug out, I’ll be heading east.’
‘And right into a road block,’ he warned dully. ‘From here to the Sectors will be covered by now, anticipating that very move. Can’t let you make that mistake, sorry.’
They sat in more silence as the river flowed and the music slowed down.
‘Hal offers his hellos,’ she said.
A grin spread across his face. ‘The Gatehouse.’ His head bobbed. ‘I’m surprised the tetchy old coot let you leave alive. He’s a prickly old bastard.’
‘Old as you?’It slipped out, except it didn’t. She wanted to ask. She wanted to know about the man who crept into her dreams late at night, into her mind when escaping a patrol chase. She needed to know. Did he feel the same way about her? She wondered. Hell, he knew about the Guild; if he knew about them, he knew everything; he didn’t need to ask questions.
He pursed his lips and gave her shoulder a gentle nudge with his. ‘I look good for my delicate age.’
‘You do.’ she felt herself blush. ‘I mean—’
Oh, shut up, Julianna.
He teased her with a knowing smile. ‘Been around long enough, but no. Not as old as Hal. Not even close.’ The music from the campfire made his foot tap at a rock.
‘Who’s the guy behind the bar?’
His eyes narrowed and his foot stopped tapping. The tension between them returned, and the pardon was gone. He stood, brushed himself down, and extended his hands for her to take.
‘Danny’s no good.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘You’d do well to stay away from him.’
The comment dwarfed the pain settling in her side again. Not trouble, not dangerous, not painful – just no good. He’s no good. His free hand patted his empty shirt pocket in frustration as he looked around the camp. He was habitually searching for his cigarettes while still holding her hand. ‘Let him fight his own battles.’
‘Oh, okay, Cade. Sure. If you say so.’ Her feet sank into the ground on his first step forward, breaking their hands apart. ‘Even if he did save our backsides today.’
He turned and his hands ran through his last pocket. He’d found them. His eyes set down upon her small stature as he lit his cigarette. She knew when someone was sizing her up. A stream of smoke left his mouth. He pulled some of it back in.
‘No last name?’ she asked.
He turned toward the camp, dismissing her with a hand cutting through the air. The glow of his cigarette left a flicker of ash raining down like small fireworks.
‘No last name?’ she called again.
‘Nope.’ He continued walking.
‘Won’t Hal be pissed?’
‘Hal’s always pissed, J Rae.’ He didn’t turn back. His last reaction was a shake from his head as he joined his crew at the campfire. Caden took the guitar offered and he embraced it, taking his seat on an upturned crate to pluck at its strings.
Julianna heard her name whispered as part of the entertainment. She tried to ignore them as she strolled past, but Bastiaan’s uncomfortable gaze invaded her mind, beckoning for her attention. Anything would have done; he wanted her to look up, and when she did, he returned the gesture with arrogant smugness.
She returned to the tent. Its warmth hugged her sore body. She slapped at a biting insect on her shoulder and unfastened the netting to be zipped down so the door could be left ajar. Caden watched. She watched back. His hands strummed random chords before making sense of them and she lowered her eyes to break his hold. She made her slow, agonizing way to the bed where she had woken. Where Katherine died. It haunted her. It was only the first day, but it haunted her.
The thought moved in circles. Katherine’s face
hovered over her as she rested on top of the blankets. A cool breeze rushed through the tent, but infection was settling in for the night. The rise in her temperature would keep her warm. The time passing went unnoticed as she drifted restlessly about in delusion. Caden filled her mind and Taris pushed him out. Shadows danced around the tent, grabbing their forms from unfamiliar objects. When she did open her eyes, the voices that stretched across the camp played havoc.
Whispers reached her cot where she rested. Lying in bed, she watched Caden outside, his head nodded at his brother’s words as they spoke in close quarters. His guitar swung loosely by its neck, gently rocking in his grasp, back and forth like a pendulum, as Bas continued to whisper in a low voice.
Others were retreating to their tents for their belongings, hurrying along, carrying possessions, offloading them into the Jeeps and then disappearing out of view again. The fire was barely an ember glowing in the dark, but it shared enough light with the moon that she could tell a bugout was being hurried.
Caden arrived in her view again as he shuffled on his feet and nodded attentively for his brother. His hand touched the netting and he pushed, relenting to hear more. It moved a few more times and a bug flew in, resting on her arm before she could slap it away. It attempted to prick her with its beak for a taste of her salty liquid. It flattened under her palm and she examined the trail it left as she rubbed her fingers together. It had died happy, rewarded with a full belly of her juice in the second it took to murder the little fucker.
In cases like that, it made her happy. A win against a minute bug made her happy. It didn’t take much these days, but she felt she had to take what life offered, and it wasn’t offering much. If she was still alive tomorrow – and she always thought the night was full of boundless opportunities in death – she’d find some repellent. No more bugs. This little fucker was the last.
The breeze stirred the netting opened again. The hint of rain reached her nose.
Caden ambled in. In the moment he connected with her eyes, his presence was strong, until the distraction from the lamp swinging above the table, stole his attention.
He dimmed the lantern. ‘You left it on.’
She attempted to close her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered and the need to vomit rose into her throat.
‘You okay, sweetheart?’
She didn’t answer, but the name he gave her reached deep and memories of her father sprung back. Her voice faltered. She shook her head. Answering meant hurling chunks. She had more control than that. She hoped.
Caden peered over her. ‘You can ride with me when we leave.’ His hand touched her arm, gliding along it until he lifted it to her cheek, feeling the sweat coating her skin. ‘Not much I can do until we settle again.’
She propped and his hand left her face. A chair slid across the floor under his command. The motion was simple and elegant for its heaviness. It moved behind him easily, taking him up to sit comfortably. He needn’t do anything but bend his legs and accept the courtesy the chair offered. The command was naturally sinister. He was someone to fear.
He’s on the Council, damn it! He led the Council.
Did she suppose she knew things about him? Not everything, but enough. The symbols painted under his skin suggested he was an ancient, but she pushed the thought aside. The absurdity of someone so important acting as a Rebellion Commander.
Still...I ran from the Council. The thought refused to leave her.
He was the very reason she had run from the Family. Tradition, honor, family, obedience.
She questioned the success she was having in keeping him from her thoughts and he smiled.
Not very, she thought.
He smiled more with his eyes darkening. You’re rambling.
‘You’re strong, even in fever.’ Caden looked down at her stomach and her singlet folded back under his power. ‘Not strong enough to heal yourself, though…but that takes training under a Master watcher.’ He held a gentle hand above her, his ability sunk Julianna into the mattress without touching her. ‘Be still,’ he said, and she felt locked inside the mattress curling around her body. Ever so slightly curling, but it was there, and everything else appeared to stop. ‘Just looking, not hurting.’
The tape peeled away, stubbornly raising the skin as he lifted each corner easing across to the next. Their eyes met for a moment before he lowered them again and the tape gave a final tear.
Somewhere inside, a scream reached out, and then she wanted to move. She felt the scream rise in her throat - screaming was better. She wanted to scream as the skin pulled and clawed out, while he ran his fingers gently around the wound, yet the scream never left her. Against her will, he pressed and studied the wound, provoking more pain with his examination.
‘It hurts, I know, but it’s infected. We need to clean it.’ He held a hand on her soft belly and waited. His power enticed her stillness against the bed again.
His hands searched along her thighs, for the knife he had returned earlier. She frowned at his uninvited touch inside her pocket, and he returned her response with a half-smile as he held it.
‘Gentle does it,’ he whispered, but she wasn’t convinced.
The handle released the blade with a flick of his wrist and his hand lingered over her belly. Her wide eyes pleaded, her head shook left to right. His gentle movement along her stomach hurt, and a tear rolled down her cheek when he edged the blade point beneath the first thread.
‘So, I’m curious.’ Pop! The blade slipped under the second and third sutures. His fingers pulled at the length of thread after that and it slipped through the holes that held them in place. ‘Why’d you refuse initiation?’
‘I thought you weren’t bugging out ‘til morning.’
‘Decided against it,’ he said. ‘Now answer my question.’
He clawed his hand and the whiskey bottle that Bas had slipped under the cot flew heavily into his palm. He curled his fingers around its square form and unscrewed its cap. The blood stained knife landed heavily on the mattress with the lid. He raised the bottle to his lips while she watched him. Her body returned slowly as his grasp lessened under the whiskey’s influence.
‘I needn’t answer that,’ she stated flatly.
He sat down on the chair again. ‘Because you don’t have an answer, or because of who I am?’ He tipped the bottle and the alcohol poured into her open wound.
Julianna released her pent up scream. Her back arched away from the mattress as the pain bolted through her. The burn from the alcohol was more than she could take and she wanted to smash him right between the eyes.
‘You sonofabitch!’ she yelled, and her body fell into the mattress into a sobbing, shaking, limp heap.
Let him think what he wants.
Her bottom lip quivered. ‘You could have warned me.’ She raised her head, ‘Fuck!’
‘It’s the only means for cleaning it.’ He locked her down again. ‘Here’s your next warning.’
A steady stream of whiskey fell into the wound again. The smell of strong alcohol wafted into her nose and the burn around the infected skin begged for his mercy.
She screamed again.
‘You’re making yourself a target.’ And he drank again until the bottle was empty. ‘And everyone around you.’
‘Cade? What the hell’s going on in here?’ Bas peered in.
The bottle dropped to the ground. She watched his expression change. Was he hiding that he shared some? His eyes were daring her. He raised his hand, her thoughts disappeared, and she screamed again. The loose thread he had cut away snaked its way back through her skin, drawing the sides tightly together until the bleeding stopped and a knot tied itself in the end.
‘All good. Just some post-surgery maintenance. We need some penicillin.’
‘Nothing in date. We need to scavenge again.’
Caden’s release washed over her body enough that she jumped to her feet. She massaged the hot skin around the crease of thread.
A familiar anxiety
rise and her temples ached.
It’s been a long time, old friend, but not today, no, no, please not...
‘My bike keys, where are they?’ The headache persisted.
No, not today.
‘Told you earlier Isis wants you out for a while,’ Caden said.
The dizziness took over and her fingers trembled as she flexed them for the keys again. ‘Now. Please.’
‘Been doing that long?’ he asked, and started pulling the blankets she had rested on, bunching them into a neat pile in the center of the mattress before folding it in half. ‘Headaches as well?’ He walked it to the door and propped it outside. With a wave of his hand, the cot folded onto itself and slipped obediently beside the mattress. ‘Nose bleeds? Having those yet? Hallucinations?’
Bas shrugged under her stare and began packing the shelf near Caden’s bed. The box with the tidy uniform came out and the books lowered into it with one swoop of his arm across the shelf. All the possessions he owned but for the guitar sat neatly in the carton.
‘You can’t force me to stay,’ she said.
‘You’re free to go.’ He leaned across the table to unfasten the pins on the map. His eyes focused on the blue ones. ‘By all means, Julianna, but you have a big, big fever, which, left untreated, could kill you, and you can barely stand.’ A red one rolled away and he chased it with his fingertips. ‘I don’t have the same courtesy as Isis. I won’t be bailing your sorry ass out of the camp down the road.’ The red pin dropped in the container. ‘Better things to do.’
‘I risked everything coming here to help you.’
‘Against your General’s command, I might add.’ The last pin dropped on the floor and he ignored it. ‘Appreciate it, but there’s a difference between saving someone you owe and saving someone because of stupidity.’ He rolled the map quickly. ‘Isis warned me you’d do this.’
He walked past her. The netting followed him out of the tent until it dropped back from its reach.
‘What the fuck was that about?’ She glanced outside. Caden started barking orders at his crew to hurry, he paced the grounds, checking each team and yelled some more.
