by B. C. Tweedt
Now he was panicking. His heart banged against his ribs as he raced to the walkie-talkie in a bin by the door. “Nest 1, come in. Nest 1, come in. This is Orphan, over.”
He glanced at his DOC and swiped through the perimeter cameras to a live feed from Liam. The feed was shaky and jumbled. There were large shapes amidst the flakes.
No answer. “Nest Two, come in. Nest Three? Nest Four? This is Orphan, over. Anyone?”
“This is Nest Four. I read you, Orphan. Got the results for me? How did Iowa…?”
There was a click and then nothing but static.
“Nest Four?”
Nothing.
“Nest Four?”
Greyson swung around, bounced to the hall to see the kids piling into the backroom, the adults desperately trying to keep them quiet. Beep flashed him a worried look.
He flashed one back and then raced back to the walkie bin where the silent alarm button was hidden under a childproof cap. He flipped it open and struck the button hard.
“Greyson?”
Greyson had forgotten Jarryd. He popped the phone to his ear and spoke hushed, but clear. “Jarryd. Listen. Do you know where the Hive is? At the base of the slope?”
“Yeah, yeah. Big green box?”
“Yes, yes. I need you to go there and open it up. It’s malfunctioning and I’m on the other side of camp. But be careful; they might be there already.” He paused, thinking to himself. He couldn’t bear to tell Jarryd who had betrayed them. How would Jarryd react? He needed Jarryd at his best, without having to deal with his brother.
“They? Who might be there?”
Greyson paced to the dark window and peered out. Silhouetted against the moonlight and the snowy crystals, a dark shape floated from above, heavy, but silent. The shape was of a man as he landed on the roof; his arms grabbed and rolled his parachute into a ball like a machine. And he knelt on the roof, a rifle’s barrel extending from his back against the moon. When the figure turned in Greyson’s direction, he saw a set of four orange eyes glowing dim and round – almost alien.
Greyson took a step away from the window and flicked off the lights. His hand still held the phone to his ear as he whispered the answer. “StoneWater.”
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Jarryd stood at the top of the slope with one foot on the snow and the other strapped to the snowboard, swishing it back and forth. He glanced at Avery with a raised brow, holding the phone out on speaker.
“StoneWater?” he asked. “Here, now?”
“Yes!” Greyson hushed. “Get Avery somewhere safe. The woods! Then get to the Hive.”
Avery’s gasp sent a shock up Jarryd’s spine, and he followed her gaze.
A dozen or more dark parachutes sailed over camp, twirling and floating toward the quiet roofs. The danger’s silence was terrifying.
“Okay, okay. Stay dangerous, G!” Jarryd whispered as he hung up.
Avery and Jarryd scanned the area, fighting off panic.
“Okay. The nest,” Jarryd said, spinning toward the woods. “You’ll stay there while I go to the Hive.”
Avery nodded her agreement and together they pushed at the snow with their free boots, sliding around a cluster of trees until Nest Four was in view. A hidden tree-house, the nest was the perfect lookout over the camp and the slope. They often talked to the sentry when snowboarding, because he was just a short jaunt from the lift.
For a moment, all seemed normal.
And then a limp body fell from the lookout, collapsing in the snow.
“Oh, my gosh!”
The man who had thrown the body appeared, with four glowing orange eyes peering at Jarryd and Avery. Though there was no emotion behind the eyes, Jarryd knew the evil behind them.
“GO!” Jarryd shouted.
They scooted as fast as their boards would take them on the fresh snow, putting trees between them and the killer.
WHIT-WHIT-WHIT-WHIT!
Bullets sliced through the air, cutting through branches and bark, snapping up snow around them as they caught a down slope and jumped on their boards. Still sliding, they squatted and strapped in their other feet.
“Stay close!” he yelled, approaching the drop-off.
She snapped her last clasp and locked eyes with him. Together they pulled their goggles down, slid to the edge, and leaped over.
WHIT-WHIT-WHIT-WHIT!
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Roman Dresvynin slunk across the snow toward the Convention Center, his rifle straight ahead, as if pulling him forward. Under his mask, his nosepiece whistled in the cold air, reminding him of his hatred for Rubicon with each breath. He had hoped they would have been drawn out of hiding by now – but their delay either implied their incompetence or their absence. He knew it must be the latter, and the disappointment nagged at him.
“Girl spotted,” came a report in Roman’s ear. “Top of slope. Escaped on snowboard.”
“The target?”
“No read.”
Roman seethed. “Biter, get her at the bottom of the slope. Remember – alive. Hyena, finish the Hive, now! Rest of you, clear your zones.”
He spotted a man making a run for his vehicle in the parking lot.
Poot-poot-poot!
His silenced rifle put him down with a short burst.
“No one gets out.”
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Greyson put on a smile for the kids huddled inside of the moonlit room. Some of the little ones covered their heads as if it were a terror drill they’d practiced in their old schools, but most were battling fear with murmured calls for their parents. The adults were trying to occupy the kids with stories and riddles and songs, but Drake’s squad crammed toward the doorway, ready for instructions.
“Listen. StoneWater’s here. With Rubicon gone, the Hive is our only shot of defending this camp. I’m going now. Windsor, Grimes – come with me. Drake, stay with the kids. I’ll leave you Kit.” He eyed Drake, expecting a challenge, but got nothing but respect. He then looked beyond Drake at the children. “Keep ‘em safe.” He made his slingshot motion at Asher with a wink and Asher returned it, his fearful little face giving Greyson a queasy pit in his stomach.
But Drake took Greyson’s hand and shook. “God speed.”
“You, too.”
Following Windsor and Grimes out, Greyson slowly shut the door on Drake and the children. He couldn’t help but think that the door was just a flimsy piece of paper to a professional soldier. But it was the only thing standing between them and StoneWater. He shook off the thought.
“This way.” He scurried through the building to the back exit, checked his mini-map for movement, and cracked the door open. The snow fell in heavy flakes, sparkling in the light that lit the walkway snaking behind the main drag of buildings toward the newly constructed dormitories on the edge of the old playing fields. A path appeared in his HUD, stretching beyond the dormitories to the base of the slope where the Hive was hidden. A quarter mile never seemed so far.
In the distance, he heard faint pops, like tiny whip-cracks.
“What’s that?” Windsor whispered.
Greyson was staring at the mountain slope where two tiny figures were making zigzags on the way down. They were moving fast.
Two.
Avery, too? Frick.
“Gunfire.” He loaded a BallBoom and turned his hat backward. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 54
Jarryd loved the feeling of the wind wrapping itself around him as he pierced through its icy core. The glassy-topped slopes, thick with new powder and blue with natural moonlight, were his beautiful plaything. He could make his own paths, drawing a kind of calligraphy – his board’s edge the pen and the entire slope his paper.
The flapping of his jacket and the high-pitched whoosh of the wind were the only sounds he heard under his earmuffs. Even the gunshots didn’t register until he saw the little puffs of
powder pop, pop, pop up from the slope in front of him.
He couldn’t see where the gunfire was coming from, but he knew he couldn’t let them predict his path. The language he was carving on the mountain had to be gibberish, or they’d understand where to aim their weapons.
He could do gibberish.
He leaned back, slashing his heel-side edge in for a spray of powder, putting his hand back to feel where the snow was behind him. His path took him behind Avery as she traded places, and then it took him around a cluster of trees behind an orange fence and up a snowy ramp. He flailed his arms to maintain his balance and bent his knees for the stomp.
Avery veered under him before he landed, cutting toward the terrain park.
He landed with a slap, but straight and smooth.
WHIT-WHIT-WHIT!
He heard the bullets again and joined Avery in the terrain park, zipping around the largest jumps, bouncing along the moguls, and squatting behind the boxes and rails for whatever amount of protection it was worth.
When he had a moment to think, he searched for the Hive. It wasn’t hard to find – hiding in plain sight. Big enough to fit an upright Volkswagen, the Hive was plain and green, standing tall next to the ski lodge. Many would pass it off as a massive air-conditioner unit or transformer box, but StoneWater must have known exactly what it was when they were planning the attack. Why else would they have sent someone to disable it?
Jarryd waved to get Avery’s attention and then pointed at the soldier standing at the Hive’s side. He hadn’t turned to see them, but it was only a matter of time. Their descent was taking them toward the lodge’s courtyard, with picnic benches and ski racks between them and the Hive.
He had to think fast.
And then he saw the plan form in front of him. It was bold, dangerous, and had a large chance of failing altogether. It was daring.
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Drake was cowering with the others in the back room – but he couldn’t stand it much longer. He knew it was right – protecting children – but hiding, waiting to be attacked was not his thing. He could only watch the still door, analyzing its fake wood panels and wonder what it would look like as a soldier kicked it open. How the kids would scream. How fast the soldier would start shooting.
No. He’d be ready. Rush the soldier.
But what good would that do?
What could he do? Maybe if he knew what they would do, he could better move to counter them.
“What do we know about StoneWater?” Drake asked the group, hoping one of the adults would know. But they only shook their heads.
It was Ankeny who spoke, her soft, yet piercing voice the only one among the silent children. “StoneWater is a paramilitary organization. They use the most sophisticated weaponry, even before the US military has a chance to test it to their standards.”
“Hey,” Beep hushed. “Don’t scare the kiddos.”
Ankeny glanced at them, but returned to staring at the door unfazed. “Their name comes from an ancient tale, in the time of giants.”
The children’s eyes grew to white marbles. But Ankeny looked no further than the door and continued with a voice not meant for a children’s story, but for a haunting campfire tale.
“A giant comes to destroy a town, but the town Master hires the wisest townsperson, a brave little tailor, known for his sharp wit, to defeat the giant. The tailor agrees, takes the Master’s small fortune, and waits outside the walls for the giant. When the giant comes upon him, the tailor, knowing the giant’s intentions, and knowing his bad eyesight, challenges him to a duel of great feats. The tailor takes a block of cheese from his lunch and says, ‘I can squeeze water from this stone.’ He squeezes the cheese and buttermilk pours out. Thinking it is water, the giant takes a nearby boulder and squeezes it. But it breaks into pebbles and dust. Defeated, and fearful of the little tailor and his stone water, the giant retreats to his cave.”
Her eyes turn to Drake for emphasis. “StoneWater does the impossible. And it defeats giants.”
The room was struck dumb, until the first child started to cry.
The chain reaction was hard to stifle. The adults rushed to console them, Beep tried to dance to distract them, but Drake was still fascinated by the story.
There was a giant coming their way. Any moment now it would approach their walls, seeking to destroy them. But he had to be ready – had to outsmart it.
And then it struck him. This giant’s eyesight wasn’t poor. If anything, it was the best of the best. Infrared would allow them to see heat signatures even beyond walls. He and the kids would appear to be a huddled mass of red and yellow blobs – the easiest of pickings.
Drake reached for the doorknob and the room seemed to gasp all at once.
He turned and put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. I’m going to fool the giant…”
A few kids smiled. Most continued crying.
Then he whispered to Beep and Ankeny his plan and opened the door – just a crack.
He peeked through.
The hall was dark and empty. The boulevard was just as empty, barely visible through a sliver of window. Without a word, he slipped out, keeping as low as his long legs would let him. Once he had closed the door, he shuffled halfway down the hall to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out the juice boxes, the milk, everything.
He heard a noise. Someone had shouted outside. Running. Footsteps.
He jerked back to the fridge and removed the shelves, too. Satisfied, he eyed the hallway’s view of the fridge. He was about to step inside when his foot hit a juice box. Kicking himself for the stupid mistake, he used the shelves to push the food away from the hall’s view and then scurried back to the open door.
He heard the front door creak open as he pulled his last knee inside; he shut the door just enough that the light inside blinked out. Then he listened.
Slow creaking of floorboards. Shifting of light in the hall as the door closed. Quicker footsteps. More than one? No. Just one, thank God.
He clenched his fists and held off a shiver. Good. I have to be cold. Don’t see my heat. Don’t see it.
The floorboards creaked again – this time closer, in the hallway.
Suddenly his fear got the best of him. In his haste, he’d forgotten his guitar case; and he felt naked without it. It had many things in it beside a guitar – but it was the knife that he missed most. Without it, he’d have to take on the soldier with nothing but his bare hands.
But then he remembered. He searched through his bracelets and found the one made of a broken guitar string. The memory of its breaking flashed before him. The concert hall. The man playing next to him. But he shook it away. Not now.
It didn’t take long to untie the end. He wound one end around his right wrist and the other end around his left. If he could only get his arms over the soldier’s neck…
Creak.
The soldier’s gun appeared first. It snapped inside the kitchen, but only for a moment before whisking to the opposite room. And then it moved down the hall, preceding the gray soldier in winter gear. His goggles protruded from his eyes, glowing orange, gazing at the children’s door where they huddled, waiting.
Taking a quiet breath, Drake said a prayer and inched the door open, letting the light and cool air spill into the kitchen.
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Approaching the bottom of the slope, Jarryd motioned Avery to swing around to the left. He wanted her to hide in the lodge, and perhaps she would find someone to help. When she caught his drift, he veered right until his angle matched that of the Hive’s; he then unsnapped both of his boots as he balanced on the board.
The board glided along as the slope evened out, his momentum carrying him closer and closer to the lodge where a lone soldier stood at the Hive, playing with a device connected by cord to the Hive’s control panel. Jarryd saw his four-eyed goggles pulled over his grey ski-mask, the combat vest d
ecorated like Christmas trees with grenades, flash bangs, and magazines. His gun hung around his back for the moment, but he knew the man’s movement would be fast – instinctual and deadly.
Jarryd couldn’t miss, or he’d be filled with hollow-point rounds.
Sliding his foot under one of the straps, he bent low and set a straight course for the snow-encrusted picnic table bench. He took in a breath and readied himself for the trick of his lifetime.
The bench drew closer and closer. The man and the Hive centered beyond. He was hacking it, for sure, trying to use it for his own purpose. Jarryd hoped that he would be in time.
Just as he leaped toward the bench, the soldier twisted around and saw him.
But Jarryd was already in the air, pulling the board up with him. He landed square, gliding across the snowy bench with both feet as if grinding a rail. The soldier dropped the device and grabbed for his gun; Jarryd jumped again, this time thrusting his back foot forward, pushing on the strap with all his might. The board leapt from the bench and flew straight as an arrow into the soldier’s masked face.
The thud was sickening, and the soldier jerked back into the Hive, both hands covering the hidden wound.
Jarryd tumbled onto the snow-covered cement but regained his bearings, satisfied with his strike. The soldier’s injury gave Jarryd just enough time to pull the prototype ammunition ball from his jacket pocket. It was an orange-yellow hue, like a paintball – but this would leave a far more permanent mark.
The soldier blindly grabbed for his gun and found it out of instinct. But Jarryd was ahead of him. In a swinging arc, he smashed the ball at the soldier’s boots and dove for cover. He grimaced, assured of the destruction to come.
But nothing happened.
Instead, he peeked over his shoulder, only to see the ball rolling between the soldier’s feet. Above the soldier’s feet, his hands were raising the gun. His four orange eyes had found him cowering behind the bench.
POOT-POOT-POOT!
Jarryd clenched his teeth and pushed his earmuffs against the sides of his head to drown out the sound of his own death. But through the slits of his eyes, he saw the soldier on the ground, evidence of his death on the wall behind.
