by B. C. Tweedt
Greyson was so tired, he could do little but accept Jarryd’s hug and manage a few breaths in between.
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After thanking SmokeStack, Greyson leaned to his side to watch him attend to Rachael, exchanging long handshakes and looks of appreciation. It was then that Greyson realized that she was one of them. Or at least she had been. A fierce soldier willing to risk her life for those she was called to protect.
“It was Roman,” he heard her say before he rolled back, closing his eyes and letting the strength return to his extremities.
There wasn’t much time to relax, though. The helicopter still hung above the trees, ropes still suspended below, waiting to be used. Greyson knew they were expected to go up, but the thought of holding onto another rope made him sick. A flashing memory of his last moments on the Humvee played through his mind. The StoneWater soldier seeing the cliff, diving to safety. Rachael throwing him the rope. The Humvee disappearing below him, leaving his feet with nothing but a mountain’s height of air below them.
He shuddered with a new gust of wind, the melting snow dripping down his scalp and the back of his neck.
Feeling the wind on his hair, his hand snapped to his scalp in a panic. He jerked right and left and scrambled to his feet. Blowing in the wind, but stuck on a root at the cliff’s lip was his red hat with a white G. He snatched it up and flashed a smile at Jarryd as he fit it on.
Windsor arched his brow. “What’s the G stand for by the way?”
Greyson laughed, but never answered. The question had triggered a chain of thoughts. It stood for good, didn’t it? But what was good anymore? The world was too messed up to sort it out. Evil was everywhere. It’s in all of us. Even those we are close to. Nick.
It was in Nick. The traitor, who had given them up. The traitor who was with Sydney.
“Sydney!”
“Sydney?” Windsor asked. “Silent G or something?”
Greyson raced to SmokeStack. “I have to talk with Grover.”
SmokeStack handed him a headset and Greyson spoke into it without taking the time to put it on. “Grover. Nick was the one who betrayed us. He knew about Avery.” Greyson swallowed as he turned to see Jarryd’s shell-shocked face.
“How?”
“Asher. Asher told him.”
“What else?” Grover asked. “Did he compromise the mission to Redmond?”
Greyson pulled out the note and shoved it at SmokeStack. “No; but Nick is with Sydney. We have to get her out!”
SmokeStack finished reading the note, confirming it with Grover.
“If it was StoneWater, they have already burned everything,” Grover said. “Nick will be gone, and…”
“We have to go. Where is she?” he asked, trying to hide the catch in his voice.
Another pause. Jarryd was now looking at his shoes, his brow furrowed. Greyson ignored him until the answer came from Grover. “She’s 10 minutes away. I’ll give you Forge and Diablo for an hour. The mission is still a go.”
“Alright. Let’s go!” He handed SmokeStack the headset. “Let’s go!” But before he took hold of the rope, he looked back at Jarryd. “I’m sorry, bro.”
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“Let’s go!”
Roman Dresvynin heard the boy’s voice and crawled closer. He hadn’t heard everything from his place, dug into the snow and pine needles, but he was learning. Nothing but hatred boiled in his blood, making his face red. Maybe there was regret, too, but that only added to his hate.
He watched them take turns roping to the heli, the kids first. The Aussie girl wasn’t with them.
He’d fallen for their little ploy, and he couldn’t stand it. He’d rip every one of them to pieces if he had the chance. But he knew he didn’t have one. Not with SmokeStack and Syndrome on the ground and the devil above.
He couldn’t even call in reinforcements; he’d seen the receiver in Syndrome’s ear. She’d heard everything they’d said. Smart girl.
The helicopter took off and the explosives they left detonated inside of the Bradley, leaving him with nothing
He knew the right thing would be to warn Pluribus that the girl was alive – a potential hiccup in their plan – but he knew admitting his failure would put him out of StoneWater for good. Besides, he wanted Rubicon alive for the next time. He would be the only one to end them. Just not today.
He rose and walked to the edge, watching the heli disappear as the Bradley’s fire melted the snow from his uniform. A drip fell down his shoulder, snaked past the StoneWater symbol, and fell to the ground.
Until the next time…
Chapter 61
Twenty minutes later
Liam hovered into the door, opening it with its momentum as it entered the home’s entryway. Smoke wafted up from the basement, but the drone’s lights illuminated the stairwell and the pictures of the happy family ascending the wall. Its armored bulk seemed out of place in such a suburban home, like science fiction meeting romantic comedy, but there was a sense of tragedy as well. Suitcases were at the door – four of them – but the house was dark with signs of a struggle throughout. The fire crackled from below, an orange glow flickering in the kitchen beyond.
The drone’s gun pointed it in the right direction – making a loop around the first floor and then taking it up the stairs. It was reloaded and ready to fire on most anything that moved. It only had a few programmed friendlies, but its hope was dimming to find them alive.
Hovering over the railing, it came to the hall, passed a downed bookshelf and shot open a door at the end. The door flung open wide; its light lit the inside, catching the shape of a man’s feet on the ground.
The drone hesitated, but then jerked forward, spinning in the room to catch everything. The man and woman registered friendly, but showed no signs of life. After a brief pause, the drone retreated to the hall and crossed to the other bedrooms. The fire was blazing below now, and smoke poured to the ceiling in a thick cloud. Sirens sounded outside.
Liam hurried, lighting every space in each bedroom. The beds were empty, closets empty. It didn’t find what it was looking for.
Then like a new force had been given it, Liam barreled downstairs and burst through the basement door. It flew through the flames as they licked its armor. Its sensors grew frustrated, but it peered through the fire, the burning furniture, the crumbling walls, the bubbling paint. The heat blackened its silver, but it found the secret room, poked its light in before the bulb burst.
Finished with its mission, it shot like lightning through a hole in the ceiling above and pounded through, blasting through another window and escaping to the outside, where a fire truck raced below.
Its armor cooled as it hovered over the town, watching the house burn. It was a beautiful community, with rows of houses, winding in asymmetrical designs, with streetlights and trees dotting the designs with perfection. The snow that fell blanketed it all in white as if purifying it, but the house’s fire burned it before it came even close.
Once cooled, Liam hovered to the helicopter’s portal that opened in air above and settled at Greyson’s feet. The boy rubbed his glove along its armor, washing away snow and ash.
Greyson’s eyes were red with sorrow. He hated death. Hated it.
And two parents, dead…
But his fear had almost been too much. If it had been her, lying there…
“She wasn’t in there,” he said.
Forge turned from the pilot’s seat. “They may have taken her.”
Greyson glanced at Diablo then stared at his DOC as if it had the answer. But it didn’t. How could it explain what Nick had done? Betray his own family, his friends – all for what? Would he have taken Sydney with, into the enemy’s lair? Or would he have spared her somehow? Could Nick have warned her, or timed his extraction at the right time?
Something inside him believed Nick was still a good person. He loved America more th
an the rest of them. He loved his brother. He’d helped them through the attack at sports camp, at the fair, and on the cruise. Despite the hate Greyson knew he felt for the current government, it wouldn’t have been enough to take Sydney’s life. Greyson believed it. He had to.
“Orphan?” Forge asked from up front.
“She’s here somewhere. He wouldn’t have let her die.”
“We don’t have time to search; she might be halfway across the state…”
“How long do we have?”
Forge looked at his watch. “They infiltrate Redmond in six hours.”
“Do I have time?” he yelled over the thumping rotors.
Diablo grunted. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”
Greyson set his watch and gazed at Diablo’s mask. “Thank you.” Greyson scanned the landscape below. His HUD identified three targets with triangles above their heads. Making his choice, Greyson grabbed a drop rope and jumped from the heli.
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Avery gripped the broken chair leg, taking a stance next to Drake and Ankeny. Grimes wildly swung a nunchuck made of broken chair-legs and computer cable, the only other one in front of the barricade. They were the last defense between the kids and the elevator door.
They heard its cables whirring. It was coming.
Kit growled at her side, his hair on end.
She turned to the scared kids, huddled in the back, whimpering. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered.
“If it isn’t,” Ankeny began. “Swarm, kick, and bite.”
DING!
The elevator opened with a whoosh and a clunk.
As if they were synchronized, they lowered their weapons at once.
“Jarryd!” Avery shouted, relinquishing her weapon.
Jarryd was with Windsor and the three soldiers: Grover, SmokeStack, and Rachael. Relieved sighs and celebratory hugs began as Avery hugged Jarryd. She was sincerely happy to see him.
“Where’s Greyson?” Asher asked.
“He’s going after Sydney,” Jarryd said, somber, a glow of concern in his eyes. “And Nick.”
Asher’s shoulders dropped.
“Stack,” Grover said, turning to SmokeStack. “Prep for evac.”
SmokeStack rushed to a wall panel, typing in a code and revealing the computerized inside. He flipped a few switches and swiped at a panel. A progress bar advanced across the screen as the files were purged and the self-destruct armed.
Drake caught Grover’s arm. “We have two wounded. Kids.”
Grover gave a dismissive nod toward the corner where women knelt over two bodies. He brushed Drake’s hand off his arm. “Listen up!” he growled. The celebratory greetings ended. “Help is on the way. Rachael will get you to the Med Center, where you’ll stay until evac. Understand?”
There were weary moans, but Grover wasn’t interested. He marched to Avery and pulled her toward the elevator. “You’re with us.” With a little push, she was in the elevator, Jarryd following soon after.
But Asher pushed forward. “Wait! You’re going to leave us? What about all the people?”
“We have a mission,” Grover huffed, backing Avery on to the elevator. “And that isn’t ours.”
“But the injured. We need help!”
“If we don’t complete our mission, there’ll be thousands more like them,” he grumbled, pointing to the injured.
Grover stepped inside the elevator, and SmokeStack joined him.
But soon, others began to agree with the boy with a rising sound of complaints that only made Grover more irritable. “Shut up. All of you. Evac is coming,” he said, pounding the up button.
“Fine,” Asher complained. “Drake and I’ll help ‘em. Be like Greyson.”
“You do that,” Grover chuckled. Then, with an extra hint of menace, Grover stared at the boy. “Clean up the mess you made.”
Avery watched as Asher’s face sunk. She didn’t know what the soldier had meant, but Asher sure had. What had he done?
The doors jerked to life, beginning to close as Grover called out, “Rachael’s in charge.”
Avery watched as Asher choked down the lump in his throat as if to get in one last word, but nothing came out. Drake was there, next to him, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Avery was worried leaving Asher behind, but even though she didn’t know Drake, she’d seen how he’d protected the boy already. Drake reminded her of Greyson – a good thing.
She and Jarryd waved sympathetically, and Drake nodded back before the doors closed, shutting them in with the two soldiers.
It was then that she realized that she, too, was off to a mission. She had been so busy trying to survive that she had forgotten that it was her turn. After so long, she’d get to see where her dad worked.
Chapter 62
Greyson ran into the street as the fire truck’s sirens blared behind him. He wasn’t running from the fire; he was running toward the group of three bikers wearing off-white vests and headbands adorned with emblems. He had spotted them from the heli, and it had given him hope. Maybe they knew her.
He stopped on the asphalt, assessing them and their costumes as they came closer. His HUD gave them names and threat levels – the highest being a three for the black-haired one named Drew in front.
They whispered amongst themselves as they skidded to a stop just feet from Greyson’s shins.
“You guys know this kid?” Drew, the obvious leader, asked the group.
“Dude. He’s got like terrorist gear…he doesn’t look right.”
“Plurb?”
“Maybe.”
Greyson didn’t have time for their game. “You guys know Sydney?” he said breathlessly. “She lived in that burning house.”
Drew looked over Greyson’s shoulder at the firefighters beginning to spray the flaming walls. “Maybe we know her. Maybe we don’t. Who are you? You set that fire?”
“No. Of course not. I’m her friend. Do you know where–”
“We ask the questions. This is our community and it’s our job to protect it from people like you. Where’d you get that vest? Is that a slingshot? You bring a weapon to our community?”
A sudden seriousness dropped on Greyson’s face, and he punctuated a glare at each one of them in turn. “Maybe I did.”
“Then maybe we’ll take it from you.”
“Why?”
“To protect our community.”
Greyson leaned in. “What are you going to protect your community with?” His hand rested on his slingshot.
Drew’s smirk evaporated. He glanced at his friends.
“Where’s Sydney?” Greyson demanded this time, unclipping his slingshot.
“Hey!” came a shout from a side yard.
Another posse of riders biked toward the street. Reinforcements? Greyson tensed and swiveled to the new threat but quickly saw the absence of uniforms on the new group.
“Back off, Wyatt!” Drew snapped.
The new group skidded to a stop nearby, its leader, Wyatt, staring him down. He was joined by an Indian girl, Meena, and a pale, younger boy named Jackson.
“You back off. Who’s this?”
“He’s a threat! He probably started the fire!”
They all paused for a moment to check the fire consuming the house with dark rolling plumes of black and gray smoke. More sirens sounded in the community.
“This has got to stop,” Wyatt said, turning back. “Leave him alone.”
Greyson faced Wyatt, his hand still by his slingshot. “I’m looking for Sydney, that’s all.”
“She’s at the dance recital,” the younger boy chirped, pointing.
“Shut up, Jackson,” Drew scolded.
Jackson rolled his eyes. “At the school.”
Greyson felt a surge of hope as cops joined the melee behind. It was time to go.
But the uniformed group muttered amongst themselves, and Drew scooted his bike forward. �
�You’re not going.”
But Greyson took a step forward still, looking him in the eye. “Give me your bike.”
Drew leaned over his bike’s handlebars, his teeth clenched. “No.”
It happened so fast, Drew’s friends were still on their bikes. Greyson had snapped forward and swiped Drew’s hands off his handlebars, sending his chest into the bars and taking the wind from him. Grabbing the boy’s vest with one hand, Greyson elbowed the boy across his temple with his other and then flung him off the collapsing bike to the asphalt, where he rolled unconscious.
Drew’s friends jumped from their bikes; one swung a punch, but Greyson knocked it away and thrust his electric glove onto the boy’s neck. Greyson pushed the limp body into the last friend, crumpling them both to ground. With a leap, he straddled their bodies, one on top of the other. He looked for a window to strike the conscious boy’s face, but the other boy’s face was in the way.
So he punched the first hard enough to send his skull banging into the bottom one’s forehead. Both of them didn’t get up.
Greyson eyed them, making sure they were no longer a threat before rising to his feet. The other group was gaping at him.
Jackson was shaking, straddling his bike. Wyatt gulped, but didn’t speak. Maybe he was regretting coming to his aide. Not waiting to find out, Greyson picked up Drew’s bike and turned it in the direction Jackson had pointed.
“Take me there, please,” Greyson asked.
“S-sure.”
Two minutes later, they skidded to a stop at the school’s front entrance. Wyatt and Meena nodded him on, but Jackson called out to him as he dropped Drew’s bike in the snow. “Are…you a terrorist?”
A shock jolted Greyson’s conscience. He took off his goggles and paused in the thick snowfall even as snowflakes stuck on his eyelashes.
Is that what he thinks? That I’m a terrorist?
And then he recalled what he had just done to his peers.
He turned back to the boy. “I’m one of the good guys,” he said.
The boy stared at him and he stared back.
