by B. C. Tweedt
“Yes, it is.”
“Just making sure,” Jarryd said. He turned and waved at the goat. “Hey, Billy!”
Avery rolled her eyes as her earpiece chirped to life with Murray’s voice. [Doing great.]
She almost replied out loud, but at the last moment held it back, reapplying lip-gloss to hide the fact that she’d almost botched it. Glancing at the security guard, she saw him open the door for someone.
The woman that came out had high heels twice as high as Avery’s, cheekbones the size of shoulder blades, and a pinched nose that shouted plastic surgery. Her waist was as thin as a utility pole, but her top and bottom were balanced curves in an hourglass frame.
[Change tactics with her. Be friendly. She won’t respond well to competition.]
Avery smiled wide and approached her with outreached hand. “Good-day!”
“Good day, Avery. I’m Verdana Medina, VP of Operations and a friend of your father.”
“Pleas’ah to meet you. This is my boyfriend, Jarryd.”
Jarryd reached out with his gloved hand and shook the woman’s hand once, twice, and a few more times. He watched her face for a visible reaction. There wasn’t much at first, but then there was a twinkle in her eye. “Hi, Jarryd,” she said, shaking his hand as long he wanted. Then she winked at Avery. “He’s cute.”
Avery smirked. “He can be,” she muttered, elbowing him until he released the woman’s hand.
“I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you here,” Verdana said, sneaking a smile at Jarryd. “We haven’t been graced with a Redmond presence in over a year.”
Avery relayed what the voice in her ear told her. “My fath’ah’s been a little more safety-oriented since ‘ah near-death experience on the cruise.” She added a paranoid glance around the lobby.
“Oh, certainly. Understandable. He stills seems a bit…distracted…in video conference.” She paused, noticing Avery’s discomfort, and switched tones. “But I’m happy to finally meet you. He’s been enamored with you since your birth.”
[Have to hurry.]
“Thank you,” she said, fighting back memories of him. This was not the time to get emotional. She had to focus on the mission. “He is a great fath’ah. He wanted me to get familia’h with the business,” she said, getting to the point. “A tou’ah of the facility, and where he works when he’s he’ah.”
Verdana lit up. “That’s wonderful. You’ll have to forgive the commotion inside. There’s a bit of a snafu with some of the satellites that has our Engineering and PR divisions in a conniption, but we’ll just scoot around their edges.”
“That’ll be great.”
Verdana waved them after her, clicking her heels toward the guarded door. “Follow me close, Jarryd. It’s a big facility. Don’t want you to get lost.”
-------------------------------
The floor was burning at his feet, right where the piece of debris from the StoneWater helicopter had pierced their hull. Where the piece had once stuck up just an inch, foot long flames were now licking at Greyson’s shoes as a hole opened to the sky below. The wind sucked inside, fanning the flames and washing Greyson’s legs in its heat.
DING-DING-DING-DING!
Alarm bells rang inside the cabin; Forge and Diablo shouted at each other as the helicopter swerved in the air, terror taking hold of them all.
“Buckle in!” he heard above the commotion.
A swerve threw Greyson from his seat, and he toppled to the floor, inches from the smoldering, red hot metal. For a second he stared at the edges of the hole as it turned to liquid and a plume of smoke and flame, but another second found him in the air again as Diablo picked him up and threw him to his seat.
“HOLD ON!”
The helicopter took another wild turn in an attempt to lose the laser; Greyson snatched his harness just as his momentum pulled his body over the hole. He pulled himself up as the helicopter turned on its side, whipping him back against the seat with enough force to push his organs up to his throat. It was impossible to breathe, but he had just enough strength to pull against it, reaching for the buckle.
“Aaaaghh!”
He snagged the buckle and snapped himself in as the helicopter rolled the other way. His chest pressed against the straps; his limbs fell loose toward Diablo’s side of the helicopter where he had managed to strap himself in.
In the moment of absurd chaos, alarms and shouts and flames mixed into a cacophony – sunlight blazed through fresh holes, wind whipped at the straps that now wagged like angry tentacles about the cabin. Greyson’s eyes locked on the snaking red fire that burned through their hull. It came and went as the helicopter dodged and dived, like a shark’s fin emerging from the water before dipping back again, only to strike in another place. It burned behind Forge, just missing his shoulder; it hit the ceiling through the hole in the floor; it burned through the seat just a foot from Greyson’s thigh, and then it hit the cockpit.
DING-DING-DING-DING!
The instruments lit up in a shower of sparks and then died. The engine failed, the alarms went silent.
DING-DING-DI-ooooo…
Forge cried out amidst the smoke. The cockpit was glowing orange, and then the whole front was set ablaze, the flames a blur over the windshield.
The red shark burned again in the cabin, poking holes in the collapsing cabin. The metal moaned and groaned. What was left of the floor began to shift.
And then the shark bit Diablo.
He arched his back and cried out, the light forming a halo behind him as his suit caught fire.
“No-oooo!” Greyson screamed. But there was nothing he could do.
The heli was falling now. He could see the skyscrapers at eyelevel, like he was strapped in on some amusement park ride. But this thrill was not the same. In the front of his mind was the knowledge that he was probably dead.
The laser must have felt the same. It left them alone to enjoy their death spiral.
Greyson gripped his harness, his neck stiff, straining to keep upright as the force of their spin grew. The sunlight smacked his eyes as the whap, whap, whap of their spin gave it new holes to come through. He saw the city approaching. Streets. Then windows.
The lights began to fade to black.
He jerked awake.
He saw Forge straining to gain control.
The nausea rose. He gagged. Fought against unconsciousness.
Met eyes with Diablo.
“IMPACT!”
Everything went dark.
Chapter 71
Greyson swayed back and forth on the swinging porch chair. His father sat next to him, trying to slow them down as the boy swung his legs to go faster. He laughed and slugged his dad’s shoulder. “Come on. Higher!” he yelled, his boyish voice high and excitable.
“Ugh. You’re making me sick,” his dad replied, pressing his toes to the porch to stop the momentum. “I’m getting too old for that back and forth.”
Disappointed, Greyson squinched his lips together, looking for something else of interest. The night was humid and the bugs were out on the farm, swarming around the lights.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
The glowing blue bug zapper was hard at work, the bugs unaware of the danger the welcoming light posed. It was an enticing trap, and Greyson just watched.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
“Why do bugs like the light so much?” he asked his dad.
His dad began watching the zapper, as if it held the answer. “You know what? I don’t know.”
Greyson shrugged, surprised that his father didn’t have an answer. “Maybe they think there’s popcorn inside. Like a microwave or somethin’.”
His dad laughed. “Maybe. But I’m thinking I might do the same if I were a bug. If it was all dark outside except for one little light, I might go to it, just so I could see something. Anything. The light is a lot more appealing when it’s so dark. If it wasn’t so dark, they wouldn’t need the light.”
“Didn’t turn out so well for the bugs.”
“True,” he said, smiling at him. “You know what?”
“What?”
“Sometimes, I think you’re smarter than me.”
“Sometimes?”
His father took him in a headlock with a laugh, but Greyson could still see the zapper.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
BZZT! BZZT!
The sparking wires woke Greyson inside the cabin. He hung upside down, the straps digging in his shoulders, the blood pounding in his head. There was the sound of dripping liquid and distant traffic, helicopters, but not much else.
He groaned, wincing at the pain where the straps chafed his shoulders. Trying to collect his bearings, he glanced around, catching sight of Diablo’s limp body, also hanging by his harness.
“Diablo…” he coughed. There was smoke seeping in from somewhere. “Diablo!”
The soldier didn’t move, but with another round of sparks, Greyson saw the source of the liquid. It was pouring from above, splashing on the heli’s ceiling, which was now the ground. The pool crawled forward, growing toward the cockpit, where orange and yellow light was dancing with a crackling fire.
He gulped and woke fully with a start.
Wake up! Get out of here, Greyson!
His fingers raced to his buckle. Readying himself for the fall, he clicked himself free.
“UGH!” He landed hard on his shoulder, reigniting the pain he’d felt so often recovering from the bullet wound. Grasping it, he rolled to the side, cutting himself on jagged metal with a yelp. Despite the pain, he pushed up to a kneel.
The liquid smelled strong of fuel. And he knew it didn’t mix well with fire.
“Diablo!” he called out, crawling through the liquid to the man. He yanked on his straps, trying to wake him. Is he dead? He can’t be! Please don’t be dead!
“Wake up!”
Greyson slapped the soldier’s face and regretted it. Diablo’s arm latched onto his throat, squeezing his esophagus, forcing out desperate, crushed cries.
But as quick at it had happened, Diablo’s grip relaxed – the soldier’s eyes in the slits of his mask retreating from their manic state.
Greyson coughed, clutching his throat, letting the air sweep back in. Out of the side of his eyes, he saw Diablo going for his buckle. “Hold on,” Greyson rasped, standing as tall as he could and grasping Diablo’s shoulders. “Now.”
Diablo unclipped the buckle and fell as Greyson slowed his fall as best as he could. Still, the soldier landed with an awkward thud and rolled to his stomach. Reaching to help him up, Greyson startled at Diablo’s back. His black wingsuit was burned through, from his back to his thigh, and his flesh was the same color black, as if it had meshed with the suit’s material, forming a bubbly, scarred mess.
He felt sick to his stomach, and turned to gag.
Diablo was already freeing Forge from his pilot’s seat. “The door,” he said to Greyson.
Wiping his mouth, Greyson knelt at the side door and gave the handle a hearty yank. But the door was crushed into the cement below. Pulling harder only made a louder creaking noise. “Stuck!”
Breathing hard from the effort, he pressed his head against the window, peering through the smoke. There was grass. Buildings beyond. And he could hear shouting and engines in the near distance.
“Help!” he cried, pounding on the window.
A moment later, a window crashed in the cockpit and Diablo leaned back to whisper. “Whoever just shot us down won’t be looking to help. Grab your suit and get out. Now!”
Taking a moment for it to sink in, Greyson scanned the upside down shelves for the silver case. It didn’t take long to find. With one yank, he pulled it free. By the time he had grabbed it, Diablo was already gone.
Fighting the panic, Greyson crawled to the cockpit and ducked under the pilot’s chair. The heli’s ceiling was hot from the fire outside and the fuel was just behind. Just then, Diablo’s arms were there, reaching through the broken side window and pulling him through.
Coughing in the smoke, Greyson pulled up his gaiter and placed his goggles over his eyes. Diablo was hobbling in front of him with Forge’s arm around his shoulder and the rifle slung over his torn back.
The sight of Diablo’s back still made Greyson queasy, but he stepped up to Forge’s other side. Together, they hobbled around the wreckage and out of the black smoke.
Diablo urged them onward, picking up the pace as the roar of engines grew louder. The silver suitcase banged at Greyson’s side as he stammered along, as if his legs were the last part of his body to wake up.
“In here!” Diablo kicked open a door; they rushed inside just as a Humvee raced into view, squealing to a stop a safe distance from the wreckage.
Greyson took one more glance behind as they limped deeper inside the office building, staggering past cubicles and fake plants. They left black footprints behind – and also blood.
“Here,” Diablo muttered, swinging inside one of the cubicles and helping the wounded Forge to the floor.
The soldier put his back against the cushioned wall with a groan. His face was ashed over, except the circles around his eyes where his goggles had been. Blood was drying by his temples and down his arms.
“You okay?” Greyson asked.
“I’ll live. Just got to plug some holes first. Orphan, give me your DOC.”
He took it from his wrist, handing it to Forge even as his conscience riled him. He’d forgotten about Liam. Left him in the helicopter.
Forge swiped at the screen. “Don’t know if he’s functioning…but…”
Greyson heard shouting and peeked over the top edge of the cubicle. Nothing. Another helicopter was outside, too, hovering close by. How long until they tracked them here?
Suddenly an explosion rattled the office. Greyson watched as a mug wobbled precariously by a keyboard. World’s Best Dad, read the side. When everything stopped shaking, Greyson snapped to Forge. What had he done with Liam?
But who was he to ask? It had been Forge’s drone all along. I was the one who had left him to die. If Liam had to die again for the cause, then so be it. Everything else was secondary.
“That gave us more time,” Forge said. “But they’ll come looking.”
“Why? Why’d they shoot us down? We’re here to…”
“They don’t know that,” Forge said, pain evident in his voice as Diablo squeezed out clot-inducing Vitagel. “They’re looking for enemies, and they think we’re it.”
“What can I do?” Greyson said, eyeing the soldier’s wounds.
When both soldiers stopped to look at him, he knew something was wrong. Their eyes were grave, almost as if they were sorry for him. He grew nervous, afraid not only for their lives, but his own.
“Are you injured?” Forge asked.
He felt like he’d been tossed off a mountain. “Uh…no. I’m good.”
Forge smiled at Diablo. “That’s my piloting, right there.”
Diablo didn’t return the smile. “You landed upside down.”
Forge eyed the silver case still in Greyson’s hand. “And you got your suit.”
Greyson held the case up as the realization hit him. He knew what they would ask of him before Forge asked. It made sense that they would ask him. That’s what they were about. Anything for the mission. Any chance that they had to succeed, they would take it. Everything else was secondary. Even him.
“We get you high enough, you’ll have a chance,” Forge said, gritting his teeth. “A small one. But a chance.”
Greyson saw Diablo’s rifle leaning in the corner and already knew the plan. He bit hard on his lip as Diablo turned back to Forge’s wounds, impatient. The marks on Diablo’s back meant his suit was destroyed, but he would still give all he had for the mission. Liam had given his and maybe Forge would to. Who was he to say no? He was being called. A chance to earn his spot among these great men. How could he n
ot answer?
“I’m in.”
Chapter 72
“Sydney!” Rachael cried out. “Hold here.”
Sydney closed her eyes in a long blink and pressed her hand against the bloody bandage as Nurse Rachael, or Syndrome – or whoever she really was – found the right tool. When she found it and came back to the wound, Sydney turned the other way, watching the other medics bustle about the tent, filled to the brim with makeshift beds and gurneys, taking care of the wounded from camp. The traffic had finally slowed down in the last hour, but her help was still needed.
“Alright. Let go,” Rachael said.
She did, pulling back to watch. The sight of blood still made her stomach unsettled, but in a weird way she was getting used to it.
“Is he going to make it?”
It was Asher next to her.
She pulled him in, making sure not to touch him with her bloody gloves. “We don’t know.”
“What’s his name?” Asher asked with a clipboard resting on his fanny pack and a pen in his fingers.
“Don’t know. What are you writing?” Sydney reached for the man’s wallet they had placed by his side and handed it to the boy.
“They said I could be a runner,” he said, fumbling through the wallet for an ID.
“A runner?”
“Make sure we got everyone,” he said, finding a license. “Gotta do something.”
Sydney nodded, seeing Greyson in him. She felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. The boy had spent a year with him.
“Gary Man-Mana-Manaheim,” Asher sounded out.
“Know him?”
“No. But we found him under a truck.”
Sydney took in a deep breath, imagining the scene, all at once regretting not being there to help and also thanking God that she wasn’t there. How bad had it been if Asher had been searching for bodies?
Rachael called out. “Clean cloth. Wipe for me.”
Sydney jumped back in, wiping away the blood as Asher watched from afar. When Sydney looked back for him, he was on to the next patient, asking for her name with his clipboard resting on his fanny pack.
