The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3)

by Steven dos Santos

  THE RAISING

  The Torch Keeper Book

  Three

  STEVEN DOS

  SANTOS

  THE RAISING

  Copyright© 2015

  Steven dos Santos

  ISBN: 978-1-944377-05-2

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Diana Stager

  To my dear father, Alvaro. Thanks for always being there, Dad, and helping to keep the fires burning, especially during the dark times.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The Torch Keeper series has been quite the ride! When I first wrote The Culling back in 2009, I had a very clear vision of how this third book would end. Little did I know what an adventure it was going to be to finally be able to tell the whole story as I had envisioned it. When the original publisher of the first two volumes in the series decided to pull the plug before the conclusion was released, it was one of the most devastating experiences in my life. In those dark times, when it looked like Lucian’s torch would be snuffed out for good, it was the encouragement and enthusiasm of the awesome fans that kept me going and motivated me to find a way to get this story out there. Thanks to super fans Corey Henio, Bazz Krycek, Kameron Haggard, Matthew Pavia and all the rest for your continued support. This is for you!

  I’d also like to thank my awesome beta readers and besties, Stacie Ramey, Joyce Sweeney, and Marjetta Geerling for your invaluable input, and endless pep talks. Love you guys!

  And I also couldn’t have released this book without the selfless contribution of my fantastic editor, Diana Stager, who I’ll be forever indebted to for her key role in this book’s ultimate release.

  Jay Aheer? What can I say? Thanks so much for yet another fantastic cover, which embodies the spirit of the first two volumes of the series and takes it to an exciting new level!

  Much thanks to my rock star agent, Ginger Knowlton, and the staff of Curtis Brown, Ltd., including Marnie Zoldessy and Steve Kasdin, for helping me to realize the dream of a completed trilogy.

  And last, but certainly not least, a big hug to my partner, Jeffrey Cadorette, for his never-ending support and patience throughout this entire process. My torch will always burn for you!

  CONTENTS

  PART I: ENEMIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PART II: MEMORIES

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  PART III: DESTINIES

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  PART I

  ENEMIES

  ONE

  Dawn finally bleeds through the night sky. I wipe the sting of ice-cold rain from my eyes, committing every shade of color, every nuance of purple, pink and orange, however slight, to memory. It’ll probably be the last morning of my life.

  Dozens of other smaller ships like mine flank the enormous troop carrier in a V formation, a lethal arrowhead surging through the choppy seas toward the cape.

  The camera closes in on my face once more. I’m tempted to tear it from Valdez’s hands and hurl it overboard. Instead, I just glare at the lanky war correspondent who’s been tailing my every move like a pesky mosquito for days now, documenting everything for posterity’s sake.

  Valdez clears his throat. “You mind talking about what’s at stake here today?”

  I stare right at the lens. “I guess if there are any future generations left after this bloody war, they should know the world’s in real shitty shape right now. The survivors of the Clathrate apocalypse, which released methane into the earth’s atmosphere centuries ago and nearly destroyed all of human civilization, have divided into three factions: The corrupt Thorn Republic, formerly known as the Establishment; the religious zealots of Sanctum and their army of human-machine Flesher hybrids; and us, the resistance, known as the Torch Brigade, fighting for control over what was once known as the United States of America, trying to restore some order to this living hell. If the Brigade loses this offensive today, then the other two sides will pick at our remains like vultures, and all hope for a free and just society dies.” I take a swig of water from my canteen. “Does that work for you?”

  He notices my dirty look and shifts his eyes from mine to the viewfinder on his camera. “The Thorn Republic forces are comprised of human soldiers. What can you tell us about these Fleshers defending Sanctum? They appear monstrous, with no eyes, protruding biomechanical appendages, and regenerative capabilities.”

  “They aren’t monsters. They’re people. People just like you and me that have been subjected to nano technology and grafting experiments, and turned into hideous slave machines with a hive mind. In some ways they’re just as much victims as the rest of us.”

  “Just one more question. What are you feeling right now?”

  I lean forward and stare right into the camera lens. “Considering it’s my eighteenth birthday today and I’m heading into battle, my death would bring my existence full circle, the natural end to the life cycle of Lucian Spark. How’s that for a sound byte?”

  Valdez sets the camera aside and clears his throat. “I think that’ll do it for now.” Avoiding my gaze, he fiddles with his tablet, slick with rain, and makes a show of reviewing his notes. “Looks like we’ve covered everything…Lucian Spark… betrayed and recruited by Cassius Thorn and forced to choose between the lives of his loved ones during the Culling…became a resistance figurehead known as The Torch Keeper…currently leading the charge to retake the strategic shipping lanes of the Cape from the restructured Establishment, now known as the Thorn Republic…,” he glances up and gives me a nervous smile. “I think that just about covers it, Spark?”

  “Just about.” Except, I’m not even sure Lucian Spark’s my name anymore, much less whether or not I was actually born, at least in the traditional sense. According to what Cassius Thorn told me during our last encounter, I was Sown, the ghost of a centuries old dead man, recreated in a lab.

  But not just a copy of any dead man. Oh no. That’d be too easy. I run my fingers across the palm of my other hand, feeling every ridge and groove of the cool skin, slick with rain and sweat. I’m the exact replica of Queran Embers, the founder of the tyrannical Establishment, right down to every last putrid gene.

  If what Cassius told me was true, not even the vast ocean surrounding me can ever wash away all the blood from these hands.

  The earpiece of my com-unit crackles like far-off thunder.

  “Initiating climate camouflage.”

  Valdez picks up the camera again and aims the lens at me.

  I wave it away and slash a finger across my throat. “We’re done here.”

  Valdez fumbles with his gear as he packs it up. I feel guilty. It’s a dangerous job, risking one’s life to report on the war and keep hope alive. He’s just as terrifi
ed as the rest of us.

  Despite the stabilizers on our retrofitted stealth boats hovering over the water, my company’s boat lurches. On the starboard side, Corin leans over the rail and throws up. And I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with succumbing to seasickness. At just under fourteen, he’s the youngest member of our squad. In an ideal world, he’d be safe at home, maybe doing some schoolwork, helping out with chores.

  This world’s anything but idyllic. When Corin begged our commanders for a shot to be on the front lines, I didn’t fight it, despite the gnawing in my gut. After everything he’s been through, he’s earned the right to fight for his freedom without me or anyone else telling him otherwise.

  Corin finally slides back into position, looking paler than a full moon, and wipes his mouth.

  “You good, Kid?” I call.

  He just nods and bites his lip.

  Normally, the others in our company would be slinging their own good-natured taunts at him—or any of us—for tossing under pressure. But today’s different. You can smell it in the air. It’s fear, seeping from everyone’s pores, mixing with the sweat and body odor of the soldiers cramped into this small boat. This isn’t a hit and run op. A search and rescue. Or a supply raid.

  If we fail today, we lose all access channels for resupplying resistance forces and our little revolution is wiped out.

  “Almighty Deity,” someone mutters from the bow. Sounds like Valdez. “Forgive my sins. Grant us your blessings and watch over us…”

  A hiss, generated by the massive battleship in the center of our perimeter, rises over the sound of the waves, drowning out the prayer. Soon the entire area’s smothered in a thick fog, hiding our approach to the rocky shoreline.

  Someone grabs my arm. I can feel hot breath whispering in my ear. “You didn’t think we’d forgotten, Spark, did you? Now you’re really in for it, Mate.”

  Cage’s voice.

  Before I can respond, there’s a sharp crack, and then a small glimmer appears in the darkness.

  “Surprise,” Arrah says, holding out a small object, approximating the size of a lumpy muffin, complete with some sort of icing and the tiniest candle I’ve ever seen, which casts the faintest of glows on her smooth, caramel skin. “Baked it myself.” She smiles, her hand cupped over the top of the makeshift cake to protect it from the rain.

  Beside her, Drusilla gives me a wink. “Don’t even ask what’s in it.”

  Arrah gives her a playful shove before Drusilla leans in and gives her a peck on the lips. Then the levity’s gone, and their hug becomes more of a clutch, before they reluctantly break apart.

  Dahlia squirms her way into the ring and nods. “Better make a wish and blow out that candle before we get busted by the commander for giving away our position.”

  With everything going on, the fact that they—that my friends—would remember this day…

  I close my eyes and move my lips silently, pretending I’m formulating some sort of wish. But I’m not. I can’t. Not all of us are going to get out of this alive. So why ask for something that will never come true?

  When I open my eyes, I blow, snuffing out the candle and the illusion of normalcy in one fell swoop.

  Taking a small sliver, I pass the cake on down the line, the final meal of the condemned. But the sight of even the most miniscule piece of food is enough to send those teetering on the abyss of nauseous anxiety over the edge. A few down the line lose it over the rail just like Corin did, while some let loose right at their feet.

  Cage’s grin fades. The gears of the metal prosthetic that replaced his real hand grind as the fingers open, revealing a tiny box resting in its palm. “No birthday would be complete without a present, Mate.”

  I shake my head. “You guys, you didn’t have to—”

  He grips my arm with his other hand. “You’re right. We didn’t. But we did. It’s from the entire company. Open it.”

  I rub my rain-soaked fingers against my uniform in vain before untying the string and removing the soaked wrapping paper, which looks like nothing more than the remnants of an old canvas bag. I smile.

  Inside the box there’s a ring. Even in the dark, I can see that it’s in the shape of a small, flaming torch. I slide it onto my finger.

  “Happy Birthday, Torch Keeper,” Arrah says.

  I swipe at the annoying rain pelting my eyes.

  Glancing around the crowded Stealth boat at the others in my regiment, I wonder what they’d think if they knew the very enemy they were currently on a mission to strike against could actually be hunkered down beside them. Would they be so quick to follow me into battle against the Thorn Regime one more time given everything we’ve shared as fellow rebels? Or would they toss me overboard into a watery grave?

  “Prepare for ground assault,” the command issues over our com units.

  “Here we go,” Valdez mutters with a nervous laugh, pulling out his camera again.

  His head disintegrates in a spatter of bone and blood, like warm hail. Those unfortunate to be directly behind him are flung backwards, one of them slamming into me. As I crash against the bulkhead, I catch sight of Corin hunched down beside a wounded soldier, just as the bow erupts in a fireball, flinging him overboard.

  The explosion is deafening. I’m spinning, muffled shouts and screams of agony all around me. I try to breathe but begin to choke, realizing that I’m now underwater. Through the murk, bodies writhe all around. Live rounds of ammunition whiz through the sea, silent serpents striking all about me, tearing apart bodies as if they were twigs. A crimson veil spreads. My lungs are about to burst. I swim upwards, breaking the surface just long enough to take in a lungful of smoke-tinged air and orient myself toward the shore.

  As bad as things are underneath the surface, they’re even worse up here. All around me, Stealth boats erupt into fireballs. Crews abandon ship, scattering into the sea. Hundreds of our soldiers descend on the beach from above on jetsails and glidechutes, many of which are blasted out of the sky, the pilots careening to their deaths like burning fireflies. The air reeks of smoke and charred meat. I spit out a mixture of salt water, blood, and ash, desperately searching for signs of Corin, Arrah, Cage, and the others.

  A female soldier treads water beside me. Hobbes.

  “Spark—” A smoking hole appears in the center of her helmet and she slumps against me, dragging me under again.

  The straps of her pack have caught in mine and for a horrible moment, I don’t think I’m going to be able to cut loose. But I tear the strap away and swim toward the beach as fast I can, my muscles tensing for the crippling blast that’ll tear through me at any second.

  Up ahead, a familiar body floats lifeless, narrowly avoiding the blasts knifing through from the surface.

  It’s Corin.

  Despite my aching lungs, I grab hold of him, dragging him with me toward the beach.

  As soon as the water becomes shallow enough, I’m on my feet, slinging Corin over my shoulder and trudging through the surf. Crimson waves of tangled bodies crash all around us.

  Once on the beach, I drag Corin under the shelter of a sand dune. Pinching his nose, I cover his mouth with mine, alternating with chest compressions. Soon he’s spitting out gobs of sea water.

  “You’re going to be okay, kid.” But his eyes remain closed.

  I hail one of the med drones zipping through the firefight, little more than a set of blinking lights attached to a transparent capsule. “Get him to shelter!”

  The drone is still scooping Corin’s body into the protective capsule when I sprint away to join the fight.

  The beach beneath me vibrates. At first I think it’s just the rumble of the explosions and the debris ricocheting everywhere. Pockets of sand erupt like small geysers all along the shoreline, one within a few feet of my position. A shadow falls over me. I look up as something rises from under the surface.

  It’s a sleek, black machine with a bulbous, metallic center. Four enormous barbed appendages twist about it like
tentacles, giving it the appearance of an Octopoda from the ocean’s depths. But instead of two eyes, it has only one, a targeting device. It glows red as it homes in on victim after victim, spraying them with volleys of powerful energy, ripping them apart, reducing them to smoldering, unrecognizable husks.

  Two soldiers from a different company run by, weapons raised, firing at the atrocity towering over me. But the blast of their guns barely penetrates. Before they can flee, the Octopoda’s tentacles lash out, grabbing both men, its steel barbs sawing through them, dicing them alive.

  Before this abomination can turn its attention back to me, I’m burrowing through the sand, scrambling to get as much distance between me and it before its targeting sensors can reacquire my position.

  But even if I do manage to get away from this one, the entire beach is swarming with those things. And if they’re impervious to our weapons, what the hell chance do we possibly have?

  Bursting from the sand, I zig zag up the beach, stumbling and rolling my way toward the metal remnants of a beached stealth boat. Several others are hunkered down there, using the mangled hull as a shield against the continual enemy onslaught.

  I recognize one of them instantly.

  “Cage!” I leap over a trench toward the makeshift shelter, just as a shower of blasts strike around me. To my left, a soldier’s leg disappears in a blur of red and a piercing scream. Another soldier takes a hit right through the chest, leaving a gaping hole of cauterized flesh. I tumble into Cage and feel an impact slam into the back of my skull.

  For a horrific second I think that I’ve been shot through the brain. I pull away from Cage to feel the back of my head. Aside from a throbbing and trickle of blood, which quickly washes away in the cold drizzle, it feels like I’m intact. One glance at the smoldering dent and twisted gears in Cage’s metal hand tells how I’ve been spared.

  We sink to our knees behind the crashed hulk. Blasts continue to bombard the beach around us.

  “They knew we were coming!” He shouts over the chaos. “Someone sold us out!”