by S. S. Segran
Jag’s forehead crinkled. “You get rain out here?”
“The desert does bloom, Jag. But this kind of storm is rare.”
Daniel’s safe house was no more than a distant family member’s cottage located in the Negev Desert. The small edifice was roomy enough for three occupants at most, with a single open area on the main floor hosting a makeshift living room and bedroom combo, as well as a kitchenette. Wooden steps led to a half-loft with an air mattress, a small table and two chairs. Jag and Daniel spent most of their time there playing card games and conversing; the higher ground was also easier for surveillance. Daniel had set up his military-grade spotting scope on a bipod by the window and checked it often.
The commando tossed two sugar cubes into the center of the table. “It’s amazing how quickly your leg’s healing. It’s been ten, eleven days since your accident, right? And you already have more mobility than you should. What is in that remedial powder Mars left us?”
“Magic, probably.” Jag looked down at his left leg. Daniel had removed his cast two days prior and somehow wrangled a functional brace from Beersheba, the closest city to the safe house. The brace went up to Jag’s knee and allowed him to put some weight on his injured leg when he walked, but he still favored his other foot.
The pair played on as the storm approached, the pitter-patter of rain like fast-falling pebbles on the roof. A streak of silver split the sky, followed by the cracking of thunder. Jag felt himself unwind with the storm but the contentment tasted more bitter than sweet in his mouth.
How can you enjoy something when the person who taught you to love it is… gone?
He fancied that he saw his grandmother’s reflection in the window. Julia’s tanned face glowed, her graying hair was in her signature side bun, and she looked healthier than her last days alive. She smiled at Jag. His heart fluttered and softened. Then lightning flashed again, and her face disappeared.
“Tell me more stories about Marshall,” Jag said, fixing his attention back on his cards.
“Mmh, I don’t know what’s left to tell. I only lived in the States for six years, so my stories are limited.” Daniel rubbed his jaw. “Wait, I got one. So you know how Mars was one of the smallest people in school, even as a teenager, and everyone picked on him?”
Jag grabbed his root beer from the table. “I still can’t imagine him getting bullied.”
“Yeah, he had this weird need to please everyone and took it as a personal failure if people didn’t like him. Even now, he has it. Might be a byproduct of being an only child to a single dad or something. Anyway, we had P.E. together in eighth grade. This one time, the class played prison dodgeball. Mars had a crush on this cute girl on our team but she got hit and had to stand behind enemy lines, and Mars kept throwing balls for her to catch so she could come back to our side, and”—Daniel had to put down his cards so he could cover his face, his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth—“this moron gets so frustrated he launches the ball like a rocket and it hits the poor girl right in the face. The whole gym stops and looks at him. No one expected this scrawny kid to have that much arm-power. And at this point Mars is completely mortified. I’m talking red as a bleeding tomato. As the girl leaves with the nurse, he runs over to apologize but his shoe gets caught in the hem of his sweatpants and he slips and smashes into the corner of a concrete wall. So they both end up heading for the nurse’s office, her with a black eye and him needing stitches on one eyebrow. They never talked again after that.”
Jag nearly choked on his drink as he spluttered a laugh. “Dude! I’m definitely gonna bring this up next time I see him.”
Daniel reached over the table and lightheartedly smacked the teenager on the head. “You cannot breathe a word about anything I shared the last few days. Mars will kill me if he finds out.”
“I thought you said you were a tough kid in school?” Jag teased.
“I was. Except I had Marshall—the Boy Scout would literally slap cancer sticks out of my mouth—who’d risk getting grounded for leaving his house to stop me when I snuck out to late-night parties. He’s a hell of a friend… but as a kid, I called him a killjoy.”
Thunder boomed, this time sounding like it was right above the safe house. Neither occupant inside flinched. Daniel shoved his sugar cubes to the center of the table. “I’m all in.”
Jag narrowed his eyes at him and played the hand. Daniel chortled, slapping down his cards. “Four of a kind! I’ll collect my winnings, thank you very much.”
“No, you won’t.” Jag smugly laid his cards right-side up. “Straight flush.”
“Oh, come on!”
Jag gathered the sugar cubes and popped one into his mouth. Daniel pulled a face. “That’s nasty.”
Jag responded by throwing in a second cube, then pushed his chair to the window and looked out at the desert through the lashing rain. Daniel joined him, kicking up his feet onto the windowsill. “Hey, you know the deal. I talk, you talk. And no more stories about you getting into fist fights. I can’t believe how many of those you’ve had. You’re worse than I was.”
Jag linked his fingers behind his head. He liked how easy chatting with Daniel was. “Alright, we’ll switch it up, then. Nearly two years ago, Tegan and I tried dating. Didn’t last a week. It was really weird for the both of us. We grew up like family so romantic relationships aren’t in our cards, I guess. We did it because people thought it would be a good idea. It wasn’t.”
“That’s a bad way to go about it,” Daniel agreed. “But it’s good to see how close you and your friends are. It’s a solid support system to have.”
“Amen. And good for keeping each other grounded. Which reminds me, one time—”
Daniel snapped up from his chair, peering through the spotting scope. He stood rigid for several heartbeats then turned around, brows raised. “Thought I saw something glint on a dune.”
“Well, that’s a first. The last eleven were false alarms. It’s probably nothing.”
“Yeah…” Daniel fidgeted with his wristwatch. “Maybe I should do a patrol.”
“Wouldn’t that be pointless in this storm?”
“A storm would be a good cover to move in. Better to be safe than sorry.”
Jag closed the curtains over the window and followed Daniel down to the main floor to do the same with the rest of the windows. Daniel grabbed a jacket and slung his bullpup assault rifle across his back, then pulled on a pair of goggles. As he and Jag tested their handheld radios, he said, “Emergency contacts are on the fridge, and—”
“—and if the cell signal is as spotty as usual, I should go to Beersheba, find a crowded place, blend in and call for help. I got it, Danny. Really. Pretty sure you don’t have to repeat it every time you head out.”
The man ruffled Jag’s dark hair and walked through the door connecting the cottage to the garage. Jag hobbled upstairs and pulled the curtain back slightly in time to see Daniel emerge in his blue dune buggy. He followed the vehicle with the spotting scope as it went over the undulating terrain, appearing on top of a sand dune, then disappearing, then reappearing on the next one. In sight, out of sight. In sight, out of sight.
That looks like fun, Jag thought before scoffing at himself, amused by how much he sounded like a five-year-old.
The buggy rematerialized on top of another dune. As it moved to disappear down the incline again, Daniel’s head jerked violently to the left. He slumped sideways, the buggy’s framework keeping him from falling out, before the vehicle slid down the dune.
Jag felt like the air had been punched out of him. He waited for Daniel to pop into sight, but he never did.
The teenager stumbled back as the storm struck out with all its might, the rolling crackle of thunder striking fear in him for the first time in years. He gripped the crucifix and Dema-Ki pendant hanging around his neck, using their sharp edges pressing into his palm to slow the maelstrom in his mind. He considered radioing Daniel but was worried someone else would answer instead.
/> Help. Call for help first. God, Danny—focus! Focus!
Jag hurried back to the main floor as fast as his leg brace allowed. He dialed the emergency contact on the fridge with Daniel’s cell phone, trying and failing to scrub away the image of the man crumpling.
As he expected, the signal wasn’t good enough for the call to go through. He stuffed Daniel’s phone and his own into his backpack with some essentials, hooked his full-faced mask to his belt loop, then limped hastily into the garage where the truck they’d arrived in was parked.
I can barely move with this brace on!
Knowing he’d regret it later, he removed the brace and threw it onto the passenger seat. The engine rumbled to life and the black truck roared out over the gravel driveway, swinging onto a long, winding dirt road that led to the freeway.
Jag reached out telepathically to Marshall. Mayday!
The Sentry connected with him. Jag!
Marshall, Danny—he was out on patrol. I think he was shot. It was hard to tell. He never reappeared. I think he’s… The image of the former commando flashed behind his eyes again and he shoved his knuckles into his mouth, biting hard.
Marshall was incoherent for half a minute until he asked, Is anyone after you?
Not yet. I’m heading to Beersheba. Danny said I could blend in safely there.
Good. You do that. But be careful. Keep your mask on hand. And keep me posted, okay? We’re dealing with stuff here, too. Reyor’s men found us. And Kody’s not doing great.
What?! And no one thought to tell me this?
I’m sorry. We’ve been dodging the enemy for the past two hours. At least Kody’s still holding up. I’ll fill you in later. Did you manage to see anything at all? Or anyone?
No. But… Marshall? I’m sorry. About Danny. I’m really sorry.
Marshall tried to speak but his words came out haltingly. Just stay alive, Jag. Please.
You too.
As Jag sped, turning from the desert road onto the freeway, a dark vehicle swerved out from the dunes behind him and closed in. He punched the gas and the truck battled through the torrent, its wipers slashing to and fro feverishly. Who is that?
Distracted by the ambush, Jag nearly missed the appearance of another van as it veered out of the wet sandbanks in front of him, boxing him in. His eyes darted from the windscreen to the rearview mirror. They’re not shooting. And they’re not making a move to draw even with me.
Before he could get any further in his thought, the vehicle behind him nudged the truck’s bumper. Jag fought with the steering wheel as the truck veered off the road and rumbled toward a dune. It slowed as the tires dug into the sand and came to perch at the dune’s peak. He tried to glimpse the drop below but the hood blocked him. Oh, crud.
The van that had tapped his truck revved and sprang toward him. Like a bull it rammed against his vehicle, pushing it closer to the edge. Jag stomped on the brakes. The second van joined the first and the truck was no match. Unable to stop what was coming, Jag held on to anything his hands could grip.
The truck creaked, then toppled over the mound. It flipped once and slid all the way to the bottom of the dune on its roof. Jag’s fractured leg jarred during the fall. His mouth opened in a silent bellow until the vehicle came to rest. With his vision swimming, he undid his buckle, careful not to fall on his neck. His backpack had disappeared into the darkness in the back of the truck. Unable to maneuver to search for it, he shattered the windscreen with an easy kick from his good foot and heaved himself out into the rain. The cold drops splattered on his face and soaked into his skin.
He quickly assessed his options. I could push the truck upright, but then what? No way can it work over the dunes. I could try to take those guys out but… what am I up against? Maybe I should just run. But that’s so cowardly. He grimaced as the tingling pain deepened. No, not cowardly. Smart.
As he forced himself up, lightning lit up the sky and he caught sight of two figures looking down at him from the top of the mound, their faces covered. One of them had a gun trained on him. The moment the trigger was pulled, Jag’s instincts kicked in and he jumped into hyperspeed. Everything slowed down enough for him to watch the projectile leave the muzzle of the weapon, its tufty red tailpiece rustling in the wind.
Tranquilizer!
He ducked. The projectile sailed harmlessly over his head, and the world eased back to its normal speed.
Before his attacker could launch another dart, Jag turned and hightailed it through the desert, kicking up a trail of wet sand as he ran north toward the city. He’d only gone a short distance before searing agony flared white hot in his left leg, making him stumble and roll. He got up and made another attempt but couldn’t get more than a few dozen yards. Dropping to his elbows and knees, his fingers ripped into the desert floor. He was drenched to the bone. His teeth chattered from the cold and the pain. He was terrified. And alone.
I can’t. I can’t.
Growing headlights appeared behind him, casting his shadow on the sand ahead. He looked back, blinking raindrops from his eyelashes. The vans raced toward him, somehow able to travel over the terrain almost effortlessly. Jag roared at them like a wounded animal, his voice dwarfed by a clap of thunder, and pushed himself up. He sped in short bursts, spitting curses every time he fell and had to power himself back to his feet.
At last, the skyline of Beersheba emerged through the downpour. As if to reward Jag for nearing the finish line, the rain eased and a small break parted the black clouds to let the sun shine on the city. Jag turned to look at his pursuers half a mile behind him as they maneuvered out of the dunes and back onto the freeway. He wasted no time. Bounding across the asphalt, he entered the safety of the city.
A youngish man in a navy blue coat with a beanie pulled over his tousled, honey-colored hair stood atop the roof of a five-story office building, a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes. He’d witnessed the pursuit and radioed the drivers of the vans to leave the rest to him. As soon as he saw the teenager lope into the city, he calmly walked to the elevator and, moments later, perused an outdoor market in Beersheba’s South District. The aromas of an array of food and spices fragranced the air. The rain had not deterred the vendors who came back at full force once the storm had eased. They conversed loudly in Hebrew and Arabic, trying to get rid of the last of their produce.
Every man, woman and child wore a mask, prompting the young man to do the same. He purchased an apple and tossed it into the air as he ambled, catching it easily. His eyes flicked to the tall, well-built teenager limping ahead of him with a black hood pulled over his head.
A gruesome smile split the man’s face. Just where I want him. Oh, it’s good to be back in the field.
56
Mariah slumped against a fig tree, breathing hard. Tegan came up behind her and pushed her on. “I know you’re tired, ’Riah, but we have to keep going.”
Groaning, Mariah jogged ahead and grabbed Marshall’s outstretched hand, letting him pull her along. “It’s been two hours and those brutes are still trailing us,” she puffed. “Why haven’t they just busted in guns blazing?”
“Well, for one thing,” Marshall said, “it’s pretty clear Reyor wants the five of you alive. Who knows what else is at play.”
Behind them, Dominique still had Kody slung over her shoulders. The teenager looked resentful about being carried but he’d asked to be put down only twice. Mariah didn’t take that as a good sign.
“You hear anything, Kody?” Aari asked.
Kody lifted his head so his ear perked upward. “Yeah. They’re still keeping at just under a thousand yards, but it’s like they’ve spread out. A rustle here, a rustle there.” He shut his eyes tight, digging the heel of a palm against his temple. “Let me see how many there are.”
“You’ve already tried a few times,” Dominique said soothingly. “Your thermal vision isn’t at full capacity and using it drains you. Just rest.”
“Let me try!” Kody snapped.
&nbs
p; The group jerked to a halt and stared at him. He glared at them, then seemed to realize he’d lost his temper. “I’m sorry. This headache, it’s—it’s irritating me. Just, please, let me try.”
As Dominique lowered him to the ground, Mariah went to join him. A certain darkness begrimed his eyes and perspiration dripped down his forehead and neck.
He’s sweating as much as we are, and he hasn’t even been running, she thought.
“Thirteen,” Kody said. “There’s thirteen of them. That’s not a lucky number. They’ve separated into smaller groups. It’s weird. Sometimes a sound will come from one, sometimes another. It’s like… I don’t know. It’s like they want us to hear them.”
“At least we have a headcount now,” Marshall said. “Let’s keep moving.”
With Kody listening and guiding them away from their pursuers, they climbed the rising incline of Mount Meru. The vegetation around them gradually changed the higher they went and soon the rainforest gave way to pine trees. The sound of water percolating through rocks was faintly audible. The air grew noticeably cooler, a welcome change for the group.
They eventually emerged from the tree line into a secluded U-shaped gulch the size of a football field. A clear stream flanked by muddy swaths gurgled the entire length of the declivity, meandering past the group and disappearing down the side of the mountain. At the far end of the gulley, a small waterfall cascaded down a two-story high volcanic rock face into a pool. To the left of the pool lay a cluster of boulders.
The rock face, covered sporadically in thick vines, extended to either side of the gulch and tapered to the ground, defining its borders. The tops of the walls were overgrown with coniferous trees and shrubs. Mariah spotted an almost perfectly spherical boulder perched near the lip of the right incline of the rock wall. In a moment of brief absurdity, she was reminded of the marbles she used to play with as a child.
As the group neared the entrance to the gulch, she saw Marshall’s eyes flick around. He lifted a fist, stopping them. “They’ve been herding us.” His jaws clenched. “I should have known better.”
