by S. S. Segran
“Kody?” Tegan said. “Would you be able to figure out—”
The boy made a shushing gesture, and he and Subira conversed rapidly. He pulled a map from Aari’s backpack and studied it, eyes squinting against what Marshall suspected was a continuous headache. Then Kody cleared his throat. “If I’m right, it’ll probably be a twelve-hour flight to Cape Town in our little plane. Maybe throw in a couple of hours for fuel stops.”
“Fifteen hours for the seed to grow,” Tegan said. “How many days will we need before we can use it to treat Kody?”
“According to my, um, earlier exploring,” Aari said, glancing furtively at the Watchers, “it took six days for the sapling to come up to waist height after Carmel planted it. Maybe someone can reach out to Elder Nageau and see if Magèo knows what to do.”
“In the meantime,” Mariah said, unzipping her backpack, “we can use my bag to carry the seed once we’ve planted it.”
The group scrambled to empty the contents of her bag into the others’, then filled it with black, nutrient-rich volcanic soil. Dominique gingerly opened Carmel’s box. Inside, four seeds in separate glass vials rested on indented velveteen beds. Tegan carefully removed a vial, holding it so close to her face her breath fogged the glass. Around the group, Subira and her people began chanting a lush, unknown hymn, dense with devotion. Their voices lilted together like liquid gold under the gloss of the full moon. Marshall’s skin tingled as he listened, feeling himself slipping into what felt like another realm.
A familiar prodding pushed against his mind. Marshall!
Elder Nageau! The Sentry moved to a quiet distance from the impromptu ceremony. As he listened to the Elder, the chanting faded entirely into the background. He went rigid, horror pressing down as Nageau’s message sank in. He looked up in time to see the seed about to leave Tegan’s fingertips. An unearthly sound ripped from his throat. He sprinted to cross the ten-foot distance and as the tip of the seed disappeared into the bag, he dove, hands stretched, and snatched it away, landing roughly.
The chanting stopped. Twenty-five pairs of stunned eyes gouged into him.
“Have you lost your mind?” Tegan stormed. “Give the seed back!”
Marshall opened his hand to make sure that the kernel was, in fact, in his grasp, and picked himself up. “There was a reason those seeds were in vials,” he said, exhaling deeply, “and a reason why Carmel said they should not be planted. It wasn’t just to keep them airtight for millennia after millennia. It wasn’t just to keep them away from people’s greed.”
Mariah’s forehead pinched. “Then why?”
“The Tree of Life has another name, Mariah. It’s also known as the Tree of Death.”
Convoluted emotions competed on every face he saw. He gazed down at the kernel in his palm, then said, “The moment a seed touches soil, it grows into a malignant fern-like tree within days. Its spores spread like wildfire in any and all climates, in any terrain, and is indestructible even by fire. Worst of all, a breath taken by any living being under this tree will lead to an instant and painful death.”
The teenagers nearly collapsed. Screams simmered plainly just below the surface. “So then what?” Mariah exploded. “Another godforsaken dead end?”
Marshall lifted his free hand when he felt Nageau attempting to reconnect with him. The others fell silent. He opened his mind, listening closely, then his expression slackened into a thousand-watt smile. He clutched the seed over his heart.
“No,” he said. “This isn’t another dead end. This is the start of salvation. To become the Tree of Life, the seed needs Dema-Ki blood.”
The underlying screams evaporated. Kody slumped onto his knees, shielding his eyes, but Marshall still saw his teardrops hit the ground. His friends were at his side in the next second, holding onto him tight.
Marshall lifted the seed toward Dominique. “Shall you, or shall I?”
She pointed her walking stick at him. “Marshall Sawyer, let your lifeblood save us.”
Marshall flicked out his switchblade and crouched by Mariah’s bag. The crowd around him pressed in. He rested the knife against his palm and drew a line, staving off a grimace as he felt skin tear. He curled his fingers into a fist, covering the seed, then dropped the reddened germ into the bag. Mariah brushed the soil over it and they all watched, the teenagers and the Sentries, Subira and the Watchers. Even the elephants towered behind them. Soundless minutes passed as the moon and torches illuminated them in the chilly air.
Then, the soil quivered. An inch-long shoot pushed out, bearing a single, luminescent violet leaf.
Marshall grinned. We did it.
62
Victor shifted in the jumpseat of the red charter bus, trying to fit his broad-shouldered frame into the small bench. Beside him, Gareth absently controlled the steering wheel, staring at the empty stretch of road flanked by ditches. His shaggy hair fell over his eyes; from the uncharacteristic tension in his shoulders and hands, Victor knew that the younger man was steeping in a toxic vat of emotions. Not one for offering empty platitudes, he kept his mouth closed.
A white Dodge Ram pickup led the way ahead and a second gray pickup tailed them, each vehicle carrying one American and one Canadian Sentry. The only source of illumination on the road came from the convoy’s headlights. They had left Great Falls, Montana an hour before midnight to avoid traffic and have better situational awareness. They’d crossed the border into Alberta, a province nearly the size of Texas, and Victor’s place of birth. His role as a Sentry often took him away from home but he was glad to see the familiar, wide open countryside that made up nearly one-third of Canada’s farmland.
He’d gotten word around noon from Marshall, who was ten hours ahead in Tanzania, that the seeds had been found. Rarely did anything faze the Canadian Sentry, but hearing the Tree of Life’s twisted dichotomy sent his gut roiling. At least they had the cure now.
Having had enough of Gareth’s atypical silence, Victor nudged him. “Be here, kid.”
The Welsh Sentry started to roll his eyes but thought better of it. “I am.”
“Really? Because you’ve had that look on your face since we left the Lodge. You need to put your regrets and guilt in your back pocket and sit on them. We have fifteen individuals in here who need our full attention. And if we can’t give it to them, this mission has already failed.”
Gareth sat a little taller and looked into the rearview mirror. “Happy bunch we have back there.”
Victor looked at the side mirrors instead, something he’d been doing the entire time to make sure they weren’t being shadowed. “They’re leaving everything behind. Jobs, homes, friends, families. I wouldn’t expect them to be dancing and singing Hallelujah.”
“True. And I’m sure it helped that you offered to move their relatives in with other Sentries till everything blows over. Not to mention telling them that staying behind would turn them into a liability for their kids. But it would’ve been nice if we hadn’t had to go that far.”
Victor gave a half shrug. “It had to be done. It made them cooperative.”
“Mmh. At least Kody’s father was a huge help. Sam’s a good voice of reason. Between you and me, I’m glad we had him on our side. Tegan’s father, on the other hand . . .”
Victor glanced up into the rearview mirror. Curtis Ryder sat at the far end of the bus with his wife and twenty-one-year-old son. His blown-back ebony hair contrasted with his fair skin and piercing gray eyes. He was the picture of a man whose duty was to protect his city and was upset that he had to leave it behind. Across the aisle, Samuel Tyler’s short-afro head bobbed all over the place as he and his wife tried to stop their second-eldest son from apprehending their overactive youngest.
Mariah’s mother sat by herself in one of the window seats, apparently not inclined to mingle; she was so petite Victor could barely see the top of her head. Aari’s and Jag’s parents spoke quietly while Jag’s older siblings entertained the Barnes’ four-year-old daughter.
“Fifteen lives entrusted to us,” Victor observed again, loud enough for only Gareth to hear. “And forty more hours until we get to Yukon with all the rest stops. And then, Dema-Ki.”
The radios clipped to the Sentries’ belts crackled. “Sheepdog One to Flock, radio check, over.”
“Read you loud and clear, Sheepdog One,” Victor said. “And I am never letting you pick our call signs again. Out.”
The white pickup in front of them wiggled side to side in response. Gareth snickered. “It’s hard to believe you’re friends with them. They seem too cheery for your speed.”
“I’m friends with you and Dev, aren’t I?” Victor rejoined.
“Should’ve seen that coming.” Gareth checked the GPS near the steering wheel. “We’re less than an hour away from Lethbridge. That’ll be the last big town until Calgary. Vic, I’ll say it again, this trip would’ve been so much faster if we’d taken a plane.”
“I know, but given the situation, this was the best option. Besides, we have better control over everything this way.”
Gareth paused to listen to the radio chatter between the two vehicles sandwiching them, then said, “I can’t believe we’re going to set foot in Dema-Ki. I’ve been dreaming about this my whole life—well, who hasn’t, really—but nothing ever warranted a visit. I wish it wasn’t such a big secret to be kept hidden. Och, but the mere thought that we’ll be there in a couple of days . . .”
“Yeah . . . I’m sure it’ll be something.”
“You don’t seem eager, mate. What’s the matter?”
“What? Nothing. It’s fine. Focus on the road.”
Gareth gave him a sidelong stare. Victor twisted the silver rings on his middle fingers, refusing to look anywhere but the endless farmland. He regretted leaving Chief at the Lodge. He needed to grasp the wolfdog’s fur, scratch his head, anything that would give a sense of reassurance to quell the anxiety rising in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Dema-Ki.
Knock it off, he berated himself. Anya needs him more than you do. He’s giving comfort to an orphaned little girl. God knows you needed a companion like him when you were younger.
He was grateful when Gareth switched topics. “So many acres of farmland, barely a soul to see. There’ve been no cars on this road. Aye, it’s one in the morning, but still. It feels dead.”
“The nanomites did their job,” Victor said. “Most of the barley, wheat and canola crops were destroyed, so a lot of people packed up and moved. It’s something I never thought I’d see. I remember running around my cousin’s farm when I was a kid. Now it hurts just to look at this.”
Gareth dug his nails into the leather wheel. “Reyor’s attack is so well thought-out. Makes you wonder what else is planned. After famine and disease, there can’t be much left for the next hit.”
Victor grunted. He felt his phone buzz against his leg and pulled it from his pocket. A name flashed on the screen: Kenzo. The silver-haired teenager from the New Mexico Sanctuary; his informant within the ranks. The phone pulsed as texts appeared one after another.
Is this working?
Victor?
The reception is so weak! Is this working??
Tell me if you receive this, PLEASE.
The Sentry typed a quick reply. Shoot.
Kenzo gave a rundown of Reyor’s address a few days prior, everything from the establishment of the five echelons dividing the Stewards of New Earth, to Reyor’s willingness to use extreme measures if thwarted, to the distribution of a group of rare individuals among the Sanctuaries. When Victor pressed him for more, Kenzo said that was all he knew and would keep the Sentry abreast if he learned anything else.
“Who’s texting you this time of night?” Gareth asked.
Victor scanned the messages a few times over. “My inside source in New Mexico. He just gave the details of Reyor’s latest speech. One thing stuck out.”
“What?”
“That people with unique blood will eventually be distributed in the Sanctuaries, and they’ll give the next generation of SONEs a quote-unquote, array of remarkable abilities.”
Gareth pushed his hair back and gave Victor a stunned look. “Unique blood? Remarkable abilities? That’s us, right? Anyone with Dema-Ki in their veins, maybe even the Chosen Ones.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I should—”
The Sentry at the back of the convoy interrupted the chatter on the radios. “Break, break, a vehicle just appeared half a klick behind us. Came from the fields to our right. Stay sharp.”
Victor sat ramrod straight as he and the other Sentries gave their acknowledgements. Gareth looked into his side mirror at the dark SUV behind the convoy. “Could just be a farmer.”
“Could be.” Victor’s fingers twitched by his seatbelt buckle.
“You really think Reyor’s people waited for us all the way out here?”
“They found Jag. I’m not taking any chances.”
Ahead of them, a second SUV raced over a field from the right, barely distinguishable in the darkness with its headlights off. It bounced along the depression of the deep ditch flanking the road and rolled up onto the asphalt five hundred yards in front of the convoy. It slowed as the black SUV in the back accelerated.
Victor unbuckled himself. “I don’t like this.”
He heard shuffling behind him and turned to see Tegan’s and Kody’s fathers. The cop and the retired Air Force pilot must have been listening in on the radio chatter from the back.
“Trouble?” Curtis Ryder asked.
“Looks like an intercept,” Victor said.
Gareth’s grip on the wheel constricted. “It’s just two trucks. We’ve got six Sentries with abilities. We can handle this.”
Distant staccato thumps grew louder until Victor felt it in his chest like the rapid beating of a colossal heart. An immense, dark shape eclipsed the bus. Lightning strips of disbelief shot through the Sentry as the source of the shadow descended into full view directly ahead of him.
A V-22 Osprey flew over the pickup truck in front of the bus, its loading ramp open. Dim lights inside outlined a figure in full combat gear behind an M2 machine gun pointed directly at the convoy. The rotors of the aircraft tilted up until the plane hovered a short distance from the vehicles. The commando readjusted the gun lower. In a breathless second, Victor knew what was going to happen but his lungs were a vacuum and he couldn’t scream.
The white pickup truck in front of the bus exploded.
Gareth yelled, swerving around the flames and smoke that poured from the scorched wreckage, but Victor’s focus was entirely on the two young Sentries who lay dead inside it. He didn’t register the bus’s front tires being shot out, nor the Osprey swinging around and landing on the isolated freeway facing the convoy. He only snapped back when he felt their big vehicle tilt perilously to the right. Shrieks followed as the bus tipped and plummeted into the ditch. Victor’s head stuck something hard and he blacked out.
He came to a few seconds later, askew against the dashboard, and found that the left side of the bus was now the ceiling. Groaning, he peeled himself off and wiped the blood trailing down his temple. Whimpers and crying trailed from the back of the vehicle. A sharp pain in his side signaled that he had at least a couple of bruised ribs.
That’s fine. Dealt with worse.
As he pulled Gareth from his slumped position against the steering wheel and ensured that he was conscious, he telepathically connected with the Sentry at the back of the convoy. Talk to me, Gabby.
The plane shot our truck after you guys fell, she said, an ache in her words. Ryan and I managed to bail out before the car exploded. I’m some ways behind you in the same ditch your bus fell into. He’s in the one on the other side of the road.
And the SUV that was behind us? Victor asked, helping Curtis and Samuel sit up.
Two men just got out. They’re splitting up to check the ditches. They’ve got tranquilizers but I see handguns, too.
Can you guys manage?
>
Ryan has the bag with the explosive gels, but I can handle one guy. There’s enough light scattering from the cars that I can use my abilities to blind him for a bit.
Good. Gareth just did a roll call and apart from some injuries, everyone here is fine.
What about Duke and Beth?
Victor screwed his eyes shut. They’re dead.
The other Sentry let out a choked curse.
We’ll make Reyor pay, Victor vowed. But we need to get the families to safety first.
Vic, the men up front are moving in on your position. Full tactical gear with masks, trying to open the emergency hatch on top of the bus. I’d blind them, but they’re not facing me.
Victor heard a loud pop from the back, confirming the opening of the hatch. I hear them.
Cover your face. They’re about to throw in smoke grenades.
Before Victor could yell a warning, there were two distinct clinks followed by the hiss of released smoke. Coughing and screeches erupted from the back of the bus as the suffocating cloud spread to the front. Victor pulled Gareth, Curtis, and Samuel into a crouch facing the cracked windshield. Through it, he saw two armed men slide into the ditch from the road and run toward them.
Victor bared his teeth. Like hell you’re taking any of these people. He swept his hand out, forcing a concussive blast that tore the windshield apart. Smoke rushed out of the opening. Glass shards hurtled toward the commandos and the men fell. Victor tuned his hearing to their comm units, picking up chatter as the rest of the commandos wondered what had happened. A throaty voice assured that it would be checked out. At the top of the ditch, Victor spied two tall men. One wore an eyepatch and by his commanding posture, the Sentry pegged him as the man leading the ambush. The other was smaller, possibly the second-in-command.
When Victor honed in on Eyepatch, he heard him supplying a play-by-play of the situation to someone in his earpiece; the Sentry could recognize the voice of Tony Cross anywhere.
Tony’s overseeing this capture, too? Must be pulling double to get on Reyor’s good side.
