Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

Getting to Jordan is never more important than it is in those few moments. I scoop her up; her head lolls to the side, unconscious again. But she is alive. I push with all my strength to reach the final click.

  The trees pass us by in such a dizzying blur that we become invisible.

  There is no thrill in the race. I don’t take the time to feel the surge of power igniting inside me like I would have if this had been an ordinary run. I don’t revel in the beauty of it all. None of it matters. I see one thing: Kate’s purple lips swelling out of her pale face as she shivers unconsciously in my arms. I see Death coming.

  I vow to outrun him.

  I stop twice more—to check her pulse. I push the damp tresses away from her bloodied forehead and press my lips to it. I will her with the hot breath of my kiss to stay with me. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t open her eyes this time to pierce me with the strength I’ve always seen in them. I long for it like air in my lungs. My own strength fades fast.

  I hold her next to my heart, and I race the wind.

  A burst of light drags me awake. I straighten, shield my sleep-ridden eyes against the glare, and the leftover wisps of my dream vanish into the brightness.

  “Good morning.”

  Penelope busies herself with tying back one side of the curtains. There’s a smile in her voice, but the smile itself is masked by the brightness that turns her into a glowing sunburst just inside the window. The light falls across Kate’s face. She doesn’t budge.

  I refused to leave when Penelope came in for me last night. I left Kate’s side only long enough to wash her blood off my hands, and I slept right here, bent over in the chair with my head resting on her thigh. My fingers still grip her hand. I squeeze it. Nothing.

  Pulling gently away, I stretch out the stiffness crawling between my shoulders. Across from me, Penelope plugs her ears with a tarnished stethoscope and leans in to hear Kate’s heart.

  “Pulse is normal. Breathing is steady.” She rests her palm against Kate’s forehead. “Fever appears to be down some.” She faces me as my heart leaps with a new hope. “These are good signs.”

  “And the rest of the shrapnel?”

  “I’ll need to remove her bandages to check. Hopefully, a few more pieces have festered. That’s both good and bad. Good, because I can get to them more easily; bad, because it could mean infection. It’s a touchy business. The festering seems to be the only way I’m able to remove those sticky pieces.”

  I squint with concern, but Penelope only flashes one of her warm smiles that makes me feel safe. I relax.

  “What about her liver?”

  “I’ll check it next.” She nods toward the door. “There’s a plate of food for you on the table. Go eat. And Aaron warmed you a tub of water. He’s gone back to bed for a while.” She smiles. “Long night.”

  I run a hand through my matted hair and stand. I can’t remember when I last showered, but I’m severely overdue. I toss a worried glance over Kate.

  “Go on,” Penelope waves me away. “She’ll be fine without you for a few minutes.”

  Another glance, and I go. In the small alcove of a kitchen, a plate waits for me just as she said. Two quail eggs with a side of dried deer meat and a bottle of water. Water provided by Eden. I sit. My mouth waters as the scent hits my nostrils. I eat ravenously.

  Afterwards, the food sits heavy on my stomach. I ate too fast, and I feel sick. But I will myself to keep it down.

  The water in the tub is lukewarm by the time I get around to using it. I slosh it onto my face, into my hair, scrubbing away the grime and grit of the last few days. Penelope left a razor blade for me next to my plate, small and sharp. I manage to scrape the scruff off my face decently enough.

  The curtains in the living room are parted enough for me to see out. A few people move about. Smiths head to their jobs with thick leather aprons clinging to their chests or slung over their arms. The sun is shining, a couple of guys laugh at something funny . . . and Kate fights for her life in the next room.

  It feels wrong somehow—that the world continues to live on just outside this window without a single thought for her. For me. For the fear slinking around inside me.

  A small troop of soldiers—fifteen or twenty—marches by in a drumming cadence. The people part nervously, clambering out of the way to let them pass, and the normalcy of the scene outside fades into tension. I stand, water bottle in hand, and peek through the curtains.

  The first person I encountered last night was one of these soldiers. Full black uniform with brass insignias on his lapel. Hard features. Overly suspicious eyes. It didn’t register at first, but now, it makes sense; I know he was one of them. And he knew what I was the minute he saw me. I could see the hatred in his eyes. I felt his urge to kill me stabbing at me through all my distress.

  I clench my fists as an anger bubbles up out of my heart. It tempts me to crash right through this window and choke the life out of every one of those black-clad men. Because of those men and their cause, Kate could die. And if she dies . . .

  I narrow my eyes as the heat of my anger boils. If she dies, someone will pay.

  Penelope disappears after breakfast with plans to visit the clinic for more supplies. It’s a long shot, she knows, but she hopes the lieutenant in charge will be in a good mood.

  She’s been gone no more than ten minutes when soldiers arrive, pounding with commanding fists at the door. I peek my head out of Kate’s room. Aaron, already dressed for work in his blacksmith’s apron, holds up a hand in warning and peers out the front window.

  “How many?” I ask.

  “Four.” He lets the curtains fall back into place.

  I grab hold of my fear just as it tries to bully me in its usual way, and I shove it back into place. I can’t let them see it. I square my shoulders, squeezing the half full water bottle clenched in my hand.

  “What do they want?”

  Even as I ask, I expect perhaps that soldier opened his mouth and told someone about me.

  “With any luck, they’re just wanting supplies.”

  “Supplies?” I frown. “You barely have enough here for yourself.”

  “Maybe you should stay out of sight,” Aaron suggests. “I’m not too sure these guys will welcome your presence, considering.”

  Another loud knock. We exchange a quick glance before I nod and slip into Kate’s room.

  I hear nothing more than muffled conversation and a shuffling as the soldiers invade Aaron and Penelope’s home and take what they want. Strong waves of repulsion course through my veins. It takes everything in me to stay put.

  Soon, Aaron closes the door with a soft thud, and I slip out of hiding.

  “We can’t let them do this,” I growl.

  Aaron shakes his head dejectedly, hands on his hips. “We have no other choice. They’re the ones with all the power.”

  “How many soldiers are in Jordan?” I ask.

  “That’s not the point, Ian. They are trained; they’ve imprisoned half our village already, isolated the rest of us from each other. We don’t have the manpower or the means to fight them.” He shrugs. “We just have to hope they leave. Soon.”

  “Leave for where?” My anger seethes. I grit my teeth. “Eden?”

  Aaron drops his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But that’s where they’re headed, isn’t it? To kill my people.” I clench my fists. “Last report, there were at least a thousand of these guys at Eden’s gate already, and that was a few days ago. Who knows how many have gathered now. We don’t need any more to join forces. We should stop them. Here.”

  “That sounds great in theory, but with what army?”

  His cynicism angers me further, especially since he’s right. There’s nothing we can do. Not without an army of our own. My shoulders sink in despair.

  I wait until the soldiers have moved down the street before I cautiously chance stepping onto the porch. Across the street and one house over, they bang on another door. It opens. A fe
w more seconds, and they disappear inside. I take a long swig from my water bottle before I self-consciously wonder how much water the people of Jordan have left—and how much of it these soldiers have already confiscated.

  I study the house directly across the street. It isn’t quite as dilapidated as some of the others, although the white paint peels terribly, small pieces flaking off to reveal dirty brown flecks underneath. Suddenly, I catch a flicker of movement, and my eyes drop to a soldier crouched between the two houses, his back against the wall of one. His arms are crossed over his rifle, his cheek resting against the barrel. His stance is casual, too comfortable—watching me. I squint. It’s him. The soldier who brought me here.

  What is he doing?

  Apprehension staggers its way through my nerves, and I keep my eyes on him. Last night, he helped me. I haven’t given it much thought until now, but suddenly, I’m perplexed. He’s part of an army that has declared war on Eden; he appears to be the only one who knows I’m here, and yet, he hasn’t tried to arrest me. Or kill me.

  Why?

  I rub my chin, contemplating as I watch him. Maybe I read him wrong. Maybe he’s a defector. A pretender. Or maybe it was Kate who moved him to help.

  I frown, shaking away the absurdity of my thoughts. He’s one of them, and his apparent momentary sympathy does not change the fact that his people are killers.

  I have half a mind to confront him—to march across the street and ask him why he helped me, and why he’s spying on me now. The only thing stopping me is the Eden-killer clutched to his chest.

  They’ve proven it already. They will kill everyone in my city with their new technology just like they killed two of Jeb’s hunters. And they will have no mercy. Not on me or my parents or my baby sister. Not on any of us.

  But for whatever reason, he’s keeping my arrival to himself.

  A cold stone drops in the pit of my stomach, and I drag my eyes away from him and back toward the worn, gray house the four soldiers are raiding. We can’t let this go on. We have to fight these guys. If we’re smart about it, we can beat them.

  When I look again, the soldier is gone.

  The four soldiers exit the house, arms loaded, and I instinctively press up against the wall. One of them is blond with ruddy skin and a big nose, and the way the others hunker down around him makes me think he’s got rank. He turns to smirk at an elderly woman standing just inside the doorway. She moves to close the door, accidentally scraping the heel of his boot. He looks down; his smile fades. Without a second thought, he shoves open the door, pulls the woman forward, and strikes her in the face.

  I narrow my eyes, watching them. There’s no denying it: the Vortex has taken over this village, and the people have decided to yield to it. Who knows how many other families have been invaded. The soldiers’ cocky laughter fills the air again, and together they saunter down the rickety steps and move off toward the plaza without a care. I watch them until the last black boot vanishes from sight.

  I slide down the wall into a crouch, my jaw clenching. Any other day, I would have gone to the old lady’s aid. But not today. I can’t make a single move that would jeopardize Kate’s care. I need to lay low.

  Plus, who am I kidding? I may be from Eden, but I’ve never had to fight. Not real combat. Honestly, I never thought I would.

  The door swings open, and Aaron steps out, a lunch bucket dangling from his hand.

  “I’ve got to get to work.”

  Before I can respond, we hear it—a roaring sound in the sky. Aaron moves to the edge of the porch, shielding his eyes as he looks upward.

  Adrenaline pumping, I bound past him into the yard, turning a circle as I search for it.

  The plane flies low, and the tops of trees rustle as its black belly brushes against them. It thunders over us, moving south. The wind picks up, blowing me backwards with its thrust, but I don’t take my eyes off the plane.

  Seconds later, another follows.

  There aren’t any soldiers in sight at the moment, but what’s left of Aaron’s neighbors gather around me to gawk at the sky as the planes disappear into the horizon. I clench my jaw.

  They’re headed straight for Eden.

  A cool confidence suddenly invades me, rushing over every inch of my resolve, and as the sound of the roaring engines fades in the distance, I make up my mind. We have to take a stand. One way or another, we will stop them.

  We will take our villages back.

  Chapter 3

  T

  he lieutenant general allows Penelope to bring supplies from the clinic, including an EKG machine run by a small rechargeable generator which Doc provided last time he came to Jordan. I don’t know how she talked the soldiers into handing it over, and I don’t ask. I don’t care. Because the intermittent beeping promises with every scratchy line that appears on the green, glowing screen that Kate’s heart continues to pump. And it’s music to my soul.

  Penelope managed to remove more pieces of shrapnel that had surfaced. Kate is still pale, too pale for my liking, but her breathing is steady, and her color does seem to be slowly returning. Or . . . maybe I just kid myself. Her liver, on the other hand, in just the few hours since Penelope first examined her, seems to be getting worse. The area is a hard rock, swollen and no doubt painful. Penelope decides she must proceed with the surgery. In fact, there is no choice. It has to be done immediately.

  She prepares the room, sterilizes it the best she can under the circumstances. The surgical instruments have been boiled, and two large tubs of hot water and a bottle of antibacterial soap wait for her on a wooden stand just inside the door.

  “I’m not going to lie to you,” she says as she adjusts the blankets around Kate’s inert body and rests a palm against her forehead. “This surgery will be risky. Her injuries could be more severe than I’ve gauged once I get in there. Things I may have to repair with the naked eye. It’s going to be difficult and dangerous.” She fidgets with the plastic gloves dangling from her fingers. “I sure wish David was here.”

  A rolling wave of anxiety rumbles through my chest.

  “Are you sure you should do this without him?” I ask, the question a squeak that in no way showcases my courage. But at this point, I don’t care. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m scared.

  “No.” Her face creases with concern. “But we can’t expect him, and we can’t wait. He’s taught me enough to be familiar with the process.” She takes a deep breath. “Of course, we normally have a sonogram machine, scopes, lasers, a much larger generator.” She pauses, her brow creasing. “This time, I’ll be relying on a more archaic form of surgery. Scalpel and flashlight. Needle and thread. The basics.”

  I listen; I understand; and I can’t believe this is happening. An involuntary trembling works its way through my nerves until I’m noticeably shaking. I clench my fists, my fingernails piercing through my palm, but the shaking persists.

  “Once her liver is stable, I’ll work on removing the deeper pieces of shrapnel. We can’t leave them to become further infected. That could lead to gangrene. Or blood poisoning. And if either of these occurs, her chances of survival will be slim at best.”

  I press a fist to my mouth. Her words spit at me like bullets, penetrating the places that already hurt. My worst fears roll in again. I slump into the one chair, the same chair I slept in last night, and bury my head in my hands. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t care to consider any possibilities that don’t involve Kate making it through this.

  Penelope’s strong hand drops onto my arm, and I flinch in surprise. She kneels in front of me.

  “Are you a praying man, Ian?” She says this so softly and with such tenderness that it’s more than I can bear. It’s come to this? Praying to some god to prevent her being taken away? I stop breathing—just hold my breath until an angry discomfort invades my lungs.

  “No,” I wheeze. I lean back to assess her. “No, I’m not.”

  She takes my hand. “Well, I’m a praying woman. I have p
rayed over Kate all night, and I will continue to pray over her every step of the way. I’m going do everything I can for her. The rest is up to God.” She pauses, eyes steady, drawing me in. “My God is master over all of this, you see. He’s the great healer.”

  I stare at her, thinking for a moment that she sounds as crazy as the rumors suggest. She should be more agitated than she is. Why isn’t she fretting? She’s never done this kind of thing without Doc.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll mess up?” I finally ask.

  “Of course,” she nods. “If I weren’t afraid, there’d be no reason to trust God. But if I give my fear to him, he will give me the peace and the strength to do this. And then, I’ll do it.”

  Her eyes pierce me, steady and sure, and I want to trust her. I push my previous thoughts aside and study her. She is full of a sincere confidence that doesn’t seem to come from her at all. Something about it—something about the look in her eye—makes me feel safe. A calmness suddenly swarms like a warm breeze all around us—like peace inside the rage. I relax.

  But then a troop of soldiers marches past on rounds, shouting their cadence and pulling my attention toward the window. Their voices are loud and cruel, and they cause the hairs on the back of my neck to ripple with tension again. The warm, swarming peace vanishes. Penelope tosses her eyes toward the window as the sound of the soldiers’ marching feet fades.

  “I know you’re worried, Ian.” I sweep my eyes back toward her. She shrugs. “We have a lot of reasons to worry. But we don’t have to give in to them. God can bring peace in every storm.”

  She, rises, squeezes the plastic gloves tightly, and nods toward Kate.

  “Your storm is lying right here.”

  I swallow. My storm? My eyes fall on Kate. How can I find peace in anything if my only reason for living is gone?

  I’m just about to say so when the door swings open, and I stiffen, already on the defensive. My first thought—which borders on unreasonable panic— is that a soldier has stormed in to take away the generator. I’m on my feet instantly, ready for a fight.