Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  I shake my head. “No. They tried but . . .”

  With one easy stroke, he straightens the lock with his bare hands. He examines the splintered wood before closing and flimsily bolting the door. He pulls on the knob.

  Liza flings back her hood and gives me a quick hug.

  “You’re freezing,” she exclaims. Her eyes dart around the dim room until she spots the blanket thrown over the end of the long couch. She wraps it around me.

  “Where is Thomas?” I ask.

  “He’s safe,” she assures. “We took him to Jeb at Scarlet Forest.”

  “Thomas told us you got shot by the river.” Justin drops a full quiver at his feet and swings the bow up and over his head, leaning it against the wall. My eyes are immediately drawn to it. It’s Ian’s bow. “We had no idea what had happed to you two.” He smiles, squeezing my elbow. “I’m glad to see Ian got you here in time.”

  He shimmies his rain jacket up over his head and dumps it on the floor. His shirt tries to escape with it, and he tugs it back into place. The room is dim from the overcast sky, and Liza finds the candles on the table near the end of the couch and lights one. Our wavering shadows join us on the wall.

  “Where is everyone?” Liza asks.

  “Aaron has gone after Penelope. I’m not sure when he left.”

  “And Ian?” Justin’s eyes wander the room, expecting Ian to appear any moment. But when my tears make their appearance instead, he frowns.

  “What is it?”

  “He’s hurt.” I tug the blanket closer.

  He straightens, confusion foiling his features. “Where is he?”

  “Back there,” I gesture toward the kitchen. “Claudia has gone to the clinic in hopes they will let Penelope come. I think . . . I think he’s dying.”

  Panic floods into Justin’s features. “Show me.”

  They follow me to the kitchen where the next shock awaits. Liza gasps as she takes in the bloodied floor. Justin bends, lifts the edge of a blanket to peer underneath.

  “What the . . . ?”

  “He had to,” I whisper. Justin’s eyes flick toward me, his lips pursed, and he lets the blanket fall from his fingers. “They were going to hurt us.”

  “Kate?”

  We all turn at the sound of my name. Sophia stands just inside the doorway of the hidden room. I can barely see her outline, her hand resting on the doorframe. Quickly, I step toward her.

  “What’s happening?” she asks, her voice trembly. “Who’s with you?”

  She takes a clumsy step through the doorway, her blonde hair a loose, tangled mess falling down her back.

  “It’s okay.” The blanket slips from one shoulder as I raise a hand. “It’s Justin.”

  Surprised, she steps into the light and surveys him.

  “Justin?”

  He smiles.

  “Hi Soph.”

  She squints, and without another moment of hesitation, she flies into his arms.

  “I didn’t recognize you.” Her words are lost against his chest. “You look drowned.”

  “Never,” he responds. He leans back. “Look at you! All grown up!”

  She beams up at him, a guarded happiness. She scrutinizes Liza, a cheek firmly planted against Justin’s chest. Liza hasn’t removed her jacket, and her wet clothes drip all over the floor, a slow puddle forming around her. Her long sword still at her hip is intimidating. She tosses Sophia a small wave with a tilt of her head.

  “Hi, Sophia. I’m Liza.”

  Sophia nods her head, clings to Justin.

  “Are you okay?” Justin asks her. He takes her by the shoulders and leans her away from him to inspect her more closely. “Nobody hurt you?”

  She shakes her head. I tug my blanket back into place. Sophia steers her eyes away from Justin’s troubled gaze before she speaks again.

  “They . . . raped Claudia.”

  Her loaded whisper turns the room stark cold. Justin’s jaw tightens, the tiny muscle vibrating under the pressure. His face changes as the implication settles in, and I tighten my lips, confirming her words. Sophia chokes out the rest of her news.

  “And . . . Uncle Michael is—”

  Justin wipes the water from his face with the back of his arm. His eyes dart toward me before he refocuses on her again, apprehension lining his voice. “He’s what?”

  Her face floods with pain, and she covers her eyes.

  “They killed him,” she answers.

  Justin blinks, a sure shock colliding into him. He flushes a bright red. Water drips from his hair into his eyes again, and he doesn’t bother with it this time. I watch his expression pass from shock to anger to sympathy.

  “He’s in his room.” I add. “Claudia wouldn’t let us take him out.”

  Justin exhales one long deep breath and squeezes Sophia to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  He brushes a wisp of hair out of her eye. She sinks into a chair at the table and drops her face into her hands.

  I take Justin in to Ian. He’s curled into a shivering ball on his side. Justin kneels, presses his hand against Ian’s neck. He pulls back, astonished.

  “He’s cold.”

  I simply nod.

  “How did this happen?”

  “An Eden-killer. The bullets only grazed him, but still . . .”

  I take up a flashlight from the end of the bed. Lifting Ian’s hand, I remove the bandage to show Justin one of his wounds.

  In the doorway, Liza still holds the candle she lit, and under its orange flicker, her expression turns grim. She ducks into the small room. Behind her, Sophia hovers in silence. Justin’s lower lip quivers, and he bites it to make it stop.

  The flashlight beam dances over Ian’s body. Justin takes it from me and leans in closely. He catches a whiff of the stench, and backs away with a grimace.

  “There’s definitely some sort of infection. The wound is closing, but it’s raw underneath, like something is fighting it.”

  “Yes.” I sweep my eyes from Ian’s form, and focus on Liza, her eyes honed in on Justin’s back. “Ian said he could feel the Serum trying to heal him.”

  Justin eases back, clearly puzzled. He removes Ian’s shirt and lifts the bandage. The wound on his chest is a red welt now, rising up out of his skin, the middle full of thick pus. Ian struggles in his sleep, breath heavy. He rolls over, his back to us. The feathers displayed in his tattoo ruffle frantically, and sweat drips in streaks over the black curves of the symbol.

  Justin runs his hand characteristically up the side of his face. “So this is what those weapons do to us?”

  Ian stirs, a moan rolling out of him. I kneel beside him, my stomach twisting with his misery. More thunder, and the sound of rain explodes heavier above us. Justin straightens, the top of his head nearly flush with the ceiling.

  “He’s not going to make it.”

  His words stab into my chest—an arrow through my heart—and the tears come, lining my lower lid. I blink them away, but not before he sees. His own eyes fill, and without hesitating, he reaches for my hand. I take it and let him pull me into his arms, where I sink into the safety Justin has always provided.

  “I have to get Penelope.” His breath against my hair causes a loose strand to dance at my cheek. I raise my eyes, see that his mind is made up. But he can’t hide the nervous tremor that laces his voice.

  He shoves the flashlight into my hands and turns away. I watch him go. I’m not shivering anymore, but my wet clothing clings to my body, and loose strands of my unbraided hair stick to my arms.

  Liza shakes her head, and the candle she holds seems to flicker in frustration. She presses her palm hard into his chest as he tries to pass her.

  “Wait a minute. Someone has already gone for Penelope.” Her voice carries a sing-song accusatory tone. He ignores this and shoves past her into the kitchen. Sophia slides out of his way to press her back against the wall.

  “Justin—” Liza follows him, but he cuts her off, his back to h
er.

  “I’m leaving you here with the girls.”

  “These are killers you’re dealing with.” She props a hand on her hip and peers at him, dropping the candle onto the table. “Do you plan to fight the whole bunch of them on your own? Or did you forget to tell me about the army in your pocket?”

  Her voice is full of sarcasm. Justin glares at her, clearly irritated by her biting tone.

  “It’s deserted out there right now. There won’t be any fights. Not in this storm.”

  “Are you so sure? Seems to me it would be the perfect time for a sneak attack against you.”

  “Don’t start, Liza.” He eases a commanding breath through his tightened lips. “Just stay here and keep them safe. That’s your only job right now.”

  She glares at him. Something in her body language—the way she shifts her shoulders in exasperation—proves that she’s been in this position with him before. I shift my eyes from her to Justin, lowering the flashlight beam to spread across the floor before I click it off. Sophia silently tosses her eyes back and forth between them.

  “What is your plan?” Liza repeats, her voice hard.

  “There is no plan.” He hones in on her, not amused.

  A booming clap of thunder rattles the house again. I jump, clutching my throat. Liza moves to the window, leans over the sink and peers out.

  "Well, I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” she announces. “This storm is vicious. The streets are at least a foot deep with water now.”

  A look of uncertainty crosses his face, and he joins her at the window. He frowns.

  “I know how to swim.” He turns, leans against the sink, his eyes wandering toward the entrance to Ian’s room. “We can’t afford to wait, Liza. Did you see him?”

  She faces him, her voice softening with sympathy. “I know. But I’d rather only one of you die than both.”

  The thunder rumbles loud and low and rolls over the rooftop, giving her words an ominous backdrop. Justin shakes his head, frustrated.

  “You don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you?”

  “Not with Eden-killers aimed at your heart,” she huffs. “We were lucky to get into Jordan without being spotted. I’m not interested in you risking your life to go back out there.”

  “And if Ian dies?”

  “Liza is right, Justin.” They both look at me. I tug on a strand of my hair. “I’ve seen how vicious this army is. You shouldn’t take the risk.”

  “See there?” Liza gestures toward me, her palm upward.

  “But you’ve worked with the Serum before, haven’t you?” I continue. “Isn’t there anything you can do for him?”

  I hate how hesitant, how frail the question sounds—as if asking is a crime that will send Ian to the grave that much more quickly. But desperation guides me to the brink, and I step closer, hopeful.

  He meets my eyes, rubs at his scruffy chin.

  “Kate, you have to understand that I only administered the Serum—with my dad’s help. I’ve never worked with development. I don’t know what this Eden-killer stuff is doing to interfere with it.”

  He studies the floor a moment, kicks at it with the toe of his shoe. His eyes wander toward the entrance to Ian’s room again and return to meet mine. He sighs with a despondent shake of his head.

  “Maybe, if I was able to extract some of it from the wounds, it would help some.” His lips harden into a straight, worried line. “Or . . . maybe it will kill him faster.” He runs a hand up the side of his face. “This is something dangerously crazy we’re dealing with here.”

  “I understand,” I conclude. “But he’s dying anyway.”

  He visibly swallows.

  “Claudia has been gone since before dawn, and he’s only getting worse. At this point, I don’t see how it could hurt.” I take his hand. “If you go for help, the chances of him being alive when you return are slim. You may be his only hope.”

  “She’s right, Justin,” Liza agrees quietly.

  “He’s my best friend.” His eyes take a turn, mottling with tears, and he shakes his head. “I can’t do it.” He pushes away from the counter to stand in the middle of the room. “I should go after Penelope.”

  “Look Justin, we get it. You’re scared.” Exasperated, Liza jabs him in the arm with her fist. “But you’re also smart and confident, and you know a lot of medical crap.”

  “You helped me when you had nothing but a homemade remedy,” I remind him.

  “That was different,” he argues. “It was your remedy.”

  “None of that matters,” Liza interrupts. She focuses on Justin. “If you or I go out there, and even one person sees us, we’re screwed. And last I checked, you’re not even remotely as fast as Ian. Dodging Eden-killers? You’re chances are slim to none.”

  I raise my brows. Justin purses his lips, his arms crossed, and Liza continues her speech.

  “So let’s lay low for a while. You help Ian however you can. We scout this place out after dark, get a feel for our game plan, and take it back to the others.” She crosses her arms and leans up against the sink next to him, and I’m reminded of how much they resemble one another. “This storm is not on your side, Justin.” She shrugs. “Heck, maybe Claudia has already found Penelope and Aaron, and they’re all holed up somewhere waiting for this stuff to let up. But Ian? He needs you right now. You’re trained, Justin. Figure it out.”

  He considers her words, weighs them against his own reason. I’ve never seen him stand against it, and I wait, hoping with everything in me that his cousin has convinced him.

  “That actually . . . makes sense,” he begrudgingly agrees.

  “Thank you.” Liza bends into a mocking bow, but he frowns and lifts a finger, stopping her.

  “I’ll try to help him,” he clarifies. “But I’m not a doctor Liza. One slip up, and I’m going, storm or no storm.”

  “Fine.” Liza peels off her jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. “And I know you’re not a doctor, but go do your thing anyway. You might surprise yourself.” She opens a cabinet, rummages through it. “I’ll be here. Eating.”

  He looks at me less than confident, and it sends a streak of unease up my spine. He’s so afraid. I sense it in the chill that fills the air.

  “Does Claudia have any medical instruments here?” he asks.

  “A few. Not many.”

  “A scalpel?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure what that is.”

  His smile edges into place. “Never mind.” He whips his pocket knife from this back pocket. “This’ll do.”

  After a moment his smile fades.

  “Those soldiers didn’t hurt you? You’d tell me if they had?”

  I can’t meet his eyes at first. I toss a glance toward Sophia who stares at the dead men piled against the wall.

  “No.” I swallow hard. “Ian killed them all.”

  Justin purses his lips, his eyes deepening with worry. He joins Sophia in staring down the dead.

  “It has to happen,” he concurs. “It’s them . . . or us.”

  “He’s having a difficult time with it.”

  “Yeah. I understand completely.”

  I sense a commonality in his answer. “You’ve had to kill, too?”

  He keeps his gaze on the dead, and then he says an eerily familiar phrase.

  “It’s war.”

  Chapter 24

  J

  ustin decides that the kitchen will be the best place too work on Ian and so sanitizing it is his first priority. I show him where the other soldiers are buried under the porch. Water runs off the roof and gathers on the concrete, transforming it into a dark, gray mass. The bloated bodies of the dead soldiers beneath shift with the rising water when Justin lifts the slab. It’s a repulsive thing to see. Swollen faces, purpled and thinned skin from first the heat and now the rains. The stench is overwhelming, and I quickly cover my face and turn away from the horror.

  Michael’s body must be moved as well. Already it decompos
es, and the beginnings of a stench haunt the air in the house. Justin does not make the decision lightly, but we all know this is the only option. The ground, covered by a least a foot and a half of water, is too wet for burying, and burning him is out of the question as well. But I see the anguish in Justin’s eyes. He tenderly wraps Michael’s body in a sheet, tying the ends of the shroud with rope before placing him inside the grave with the ones killed him. Sophia watches all of it, silent tears streaming down her face. It’s a horribly necessary choice.

  I sit with Ian, until Liza comes with buckets of rainwater to scrub the kitchen. In the gray light, we work in silence. My eyes water, stung by the smell of death, and bristles against wood is the only sound. The more we scrub, the blacker the stains seem to grow.

  Outside the tiny window over the sink, the rain pours from the skies, and the town of Jordan remains a gray, deserted silence, absent of villagers and soldiers alike. Water runs the streets, its depth climbing up the sides of the houses and coming dangerously close to reaching the level of the front porch. Everything about the day floods me with sadness.

  I help Justin gather what useful medical supplies we can find. There is no scalpel, no syringes, only the pair of scissors and the needle and stitching thread Claudia used on me along with a few bottles half full of antiseptic and some pain pills. We pile all the items on the kitchen table. Justin finds a small saucepan, drops his open blade into it, and covers it with bottled water. He lights as many candles as we can find, arranging them together on the table like a rudimentary firepit. He holds the pan over them and waits for the water to boil.

  I watch him work, see the worry slowly brimming in his features, and I can keep silent no longer.

  “What are you thinking, Justin?” I ask.

  He sighs with a slight shake of his head.

  “Lots of things.” He glances toward the room behind us where Ian tosses in a fitful sleep. “For one, I’m going to have to restrain him to do this.” He readjusts his hold on the handle of the pan. “They don’t have any titanium ropes lying around, do they?”

  He smiles, but his eyes tell me he’s half-serious. He lowers his head, swirls the warming water around a bit.