Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  “And that’s just a taste,” I say to myself with a smile.

  I didn’t have to kill one single person.

  I race away across the open field.

  The planes fly far ahead, a great plume of billowing black smoke trailing them. I surge forward, reaching for my limit again. And with a tiny push of adrenaline, I climb one notch higher. It’s exhilarating, and for a minute, I feel like Samson. I read about him—the strongest man in the Scriptures. It’s my favorite story. He killed ten thousand men using a donkey’s jawbone as his weapon.

  The visual paints itself in my head, and I understand something that I didn’t get when I first read the story in Penelope’s living room a few days ago. It wasn’t Samson’s strength that saved him. It was God who gave him the strength to destroy the enemy. Plus God was with him, and that was better than any kind of strength he possessed.

  I toss up a quick prayer. I don’t know yet how to pray. Not really. So I just talk.

  “God, I know you can hear me. Help me to do what I have to do. The right way.”

  Up ahead, the planes pull back slightly, slowing their speed and the injured plane struggles to stay airborne. This gives me room to catch up, and I race forward. The terrain flies under my feet.

  I admit to myself—and to God—that I’m scared. Scared of what I might find . . . even more scared of what I might do. That I might lose hold of the control I felt back at the forest—of the control I feel now.

  Kate flashes through my thoughts, and a nervous twinge pinches my heart as I think of her last glance. I take a deep breath. It’s up to me right now, and this urges me forward toward whatever lies ahead. I brace myself as I take an uphill slant, never losing speed.

  I travel a good thirty or forty miles east behind those planes—just two black dots in the sky—before they begin a descent. Their speed falls; I move that much closer. They disappear into a valley, and I push forward. I can’t lose them.

  At the top of the next rise, I see exactly where these guys are headed. I brake, swing my bow off my back, and drop to my stomach. My bow flat in front of me, I scan the area in the valley below. The planes circle in the air, lower their wheels and dive in for a landing one after the other on a long asphalt slab that stretches for at least a half mile. Air pops, and a screeching whistle breaks the silence that surrounds me as the planes work themselves to a full stop. They slide along the length of a row of buildings.

  The area buzzes with activity—Vortex soldiers everywhere. Six wide, tan-colored metal buildings stand along the strip of asphalt, and the soldiers move in and out of them, carrying parts or tools. The minute the planes land, a team of soldiers scurries over, opening the hatch to let the pilots out, shuffling around the wounded plane to assess damages. The pilots’ boots hit the ground, and they’re surrounded by another team that ushers them toward one of the buildings. A third team rolls out large, metal tanks with long hoses for refueling the planes. I’m floored by all of it.

  At least twenty more planes dot the area, along with several other vehicles. I take a quick head count. There are roughly two hundred soldiers, pilots included.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that the small team of soldiers we encountered on the edge of the forest had something to do with this attack. Everything in me wants to finish my trip down from this rise and into that valley. I’d love to get some action, throw these guys off with a surprise attack. But now isn’t the time to be a hero. I’m lucky Rob sent me at all, and I can’t go screwing up his confidence in me. And I can’t risk getting myself killed before I take information back to him.

  I stick around another hour, watching the movements and habits of these guys until I have a pretty good idea of their routines. One thing is certain: they aren’t on any kind of alert—which means they feel pretty good about the security of this remote location. And that’s to our advantage.

  I head back, the wind whipping at my clothing as I race into it. Soon, the forest comes into view—a line of tiny trees that grows bigger with each passing minute. The two vehicles I incapacitated sit dead in the middle of the open field, hulking and silent. My curiosity pulls me to a stop when I reach them.

  I scan the area. The place is surprisingly empty, making the metal monsters even more ominous, and I tense with caution. Hesitantly, I lay a hand against the door of the closest truck. The metal is hot under my palm. After a minute, I yank open the door, bow poised. Nothing.

  The windshield is cracked, a spider web of glass spreading out from the broken center. I take a breath and slam the door closed. The sound reverberates too loudly, and suddenly a shower of bullets pings off the hood. Chest tightening, I duck behind the vehicle, scanning for the gunman. I spot him fifty yards away, flat on his stomach, elbows propped and weapon poised. A deep breath, and I fly out from the truck. He raises his head in confusion when I disappear.

  I’m by his side in a heartbeat, ripping the gun from his grip. I stare down at him, and he rolls onto his back and scuttles backwards.

  “Please. Please don’t hurt me.”

  I squint at him.

  “Don’t hurt you? Which one of us was doing the shooting?”

  He swallows, shielding his face.

  “Where’re the rest of you?” I ask.

  The Serum pumps hard through my veins, screaming for me to take out the enemy, and I’m itching all over my insides to do it. But I squeeze the barrel of his rifle in my hand and push the Serum down until it settles into my blood.

  “Where!” I demand again.

  “D-dead,” he responds. I narrow my eyes. I don’t believe him.

  “Right,” I huff.

  “It’s true.”

  His eyes are bright and wide and scared. He’s probably my age, maybe even a little younger. For a second, I just look at him, a sudden sadness creeping into my bones. I ease back.

  This isn’t his fight . . . and it isn’t mine. He’s a skinny guy with no facial hair and a trail of acne across his chin. A baby. Like me. We’ve both been dragged into someone else’s ego trip, and we may even be the ones to pay the price for it. He swallows again, scooting back another couple of inches. I sigh.

  “Get up.”

  He hesitates, blinking rapidly.

  “Come on. Get up.”

  I nudge him with my shoe, and he scrambles to his feet.

  “Do me a favor.” I rest his rifle against my shoulder and tuck my thumb under the string of my bow strapped across my chest. “Tell your men they will not win.”

  He stands stock still, wavering a little. I see it in his eyes. He’s afraid. Afraid I’ll shoot him in the back the minute he turns. Maybe I would have before. But the Serum hums low in my blood; I’m in control now, and it’s amazing.

  “Go!” I growl, my eyes narrowed. And he spins, tripping over his own feet before gaining his composure and fleeing across the field

  I vanish in the opposite direction, my heart pounding in my throat and one thought thrumming through my head: They’re all dead.

  It doesn’t take long for me to come across the first body. I screech to a halt and take it in. A young Vortex soldier, bloody, his skull crushed in so badly his face wouldn’t be recognizable to the person who knows him best. Nausea rises up, and I choke down bile. I sweep my eyes across the field, seeing more of the same further ahead. Mostly Vortex, but Rovers, too, their clothing tattered with bullet holes from the Eden-killers, the white oozing and mingling with blood at the entry points as it multiplies. I work my way through the bodies, spotting Paul Adams, his eyes wide in death. I run my hands through my hair in a panic as I rummage through the carnage, desperately searching and desperately hoping I don’t see the faces of my friends.

  Most of the bodies lay tangled where they fell along the tree line, and I gather that the Rovers held them off under cover of the trees. But a few soldiers managed to force their way further into the forest before they met their ends. The body of one Vortex soldier crumples in a heap at the foot of an oak. I nudge him with my foot and s
ee the large wound pierced through his midsection. A spear. The deep hole in the trunk of the tree shows me exactly where this guy was pinned before Luke pulled his weapon free.

  The trees rustle, and I immediately squat, alert. But a shrill whistle in the distance pierces the air, and I recognize it. I wait for it to come again. It does, and I turn, take a step to my left, and send up my own whistle.

  The return whistle is closer, coming from the south. I answer it and take off toward the sound.

  Jesse meets up with me in no time, his face grim. He raises his cap, scratches at his blond curls. I tuck my fingers under my bowstring and purse my lips.

  “We’re this way,” he says.

  I follow, match my pace to his.

  “Did you find the air base?”

  “Yeah. And about two hundred more soldiers.”

  Jesse raises his brows until they disappear under the bill of his cap. “Man.”

  “The Rovers can take it,” I assure him. “If they’re smart about it.”

  He nods and tromps through the trees ahead of me.

  The Rovers have made camp in another thick grove. Men huddle in small groups, talking in low voices, their faces smeared with the black streaks of battle. Some of them spin with weapons raised as we enter the shadowy, damp thicket. A few others sit on logs, sharpening weapons or eating. Jeb’s group sits together away from the others. There is no fatigue plaguing anyone. They’re alert, Serum surging, ready for another fight. Meat roasts over several campfires, and the smell causes my stomach to clench with hunger.

  A few Rovers are wounded—a nick here, a graze there, a bullet embedded deep into a leg or arm. None of them would be fatal wounds—except we’re from Eden. Two Rovers hold another one down while Justin digs his sterilized pocketknife deep into the wounded thigh. The Rover’s wincing soon turns into a full-blown scream, and after a few minutes of struggling, he passes out. I turn away with a sick feeling overpowering my hunger pangs. My own experience is too fresh in my mind.

  Rob kneels on one knee in front of a fire talking with Evan. He bends, draws in the sand with a stick. Evan nods, lifts his head, spots me. His back straightens. Rob turns.

  “So. You survived.”

  I frown. He pulls up off the ground and settles on a log.

  “You didn’t expect me to?”

  “Wasn’t sure,” he admits.

  Evan’s lips tip in the corner as he listens to our banter, and he winks at me. It’s nice to know he’s got some faith in me.

  “You got something for us?” Rob asks. His voice shows no emotion despite the sure relief that crosses his face. I settle on the log next to him.

  “Twenty planes. Couple hundred men.” I glance around at the much smaller number of Rovers. “Not sure we’re in the best shape for an attack.”

  Evan chews on the end of his twig. “Doesn’t matter. One stealth attack under cover of night is all we need. We destabilize the planes. Take weapons. Only kill those we have to and get out. They won’t know what hit them.”

  “And that will work?” I ask.

  Evan stretches. “It’s what we do. Lay low, stay hidden, and go in for the secret kill.”

  He defers to Rob.

  “It’s what we do.” Rob’s agreement carries all the signs of a truce. He looks at me. “Can you pinpoint exactly where this base is?”

  “I can give you landmarks and general directions,” I answer. “But it’ll be easier if I take you there.”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  I frown again. “Seriously, Rob. What to I have to do—”

  “You’re going to Eden.”

  I straighten. He chuckles.

  “You made a believer of me, kid. You’re fast. You may not be trained, but you’re smart and alert. And brave.” He glances at Evan. “We’ve come to the unanimous decision that you have the best chance of getting us inside unseen.”

  I can’t hide the wide grin that smears itself across my face. But I nod toward Justin, who’s examining the flesh wound of another Rover. “I need to take him.”

  Rob shifts his eyes toward Evan, a less than enthused look crossing his face. Evan shrugs, chews on his twig, his hands clasped between his knees.

  “He has to talk to Doc,” I insist. “What he’s done—what other doctors did before him—it’s why we’re in this mess. Alerting the Board is one thing, but Doc has to be convinced. We can’t let the Vortex get their hands on the Serum, even if it means destroying our entire supply. Doc will listen to Justin before he listens to anyone.”

  Rob thinks, his eyes on the campfire, but finally he tilts his head to look at me.

  “How fast is he?”

  I cringe. “Average?”

  “Then I think my answer will have to be ‘no’.”

  “Hold on a minute, Rob.” Evan rubs at his knees.

  Rob’s face teems with aggravation. He picks up a small branch and flings it onto the fire.

  “Damn it, Evan. Are you planning to contradict every decision I make?”

  “Only when I disagree.” Their eyes meet across the fire. “Look at that kid over there.”

  We all turn to watch Justin. He teaches a couple of Rovers how to carefully extract white goo from a third Rover’s forearm. A couple of digs with the point of his knife blade, the Serum takes affect, and the wound seals closed. The Rover flexes his arm, examining it, nods his head with satisfaction, and slaps Justin on the back. Evan faces Rob.

  “Looks to me like Doc’s boy knows how to handle himself pretty intelligently—just like his father. And sometimes, that pays off even more than strength or speed.”

  When Rob still isn’t convinced, Evan presses him.

  “Listen, I’ll head the team bound for Eden. These kids want to fight, I say we let them fight.”

  “You’re talking about allowing untrained minds to go into battle.”

  “What choice do we have?” Evan concludes. “We’re dropping left and right here. Fighting an enemy we don’t understand with weapons we wouldn’t have dreamed up in our wildest nightmares. Everything changed for us the minute the first person from Eden was shot dead. I know what you’re trying to do. I admire it, Rob. But I think we’re way beyond the Code now.”

  It’s a good speech. I hold still, my eyes on Rob, waiting. He shakes his head, but he has no defense. Evan is right; nothing is the same. Nothing will ever be the same again.

  “All right.” Rob breathes a sigh, clearly not liking that Evan’s reason is winning him over again. “But if anything goes wrong, it’s on you.”

  “Noted,” Evan flicks the end of the twig with his tongue.

  “Pick your team,” Rob says. “Your number one priority: stay alive long enough to brief the Board on the conditions and the casualties. Get Eden ready for the fight. I’ll take a larger team and head for the air base.”

  Evan nods. “I’d like to take a couple of guys from your team. Jace, for one.”

  “I’ll let him know.” Rob nods. He meets my eyes. “Ian . . . don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Not planning on it.”

  I toss a grateful glance toward Evan. He squeezes my shoulder with a large, warm hand.

  “Eat up, kid,” he says. “We leave at nightfall.”

  Chapter 35

  E

  den stands tall in the distance under a silvery moon, and my adrenaline soars as I scour the wall from our vantage point. Our small team squats behind a group of trees, assessing the situation. Craig Stiles, Arthur Benton, Jace Williams, Lance Aken, along with sixteen more of the Rovers’ finest. According to Evan, these men are the best, and he wouldn’t settle for less. They spread out under the trees, guards up, scouting the area from every angle.

  The bulk of the Vortex soldiers are stationed here, strategically placed around the city. Tents sprout up by the hundreds, and campfires glow intermittently—like fireflies crash landed into the grass. These men are no amateurs—not like some of the boys we confronted in Jordan. They’re alert, armed. Fie
rce.

  “What now?” Jesse whispers.

  He kneels beside me, excitement outlining the question as his eyes roam over the troops. He grips a standard-issued rifle he swiped from one of the dead Rovers.

  “We wait.”

  The answer comes from Kyle. I toss a glance at him over my shoulder. He sits on his haunches just behind us, his back against a tree and his rifle resting across his legs. If I didn’t know his personality better, I’d say he was bored. I whip my eyes back toward the walls of Eden.

  Max flanks Jesse’s other side, working his pocketknife as usual. His dark skin blends in with the shadows better than the rest of us, and like always, he’s quiet, thinking, observing. On my right, Justin sits as still as a snake waiting to strike. He’s been unusually quiet since we left the others. I don’t pry, but I know something is eating on him. Between his palms he rolls a piece of wood itching to be carved, and he focuses on the city.

  I try to ease the pumping of my heart—try to imagine what it would be like to have the heart of a Rover. A heart that never panicked, never felt anxious. I don’t know if I would like that very much. Because when I run, the one thing I can count on is my blood surging hot through my veins. It makes me feel alive. And the more I think about how close I am to seeing my family—to wrapping my arms around Ava—the more I want to feel that familiar pulse of power that races through me when I run.

  My pulse ticks in my throat quickly, and with a grateful sigh, I let it pulse on.

  My bow stands upright in my hand, one end punching into the ground. I rest my cheek against the cool curved wood and pray for calm.

  “All right, men.” Evan comes up from behind and squats in the middle of our circle. We all turn inward to listen. “I don’t think I have to express how dangerous this mission is. Probably the most dangerous situation you’ve ever encountered or ever will encounter again.” He pauses to pull the twig from between his teeth. “So I want to thank all of you in advance for your service.”

  A low rumble of acknowledgement filters through the circle.