Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  Suddenly, a blast from a gun ricochets off the edge of the roof inches from my head as someone spots me. I shrink back, eyes wide. What the heck?

  Then, I remember . . . I’m still wearing the headlamp. I yank it from my brow and flip off the light, keeping myself flat against the slope of the roof. Tossing the lamp aside, I slink onto my stomach and scoot across the expanse of the roof to the east side.

  Another blast tears through the building, and it’s had enough. The roof groans and begins to crumble beneath me. I step it up and lunge for the ledge, swinging myself over just in time. Another blast, the side of the lab collapses inward. I let go and soar to the ground, landing with a smooth bounce and racing out from the danger. I spin in time to see the rest of the roof fall inward with a loud crash. Dust explodes out from the destruction with such force that the entire building disappears in a cloud for several minutes. Coughing, I back away. An implosion deep inside the destroyed lab sends me flying backwards. I crash into the side of another building across the street, a painful grunt in my lungs. I hold still for a few seconds, letting the Serum work, and then I climb to my feet and stare at the devastation.

  It’s unreal. The lab that has stood in this same spot for over a century is . . . gone.

  And Justin is still inside—buried under tons of rock and debris.

  Panic takes over.

  What can kill us?

  I don’t think about the danger. I don’t think about how the building could shift under my feet and pull me down to be buried with it. I don’t think about exposing myself to whoever just shot at me. I don’t think at all. I race across the street, stumbling up and over rubble, trying to pinpoint the area of the west wing.

  “Justin!” I scream. I’m on my knees—in the dark—yanking up bricks and chunks of metal and pieces of glass and flinging them out of the way and ignoring the stabs of pain that pierce my fingers. “Hang on, Justin.” My voice trembles. “Just . . . hang on.”

  “Ian!”

  I whirl at the sound of my name, fists up. A shadow figure behind the beam of a flashlight watches me. The barrel of his rifle is flung casually up over his shoulder, and he rests one boot on a clump of rock at the foot of the mess. Behind him, a mass of shadow people stand together, weapons in hand. I can’t make anyone out, but the shadows stretch several yards wide and take up the length of the street leading to the lab. I brace myself.

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  “It’s Evan,” he answers, and I squint as I recognize his voice. An involuntary sigh puffs out of my lungs “And Jace.” His shadow gestures, motioning behind him. “And a few hundred friends who’ve come to our aid.”

  I climb down a couple levels. Evan flips the beam of his light until it catches his face in it. Jace does the same.

  “How did you get in?” I ask.

  “We managed to get our hands on some explosives and blew a portion of the Vortex away. Took out the entrance in the process, but we pushed the scum back for now. The guards are barricading the entrance as we speak.” He nods toward a man beside him. “When the Set-Typhon showed up, that quadrupled our numbers.”

  I squint, my eyes scanning the shadows again. “Set-Typhon?”

  “Yep. The Great Dragon rode in to save the day with their specialty in stealth attacks. Exactly what we needed against these Eden-killers.” He shifts his rifle to his other shoulder until it’s laying diagonally across his chest and gestures until one of the Set-Typhon shuffles up to join him. “This is Samuel. He’s in charge.”

  The man raises his black cap, the serpentine insignia stamped on the front. He’s pale, a dark grizzly beard, cut short, lines the edge of his jaw. I take another downward step and scan the rest of his men behind him. Even in the dimness, I can make out their ghostly white-skin and sleeked black hair.

  “Samuel and his men have been tracking the movements of the Vortex for some time,” Evan concedes. But I frown distrusting, as I face the Set-Typhon leader.

  “One of your guys threw a knife at me. Stabbed me right between the shoulder blades.”

  “That’s wasn’t one of my guys,” Samuel insists. His voice is deep and gravelly. “The Vortex got their hands on some of our weapons when they came through our village. As we all had, they’d heard rumors of your abilities. I’m sure what they did to you was a test. They wanted proof.”

  “Yeah, well, they went to a lot of trouble to harass us. We were a long way from home when it happened. They burned my friends out of a cabin they were staying in, too.” I pause, jut my chin out. “What are your weapons made of anyway? Because that thing paralyzed me.”

  He nods. “I’m sure it did. We came across a new alloy recently—and that’s all I’m saying about that for now. We created weapons to protect ourselves from you.”

  Evan turns, a grim expression clouding his features. I face him.

  “What’s he talking about?”

  “Cricket,” Evan says, with no emotion. When my face remains blank, he sighs. “Eden has been supplying it to Gaza for years in exchange for babies.”

  “What?”

  “Cricket seems to play a role in increasing birthrates,” Evan explains. “And the more babies born, the greater chance of more surviving.” He purses his lips. “It was an experiment that proved productive in Doc’s mind.”

  My jaw drops. Is there no end to what Doc will do?

  “We’re lucky if a baby is born in our tribe anymore,” Samuel shifts his weight, his pale skin eerily grotesque in the beam of the flashlight. “And the ones that are . . . they don’t live for long. Gaza, on the other hand, is a regular baby factory. But we weren’t about to bargain with Eden the way Gaza did—even if it meant life for our children.”

  I pin Evan with a hard look. “The Rovers knew?”

  He simply nods, but then he puffs out his chest and changes the subject.

  “We’ve got more important matters to attend to at the moment. We’ve learned how to fight the Vortex—with shields up. They’ve moved their masses down south, which allowed us to get inside and rendezvous with Jace here. And you.” He grins. “Rob sent word; the air base is shut down for good, too.”

  I’m frozen in my spot, but a sheer thrill shivers up my spine.

  “So . . . you’re saying we could win this fight?”

  He smiles, swings the light downward until his face falls back into shadow, and gestures toward the collapsed lab.

  “Since the arrival of the Set-Typhon? Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  My heart jolts with excitement at his words, but then I turn toward the collapsed building as worry sets in.

  “Justin and his family are still inside.”

  Evan takes to the rubble and climbs up to me. “Well, let’s dig them out. We have a fight to finish.”

  Evan organizes a crew consisting of both Rovers and Set-Typhon to dig through the rubble. It’s a strange thing to see the Set-Typhon as allies come to our aid—these people I had demonized by their serpentine tattoos. It’s refreshing . . . but strange.

  The power is out all over the city, and I can’t tell what time it is. Late afternoon, I think. I work alongside Jace, and the others. Eventually, Kyle shows up. He’d been with the guards at the gate, working to reinforce the city. Without a word, he settles in next me and gets to work.

  Later, I sit and eat something when Jace offers, but my appetite isn’t really with me today. The food tastes bland on my tongue. The Serum—the foundational mark of our people—it’s gone. Everything is going to change because of this, and I can’t decide how my heart feels about it. It vibrates with an anxious humming that won’t let go.

  They find bodies in the rubble first. Vortex soldiers. All dead. Jace tells me it was the Rovers plan all along to allow the soldiers to infiltrate the lab, force the rest inside, and blow it up with their own weapons. Eden-killing weapons. When I remind him that I was in there, too, he shrugs.

  “We took a chance that you all would survive the explosions. I mean, until rece
ntly, odds were nothing could kill us, right?”

  When I don’t answer, he settles down beside me on the turf grass, rubbing a hand over his short-cropped beard.

  “Don’t get me wrong—I like you, kid,” he shrugs. “But we have an entire city to think about.” I look at him. “It’s the first thing we’re taught in training.”

  He flips off the flashlight clutched in his grip, and we sit in the dark watching other flashlights dancing in the search.

  “A lot of people died today,” Jace says after a few minutes of silence, and I hear tears laced in his voice. “Some of them were my friends.” He flips the flashlight on, flips it off again. “And we’re not used to seeing that in Eden. But a lot more people will live because of what we did.”

  His words pierce me, and I nod.

  I never used to think about Death. There was no need to— not when my chances of meeting him any time soon were slim to none. And then, Mona locked me into that cave. I thought about death a lot after that. Honestly, I’ve never stopped thinking about it.

  In just a few weeks’ time, Death has become an ever present shadow in my life. My heart pumps with hopelessness, but then a calm breeze captures my soul.

  Be still . . .

  The small voice inside me presses back against the hopelessness, and I relax against it.

  I almost forgot . . .

  Death doesn’t win.

  It takes hours, but to my relief, Justin and his parents are eventually hauled up out of the rocky grave. They’re banged up, barely breathing, burned, but alive. And soon enough, the Serum takes effect. I hug my best friend like I’ve never hugged him before, and when our eyes meet, we know. If we didn’t have a lifelong bond before, we do now.

  Five Gaza babies are rescued . . . without a scratch. It’s an eerie concept.

  I find Mom and Ava at home, securely holed up inside. An unsteady peace has fallen over Eden, and for a time, we feel safe enough to let down our defenses just slightly. The city is cleared of the enemy, the gate is secured, and I’m exhausted.

  Mom pulls me into a hug the minute I open the door, tears standing in her eyes. Ava yelps with happiness, clinging to my leg until I hoist her up into my arms.

  “How is it out there?” Mom asks, concern puckering her blue eyes.

  “It’s quiet for now. We lost a lot of men, but we got a lot of them, too.” I move into the den, sit down with Ava on my knee. I kiss her head, take in my surroundings, grateful to be home. So grateful, tears spring up. Ava is quiet, watching me, and I close my eyes quickly before she can see.

  “The lab’s gone,” I say.

  Mom lifts her brows with a slight intake of breath. “And?”

  I nod. “It’s all gone. The files, too. What the Vortex was after, we no longer have. This fight should be over real soon.”

  Her clenched fist falls over her heart.

  “Everyone is okay? Doc?”

  “Yeah.” I pause before I add, “The babies, too.”

  Mom tilts her head. “How many were saved?”

  “All five.”

  “Five?”

  “The ward was pretty empty.”

  I don’t elaborate.

  “And Ava?” I ask. “Did she . . .?”

  Ava creases her brows, honing in on me. But Mom shakes her head and takes a seat next to us.

  “We’ve been in the cellar.”

  I study her. She wrings her fingers. On impulse, I take her hand.

  “Mom. Did you know about the Cricket? Are we really the reason for the hoppers?”

  Mom licks her lips, but she nods quickly and looks away. Ava squirms around to face me.

  “Mommy knows I told you about me.”

  “I know.” I tug on Mom’s hand until she looks at me. “Are there others like her?”

  “Yes,” Ava replies before Mom has a chance to respond. “There’s Able and Vincent and Liz and Penny and Amber. And Charlie, too.”

  Charlie. Jesse’s little brother. Also from Gaza. I raise my brows, pretending to be impressed. Mom shakes her head with a smile.

  “Apparently, they formed a club, unbeknownst to us. So the answer to your question is yes—on all accounts.” She sighs deeply. “I discovered other children in the school, some my very own students. I met with those mothers weeks ago. As far as I know, we were all able to keep the children at bay today.” She smiles weakly. “It was a long day.”

  “The longest.” I return her smile.

  “Tell me about it,” Ava offers. I laugh.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Still . . . working. Trying to develop a new master plan.” Mom studies me. “There’s no way around it: things will be changing drastically in Eden.”

  I nod. “Dad isn’t going to be happy about the lab.”

  “No. He isn’t. Neither is Ed Ryan. But it’s not the end of the world. In fact, it could be a much better beginning.”

  I squeeze my baby sister to me. “It will be a beginning,” I promise.

  Mom nods toward Ava, a sadness causing her shoulders to sink. “Either way, she will struggle. All of her life.”

  I pierce her with my eyes.

  “Maybe. Or maybe she will be an overcomer.”

  Mom squints at me. I purse my lips.

  “Have you ever heard the sound of a hammer hitting an anvil?” I ask.

  Confused, she tilts her head.

  “Not that I know of.”

  I look at my sister. Her big, brown eyes stare up at me, and my heart melts. I can’t wait to share my hope with the people I love more than anything in this world. I face Mom, and the tears flood in.

  “You should. You really should.”

  He has made everything beautiful in its time.

  He has also set eternity in the hearts of men;

  Yet they cannot fathom

  what God has done

  from beginning to end.

  Ecclesiastes 3:11

  Kate †

  Chapter 40

  K

  ate! Open up!”

  I crouch in the corner of the shack beneath the window and raise my head above the sill just enough to peer out. Claudia stands in the grass a foot from the single step that leads to the door of the one room shack. Her blonde hair—pulled back from her face with a thick piece of rawhide string—is streaked with a mixture of mud and blood. She cringes under the weight of the young Vortex soldier who leans heavily against her side, his arm draped over her shoulders. With a cloddy step, she lunges forward and bangs on the door with a flat palm.

  “Kate!”

  I toss a wary glance toward Diana. She wraps her arms protectively around her middle and shrugs. Fran, lying on the only bed in the room, moans as another pain rumbles through her body, and Diana presses her hand against the woman’s forehead. The baby is coming soon.

  “Kate!”

  I return my attention to the window. This makes the fourth soldier Claudia has dragged back to the shack. The other three? They died one after the other, reeling in agony, full of infection from battle injuries. One of them was from the Set-Typhon clan. I recognized the serpentine tattoo immediately, and when I pointed this out to Claudia, she said rumor was the Set-Typhon had joined the fight in Eden. For which side, we did not know, but Claudia didn’t care. She prayed over each man regardless of his loyalty, offering the hope of God if they would simply reach for it. Of course, it was too late for them. Their abilities to reason—to process anything—were overshadowed by the enormous longing for the pain to end. They felt Death coursing through their veins, and they longed for him to take their hands—to end it. He granted their wishes quickly.

  “What do you think she is hoping to prove?” Diana comes up behind me to peek out the window.

  “Nothing.” I answer. “She just wants to help.”

  I don’t know if I truly believe this, but I say nothing more. Claudia has her reasons for wanting to heap coals on the enemy’s head. I’ll leave her to it.

  Fran bellows a low, gutteral gro
an edged with a sob, and in the same moment, John flings the door wide. He frowns, looks from me to Diana and back to me, clearly disappointed that I left Claudia on the stoop for so long. I come to my feet, shame washing over me. But he has to understand, we’re all a little on edge. Bringing the enemy this close—even injured—it scares us.

  Claudia stumbles through the door, her strength finally spent, and John slips his arm around the wounded soldier’s waist, taking the brunt of his weight. They hobble across the room, the soldier’s one good foot dragging across the dirt-encrusted wood floor. Diana meets my eyes in the dim light of the candle flickering on the table beside her as they settle the soldier onto a pallet in the corner. He grunts, winces in pain. I assess him, our newest project.

  He’s young, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. One leg is missing from the knee down, and blood drizzles from the wound where a flimsy tourniquet has failed to completely staunch the bleeding. I clutch my throat as I study his pale face, working to keep my nausea under control. Claudia peels the top sheet from the pallet and rips it into strips while we all watch in silence. She uses a branch to cinch the tourniquet just above the knee, and she twists it fiercely until the blood flow slows, then stops altogether. She ties it tightly with another strip of sheet. The boy—because soldier or not, this is all he is—the boy screams in agony before he loses consciousness. Claudia sits back, breathing heavily, her bloodied hands hanging over her knees.

  “Okay,” she sighs, nodding rapidly. “It’s good he passed out.” She runs the back of her hand across her forehead to push a strand of hair from her eyes. “We have no painkillers left—except Cricket.” She pauses. “Enemy or not, we don’t give Cricket to anybody.”