Resistant

by Rachael Sparks

  “What did he inject me with, Rory? I feel like shit. I feel feverish, weak, sore all over.” When dizziness darkened his vision, he let out a sharp curse and added, “We really need to keep moving.”

  She helped him back onto the stretcher. “I think he injected you with his own infection drainings.” She took a deep breath and admitted to herself what she already knew. “And I think you’re septic. If he hit your carotid, it would send the infection right into your bloodstream.”

  “Why do you sound like a doctor? How do you know all this?” He focused a blurring vision on her, and she saw how helpless he felt.

  Rory shrugged and found herself running a hand down his face. She offered a joke. “I like to read?” Their gazes held, and Rory saw she didn’t need to explain anything for him to understand what she was planning.

  “No.” It was an order.

  “It’s the only thing we’ve got.”

  “No, Rory.”

  “You don’t need to be afraid. You get to take the fish-blood oath.”

  “I’m not afraid. I don’t want you in danger. I want you to leave. Leave me here, take the Jeep, find a boat. I’ll give you the coordinates—”

  Rory shook her head. “I’m not leaving you, Navy. And I certainly don’t know how to pilot a boat in the North Atlantic.”

  He struggled to sit up, but it felt like his blood was boiling under his skin. Navy’s strength to fight left him, as did his grasp on time as she left his side, reappearing after what felt like an eternity. She had a metal table, a set of supplies he didn’t understand.

  This wasn’t like the procedure with AJ. She didn’t use a syringe, but instead a fat needle connected to a clear tube. As she sat on the bed next to him, the blood left her body and filled a transfusion bag.

  “No, Rory,” he kept trying to say. His tongue felt too heavy to lift.

  After the bag seemed full to bursting with her blood, she clamped it closed and pulled the needle from her arm. Navy passed out.

  CHAPTER 13

  * * *

  Washington, DC, TEAR Headquarters

  The conference room vibrated with tension. Analysts cowered at one end of a conference table, terrified to meet the face of General Kessler seated opposite, flanked by Commander Jacobs and two of his reports.

  “You had all fifteen drones working. You had them dart the vehicle with a tracker. You knew two visitors had arrived. All the drones stopped working, the vehicle went for a cross-country drive, their boat is gone, and the visitors disappeared. And now you tell me none of that seemed worthy to invoke a call until a day ago, and that you’ve completely lost their trail?”

  “Well, they apparently found the dart and, I don’t know, threw it into a passing truck,” a junior analyst answered Kessler’s scathing summary after a painful silence.

  “They. And do we even know who they are?” Kessler barked.

  “You seem to know better than we do. Better than, in fact, any facial recognition intelligence databases at our disposal.” The senior analyst crossed his arms over his chest. “Who are they?”

  CHAPTER 14

  * * *

  Windham, Maine

  When Navy woke, the sun was cresting the horizon and lighting up the room they were in. He felt a pressure on his chest and looked down to see the blonde head of a sleeping Rory tucked under his bare shoulder. Her arm was wrapped protectively across his chest, and in the crook of her elbow a telltale bandage covered her veins. His own elbow bore a matching bandage.

  He took measure of his own system. Neat stitches on his waist. Starving, but hydrated. Slightly weak, but well rested. Normal temp. Normal heart rate. A sore spot on his neck from the needle puncture. According to his watch, it had been about twenty-six hours since he was last fully conscious and feeling almost dead.

  Was it possible for a blood transfusion to so completely reverse that? He knew far less than she did about this type of thing, but the sharp contrast was undeniable. A day before, he thought he was reliving the near-death experience that had left him broken, scarred, and terrified. Now he felt like he was getting over a cold.

  He looked down at her, the dark blonde eyelashes casting shadows on her cheekbones, the soft pink lips and pale complexion. The skin under her eyes was smudged with fatigue. She must be exhausted, too. She’d probably had only a handful of hours of sleep in the past forty-eight. His gun was positioned inches from her hand on a metal stand, as if she’d wanted it ready to grasp and protect him with should someone find them. As if she knew how to use it. The thought of her trying, or needing to, sent a chill through him.

  Navy knew she might not let him touch her again. She might never really decide to trust him, especially considering what omissions were yet to be revealed. But at this moment, knowing that she had shared her life with him to save him, watched over him, and made sure he was whole again, he knew he couldn’t stop trying. It was his job to protect her, but it was his personal mission to make her fully his to protect. He would do whatever it took to convince her, sacrifice whatever he needed to keep her safe.

  Running a hand over her hair, he pressed a featherlight kiss to her forehead. The touch woke her, her eyes opening slowly before she fully awoke and bolted upright to look at him.

  “Are you okay? Did you hear something?” Her head whipped around as she feared she’d fallen asleep and left them exposed. Rory looked back to Navy and saw he was giving her that intense stare she’d come to know, though it still fried her nerves. Now, though, it seemed tender, too. She felt herself blushing, realizing that he’d woken first, which meant he had found her curled up next to him when she had expected to be up and seated elsewhere when he came to.

  “I’m more than okay. Thanks to you, it seems.” He lifted his left arm slightly to bring attention to the bandage at his elbow.

  She checked his temperature and heart rate, then scanned his face again. He wondered if she could feel his heart speed up at her fingers on him.

  “Everything’s back to normal.”

  “Not really,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

  “It’s not?”

  “You saved my life. Thank you, Aurora Stevigson.”

  Rory took a shaky breath at the look in his eyes. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. Clearing her throat and looking away, she said, “You must be starving. I found some things in the cafeteria that were still edible.”

  “Yeah, actually. Ravished.”

  She pivoted off the bed and pulled around a tray table with a few cans of food and bags of chips, dried fruit, and nuts. He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Not what you were craving?” she cracked.

  “I’m having flashbacks to boot camp.”

  “Well, act grateful. It was really creepy to sneak past that guy.” She gave a shiver. “I would’ve expected the propofol I gave him to wear off by now.”

  He frowned at her with apparent confusion. Thinking she needed to explain, she shrugged, “He deserved it. And I didn’t want him to come to while I was stitching you up.”

  Navy swallowed. “Rory. He was dead from the moment I first hit him. I snapped his neck.”

  She blinked. “How . . . how do you know?”

  “Because I was trained to do that.”

  Now she swallowed, hard. It hadn’t occurred to Rory to ask him what his job really had been in the military. She had that sudden sensation, like back at the farm, that she didn’t even know him. Yet she’d just fallen asleep on his chest.

  He could see the goose bumps rise on her arms while she stared at him, processing. And he watched the trust slip a little farther away.

  “I forgot to ask what you did in the military.”

  “I was a Navy SEAL. And I was trained to do that when I felt my teammates’ lives were threatened.”

  Rory didn’t say anything more, just nodded and turned away to look out the window.

  “We need to get going soon. We need to ditch the Jeep.” When she glanced back at him in surprise, he
elaborated. “It’s been over a day since their bird disappeared in the same location that their tracker reversed course and turned south. If that schmuck in the truck hasn’t been pulled over by a team in black yet, he soon will be. That means they’ll start the search again at the bridge, but this time with urgency.”

  “Because they know that we know.”

  “Yep. So if we can’t find a replacement for the Jeep soon, it’s going to be on foot.”

  Rory eyed the wind moving the trees. “It’s cooler outside. I think there could be a storm blowing in. Are you sure you’re able to hike any distance?”

  “Any distance.”

  “You’ve been shot, stabbed, and infected.”

  “Poked, not stabbed. And the fact that your transfusion worked to stop my infection proves to me how badly we need to become invisible. Can I have your wristlet?” Rory tossed it to him. “It stays here. Before we leave, I’ll turn on the cell signal. If you want to send Byron a message, that’s fine, and it’ll ensure they come here first. Just be vague on details.”

  “Won’t they know where he is, then?”

  Navy shook his head. “No, he won’t receive it. Army turned off his com.”

  Rory turned back to the window, unexpectedly depressed to realize what should have been obvious. Navy wasn’t giving her a chance to send her dad a message, or caring how she felt about her father, he was just conducting the mission. She should really stop reading anything into those intense moments between them. For him, Rory was an objective.

  She jumped when Navy’s hand unexpectedly slid down her arm and closed over her hand, and she looked up to him.

  “Byron’s going to be fine. Army’s the only guy I’d ever want on a weeklong boat trip with me,” he said reassuringly. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

  CHAPTER 15

  * * *

  Five Miles off the North Atlantic Coast, North of Freeport, Maine

  Byron poured two cups of coffee in the tiny galley of his ancient boat, stirred in a small spoonful of molasses he had indulged in bringing, and brought them aft to where Army was manning the helm. The sunrise was blinding on the horizon, and it lit the surface of the Atlantic Ocean with a dazzling sparkle.

  Army thanked him and took a sip, then sent him a quizzical look.

  “Molasses. Actually, sweet-potato molasses. I noticed you used sugar back at the farm.”

  Army chuckled and his accent seemed to thicken when he said, “You won’t believe this, but my grandmama made something like that, back in Trinidad.”

  “Must have been a wise woman,” Byron smiled.

  “She was a firecrackah.”

  “You said Marines took you in when you were a boy. Why was that?” Byron probed.

  “Everyone was dead. I was all alone,” Army shrugged casually, but Byron’s stomach clenched at the picture the few words painted. A young boy, orphaned by a plague of infections that had been killing off the population. “I was only eight. It was an act of mercy that they broke so many rules to protect me, but I guess you could say a band of brothers had pity for me. They brought me back to the states, to Florida, and one of the men adopted me. ’Bout broke his heart when I opted to join the Navy.” They both chuckled to lighten the darkness of the story.

  “What did you and Navy do . . . in the Navy?”

  “We were SEALs. Strictly covert missions. Then, about three years in, they started to draft us into TEAR. We couldn’t figure why. I mean, as far as we knew, TEAR was just a box of lab geeks trying to save the world with their microscopes.” Casting a look askance at his boatmate, Army added wryly, “No offense.”

  “None taken. My wife would be proud of that epithet. And I’m a climatologist anyway.”

  Army continued, “General Kessler, the sort of silent commander of TEAR, convinced us that they needed us. That certain factions were holding survivors hidden from the world, or the survivors were scared and hiding, and they needed those survivors to progress their research. That seemed true for a few recovery missions.”

  Byron studied him, watching a sadness creep over his face. “But?”

  “But. It was all a lie. We found ourselves taking children from their families. Parents from their kids. It was awful. We told them they’d get to come back soon.” He let out a steely breath between his teeth. “I think I’ll spend my whole life plotting how I can undo that. If they’re still alive.”

  “They probably are, though perhaps in induced comas. Too valuable to lose. Discovering that was what made Persy leave TEAR, though no one knew she’d uncovered the truth. Even her fellow researchers probably don’t know about that.”

  Army sighed. “I hope you’re right. Navy and I still plan for a day when we can free them. Actually, that planning is exactly what got us turned into guinea pigs. Most of our team felt as we did, and we were developing a tactical plan. But other members of the select force, they felt forcing people to be donors was worth it for the greater good. I guess everyone feels differently about losing a loved one to the die-off. They made sure Kessler knew about it. So we and ten other men suddenly woke up on gurneys. Said the shots were to make us resistant, said they’d found the cure and we were the first people to get it as a reward for our service.” Army grinned at Byron. “Imagine what a bunch of dumb young fucks we were, eh?”

  Byron nodded. “We all have been at one point. I’m sorry you were taken advantage of. But I’m glad for my sake and my daughter’s that you survived.” They watched the ocean again in silence. Just as Byron was about to offer to make breakfast, one of the two fishing poles he’d positioned to trail off the stern began to spin its reel.

  “Breakfast is knocking,” Army said hopefully, throttling back to stop the boat. Byron worked the line, reeling in a sizable cod while Army applauded.

  “I’ll be damned. It’s a cod!” Byron exclaimed as he freed it from the hook. He turned to set the line down in a safe spot and, as he turned back, jumped in shock as Army’s arm crashed a wooden cosh on the fish’s head, executing it with a single sharp blow.

  “Jesus. I planned to put it in the live well.”

  Army barely glanced at him. “You do mean to eat it, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then he’s better off now. It’s cruel and unusual punishment to do that slow smother to a fish, Byron.”

  Byron gave it a moment’s thought and decided he quite agreed with the younger man. Leaning back on his heels, he studied the fish respectfully. Army watched him staring at it in wonder.

  “Ahh . . . I didn’t mean you have to give it last rites.”

  Byron chuckled and then gave in to a long, deep belly laugh that felt very good in spite of the recent seventy-two hours of pure stress.

  “I was just reflecting on history, Army.” Standing up, he took the fish to the cleaning table built into the back edge of the stern and set to work on the process to make it edible. “This fish helped build America. They say they used to grow as big as men, the largest must have been as long as this boat. They say you used to scoop them out of the ocean with buckets. It kept Native Americans alive, then colonists. It was probably the most eaten fish in the Americas and Europe in the 1800s.”

  “So we overfished it?”

  “Yep. Till it was practically extinct. Even this boat’s nets helped. Oh, we passed weak laws to save them, added regulations and protected zones. But nobody believed they’d ever really fish them to death.”

  Army snorted. “Sounds familiar.” Nobody had ever thought antibiotics would just stop working.

  “Yep. And the climate change didn’t help the cod, either. When the North Atlantic starts feeling like the Gulf of Mexico, if you don’t have the strength to paddle to Greenland, you die.”

  Army helped him scale it, and then they both rinsed their hands and headed inside to the galley. Byron panfried half the fish and served it with a couple of the boiled eggs Rory had packed for them.

  “I can remember when the reefs started to die, near the island where
I grew up. First the algae tide, then the coral just . . . poof. We called them ghost towns, those reefs that used to be like an underwater jungle, all those colors. Suddenly they just became white, dead. All the fish disappeared, barely a lobster could be found.” Army looked down at his empty plate and then studied Byron. “Is this cod a sign that things are getting better?”

  Byron gave a smirk and shrugged. “It’s bound to be better for everything but humans. We’re a fraction of the number we used to be. But we managed to shift the earth’s poles all by ourselves, something never known to happen so quickly in the history of the planet.”

  Army’s stunned expression revealed he hadn’t been taught this in school. Byron topped off their coffees and cleaned the plates, explaining further as Army got the boat moving again.

  “We caused such extreme climate change that, by the turn of the century, the distribution of water around the earth had simply shifted. Eurasia was drained of its aquifers, and drought has plagued most of it through the last hundred years. Add to that the melting of the polar ice caps, and it’s as if the earth was a spinning top and then someone stuck a piece of gum on it.” He reached over to an ancient bobber hooked to a shelf, his grandfather’s effort at decor. Pinching it at the top, he flicked his fingers, and it spun three times, old and uneven, then toppled. “It unbalances the distribution of weight and the top wobbles. Now, the earth has always had an imperfect spin, but we threw it into complete reversal from the direction it had always wobbled, when the pole was at the top of Canada.”

  “So where’s the North Pole now?”

  “Not far above Norway.”

  “And all this is why electrical storms and freak blizzards can happen without warning?” As Byron nodded and started to explain more, Army held up a hand. “I need a break.”

  Settling back into the pilot’s seat, Army eyed his GPS coordinates with distrust. “Those still work,” Byron reassured him. “Compasses have to be adjusted for.”