The screaming didn’t stop.
Kayleigh opened an eye. Opened both, and flinched as dust turned seeing anything into a gritty ordeal. Half over her, Parker hacked out a lung full of plaster and obliterated stone, blood gleaming at her temple. “Where’s Simon?” she croaked, probably into the comm they were all wired into.
“What happened?” Kayleigh struggled to sit as Parker, splayed awkwardly and cradling one arm to her chest, stared blankly. What little color had burned into her face, soot and dirt and the flush of heat drained.
Over the woman’s shoulder, desolation settled.
“Oh—” Oh, God. No. The words congealed in Kayleigh’s chest. The prayer, unspoken.
That heavy weight in her head slammed into place around her, pushed thick fingers through her reality.
The cathedral lay in ruins.
The walls, no longer recognizable, had buckled, folded in under the weight of the roof above it. Half of Jesus Christ’s face gazed solemnly out over the destruction, glass gleamed under the few lights that had survived the blast.
Chunks of stone teetered, splintered remnants of pews and crosses and marble statues fanned in a wide arc, carried on the blast.
Kayleigh’s hands shook as she scrambled to her knees.
“Simon.” Parker’s whisper scored ragged furrows across Kayleigh’s heart. Sank into the bruised and battered flesh. “Simon, check in!”
Her vision crossed. Parker doubled, but before Kayleigh could see either—bleeding grief into her own skin and shaking so badly that she couldn’t even see straight enough to focus on either figure—she reached out. Caught Parker by the shoulders and pulled her into a hard embrace.
She’s pregnant.
The thought slammed into her skull with the certainty she was coming to understand meant truth. Real truth, the possibility of it and the paths leading to it.
She’ll lose the baby.
The woman in her arms trembled, eyes closed, but her hand fisted in the back of Kayleigh’s splinter-studded sweater.
“We have to—” Her voice broke.
She had to do something.
Kayleigh took a deep breath. “We have to pull the injured away,” she said crisply. “Set up a triage just by the—the wreckage.”
Parker let her go. Stepped away. “Silas!”
A rumble, hard to hear through the sound of people sobbing, crying, must have translated in Parker’s comm because the woman nodded.
Very calmly, she plucked a small device from her ear, picked up Kayleigh’s filthy hand, and pressed it into her palm. Saying nothing, she turned away.
The woman made it six feet before she dropped to her knees in the bushes and retched.
Kayleigh fastened the mic to her ear. “H-hello?”
“Kayleigh?” Silas’s deep baritone. “Where’s Parker? Is she hurt?”
“Throwing up,” she whispered. As she wanted to. “We need medical people as soon as possible.”
She surveyed the damage, the carnage of the cathedral. Blocks tilted sideways, slabs of stone hanging precariously. Injured sprawled where they’d been thrown, some huddled, others standing, shock glazed in their eyes.
Every sparking light slammed a halo into place. Her vision went spotty.
“Get to the south side of the cathedral,” came an order, an unfamiliar voice with the crystal clarity of true tonal quality. “Silas, move your ass, big man, I need a pickup!”
Her heart seized.
“On it,” Silas said, and she saw his large silhouette across the dusty span of what had once been the cathedral steps.
She moved as if in a trance. “I . . . There’s people . . . They’re hurt.”
“We’ve called a team,” the man said, firm but not unkind. “Kayleigh, my name is Jonas. Is Parker hurt?”
“Shock,” Kayleigh said, as if from a distance. “She’s in shock. She needs help before . . .”
“Doctor!”
Silas’s call roared across the quad, echoed in the comm. Her head jerked up. She flinched, already ducking just in case something else might come out of the rubble and attack her.
Too much. She’d already lost everything, what else—
Parker’s baby would grow strong.
“I need your hands!”
How? What path could possibly exist to allow the woman to survive the shock Kayleigh herself couldn’t remember how to breathe in?
“Okay, Kayleigh?” Jonas’s voice. Calm. Forced, but even. “I’ve seen you at work, I need you to pull it together and go help him.”
Her fingers curled into fists.
“People are trapped, Kayleigh. They need you.”
Taking a deep breath, she scrambled over a mound of rock and stone, barely flinched when the sharp edge sliced her palm. “I’m here. What—”
Silas’s shoulders twisted. A large slab of painted plaster teetered and fell over, and he cursed when the stone beneath it failed to move. The once beautiful fresco turned to shards of color and scorched black at his feet.
Sticking his fingers into a crack, he planted his boots, squared up, and pulled with all his might.
Tendons stuck out in his neck. His shoulders bulged, arms cording with effort. His growl turned into a strained groan, and the slab shifted.
Kayleigh hurried forward just as the whole piece snapped with the effort, broke at a seam, and teetered outward. Silas staggered out of the way and coughed as dust exploded into a gray-brown haze.
She flinched, choking on the particles and waving her hands in front of her face.
A stooped silhouette limped from the ruin.
Kayleigh’s world ceased to exist. Her vision snapped back into place, halos gone.
As the dust billowed around them, as the shattered lights hissed and buzzed and flickered on and off, the silhouette turned into two.
“Dad . . . ?”
He stepped out of the cloud. Blood matted one side of his face, his hair was practically gray with plaster, his jacket shredded, soot and grime coating everything that was left.
Her heart, shriveled for days, wrenched. “Shawn!”
“Thank God,” Jonas breathed.
Supporting Simon’s arm over his shoulder, he half dragged the staggering man with him. Forced him to move, to keep upright despite the blood painting his worn T-shirt black.
Her fisted hands clenched at her stomach as they cleared the hole.
The dust swirled.
No one else came out.
Kayleigh swallowed hard as brittle brown eyes met hers from a mask of blood and dirt.
The comm in her ear clicked to life. “Get out.” Jessie’s voice, barely recognizable as it slanted high and shrill. “Get out, get out from under cover. The bomb’s in the Old Sea-Trench—Oh, God, right now, everyone!”
Silas didn’t even stop to ask. As Kayleigh shook her head, confused, he roared, “Go!” and grabbed Simon’s free arm. With inhuman strength, he pulled the half-conscious man across his shoulders, shoved Shawn out of the wreckage.
Kayleigh caught him as he staggered, wobbled when his full weight collapsed on her shoulders.
His breath expelled over her face, surprise and pain.
“Parker!” Silas yelled. “Move it!”
A muted sound cut through the lingering litany of groans, cries. Questions. Like thunder, but much weaker than the terrible blast that pulled down the cathedral.
It echoed for a moment, muffled and deep.
Shawn clung to her, agony and terrible strain in his eyes, his set jaw, but he moved when she pulled him. “What was that?” he demanded, hoarse. “What’s in the Trench?”
“Parker,” Silas barked, “Simon’s out! Jessie—”
The ground shuddered. Parker, a young woman clinging to her shoulder, dragged another victim away from the ruins. “What’s happening?” she demanded.
“All agents!” The comm in Kayleigh’s ear hissed, spat gibberish for a lengthy moment before it coalesced into a jarring “—surge detected.”
/> Shawn’s arm tightened around Kayleigh’s shoulder, and suddenly, the balance shifted as she staggered. His fingers fisted into her sweater, kept her upright.
Broken stone and gem-bright fragments of glass juddered in place.
“Brace for impact!”
It was the longest thirty seconds of his life.
The ground didn’t shake; it swayed. Like a sailboat caught in a storm, it heaved back and forth, wrenched itself right out from under him.
Kayleigh collapsed, and he snarled out a curse, more, as he forced his body to move, catch her, fall to the ground and cover her head, her body with his own. Rock bounced, buildings shuddered.
The dust flew, made it hard to see, but he heard the full thunder as it rolled on and on; heard screaming as the earthquake shook and trembled and forced the quad to dance.
Molding disintegrated. Piercing shrieks of pain punctuated Kayleigh’s gasps beneath him.
Glass shattered in a wild sheet of shrapnel, windows exploded outward as building frames buckled and bent.
He buried his face in her hair, jacket pulled up to protect their heads in the only way he knew how as fragments of glass and mortar peppered his shoulders, his back. She shuddered violently beneath him, at least partly the fault of the quake rolling the city like a boat on vicious waves.
Her fists dug into the ground. Shawn covered one with his own, squeezed hard as she buried her face against the crook of one elbow, nose to the ground.
I’m here.
He almost nearly wasn’t; almost died there in the cathedral, Simon in his arms instead of the woman he wanted. “Hold on!” he roared.
Everything fell still.
His voice died in the tomblike silence settling around them. Rang like a hollow bell through Shawn’s aching head.
Nothing shook. Nothing trembled.
Slowly, very cautiously, he pulled the jacket from over his head. Bits of molding and shards of glass skittered off the synth-leather facing, speckling the grass.
People—shocked, traumatized—milled like stranded sheep. Some bent to help others up, others curled up on the ground and refused to move. Tears, prayers, shocked dismay, he heard it all as if from a distance.
Then the earpiece crackled to life. “Sunshine?” Silas’s dark voice. “Jonas, do you copy?”
Kayleigh struggled to her feet. Shawn caught her arm, helped her up. Dirt smeared over her cheek, plaster rained from her hair as she shook her head hard.
A dull echo rang faintly in his ears; he didn’t doubt they all suffered from it.
The quad, already ruined by Lauderdale’s bomb, spread out before them as it always had. Trees, lawn, surrounding buildings acting like the walls of the courtyard. Only now, it tipped. Very subtly, as if it were his vision and not the physicality of the landscape, but he couldn’t deny it. The whole courtyard slanted, skewed.
Glass glinted beneath struggling lights, diamonds buried in the manicured lawn. Some trees had toppled while others remained upright, and a portion of the Mission building had crumbled inward like paper.
Whole segments of the buildings now gaped out over nothing, a view of the horizon peeping through where steel and glass should have been.
Kayleigh dragged a finger down her cheek, peeled her hair from the mud it clung to. “This isn’t right,” she whispered.
Silas bent, clasped Parker’s forearm and lifted her from the muck, but his attention turned inward. “Jessie!” he said again. “Answer me, sunshine.”
The line fuzzed in Shawn’s ear. He winced.
“Fuck.”
Kayleigh turned away from the spectacular array of destruction. Her gaze met his. Held. “My dad?” she asked softly.
Whatever equilibrium the earthquake hadn’t stolen left him. He took a step back, swaying with the effort. Clutching his arm, ignoring the throbbing ache lancing from hip to shoulder, he looked away.
He could lie. But why?
“I had to take the shot,” he said tightly. For all the good that did any of them.
“Simon’s breathing,” Parker called.
“We have injured!” cried another man.
“Help is on the way,” she shot back, crouching by Simon’s still body.
Kayleigh’s chin drooped. She half turned, fists clenching and unclenching, and he winced as her hair slid over her cheek. Hid her expression, a tangled curtain.
“Kayleigh—”
Bzzt! The sound stuttered in his ear. Shawn touched two fingers to the mic. “Jonas? Jonas, can you read me?”
“Jessie, damn it,” Silas growled, and barked, “Someone wrap a sleeve around that leg!”
Kayleigh strode away, unsteady enough that she flung out her arms for balance, but with her shoulders straight. Set.
Determined.
“Kayleigh,” Shawn called, then swore and cupped a hand over his ear as the frequency shattered into indecipherable gibberish. He half turned, one eye on her slender, rail-stiff back.
She bent at the corner of the quad, sifted through rubble and stone.
“—zzt—read me? Th—” The mic hissed and spat.
“Jonas, this is Shawn, can you hear me?”
“Tell him we have wounded incoming,” Parker called, features set so hard that lines bracketed her mouth, even under a mask of dirt.
“Jonas!”
“—ounded by the tru— . . . help from th— . . . hsst,” spat the mic. Jonas’s voice, recognizable in spurts. Was he getting anything back?
“We need a way off this quad,” Silas called.
Shawn glanced up, frowned as Kayleigh knelt and fished the remains of a rectangular pad from the ground. Glass slid off it in a thin, shattered sheet. Her jaw worked, eyes blank.
That part worried him. Anger, he expected. Grief. Accusation, something.
Blank emptiness was a reaction that curled in his gut and kicked. Hard.
“Hey!” A feminine voice, shaky, but familiar.
Silas whirled, raised a forearm as if expecting a blow, but the woman in black body armor didn’t land the punch or kick she could have.
She raised her hands.
“Amanda, don’t!” Shawn yelled.
Crack! Glass unpeeled from the flimsy frame hanging crookedly from the Magdalene. It hit the ground behind Shawn, splintered, metal frame clanging as it bounced.
He ducked, one hand lifting to protect his head even as he prepared to launch himself at the petite witch he’d once called friend.
Her palms turned backward. “I can get you away from here,” she called, loud enough to be heard over the others.
Silas didn’t turn away from her, didn’t dare give her an opportunity. “Bullshit.”
“I can. I will.”
“Your call, Shawn.” Parker sent him a glance filled with urgency. “He’s going to bleed out if we don’t get him to West soon.”
Amanda watched him, too. “You have no reason to trust me, but I’m telling you I can help.”
The choice was his.
Trust her. After everything she’d done, the shit she’d pulled down in the ruins, could he? Could they?
Given everything at stake, what choice was there really?
“Then lead the way.” Shawn turned as sirens lifted over the ambient cacophony of post-disaster. People helped each other, carried the unconscious out of rubble, guided others to sit. Some gave over coats, others helped bandage wounds.
He couldn’t imagine what was happening below.
Kayleigh left the corner, stumbled over cathedral rock and uneven ground, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Ignoring everyone, she followed Silas as he bent, pulled Simon over his broad shoulders and retraced Amanda’s steps through the far edge of the cathedral’s twisted foundation.
Swallowing his heart, he forced his agonized body into a jog. “Kayleigh.”
She jerked, caught herself, and wrapped her arms over her stomach. “No,” she whispered, lost in the ambience, but loud and clear over the mic.
He hesitated. Dug the
heel of his hand into his eyes.
That was the choice he’d made, wasn’t it?
Letting the gap widen between them, Shawn touched his mic. “Jonas!” It didn’t shake. Good for him. “We have wounded incoming. If you can hear this, wounded are incoming.”
“—end he . . .” Bzzt! “—ight awa—”
Confirmation, if it was even that, died.
“Shit,” he whispered again, and hurried after the group.
The landing pad beside the cathedral had all but melted, ripples frozen in the asphalt as if a giant finger had shoved them in place. The helicopter that once claimed it now roosted all too close to the edge of the drop-off segregating the Holy Order quad from the rest of topside’s highest tier. Debris clung to the scuffed paint, but the blades were clear.
Amanda wrenched open the scuffed cargo door. “This should work.”
Wordlessly, Silas clambered inside, ducking as he carried Simon like the man weighed nothing. Within moments, a large hand extended, pulled Parker after him.
Kayleigh stared into the interior.
Shawn held his breath. Halted on the edge of the landing pad, in case she saw him and decided not to go with.
Please, he prayed silently. His fists clenched. Please, Kayleigh.
He could live without her love. He’d managed thirty-three years, he could keep on going. He could live without her kiss, without her touch.
But he wanted to live with her somewhere nearby. Somehow. A friend? An acquaintance.
Someone he could see every day.
Selfish. He knew it. She’d hate him forever, but if she’d only hate him up close and personal, he’d cope with it.
She looked down at the comm in her hand.
Raising her chin again, she seized the edge of the helicopter and pulled herself inside.
Thank you, God.
Amanda turned, her light brown eyes sharp as glass. “You coming?”
Yeah. With a brick in his chest and every joint screaming, he limped across the rippled landing pad. “Hey, Amanda.”
She hesitated.
“If you ever turn on us again,” he said, reaching up to hook a hand into the passenger seat harness, “I will kill you.”
Her mouth hiked up faintly at one corner, a touch of humor that didn’t reach her light brown eyes. “Deal,” she said softly. “I’m—”
Karina Cooper - [Dark Mission 05] Page 24
