by Summer Lane
“No,” Chris snaps. “You’re not exchanging yourself for them.” He shakes his head. “We’ll stick to the original plan.”
No! This could be a great diversion,I think, careful not to voice my thoughts in front of the scout. Chris and the Angels can slip through the backdoor while the Prophet is busy with me.
“We should do it,” I say.
“The Prophet is a bloodthirsty savage,” Chris responds, angry. “He will kill you the second he lays eyes on you because this is about revenge. This is about killing you for what we did to his men.”
“What did you do?” Admiral Boyd asks.
“We killed Ku fighters,” I say. “After they murdered an entire neighborhood and slit the throats of infants and small children. Needless to say, they asked for it.”
Boyd says nothing. He understands.
“I’ll go,” I continue. “I have to. This is our chance to get our guys back.”
Chris shakes his head, clearly agitated with me.
“This is why you’re so hard to be with,” he whispers. “You’re always putting yourself on the front line, begging to be killed.”
My eyes widen, hurt by his words. It’s like a dagger to my heart.
“Somebody’s got to be on the front line,” I say, blinking back tears.
“You’d better damn well hurry up,” Boyd states. “We’ve almost got the nukes loaded, and Omega is too close. As soon as we’re done here, we’re packing up and heading to open sea.”
I understand: he will leave us behind if he has to.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“If you agree to these terms,” the scout goes on, reciting his message robotically. “I will send a party to meet you on the border of Ku territory. You will be brought to me. Only then will we complete the exchange.”
“Done,” I say. “Somebody take this kid back to Hilo and let him tell the Prophet that he can expect me, soon.”
Inside, I am a raging mess of anxiety. The Prophet doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who you can negotiate with. If he has even an inkling that we’re bringing in a strike team while he’s meeting with me …
No, don’t think about it,I tell myself.
I stare at the scout as he is escorted out of the room, and I wonder …
What have I done?
***
The plan is simple. Chris and three teams will drop into Ku territory while I am meeting with the Prophet. We will kill the Prophet, we’ll take our POWs, and then we’ll get off this island before Omega gets any closer.
By then, the nuclear weapons should be completely removed from Hawaii and placed safely on an array of nuclear submarines dispersed throughout the Pacific Ocean, out of Omega’s grasp.
I sit with my hands between my knees, eerily calm.
I’m not armed—the Ku will disarm me anyway. I’m waiting in the front seat of a pickup truck, and Father Kareem is the driver. Chris stands outside Admiral Boyd’s HQ getting ready for the mission. He occasionally glances toward me, solemn. I think he feels bad about the comment he made today, but he doesn’t know how to apologize.
It’s okay,I think. It’s true. I am hard to be with.
If it were Chris doing this, I would be angry. I would beg him not to go.
But it is not Chris. It is me, and I cannot help it. This is who I am; I have to save the people I care about. I hate the thought of anyone else dying senselessly, especially at the hands of people like the Ku …
Father Kareem takes the pickup out of camp, and I leave everyone behind. Chris doesn’t look at me as I drive by. He is still angry, and I nervously twist the ring on my finger.
This war stuff is hell on a relationship.
We leave the fort behind, once again making a beeline toward Hilo.
“You are a brave woman,” Father Kareem states gravely. “You never think about the danger to yourself—you are consumed with such loyalty that laying down your life for another is second nature.”
“Don’t make me sound like such a saint,” I reply. “I’m not.”
“You are a good person.”
“I’m a killer, just like everyone else here.” I sigh. “I’m just fighting for something worthwhile.”
“We all are.” Father Kareem holds an object out to me. It is a necklace with a silver orb. “Take this. Wear it around your neck. When the time comes, kill the Prophet.”
I run my fingers over the silver orb. I pull it apart. Inside there is a small but razor-sharp knife. Enough to kill a man, if plunged into the perfect spot.
“Thank you,” I say.
“The Athena Strike,” Father Kareem goes on. “The final invasion force on the west coast. Do you think we stand a chance?”
I look at Father Kareem—strange and wild, eccentric yet dangerous and deadly.
“Yes,” I say. “I think we do. But we have to beat them to it.”
“Of course. If it is the will of God, then we shall be victorious.”
“The will of God? You would think the will of God would have been to stop something like Omega from ever coming into power,” I snap. “So many people have died. What kind of a God allows that?”
“God is good,” Father Kareem says simply, smiling at me. “People are not. What happens to this world is not God’s fault—it is the fault of wicked, corruptible, evil men. But we are blessed, because even then, in the middle of this hell … God gives us the strength to fight back. To carry on. To lead. To sacrifice.” He nods at me. “This is something that you, too, will know to be true, in time. You must have faith, child.”
I exhale.
Faith. Can I have faith that we will survive this?
I don’t know. I don’t let myself think that far ahead anymore.
We drive for a long while in silence, and then we come to the edge of the Ku border and there is a vehicle waiting there, along with Ku fighters, and I look at Father Kareem.
“Wish me luck,” I say.
“Luck is meaningless,” Father Kareem booms, pulling the truck to a halt. “May God be with you.”
I get out of the car. I face the Ku.
I hope so.
***
Hilo.
The city itself is far smaller than I imagined it, little more than a collection of confusing streets and walkways. Buildings twist through the urban landscape—which has been mostly reclaimed by nature at this point.
I sit in the back of a pickup bed, my wrists chained together, two Ku fighters on each side of me watching me like hawks.
Calm down, guys. It’s not like I’m going to jump out of the truck.
It’s sunny right now, but the black clouds of a heavy storm are festering on the horizon. I don’t see any sign of the Omega fleet, but I know they are out there, waiting to move east.
I shiver and turn my attention to the city. There are Ku everywhere—men, women, and a few children. Buildings have been looted and stripped to the bare bones. Palm trees lining the boulevard are strung with human bones. Ku fighters stop and watch as we drive past, and I am acutely aware that everybody in this city seems to be aware of my presence here.
Great.
We keep driving. What I’m sure was once a beautiful tropical urban paradise is now a savage shadow of its former self. The Ku’s presence has deformed everything here, shrouding the city in an aura of fear.
Eventually, we come to the airport.
I take a deep breath—so Andrew was right. They do keep prisoners here.
The road curves, and nestled behind rows of shrubbery and trees, the terminal stands in front of the runway, its green roofing blending with the scenery. It’s not much different than the Kona airport—brownstone, open, and casual. The only difference is that the Ku have taken over the entire property. Ku fighters stand guard everywhere—in the parking lot, outside of the entrance. There are even Ku fighters stationed on the roof, acting as lookouts.
This is going to make it hard for Chris to get through without being seen,I think grimly.
Th
e truck comes to a halt in front of the entrance, and the guards roughly pull me from the bed. My boots hit the ground, and a sliver of fear works its way into my chest.
This, too, could easily be my moment of death.
If it is, then you’ve done your best, Cassidy.
I am wordlessly brought into the airport, through mazes of doors and walkways, following signs that once pointed travelers to their flight gate or baggage claim. No one has spoken a word to me since I was taken—they wordlessly push me forward, at last coming to a large, open area dotted with couches and empty airport restaurants and tourist shops.
Here, in the center of everything, an open area has been cleared out. A platform has been built, and on top of the platform, the Prophet sits in an oversized chair. He is a large man, and he looks a lot different than he did through the scope of my rifle.
His shoulder has been bandaged, and for a moment I get the satisfaction of realizing that I am the one who caused him that pain.
He doesn’t twitch when I am brought before him. He sits there, his dark, aged face streaked with white and black paint. He wears a long, lightweight robe over cargo pants and a black shirt. The Ku force me to my knees and then back away, leaving me in front of the Prophet.
“So, you’re the one who killed my men,” the Prophet says.
His voice is dramatic, deep.
“I’m also the one who shot you in the shoulder,” I reply coldly.
He twitches.
“You’re a woman,” he sneers. “Tell me, child, how does a woman become a leader in the militias? How does a pathetic, groveling, weakling become a leader in a militia?”
“It comes down to shooting straight and fighting better than the other guy,” I say.
He rises, drawing himself up to his full height. He very tall—well over six feet.
“I have seen the future,” the Prophet continues. “The Akua has worked through me to cleanse the people of this island and open their minds to the blood purification of the weak. By killing my men, you committed an unforgivable crime against our righteous mission. Therefore, you will be executed as you executed my men.”
“Your men are savage murderers,” I tell him. “We killed them because they were murdering innocent people. It was in the defense of justice, since no one else on the island can seem to figure out how to kill you off.”
“It was sin.” The Prophet slowly steps down from the platform. “Before I kill you, however, I must ask a question. Are the Akua coming here? You know much about them—this, I can see in your eyes. Tell me, are the Akua ready to make their arrival here on the island? We have been patiently waiting.”
I look into the Prophet’s eyes. I see his hunger for power. No doubt he believes that he can merge his people with Omega and create some kind of twisted militaristic society in which he will maintain a position of power.
Doesn’t he understand that Omega will gladly kill him?
“You’re worshipping the idea of Omega,” I tell the Prophet. “You think they’re going to bless you? They’ll just kill you, like they’ve killed everyone else. Trust me when I say, they don’t care. Your mind has been warped by this Collapse, and the isolation of this island has driven you insane with power. Omega won’t help you.”
The Prophet backhands me across the face. A heavy metal ring on his finger rips the flesh above my right eyes, spilling blood down my cheek. I hit the ground, gritting my teeth, and spit the blood from my mouth.
Father Kareem’s necklace hangs around my neck, and I am tempted to reach for it.
No, not yet. Wait for the right moment.
The Prophet grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me close to his face.
“It is my ordained mission to eliminate the weak from this island,” he hisses. “You are weak.”
As he drops me to the floor, he winces, touching his wounded shoulder.
“Don’t forget, I’m the weakling who shot you in the shoulder,” I remark.
“If you were strong, the shot would have struck my head,” he snaps.
“Trust me, that was the plan.”
He fists his hands, and I brace myself for another blow, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he says, “I will kill the remains of the pathetic Hawaiian militia after I have killed you. And then the entire island will belong to us, and we will uncover its secrets, of which there are many. But you know this, do you not? Otherwise, you would not have flown here from the mainland, searching for something.”
I say nothing.
It dawns on me then that the Prophet has brought me here to kill me, yes—but also to interrogate me. He wants to know why we are here, and what we are looking for. Like Veronica, he longs to obtain whatever power is in the militia’s hands.
For me, this is a good thing. It will buy me more time.
I flick my gaze to the edges of the terminal, anticipating Chris’s arrival. He shouldn’t be far behind me.
Please get here before they kill me,I think, haphazardly.
Not an unreasonable request, in my opinion.
“I know that the Akua has been to the island,” the Prophet states. “They came because they were looking for you—and for whatever you were, in turn, searching for.”
“We came for the sights.” I force a grin. “Hawaii’s one of the top vacation spots in the world, right?”
Come on, Chris. I can only buy you so much time.
The Prophet shakes his head.
“I am tempted to kill you now,” he growls.
“Please, go right ahead.”
“You’re foolish and arrogant. I hold your life in my hands.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Silence.
I can see the wheels turning in his head. I know what he his thinking: that he can use me to lure Omega to the island, to finally merge with the greater power and secure an even more dominating position of leadership on the island.
All insidious minds think alike. It’s all about power, in the end.
“Take her,” the Prophet commands the guards. “We will hold her.”
“Excuse me,” I interject. “The agreement is that you would set our men free in exchange for my life. I want all of the POWs you captured from the militia freed immediately. Or there’s no deal.”
The Prophet smiles, and I shudder: his teeth are yellow, filed into points.
“And I shall free them,” he says. “I shall free them from the burden of living.”
Liar! I scream internally. Have you no sense of honor?
The realization that he has no intention of keeping to our deal slices through me, and I make a split-second decision. I have one chance to end this, and I take it.
I tear the necklace from my neck, pop the orb in half, revealing the blade, and sprint to the platform. The guards are one step behind, but that’s all the time I need. I spring to the Prophet, wrapping my chained wrists around his neck, binding him to me.
I press the blade to his neck, pushing it against the artery there—the lifeblood.
“STOP!” the Prophet screams to the guards, who are making a mad scramble for the platform. “She’ll kill me, fools!”
They freeze. I can feel my heart hammering against the Prophet’s back. He is perfectly still, feeling the cold blade on his skin, knowing that, at least for the moment, I have the power to end his life.
“Tell the guards to release my men,” I say. “I will not hesitate to kill you if you don’t comply.”
He swallows, then flicks a finger at the guards.
“Do it,” he growls.
The guards scramble to do as he says, and I watch them dart toward the east side of the terminal, immediately giving me the rough location of my friends.
I log this information away and continue to hold the Prophet there.
“You’re going to die,” he mutters. “I will kill you painfully for this.”
“Go on,” I reply, killing time. “I can do this all day.”
Bam.
In one swift movement, he
shoves me from his back and slams me against the ground, pressing his knee to my chest. He is so much bigger—so much stronger—than I am. I hit the platform, the air rushing from my lungs. A burst of stars explodes through my vision, and I struggle against him.
I fold my knees against my chest, giving me space between my body and his. My wrists chained together, I still suffer from not being able to fluidly move my hands where they need to be. My right hand still clutches the blade, and I drive it into the Prophet’s thigh, dragging it toward me, carving a bloody trail through his flesh.
He screams, and I use his pain as a diversion. I roll aside, catching my balance with a quick crouch, and then jump from the platform, leaving the Prophet behind. He bellows commands to the guards standing at the corners of the room, and they give chase.
I am appalled at my own failure to kill the Prophet.
What chance do I have of escape? I am still handcuffed, and Chris’s team hasn’t arrived yet.
I am dead.
Dead, dead, dead.
But as I turn the corner into a long hallway—an exit that leads to the runway—I collide with Manny. He is running full speed, and the impact nearly breaks my nose.
“Manny!” I scream.
“My girl!”
He is about to hug me, but thinks better of it, grabs my hand, and drags me down the hall. I see Hanale, too, and Lani. I also spot Haku, moving quickly. A small flood of Hawaiian militia POWs are running, too.
No doubt the guards freed them before the Prophet broke my chokehold.
But we are all unarmed—still doomed to failure.
“Run, run!” Lani screams. “We can lose them if we can clear the terminal!”
We burst outside into the sunshine. The lookouts stationed on top of the terminal fire at us. Bullets ricochet left and right, but they are poor shots and untrained. This is something I am grateful for as we zig-zag our way toward the trees.
I hear the curses of the Ku. I can practically feel the Prophet breathing down my neck as we cross the most dangerous stretch of open asphalt, diving into the cover of the trees. Behind us, hordes of Ku are gathering and giving chase. There must be dozens of them, and their forces continue to grow.
“We’re going to die!” Lani screams. “There’s too many, there’s too many!”
