Then the world went quiet. The blue jays, the finches, the swallows all hushed like unruly children when the teacher returns to class.
Kilt stopped combing, his knife stagnant upon the hide.
He hit the ground an instant before the bullet whizzed by, taking a chunk off of the tree where his head had been a moment before. A cloud of dirt surrounded his face, choking him. Panicked, he belly crawled toward the house for cover.
He dug his elbows into the hard earth and shimmied behind the log pile, then pushed himself up and made a break for the house. Bullets splattered the ground at his heels sending thin shimmers of dust into the air.
He had the good sense not to go inside, no need to make it easier for the murdering bastard. Instead he ran past the house and took cover inside of the rock formation that served as the load bearer for his hut.
Over the past week, Kilt had made it a point to search the rocks and learn his way around their turns and shadows. He ran through and twisted his body past an opening and headed to The Spot.
The Spot was a nook he had found and picked out for when the time came. And his time had certainly come.
He looked up at the hidden rock perch. Tucked in between two tall boulders was a flat rock that was just wide enough to stand on, like a tiny smoking balcony. It was two feet over Kilt’s head and he easily pulled himself up. He pressed his back against the cool rock until he was out of sight.
Kilt pulled the big knife from his belt and tucked the smaller one he was using to comb the hide into the back of his pants. He waited, his senses electrified.
Soon came the crunching of rocks under foot. Good call on laying that gravel. He thought.
Then the hit man stopped and there was the foreboding click as he adjusted his rifle. The crunch of his feet, now softer and slower, ominously crept toward him. Kilt gripped his knife, ready, praying the man had come alone.
Sweat poured down his face, salting his eyes. The air within the rocks was cool, and he shivered feverishly.
Come here you bastard. Come right on over here.
The crunching ceased. In a moment of panic he thought his hiding place had been discovered. You idiot. Only a damned fool would think he could hide among the rocks like some tricky little Indian.
The man, surely a Eurasian, was military trained, carrying an automatic rifle and here he was playing hide and seek with a hunting knife.
Kilt waited for a bullet to come flying into his head—as well as one could wait for such a thing, but then there it was: a shadow, long and slow it slithered beneath him.
Don’t forget, he’s not that good of a shot. He missed.
Smoothly, silently, he raised his knife, held his breath and watched the assassin, dressed head to toe in black, walk directly beneath his perch, so close that Kilt could now see his eyes, icy and exotic. Just as long as those eyes didn’t look up. Kilt’s lungs ached, begging for air, but he didn’t dare breathe as the man crept under his feet. Wait for it. Wait for him to pass.
He sprang onto the man’s back jabbing the knife into the flesh of his neck.
“Rrraaaarrr!” the man screamed.
Blood ceremoniously spewed through the air. The assassin’s cap flew off revealing a head of powder blonde hair. He cursed in his native tongue, firing his weapon in the struggle. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Kilt held the barrel with his other hand and the bullets bounced harmlessly off the rock wall.
Kilt clutched his opponent as warm blood poured down his front. The man twisted and rammed his elbow into Kilt’s ribs.
“Hooonh!” Kilt grunted, struggling to keep him from writhing out of his embrace. Out gunned and out skilled, if he lost his grip then he was good as dead. He dug the knife in deeper.
“Aaaah!” the man yelled and stopped hitting, weakening under Kilt’s arm. Now he just had to hold fast until the Euro gave in.
In seconds the dying man crumpled heavily to the ground, bringing an exhausted Kilt with him. Dark blood pooled on the dirty rock floor, streaming around the pebbles, flooding the dips in the earth.
Kilt pushed himself out from underneath the body, panting and fatigued.
Later that afternoon, after waiting in The Spot for another hour, with his new gun, until he was sure the man didn’t have a partner, he buried the body and then took a bath in the river, using sand as an exfoliate to scrub away the stains. As he washed, he watched the blood flow away in the cold rushing water, muddy coagulate.
He then went back and removed the hide he’d been working on, snuffed out the fire, grabbed some supplies and headed back out into the woods, toward another Spot he had discovered, except this one was for hiding, not ambushing.
When he arrived at the brush of bushels situated within a cluster of trees, he removed the leaf woven cover he had made and pushed his way in. Getting comfortable in his pine needle seat, his back leaning against a tree, he pulled the cover over and laid the rifle next to him—safety off. If another one was coming, it wouldn’t be for a couple more hours. He needed to rest now. His adrenaline tapered leaving him exhausted. Soon, he fell into a deep sleep.
He awoke sometime in the middle of the night. Judging by the darkness and the temperature it was probably around three or four in the morning. Something was nagging at him. At first he thought maybe he had heard something in his sleep, but then realized what it was.
“Dammit,” he whispered, grinding his fist into his forehead. He had left the tracking device back in his cabin. This meant he would have to return to the hot zone and retrieve it. “Shit.” He didn’t fall asleep after that.
At dawn Kilt snuck through the woods and surveyed the perimeter of his cabin from the safety of the brush. The maxopossums were back, digging in the potatoes. He took this as a good sign and went ahead.
Slowly he opened his door. Empty.
Wasting no time he went in, picked up the log, removed the device and switched it on. As it hummed alive, he tossed it on the bed and gathered everything he would need: blanket, torch, fistfuls and fistfuls of jerky, vegetables, and a canteen of water. Then he stopped and sat in the darkness, holding the still humming device.
His breath caught in his throat as the anticipated green light flashed accusingly, illuminating his face with every pulse.
He released his breath. “He’s alive.”
He’d been waiting all this time for a signal from James, but now that it was here, he was unsure of his next move. He turned the module over in his palm and clutched his chin. He had thought he had a plan, but now with Eurasia pounding on his door, things had changed.
His thumb hovered over the TRACK button, which would bring James to the module; however, Kilt’s current location was no longer safe. Nowhere was safe now.
He had hoped he could stay in hiding, but now it was deathly apparent that he needed to set things right. As Maxim said, he needed to finish the job. And that meant assassinating Eli Jackson.
Actually, Kilt thought, if I strategize well, I could turn this into an advantage.
He scratched his beard and gazed down at the green light. It might no longer be safe for James to travel on his own. Another one of Maxim’s men would probably be hunting him. Perhaps in his quest to complete the Eli job, he could use the brainiac’s resources to help James along.
Suddenly his new plan was in place.
He firmly pressed the TRACK button. He could have waited to signal James back, but he needed to have the pressure in order to ensure he would finish the job this time. No more hesitations or screw ups. Last time he had a chance to kill Eli, he procrastinated, pushed it off, telling himself he was waiting for the most opportune moment. But that time never came and now he was dodging bullets because of his indecision.
He pulled on his pack now filled with food, water, weapons, and the blanket, bundled up and tied to the top. Then, after a final look back into what could have been a good farm house, Kilt left his refuge in the woods forever.
He gave the gawking maxopossums a brisk salute and headed back into the w
oods. Keeping a maintainable gait, he headed northeast to the Kradle.
Chapter 43
Mevia
The nighttime guard light, spread over the yard, open and exposed like the white underbelly of a dog on its back.
Mevia was pressed into the corner, the grainy, concrete walls scratching against her cold skin. Her eyes moved from the yard, to the fence and back to the open vent where Eli would be coming out. Hurry, hurry. She prayed.
The Training Center alarm was blaring. Wheeeehooo! Wheeeehooo! Everyone inside was up now. She imagined them—the guards rushing to their posts, getting the Demonstrators out of their cells and lined up for a fire evacuation. Except there was no fire. Eli had tripped the alarm in order to override the locks for their escape. He had explained something about how the alarm would switch the computers into emergency mode opening them up to a hack. It was also a diversion, keeping the guards looking one way, while they ran out the other.
She crouched in the cool, wet grass, knees shaking, heart pounding. This was her first time outside of the Training Center. Hell, it was also her first time outside of the Kradle. She almost couldn’t believe that she wasn’t careening off into space, that gravity still applied outside of the protective Sphere.
Her teeth chattered, a disjointed clicking in her ears. Her black body suit did little to protect her from the elements in this new, uncontrolled environment, but she had good shoes—a pair of combat boots that were issued to all the Demonstrators.
What was taking Eli so long? Was he caught? If that was the case, she’d have no choice but to run through the yard, hop over the fence and push on into the woods where Kilt was waiting somewhere in the darkness.
But then Eli’s head popped out of the vent, his loose flowing hair flayed about and billowed in the wind as he rotated his neck, checking the surroundings. They made eye contact and the look on his face showed how painfully relieved he was to see her, perhaps worried she’d left without him. Guilt washed over her.
He stuck his arms out, pressed his elbows against the frame and pulled free, falling two feet to the ground. Mevia rushed over and helped him to his feet. “Ready?” she asked with a mixture of eagerness and fear.
He, in his own body suit, navy blue for the Trainers, was facing her, their shoulders square, his back turned away from their intended path. She kept trying to look past him but he blocked her. That was when she became suspicious.
“Wait,” he said.
“Wait? For what? Come on, Eli,” she yelled over the alarm and tried to move past him, but he grabbed her, his fingers digging into her arms, holding her in place. His pupils were dilated, black and open, and she was reading his mind as though they were holes, spilling and revealing his intentions. “Don’t,” she said firmly, but unable to keep the pleading out of her voice.
However, by the set line of his shoulders, and the gated stance of his legs, it was clear he had other plans.
“What?” Her hands were balled into fists. “What’s the matter?”
He paused, his face shifting. He looked over toward the fence, and then back to her. For a moment it seemed that he was confused, but then the intensity resurfaced in his expression. “We can’t go to the drug factory,” the words tumbled from his mouth as if he’d been chewing on them for days. She said nothing, only looked into his busy, scheming eyes, her anger building. “Here.” He took her elbow. “We’re running that way.” He pointed northwest, the opposite direction Kilt was going.
“Why?” This was less of a question and more of a demand.
Eli moved closer to her ear, making his voice too loud in her head. “Because I have a better plan.”
“No!” she jerked her arm away and moved past him, but he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. She clenched her muscles and tried to free her elbow. “I’m going to the factory.”
“We’ll go our own way, Mevia. You and me. That’s it. No one else,” he was speaking very fast and loud, straining over the noise of the alarm and the overhead speakers blasting static-layered commands. The look on his face became desperate as he was clearly fighting to get the right words, to be heard over the chaos. Mevia watched him struggle, almost with pity because already, he knew what was going to happen, but he kept going, speaking in a staccato rhythm, each word coming hard and fast, like a piano player banging the same note over and over.
“We can live. In the woods,” he said. “Together. Free. You and I. We don’t need him.”
She looked down at where he was gripping her arm. He released it. “Eli, you think we can survive out in the woods without Kilt’s help? Because I don’t.”
Hurt and then anger washed over his face. “What? You think that cowpoke is the only one who knows how to handle himself?”
She shook her head. “That’s not the point. Look, we are going to the drug factory. We are going to burn it down with or without you. So decide now. I’m leaving.” She turned, scanning the yard for danger. Squatting into a runner’s stance, she prepared to dash across the grass, but then Eli spoke.
“I’ve made other plans.” he said. “Plans for us.”
She froze. “What are you talking about?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m talking about you and I going somewhere together. Somewhere beyond the factory, beyond these woods, beyond this country.”
She snapped around, facing him. “What do you mean ‘beyond this country?’” Her eyes narrowed.
Eli hesitated before answering, her reaction clearly shaking him. “Um, well, I mean somewhere like Eurasia. You see I’ve been working out a deal with them and—“
“Stop!” She held up a hand. “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“Listen! Please.”
“No Eli. No more schemes, no plots, and no hacks. You’re either coming with me or you’re staying.” She turned and faced the fence. Please choose me. Please don’t betray me.
Eli spoke again, only this time, it wasn’t his voice she heard, but the voice of her father’s, the last time they were all together before her mom got sick, before all the world went to hell. “You have to listen to me, Mevia. This saving the world business is foolish. You can’t change things.”
Her face grew hot, setting her body on fire, burning away the cold breeze. “You’re not holding me back,” she said evenly. Then she did what her mother should have done all those years ago: she ran away.
He called to her, “Wait! Please, Mevia!”
She pulled herself up by the cold metal links of the fence, the thin wire biting into her flesh, and as she mounted the top, flattening her torso to slip underneath the barbed wire, he called to her again, his voice now far away.
She didn’t turn around until she dropped to the ground on the other side. Through the holes, she looked across the yard. Eli was still hugging the corner, his eyes invisible in the shadows of the building. She watched him watching her, thinking that there was nothing between them but a free, open field. And after he made no move to follow, she turned and disappeared into the dark woods.
Chapter 44
Mevia held the banana down with her wrist, peeled it, and then cut it into even slices for frying. Dila and Kurt were over the fire, cooking a pig on the spit. It was his biggest kill yet and Kurt wanted to have his hand in the preparation.
“Mm Mm. It’ll be good eatin’ tonight,” said Henny who was walking up with a basket of herbs.
Kurt grinned.
Mevia smiled. It had been days since she and James returned and she was starting to feel like herself again, calmer, steadier. Her head, however, still grappled with painful memories, fighting an invisible battle every time her thoughts turned to Flora. Then she’d have to try and talk herself out of despair: Flora was no longer in pain. The Tritons wouldn’t have to risk their lives on a rescue mission. Bottom of the barrel blessings.
Nobody admitted it, but the relief was all over their faces, which bothered her a little, but she tried to be understanding. They didn’t truly kno
w how bad Flora had it over there.
“Well hello stranger!” Dila called out.
Mevia looked up to see James shuffling toward them, shoulders hunched, his head hanging, keeping his eyes to the ground. “Smells good,” he said automatically.
This was one of the few times Mevia had seen him since they returned. Shortly after they arrived, he received a signal back from Kilt, elated, he whooped and hollered. Then after learning they were only about fifty miles from the mainland, Mevia joined him in his celebration.
Only fifty miles! She couldn’t believe they were being kept so close. It made her wonder why they even bothered sending deports here at all. But what did it matter? She wasn’t sticking around to find out.
James seemed to feel the same way. Ever since he got the signal from Kilt he had been on the beach working on his old boat, more determined than ever.
She would have been right along with him, helping with the process, but she had no clue where to begin and he had said it would get done faster if she would just focus on gathering supplies for the journey. Mevia understood this was a polite way of asking her to get out of the way, which she did without argument. However, lately, despite his mood, he was looking sickly, pallid and weak, coughing and losing his breath.
After Mevia had told Sandra her plans for leaving, she asked what she was going to do once she got there. “Are you going to find your friend Eli?”
They were gardening, but it was a hot day and they had stopped to take a break in the shade. Mevia sighed and looked out toward the sky. “No,” she finally said. “I don’t think so.”
Sandra lightly touched her shoulder. “Perhaps it is time to forgive him. What do you think?”
Mevia’s first reaction was to reject the idea of forgiveness, but then maybe it was Sandra’s guru-like presence that made her pause. Perhaps, it was unfair to blame Eli for her troubles, after all he was only trying to help. Well, and help himself too, that was always his problem. But then again, wasn’t he helping himself in order to be with her?
Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1) Page 26
