Standing above him, Tristan's eyes widened. She backed up two steps, then turned and ran. Ness tried to call out after her, but she'd taken the wind right out of his lungs.
* * *
Sweat beaded on her brow and dripped into her eyes. Her feet jarred on the pavement. She had her laser in her hand, surveying the road, the sky, the ocean to her right and the hills to her left. According to the mile signs along the coastal highway, she'd been running for the last six miles. She intended to keep running until she couldn't.
A jet sneered overhead. She ducked off the road, but it was already gone. She got back on the road. She knew she couldn't run all the way to San Pedro in one stretch. That was still at least forty miles away, and her personal best was sixteen. On top of that, the city was burning. There might be Swimmers on the ground. She'd face detours.
But running felt good. Nothing made sense except putting one stride after another. Sometimes when she started running, there was a place early on—as little as a half mile in—where it felt like she wouldn't be able to go on for another five minutes. With her breath getting shorter, it usually felt like she should turn around and go home.
But she kept running. Always. And she always hit the groove. The spot past the initial pain where it felt like she could keep running all day. If she kept her pace moderate, she wouldn't even be breathing hard. The fifth mile was no harder than the first. The tenth no worse than the fifth. After that, she'd start to flag, but it was so gradual that when she finally came to a stop, she sometimes thought it wasn't her body that had given up, but her mind.
Waves swished against the shore. As the afternoon ticked on, towers rose from the shores of Santa Monica. A light haze rested on the city. Her strength started to wane. She'd sweated through her clothes. She sipped water on the run. A stitch built in her side. She ran on, but it worsened, forcing her to drop down to a walk.
A mile marker informed her she hadn't quite hit fifteen miles. She gulped down water and ate some of the seaweed-like food the sub had once produced. It tasted even worse than normal. With it came the memory of the sub. She couldn't believe how furious she'd been. It had swept over her like a demonic possession. She hadn't even been angry with him—but he'd been there, so she'd taken it out on him.
And then, rather than trying to fix things, she'd run away.
A jet buzzed across the city. She couldn't let herself sink into those thoughts. She kept her eyes open for the yellow and orange of citrus, or the bulbs of avocados, but the trees were barren. Her right hand began to tingle. She flexed it until the feeling went away.
Now that she was walking, she felt far more exposed. The sky was stained gray-brown. She was among the buildings now—two- and three-story apartments and shops, mostly—but rather than offering safety, they made her steps echo. She glanced up at every glint of light in the windows. The air smelled like dry smoke.
Far down the street, a figure scuttled onto the asphalt. Swimmer. A second right behind it. Tristan backed up to the intersection she'd just crossed and turned east. As soon as she was out of sight, she broke into a sprint.
She only made it five blocks before she was ready to puke up her seaweed. In an hour, the sun would be down. Safer to travel then. She went inside a video store, found the back office, locked the door, and lay down on the couch.
The post-run fugue took her. She fell into a sleep so deep it felt as though the couch had sunk into the ground and taken her with it. When she got up, it was dark out. She made a casual search of the shop, giving her head time to clear, then went upstairs and watched the street until she was sure it was vacant.
She wanted to start running, but her nap had left her muscles stiff. She needed to save strength in case she spotted another Swimmer.
Over the next three miles, she didn't see another soul, alien or human. She kept expecting to hear gunshots or explosions or shouts—the soundtrack of resistance—but all she heard was leaves and trash rattling on the wind.
Her right hand was tingling again. She shook it, holding it out from her hip, as if it was covered in grease. A dozen times since her initial run, she'd wanted to turn back, but each time, the tingle in her hand had stopped her.
The look on his face. Like she'd stabbed him in the belly.
Right now, her emotions should be armored by righteous anger at the Swimmers, but her own rage had stolen that from her when she'd hit him. The look on his face. Was that how she'd looked, before the plague, when her ex-boyfriend Pete had come after her?
Ness hadn't deserved it—not in the slightest—but she should have seen the cracks. He didn't understand that you couldn't save everyone. You had to make tradeoffs. There were no easy victories over a threat like this. They'd been fighting the Swimmers together for two years. Hawaii. Mexico. Australia. Sri Lanka. Japan. Destroying the second coming would require a war every bit as grinding and exhausting. And this time, it would require an effort from much more than the sub crew. It would take every last man, woman, and child on earth.
The stink of smoke thickened. She crossed the street and stopped on the corner. Before her, the city burned, a wasteland of charcoal and ash. Far worse than she had imagined. Some buildings had been annihilated altogether, replaced by barren craters of broken concrete.
She looked behind her, but wherever Ness and Sebastian were, they were long gone.
* * *
The three Dovon awaited them in the forest above the cliffs. Numbly, Ness followed Sebastian up into the pines. Sprite dead. Sam dead. Tristan was as good as dead. He wanted to lie down right there on the slopes and go to sleep. Or wander off into the hills and put all this bullshit behind him. Why not take a tumble? Break a leg? Let someone else deal with the world's troubles for once?
Sebastian glanced back at him. "WE ARE STILL GUTBROTHERS"
Ness blinked and signed, "I know."
"THIS IS NOT A GOOD DAY. BUT GOODNESS REMAINS"
Ness' shoulders felt a little lighter. Enough to keep walking. Sebastian crested the bluffs and trudged through the trees. After a half mile, they came to the base of the rocky outcrop where the three surviving Dovon had been hiding since the bombing. The aliens regarded them with somber eyes, their limbs held low in postures of sorrow.
"Ask them why," Ness signed.
Sebastian gestured to the other Dovon. They conversed for a long time, their motions swift and anxious.
Sebastian let his limbs sag, then turned to Ness. "THE TRAITOR WAS OF THE REBELS"
"And they had no idea?"
"NO NONE. IT IS THOUGHT THE TRAITOR HIMSELF DID NOT MEAN FOR THIS. THAT WHEN HE SAW HUMANS WITH ME, HE ACTED WITH A FOOLISH MIND"
"So as soon as he saw me and Tristan, he dropped a brick in his bandolier and called in an air strike? Why are we such a big deal?"
"DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?"
"Let me guess. It has something to do with the Way."
"IT HAS ALL TO DO WITH THE WAY! REBELS SEEK TO TAKE EARTH BECAUSE THEY HOLD NO RESPECT FOR HUMANS. YET IF SOME HUMAN AND SOME DOVON ARE FRIENDS—AND MORE, IF WE ARE GUTBROTHERS—THEN HUMANS MUST BE SEEN AS WORTHY OF LIFE"
Ness nibbled the skin on the inside of his lip. He signed, "And they think the rebellion will fall apart if the other Dovon learn this."
"WILL ALL REPENT? NO. DOVON KNOW GREED JUST AS HUMANS DO." Sebastian plopped a tentacle on both of Ness' shoulders. "BUT MANY WILL TURN BACK TO PEACE. YOU MUST TRUST THAT THIS IS SO"
"I'm still committed to this. More than ever. But we have to punish whoever killed Sprite and Sam."
"THIS MAY BE HARDER THAN YOU THINK"
"I don't care how hard it is. We have to get justice for our friends."
"YOU SEEK THE COLD ANSWER?" Sebastian's tentacles waved in the driest amusement. "AND WHAT IF THEY SEEK THE COLD ANSWER FOR ALL DOVON WE HAVE KILLED"
Ness clenched his teeth. After a moment, he signed, "So you want to just let this go?"
"GREAT TRAGEDY HAS HAPPENED. BUT THAT IS BECAUSE WHAT WE REPRESENT IS SUCH A THREAT THAT THE ENEMY
MUST DESTROY IT AT ALL COSTS"
"If we're that important, then I trust the Dovon will conduct an investigation in our honor. And render justice for our dead. All right?"
"YES AGREED," Sebastian nodded. "IN TIME, THAT WHICH WAS WRONG WILL BE RIGHTED." He shifted to gaze up at the titanic ship half lost in the clouds. His eyes darted down. "NESS LOOK"
"I get it. We have to undo the rebellion before—"
Sebastian grabbed Ness' shoulder and shook hard. "NESS LOOK YOU MUST LOOK!"
Exasperated, Ness turned to follow the direction of Sebastian's tentacle. Hundreds of yards downhill, a figure tottered up the beach. It was limping heavily. Swinging one leg forward in a semicircle. A leg that terminated in a sturdy, straight peg.
Ness broke into a dead sprint.
By the time he got down from the cliffs, Sprite had spotted the dust cloud kicked up by his heels, stopping at the edge of the road. Ness slammed into him. Sprite staggered back, but Ness hugged him too tight to fall down. He was damp and smelled like salt.
Ness laughed, drawing back. "You're alive!"
"Course I am." Sprite tugged his wet shirt back into place. "After all the time we've spent kicking their ass, you think I'm going to let a Swimmer gank me? Aliens should be more scared of me than Ripley."
"What happened? Where's Sam?"
Sprite's bravado evaporated like a two-minute rain. "She…didn't make it."
"She was in the sub?"
"We got pinged, man. Enemy sub showed up, closing fast. I tried to lose it, but it was a no-go. Then Sam told me to get to the wet room. That she was taking over the helm. And that I had to jump out while she lured the sub away."
"Why'd she do that?"
"She told me…" Sprite got a funny look on his face. "The world was going to need my spirit."
Ness gazed out to sea. "She was nuts, man."
"But she's totally in Valhalla now." He glanced past Ness to Sebastian. "Where's Tristan? Is she okay?"
"She's gone."
"Oh, Ness."
Ness shook his head once. "She's not dead. She thought you guys were. So she left to go help Raina."
"But I thought we were about to go up to the mothership and plant our Nikes up their asses. Were they lying to us? How did you guys make it out?"
"The offer's legit. We're still on to deal with the mothership. Tristan thought she'd be more useful with Raina. If something goes wrong on our end, she can still help in the fight."
Sprite gave him a long look. "Well, I hope she's okay. She's a pretty cool chick."
"You're lucky she's not around to hear you call her a 'chick.'"
Sprite laughed. "So what are we standing around for? Let's go win a war."
Before returning to the hills, they rooted through the ritzy houses for clean clothes for Sprite. Sprite rinsed off the salt with rain water that had collected in a stone fountain. As he cleaned up, Sebastian asked Ness all kinds of questions about how Sprite had gotten out.
Once they were hiking uphill, Ness was left to his own thoughts. Sam's death was just starting to hit him. He hadn't been particularly close to her—he wasn't sure if she'd been close to anyone—but she'd been a part of the team. A team that had crossed the world together. Sailed both sides of the Pacific. The Indian ocean. Scoured Dovon from four different continents and saved countless human lives. Heck, when they'd stopped the second plague, they might have saved the entire world.
They couldn't have done it without her. Now? She was dead. And he knew that Tristan soon would be, too.
* * *
Tristan stared into the fires.
They shined in the windows and glowed from the roofs. Smoke poured up into the night, dragged east on the wind. Some buildings were all but burned to the ground, nothing but still-warm ashes, but others looked like they were just getting started. The devastation stretched as far as she could see. Detouring would take her miles off course.
Then again, the streets themselves weren't burning. There'd be plenty of smoke, but she could whip up a quick filter, and it didn't look too bad at ground-level. Fire was frightening, sure. But that meant it would keep the Swimmers away, too.
She walked into the burning streets.
She dampened a bandage and wrapped it around her nose and mouth. Flames spat and crackled. The air was hazy and the fires threw shadows in all directions, forcing her to keep her head on a swivel, glancing at every hint of motion. The sky vanished within the smoke. Even with the filter, her mouth tasted like burned wood, chemicals, and varnish. She passed through disorienting patches of heat and coolness.
A few blocks in, and her eyes were starting to learn how fire and its shadows moved. Her heartbeat slowed from its anxious patter. She saw no Swimmers. No people. Only the city burning to the ground. She thought: This is how it's supposed to be.
She tried to smile at that but couldn't. She broke into a jog. The city had been waiting to burn down. To rid itself of decades of buildings it no longer needed. To shed its skin. Soon, the whole world would be doing the same. Like the fire itself, this wasn't something to be feared. Instead, she watched with a kind of wonder. Of holiness. She felt as though she were a part of the fire itself. An avatar sent to burn down the Swimmers.
She couldn't do so alone. But she'd be the spark to Raina's tinder. Together, they'd reclaim the world.
After another mile, the fires dwindled, then died out completely. The buildings were scorched, silent husks. Some had fallen, spilling lumber and stucco into the streets. As she circled around the rubble, her feeling of holiness faded. Ash stirred with her steps. Very suddenly, she understood that she was alone. She had no special mission or guidance; those feelings had been no more than a runner's high and the delusions of grandeur that came with it. She was nothing more than a being of flesh and blood in hostile territory. And her life depended on every choice she made.
As she neared the airport, lights glowed from the runways. Orange walls had been erected around the Swimmers' holdings. There was a gap of vacant land between the west edge of the airport and the ocean, but if they'd put in the time to erect walls around the runways, they must have fortified the gap as well. Likely, it was sprinkled with motion detectors.
She cut inland, waiting until she was several ruined blocks past LAX before she turned south again. As she crossed the highways running along the southern approach to the airport, four Swimmers strode around a corner less than two hundred yards away. Tristan fell prone behind a car on the shoulder of the road. Clutching her laser, she watched from beneath the car as the patrol followed the road into LAX. Before they reached the tunnel, they diverted, climbing up the short hill beside it.
As soon as they were out of sight, she got up and ran. Many of the storefronts were too cluttered with wreckage to run alongside them, forcing her into the weaker cover of parking lots and sidewalks. After two miles of wide, straight road, it inclined steeply. Tristan dropped to a walk, breathing hard.
The road pitched up and down through a number of hills lined with upscale stores and offices largely untouched by fire. At the crests of the hills, the ocean shimmered a mile to her right.
She topped another incline. Across from her rose the longest hill yet, its peak a half mile away. She blinked. Atop it, the traffic light appeared to be working.
She got out her binoculars. The intersection at the hilltop had been blocked off with a wall. Six to eight feet high, it spanned from one building to the next. Behind it, a short tower stood silhouetted against the dark gray clouds. A red light blinked from its top.
Tristan lowered her binoculars and advanced through the parking lots, doing her best to keep a car between herself and the fort at all times. Once she'd closed the distance to a quarter mile, she stopped behind a Volvo and gave it another look. An oval shape projected from the top of the wall. After a moment, it shifted several steps to its left. The face of a Swimmer.
After watching the fort for several minutes, Tristan moved inland by a quarter mile and continued south, stop
ping when the fort's eastern flank became visible. It was walled on that side, too, from one side of the intersection to the other. Not a gigantic structure, but the speed at which the aliens had put it up was troubling.
Tristan went on her way, jogging lightly down the road's long descent. Did Raina know the Swimmers were moving beyond the airport? The fort was simple, but it looked sturdy enough to withstand anything but a large-scale assault. The Swimmers could use it to lock down the main road and as a base of operations to patrol for miles around. With a few more of them, it would be impossible to approach the airport en masse without being detected.
She got another seven or eight miles that night, stopping in a hotel at the base of a hill where the road bent away from the coast. At first, she slept too soundly to remember her dreams, but as morning stole over the city, she dreamed she was back in her bunk in the sub, the vessel vibrating around her like the hum of a friendly god, and Ness was there and he was smiling.
When she woke, her muscles were sore, but not enough to slow her down. Her mind felt far worse. To straighten it out, she got on the run within ten minutes of waking. It was mid-morning, chilly, low clouds plastering the sky. She had about fifteen miles to the Dunemarket. She could make it there by early afternoon.
As she climbed the hill, a jet screeched overhead. She didn't hear another until two hours later. She saw no more forts or patrols. Around two that afternoon, the cranes rose above the docks of San Pedro. She approached the Dunemarket from the north.
It was blackened. Bombed-out. She combed the streets for an hour. She found plenty of bodies, but she didn't see a single living soul.
* * *
They walked down a two-lane highway crossing through a tiny town set in the hills behind Malibu. The clonk of Sprite's wooden leg was a slow counter-beat to the rapid taps of the four Dovon. Beside the road, a field of grapes hung on trellises, their broad, maple-like leaves soaking up the sun. It was winter, technically, but back in Idaho, the warm January afternoon would have felt more like May.
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