Epic: Book 03 - Hero

by Lee Stephen

  You just told me that, Jay. It became increasingly difficult for Scott to maintain his smile—until he realized his friend couldn’t see anyway.

  “I’m gonna get better,” Jayden said again. But this time it was different. The look on the sniper’s face drooped slowly. His body started to tremble.

  Suddenly Scott understood the Texan’s repetition. He wasn’t speaking out of his mind. He was speaking in denial.

  Finally Jayden broke down. His patchwork face froze in open-mouthed anguish. He began to moan—a low-pitched whine.

  Oh no…

  Scott leapt to his friend’s side. He placed his hand on the Texan’s arm. “Jay! Hey man, it’s all right. It’s gonna be all right.”

  Saliva dripped from the corner of Jayden’s mouth. His words poured out like liquor. “I didn’t see him. I didn’t see him,” he repeated. His slurred accent broke more with each word. “I don’t even remember…”

  He was talking about the mission. He was talking about the Bakma that had hit him.

  “I’m sorry I got hit.”

  Tears streamed down Scott’s face, but he tried to sound strong. “We’re going to get you out of here. Just give it time.” He understood now the role of false hope. Jayden was desperate for any hope at all.

  The Texan’s expression was still frozen in pain. “I don’t wanna go home…”

  Scott lowered his head, closing his eyes. This wasn’t fair.

  “Please let me stay. Please, I’m gonna get better. Please let me stay.”

  Scott had no idea how to respond. He couldn’t even speak.

  Jayden violently cleared his throat with a guttural grunt. “I’m gonna get better.” He words were stocked with forced intensity.

  “I know. I know.” As Scott spoke, he was praying in his heart—for the first time in months. Don’t let him go out this way, God. I deserved what happened to me. Jayden didn’t deserve this. It was the first time he’d prayed since he’d become a Nightman. He couldn’t think of a better time to restart.

  The emotions Jayden conveyed from his immobile position in his bed were so intense they were palpable. He seemed desperately determined, lost to everyone but himself. The Texan drew in a breath—made heavier by his prior outburst of emotion—then swallowed hard. He breathed out slow, regular breaths. He seemed finished with his efforts at speaking.

  Realizing Jayden’s silence meant he was giving Scott permission to leave, Scott reached down and touched his friend’s hand. It was a brotherly instinct. He didn’t know what else to do.

  Rising from his stooped position over the bed, Scott took a step back. He offered Jayden no parting words. He simply patted the Texan on the leg and turned to leave. That was all Jayden needed to feel.

  As Scott exited the infirmary, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a while—something he’d grown accustomed to lacking. It was a measure of camaraderie. Barely a measure at all—but it was there.

  Nothing else needed to be done—no other pressing duty needed to be filled. At the end of one of the longest two-day stretches of his life, that suited Scott fine.

  * * *

  Several hours later

  Esther’s footsteps tapped rhythmically on the infirmary’s tile floor. Her brown ponytail, glistening with the sheen of fresh, melting snow, bounced on her back as she surveyed the rooms. In her hand was a sealed envelope.

  Bad weather had not relented all week, and a meter of snow had collected on the outskirts of the base. Maintenance crews were kept busy clearing the sidewalks, and the airstrip was under constant care. The pristine cover of virgin snowfall had long since vanished. The grounds were muddy and messy. Esther, like her comrades, had grown used to feeling chilled and uncomfortable most of the time.

  As she rounded the corner into Becan’s room and approached his bed, she waved the sealed envelope at him. “At least someone apparently loves you. Though I can’t fathom why.”

  Becan looked miserable in his thin, standard-issue hospital gown. Outside of a few small scabs on his face—scabs that would fade away with time—there was nothing outwardly wrong with the way he looked. The gown covered his half-charred chest.

  The moment the Irishman saw the envelope, he lurched upright and snatched it from her grasp, wincing at the pain of the sudden motion. The movement was too quick for Esther. She watched as Becan stowed it away. “For a moment I thought I was getting a kiss,” she said saucily.

  “Ara be whist.”

  “Is that Irish for ‘I’ll take a rain check?’”

  “That, or ‘shut the hell up.’”

  The scout placed her hands on her hips. “Who writes you without a return address?”

  “Tha’s none o’ your business, now, is it?”

  “Do I get a bloody thanks?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, twit.”

  Becan said nothing.

  Esther approached the chair by his bed. She sat and crossed her legs, leaning her head his direction. “So, who is it?”

  “Who is who?”

  “The letter!”

  Becan responded with a bland look of his own. “I just told yeh it was none o’ your business. You’re actin’ all jealous.”

  “My apologies. It’s just that I’m so wildly attracted to you. It must be your ridiculous charm.”

  “Guess it must.”

  She glared at him. “You know, I’ve come to visit you every single day since you went and got pasted. Not to mention I saved your silly life. You could at least show me a granule of appreciation.”

  “Wha’ do yeh want? Yeh want me to polish your nails? Yeh want a complimentary massage? I already said thanks.”

  Esther tightened her lips.

  “Righ’. I’m sorry.”

  “I deserve better. Do you think I’ve nothing better to do than be your sodding postwoman?”

  Becan threw his hands up helplessly. “I’m sorry, Esty, wha’ else can I say? It’s been a flatulent week if yeh haven’t already noticed.”

  She sighed. “I saw Jayden earlier. He’s in good spirits, all things considered.”

  “I need a favor from yeh. I need yeh to find ou’ if annyone from the First is in the infirmary.”

  “The First?”

  “The First.”

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “I’ve got me own reasons.” His expression grew serious. “There’s just somethin’ I have to know. Can yeh find ou’?”

  Esther smirked and said, “I’ve been privy to such things before.”

  “You have.”

  “Does this have something to do with the Nightmen?”

  “I’ll tell yeh after the fact. I cross m’heart.”

  “Fair do’s.”

  “Thanks, Molly-Polly.”

  As she rose from her chair, she bit back a retort. “You want this soon, I presume?”

  “I do. As soon as yeh can.”

  “You owe me.”

  His face remained deadpanned. “I’ll give yeh tha’ kiss you were beggin’ for.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked to the door.

  “Hey Esty…”

  She stopped just outside the door and turned, arching an eyebrow.

  “Thanks for comin’ after us. I do owe yeh for tha’.”

  Neither of their expressions revealed any sign of jest. After a moment, Esther sighed. “Cop some zeds. I’ll be back soon enough.”

  “Away with yeh.”

  For several moments after Esther left, Becan lay motionless in bed, his eyes on the doorway as his ears listened to her footsteps fade away. Then he waited a minute more. Only when he was sure that she had disappeared did he slide the envelope from under the covers. He gently eased the seal open and slipped the letter out.

  Suddenly Esther emerged from around the corner. “Come on, just tell me where it’s from!”

  “Wick!” Becan frantically shoved the letter beneath his blanket. “Wha’ the hell are yeh, some kind o’ faerie?”

&n
bsp; She scoffed and disappeared again.

  “Nosey little tinker.”

  “I heard that!”

  “Scram!”

  The infirmary received no other visits that day. As evening wound down into bedtime, the operatives of the Fourteenth collected in their rooms to settle in for the night.

  * * *

  Svetlana lay on her lower bunk. Having showered and donned her nightwear, she was already under the covers and ready for sleep. Her hair, too short to be tied into a ponytail, was held by a simple blue band that pressed back her bangs. As she waited patiently for the room’s lights to go out, she passed the time reading pages of Scripture in Russian. No name identified the brown-covered book—only the wear and tear that came with age and neglect.

  David occupied the bunk to her right. Their proximity had been unintentional; she’d simply chosen her current empty bunk when she returned, and it happened to be right beside his. As David retrieved a pair of photos from under his bunk, Svetlana shifted her eyes in his direction. Though she couldn’t make out the fine details of the images, it was easily apparent what they were. They were photos from home. Photos of his sons.

  Svetlana observed David quietly for a moment, her Scripture still opened against her knees. After careful consideration, she gently cleared her throat. “Are those your children?”

  At first, David didn’t respond. He continued to stare at the pictures. When he did speak, his voice was subdued. “Yeah.”

  “Do you mind if I see?”

  His response was again delayed. Finally he nodded his head slightly. Reaching over, he handed the photos to her.

  Svetlana looked at the first one in greater detail. It showed two small boys smiling in a yard, a football in their hands as their father knelt beside them. David looked younger, despite the recent date on the photo. His face looked less tired.

  The second photo was similar but older. David was blowing his lips against one of the little boys’ necks. The child was laughing hysterically. Behind them, far in the distance, a diaper-clad newborn crawled across the floor.

  “They are beautiful. How old are they now?”

  “Timmy, he’s the oldest. He’s nine. Stevie just turned seven.”

  “What is Stevie’s birthday?”

  “October 15.”

  She smiled. “My birthday was October 27. I turned twenty-six.”

  David offered a faint smile in return. “Happy belated.”

  “Thank you.” She handed the photos back. “You must miss them very much.”

  “I do.”

  “You must miss your wife.”

  David’s eyes grew momentarily distant. It took him a moment to respond, “Yeah.”

  Svetlana grew more serious as she led the conversation down another path. “David, I need your help. If I am to do this, here with the unit, I cannot do it alone.”

  “Do what, exactly?”

  She frowned at his tone of voice. “If I am to make improvements to this place.” After he didn’t respond, she spoke again. “I am serious.”

  “I know why you’re here.”

  She became quiet as he spoke.

  “You’re a good person,” he went on. “I know you’re here with the best of intentions. If I made it sound otherwise, I was wrong. But Svetlana, a place like this can’t be saved. Getting stationed here isn’t a calling. It’s a curse.” He placed the photos facedown on his chest. “You’re a young, beautiful woman. You have every opportunity in the world. You should look after yourself.”

  “If I leave, who will look after Scott?” When David didn’t reply, she said, “I understand why you feel the way that you do. You are a father, and a young boy here was murdered. Scott made a mistake.” She placed her hand over her heart. “But there is only so much I can do. He needs more than a medic. He needs a father figure as well.”

  David’s gaze trailed off to a faraway place. He still said nothing.

  “You may be right. Perhaps I am stupid girl. Perhaps I should have stayed home in Vilnius. But what can I do now?” She laughed mirthlessly. “I am here. I have done this. It is too late. I can only hope that you will forgive me and be my friend. And if that happens…maybe Scott will find forgiveness from you, too.”

  As David remained silent, other sounds of the room filtered in. Travis flipping a page in his comic book. Chess pieces moving on the board occupied by Boris and Esther. The slayers mumbling among themselves. Svetlana continued staring at David until he returned her attention.

  “Will you try?” she asked softly.

  David slowly nodded.

  Svetlana gave him her warmest smile.

  An hour later, Boris, the last man left awake, turned off the light. It was slightly past curfew. It was the earliest they’d fallen asleep in quite some time. No one spoke or showered or visited the lounge. The bunks gave way to the soft whisper of sleeping breaths—and nothing more. Night brought a rare peace to them all.

  14

  Monday, November 14, 0011 NE

  1334 hours

  Five days later

  Clarke’s first words made Scott nervous.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a unique situation.”

  It was mid-afternoon when the Fourteenth was called to the hangar. The sky was overcast, as it usually was during winter. Sunlight glowed eerily from beyond the gray clouds.

  Scott knew before Clarke said anything else that something was different about this mission. He could tell by who was not present. Max wasn’t expected to be there; he was still recovering from his injured calf. The same went for Becan and his wounds. Varvara wasn’t there, but that didn’t surprise him, either. Clarke was always eager to leave her behind. None of those absences surprised him. It was the absence of Egor and William, however, that struck him immediately.

  They had no heavy hitters.

  “Approximately twenty minutes ago,” Clarke said, “the Bakma launched a full-scale invasion of northern Europe.”

  Every pair of eyes opened wide.

  “Stockholm and Copenhagen were assaulted simultaneously by over two dozen Carriers. There have been Bakma Courier fighter sightings over Belgium, the Netherlands, and eastern Britain, along with a full assortment of Coneships and Noboats. Forces from Berlin, Leningrad, London, even Cairo are working cooperatively in the defense. Even Vector Squad is involved.”

  As Scott listened, something felt wrong. For an event of this magnitude, it made no sense for demolitionists not to be present. And Clarke’s tone wasn’t exactly indicative of an impending urban brawl.

  “We will not be partaking in the defense.”

  The adrenaline in the air thinned a little.

  “Due to the extraordinary circumstances facing Europe,” Clarke continued, “we are forced to respond to a smaller incident that would otherwise have been assigned to some other base. Three days ago, a pair of Ceratopian Cruisers were intercepted over Pripyat, in the Chernobyl Zone of Alienation. Several units out of Leningrad assaulted the Cruisers. The operation was a success.

  “Yesterday, a group of civilians were driven to Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant as part of an historical expedition. They were examining reactor number four.”

  Scott’s stomach started to turn. He already knew what Clarke was going to say.

  “They never returned.”

  This was a bug-hunt.

  Scott glanced around at the other operatives. David’s head was lowered. The Nightmen looked untypically apprehensive. Svetlana looked confused.

  “There have been efforts to communicate with the team via radio, none of which have been successful. We have reason to believe that necrilids from the Cruiser escaped and sought shelter in Chernobyl. That they picked reactor number four is purely coincidental.”

  Flashbacks sparked furiously through Scott’s mind.

  “Colonel, we’ve got something.”

  “Sir…why don’t we have any medics?”

  “Human remains and a hole in the ceiling.”

  “Are you qu
estioning me?”

  “Because if you get caught by a necrilid, you won’t need one.”

  His recollections paused, as the words of his former colonel replayed in his mind.

  “Because if you get caught by a necrilid, you won’t need one.”

  Scott snapped back to the present. He spoke aloud without even thinking. “Svetlana shouldn’t come.”

  Clarke stopped in mid-explanation. “I’m sorry?”

  “Svetlana shouldn’t come. We won’t need a medic.”

  The operatives around Scott stared at him. Svetlana looked alarmed.

  “Lieutenant Remington,” Clarke said, “there may still be civilians alive. This is not a recovery—it’s a rescue.”

  Now David spoke to the captain. “Scott’s right. We have Viktor, he’s medic enough as we’ll need.”

  Scott looked at David, surprised. The older man agreed with him? He’d taken Scott’s side against Clarke, even if cordially. And he was recommending a slayer for the job, though that shouldn’t have surprised Scott. Viktor had earned everyone’s trust. Added to that, Viktor could fight.

  David continued. “You might think this is a rescue, sir. But it’s not. This is a hunt and nothing else.”

  Clarke eyed them both. When he spoke again, his tone was considerate. “There comes a time when empowerment should give way to experience. You have both been in close-quarters combat situations with necrilids. I confess to having not.

  “Yet in that same line of thought, there are civilians involved. There are loved ones. Real human beings. I understand your unique perspectives, but it isn’t that simple.”

  “This isn’t like fighting the Bakma,” Scott said. “These things won’t fire from afar. They come fast. They come from anywhere. If you don’t look one direction for a second…”

  “She is not good enough,” David said. “Not for this.”

  At that comment, Svetlana frowned.

  “This is a gray situation,” said Clarke. “You have experience, which I truly trust. Yet there is still the possibility, even if remote, that someone is alive. With all due respect to Mr. Ryvkin, I have worked with Svetlana for several years. She is the most accomplished medic I know.” He turned to face her. “Sveta, I have asked you many times to put yourself in danger. You have never hesitated to be selfless. You’re aware of the intricacies of this situation. You’re aware of the danger, of the possibility that no one is alive. I would have you go on the mission, but out of respect for their experience and your life, I will ask you this…”