The Chosen

by Theresa Meyers

  Chapter 9

  There were two things of which Remington was absolutely sure in a blinding instant of clarity: one, bullets weren’t going to do a damn thing to stop this machine from crushing them, and two, he needed to act fast.

  “Follow me!” He rushed forward. The bulk of Diego lay heavy on his shoulders and back, slowing him down. The two women ran beside him. With a low-pitched mechanical groan, the claw came down where they’d been standing only moments before. It smashed straight through the center of the tile roof, collapsing it inward with a crash. A cloud of dust and debris shot up into the air, blinding them for a moment and sending bricks and bits of shattered tile and stone shrapnel flying everywhere.

  Remington squeezed his eyes shut and coughed, unable to shield his face from the cloud as he held on to Diego. “I hope everyone got out,” he muttered as he gasped.

  Monica had tucked her chin, mouth, and nose down beneath the edge of her military jacket collar. She popped her head upward, leaving a pale line over the bridge of her nose where the dust coated the top half of her head. “They did. We were the last ones out.” She coughed against the dust still thick in the air.

  Remington tried to twist around, searching the area. He caught a glimpse of China, clearly spitting mad. First things first. Find somewhere to stash Diego out of harm’s way. “Where’s a safe place we can put him?”

  There was a pause. It stretched out too long to be good.

  “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.” Sadness laced Monica’s tone.

  “What happened?” Remington leaned up close to the building, allowing Diego to slip slowly from his back. He propped the old man up against the wall. Bright red seeped from Diego’s temple, staining his face, and caking with the dust and dirt into a sluggish dark mat in his beard.

  Monica put her fingers to his neck. “There’s no pulse. A chunk of brick must have hit him.”

  “Damn. Where’s the codex?”

  Monica nodded at the rubble. “Probably still in there.”

  “Now how in the blue blazes are we going to unravel the rest of Diego’s map?”

  The dust cloud was beginning to clear. Soon their cover would be gone. The machine was on the move. The ground shook beneath their feet. The clinking of metal against metal, the shoosh of pistons, and the clunk of gears as the machine repositioned itself grew closer and more ominous.

  Remington glanced at China. It was a chance, a slim chance, but one he had to take. They couldn’t outrun the machine either on foot or by horseback. “Maybe if I can keep Morpheus busy telling me what he wants, you and First Mate Nation can escape, and we can all meet up in Caborca. He seems like the type that I could cajole into bragging about himself for ten to fifteen minutes, enough to give you a decent head start.”

  China grimaced. “Stand there and talk him to death. That’s your plan?”

  Remington glared at her. “You have a better one?”

  The machine appeared out of the dust cloud, a metal menace, belching steam, claws snapping.

  “Hell yes. Let’s rip that sonofabitch apart! Here, hold this.” She pulled the codex from her jacket and handed it to him.

  His eyes widened slightly. “You took it?”

  “Thief, remember?”

  In just a few seconds China had transformed into a rather large desert rat. With pale brownish-gray fur, her foot-long body and small oval ears blended in quickly with the desert colors of the adobe rubble and dirt. Only her darker brown tail could be seen as she skittered off directly toward the mechanical scorpion.

  He shot up from his crouch. “Wait!” He didn’t know exactly what she planned to do, but Remington knew he had to give her time. He clasped his hands about his mouth and yelled up at the driver of the machine with all his might. “Dr. Morpheus!”

  The scorpion stopped mid-motion, a hiss of steam escaping from the valves in clouds of white. It was easier to see the man now, up this close. His dark, elegantly waxed mustache curled at the ends and matched his precisely trimmed goatee. He touched the brim of his black plantation owner’s hat with a gray-gloved hand, nodding toward Remington in acknowledgment. “The very same. And you are?” His Southern drawl made the words sound so much more polite than negotiations with a demon bent on killing him, China, and the rest of the village.

  “Just a traveler trying to find out why you are destroying this village,” Remington replied. There was no reason to reveal his true identity or give China away if he didn’t need to.

  “Then, sir, I have no reason to speak to you. I’m here for Diego Mendoza.” Another hiss of steam was accompanied by the ratcheting sound of gears as the pulleys and metal components of the brass claw lifted it up into the air to strike a final blow to Diego’s home.

  “Wait!”

  Dr. Morpheus pulled on a lever, leaving the claw suspended over what was left of the crumbled walls. “You begin to irritate me, sir.”

  “Mendoza is dead. You must have crushed him with the last blow.”

  In the corner of his vision Remington watched as China scampered up the leg of the mechanical scorpion and vanished between chinks in the monster’s armored metal plating with a swish of her tail. Her flag of triumph, Remington thought, amused in spite of the situation.

  “Where’s the body? Mendoza has something I want, and he’d never give it to anyone for safekeeping.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Faster than Remington could move, the huge brass claw swung down and pinned him against the building behind him. It knocked the air out of his lungs and pushed so hard on his ribs, he was certain a few of them cracked.

  “Do not make the mistake of toying with me, son. I’ve made a living out of selling charades to folks, so I know how to spot one. Tell me where Mendoza’s codex translation is, and I’ll let you live.”

  A sudden spurt of steam and the crunching grind of gears seizing up came from the scorpion’s claw as it went slack, slamming to the ground, inches from Remington’s boots. Free, he stepped clear.

  From the metal deck between the scorpion’s eyes, Dr. Morpheus muttered a string of curses as he pulled levers and prodded buttons on his control panel. Retchetchet. Crack! Scree! Suddenly the articulated legs of the scorpion began to collapse down upon themselves, becoming shortened stubs. Remington didn’t need any encouragement to slip away as swiftly as possible.

  He rounded the corner of the building and found Monica along with Diego’s body. She’d dragged him out of eyesight, away from Dr. Morpheus and his mechanical monster.

  “We won’t have much time once China gets back.”

  Monica nodded. “If we take the horses out through the arroyo, he won’t be able to see us. It’s deep enough to hide us.”

  Remington frowned. Arroyos were dangerous and unpredictable places. Water could rush downstream from a monsoon storm miles and miles away in the mountains, washing down the gulley so fast that it swept away everything in its path. “What about the chance of a flash flood or an ambush?”

  Monica peered up at the cloudless blue sky. “We only need it for cover long enough to reach the tip of the Sierra Madre mountains to the south.”

  Remington considered the plan. It was as good as any, and a damn sight better than anything he had in mind. There was no telling how long it would take for Morpheus to get his machine working again. He peered at Diego. It wasn’t right to abandon a Hunter in this way, but the others would have to see to his funeral. They simply didn’t have time to wait. Monica whispered softly in Spanish to Diego, pressed a kiss to his forehead, swiped the back of her hand quickly against her eyes, then made eye contact with Remington.

  From the look in her dark brown eyes he could tell she was hurting, but determined. “I’ll wait for China and bring her down to the arroyo with our horses. We’ll meet you there.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be there as soon as I make sure Diego will be taken care of by the others in the village.” She stayed on alert and crouched low as she disappeared between the buildin
gs.

  Remington turned his attention back to Diego. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see the Book of Legend for yourself, Diego, but your efforts won’t be in vain. I will find it. I will bring the piece back, and I will defeat Rathe with my brothers.”

  “You know it ain’t doin’ him a bit of good to natter on like that.” China’s voice caused him to whip around.

  “You’re back!” He stepped close and lightly brushed the smear of dark grease away from her cheek. Her skin was silken to the touch. Truly China was more than she appeared, no matter what shape she took. Her mouth opened slightly at his touch, making Remington remember what kissing China was actually like. Her eyes grew round, and the gray color turned a dreamy, misty slate blue. But he had no business kissing her. Not now. Not ever again.

  “How’d you disable it?”

  She blinked and snapped her mouth shut, clacking her teeth, then cleared her throat. Her skin turned slightly pink. “Oh, you know how it can be when rats get chewing on wiring. It can cause all manner of things to short-circuit.” If he hadn’t been watching her eyes, if he hadn’t observed her pupils dilating with the same desire he felt himself, he would’ve been fooled that she didn’t reciprocate his feelings.

  With a start Remington realized she was just as affected by him as he was by her. The connection between them was more than just both of them knowing Colt. There was a chemistry that percolated and bubbled just beneath the surface that neither of them had acknowledged. And never would if Remington had anything to do with it. His life was complicated enough without getting sweet on a Darkin who was anything but. He needed China, but that didn’t mean he trusted her farther than he could spit.

  Remington cleared his throat and dropped his hand, realizing he’d been stroking her cheek long after the grease had disappeared. “The first mate is waiting for us down in the arroyo behind town. We need to find our horses. I’m sure Dr. Morpheus’s machine scared them off their hitching post. It would be best if we separate to find our mounts and meet there. There will be less chance of being noticed that way.”

  China nodded and headed off in the direction Monica had gone. Remington stared down at Diego one more time. He could hear the hissing, spitting sounds of the boilers in the mechanical scorpion and the gritty grind of the gears. Dr. Morpheus wasn’t getting his contraption going anytime soon without a good mechanic. He tucked the codex into his pack and hauled ass toward the arroyo.

  The arroyo cut like a jagged, deep scar through the desert. He scrambled down the steep incline, his fingers digging, when he could, into the loose earth and rock that lined the edges. The slick bottoms of his boots gave him little purchase as he half slid, half trotted down toward the horses.

  Monica was already mounted, as was China. “Everyone okay?”

  Both China and Monica nodded.

  He took the reins in hand and swung up into the saddle. “Where’d you find them?”

  “It wasn’t hard; they were drinking out of the fountain,” China answered, her tone a bit smug. “You didn’t think Hunters were the only ones with tracking skills, did you?”

  Remington wheeled his horse around so it was facing south. “How long do you think it’ll take him to fix that machine?”

  “Depends if there are other Hunters in town beside Diego who realize Dr. Morpheus is a demon.”

  “Diego was the only one,” Monica interrupted.

  The rapid report of gunfire from the direction of town was their cue to exit. They kicked the horses into a steady gallop, weaving as the path of the arroyo twisted and turned down the length of the valley. Remington knew there was only so far they could push the horses as the sun and heat grew more intense, trapped by the narrow, airless ravine. The deep sides of the arroyo provided a slight bit of shade from the rim until the sun reached its zenith.

  They came to a rest at the base of the mountains where the arroyo spread into a wider plane. His horse was shaking, its sides bellowing in and out.

  “We’ve got to be careful not to push them too hard, or there’s no way we’ll make it to Caborca,” Monica said with a matter-of-fact tone, leaning down to run her hand over the horse’s neck as she slowed her mount’s pace to a steady walk.

  Remington followed suit, and China came trotting up to his other side before she slowed too. “How did you know Diego? You seemed more tore up about his death than a normal henchman would have,” Remington asked as casually as he could manage.

  Monica kept facing straight ahead, her back military straight. “He was my uncle.”

  Now that Remington looked at her, he could see the slight family resemblance around the eyes. The first mate’s dark eyes were just as intense and piercing as Diego’s. Which made him wonder something else.

  “Were you raised a Hunter?”

  If it was possible, her ramrod straight spine stiffened even further. It was a wonder it didn’t snap in two. The corners of her mouth turned downward. “Women are not allowed to be formally trained as Hunters in this part of the world.”

  Remington snorted. “Don’t take it personally. They aren’t anywhere.”

  “Why is that?” China cut in.

  Remington twisted around to face his Darkin. “It’s too hard a life.”

  China snorted, then leaned forward to make eye contact with Monica. “Do you think what you’ve endured is any different than the experiences of the men in your family?” she asked.

  Monica gave a heavy sigh and shook her head. “Absolutely not. No offense, Miss McGee, but in the heat of battle most Darkin care not if their victims are male or female, young or old. Child, old man, woman, it’s all the same to them if we are after something they want.”

  China nodded and leaned back in her saddle. “Can’t fault you for speaking the truth.”

  Remington had the uncomfortable sensation of being caught between the frying pan and the fire. They traveled on through the desert, often single file through the most treacherous parts of the mountain passes. The more he stewed on how the women had talked, the more he realized how little he knew about China—where she’d come from, her upbringing, how she’d come to despise Rathe enough to fight against her own kind.

  All afternoon and into the evening his rational attorney mind began to play through different scenarios, until he was as agitated as a frog on a hot skillet. It was all he could do to keep sitting in his saddle. He was hot, irritated, and damn hungry.

  “What’s eating you, Jackson?” China called from behind him. “Got sand in your shorts?”

  Remington clenched his jaw hard enough that he could hear his teeth grind in his skull. He brought his horse to a stop. China was obliged to do the same since there wasn’t room for her to pass him on the trail. He turned in his saddle and locked his gaze on her.

  China’s skin seemed to shrink a size under the piercing blue stare. It was the same intense look Colt had given her that could shake her confidence and strip away her bold as brass attitude in a heartbeat. Perhaps it was a Jackson family trait. Maybe it was just a Hunter skill.

  “I’ve got something eating at me, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  She swallowed and flicked a glance up ahead of Remington long enough to see that the first mate had kept on going. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried. If you don’t want to talk about it I—”

  “Get off your horse.”

  “What?”

  “Off.”

  “Why?”

  He swung down from his horse and stalked toward her. China’s stomach flip-flopped. “It’s just occurred to me that I don’t know you very well, Miss McGee, and before we go any farther, I’m going to get some answers from you.”

  Her grip on her reins tightened until her knuckles were hard and white. “This ain’t court, Jackson, and you ain’t a judge. I don’t have to talk if I don’t want to.” She turned and lifted her chin, staring pointedly ahead. As long as she did not look at him, she’d be fine.

  He stood there, quiet, brooding, the energy pulsing off him
in annoyed waves. Her sharp sense of smell detected a whiff of what she called male pride—peppery and strong with a hint of musk. It always grew stronger when men faced off against one another, or when they were showing off.

  “If I talk to you, will you leave me alone?”

  Remington remained silent.

  China counted to five before she turned and hazarded a glance. He was still staring at her, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  She gestured with a hand at the trailhead where Monica had disappeared. “We’re going to lose her if we don’t get going.”

  “And we’re not going anywhere before we have a little talk.”

  Night was coming swiftly, the mountains had long turned a bruised purple behind them, and the sun had set, leaving a smear of pale golden light behind the peaks to their right. China sighed and swung her leg back, sliding down out of her saddle. It was a silly move on her part that left her smack dab between his massive body and that of her horse.

  “Say your piece then, so we can get going before the wild things come out.”

  “Why did you agree to help Colt find the missing piece of the Book of Legend?”

  “He told me he’d pay me. I’m a good tracker and an even better thief.”

  He stared at her.

  She narrowed her eyes back at him. “Did you have another question?”

  “Wrong answer.”

  Her anger kicked up a notch. China crossed her arms and didn’t give a damn that they bumped into his. “Then perhaps you ought to do a better job asking the question.”

  Quicker than she could blink he’d grabbed her about the upper arms and lifted her to the tips of her toes. “What’s in it for you? What do you get out of coming with me? Out of risking your life?”

  Her entire body stiffened. China tried hard to swallow past the sudden hard lump swelling in her throat. Her eyes burned. “Revenge.”

  Remington frowned. “On who?”

  “Rathe.”

  He set her down so her feet were back on solid ground, and his hold on her softened slightly, but not enough for her to twist easily out of his grasp. “What’d he do to you?”