Deception d-2

by C. J. Redwine

  He shrugs. “I guess I just need proof that he can really protect us the way the Commander could.”

  The field shudders and sways, and the rumbling begins to sound like thunder beneath us.

  “I think you’re about to get a firsthand demonstration,” Ian says as he lunges to his feet.

  The rumbling becomes a muted roar, and a ripple shudders across the field, sending the metal Ferris wheel swaying in its berth.

  “Get to the trees!” I yell as a crack begins to widen in the soil, and the Cursed One surges toward the surface.

  Chapter Seventeen

  RACHEL

  People scream and run toward the edges of the field as the guttural roar of the Cursed One thunders toward us from beneath our feet. I whirl around and yell, “Quiet!”

  When most of them ignore me, Ian steps forward and bellows, “Silence or you die!”

  People moan and whimper, clutching each other or falling to their knees as the ground heaves beneath our feet.

  “Get them away from the epicenter,” Logan says as he whips his tunic off and pulls at the rope that holds the Rowansmark device to his chest. The third button, the one that should send the Cursed One away from us, is still tied down, which means the device is malfunctioning again. If Logan’s booster pack doesn’t work, we’re dead.

  A glance at the ground shows the beginnings of a long, jagged crack right beside me.

  “Listen to me!” I have to yell to be heard above the rumbling beneath us. “Run at least fifteen yards into the forest and climb a tree as high as you safely can. Once you get up there, stay silent at all costs. If there are children near you, help them into a tree as well. Go!”

  People scatter, hurtling over bushes and scrambling to find trees to climb. To his credit, Elias races for the stragglers and helps them off the grass. In seconds, all that’s left on the field are the four wagons. The sheep, goats, and donkeys tied to the wagons bellow their distress. The people in charge of driving the wagons are yanking at the reins and screaming at the donkeys to move, but panic has the beasts kicking at the traces and jerking forward in sharp movements that do nothing to help the wagons get rolling.

  “Let’s go!” I say. Logan and Ian ignore me, but Adam grabs my arm.

  “The medical wagon still has people inside. The wagon behind it has the pregnant woman and at least five more who are too old to travel well. They can’t run, much less climb.”

  The roar beneath us becomes a ferocious howl of rage as the crack widens beside me.

  “Rachel, get out of here!” Logan yells as he braces his legs for balance. The device is clutched in his hand.

  “Not without you,” I say.

  He leaps over the jagged gap that is steadily tearing the field asunder, and we all race for the wagons.

  Before we’re even halfway there, Frankie and Thom, still mounted on the horses they ride at the far end of our line of travelers each day, reach the wagons. Frankie leaps from his horse and thrusts the reins into Thom’s hands. Then he rushes for the lead wagon, the one filled with the survivors who are still recovering from the injuries they sustained during Baalboden’s destruction. The wagon’s donkey struggles against the traces, desperate to be free. Frankie grabs its bridle and tries to quiet it before it attracts the Cursed One with its noise.

  “Look out!” Thom cries as the ground heaves, throwing all of us to our knees.

  I skid forward on my palms and roll into a crouch just in time to see the Cursed One explode out of the ground six yards from the edge of the field. The trees closest to the monster snap at their bases and tumble to the ground with a crack-swoosh that echoes across the forest. Just beyond the carnage, people huddle on the ground or cling to branches, their eyes wide with terror.

  Behind us, the donkey yanks free of Frankie’s hands and flees, dragging the medical wagon violently across the field. I glance back to see Thom spur his horse in pursuit, his hand still firmly wrapped around the reins of Frankie’s horse.

  The Cursed One looks like a giant, wingless dragon with a serpent’s tail. It coils its huge body like a snake, muscles gleaming beneath black interlocking scales. Dirt, vines, and clumps of grass slide off the ridge of webbed spikes running down its back. Digging thick yellow claws into the ground, it pulls itself forward, puffs of smoke already leaking from its snout.

  Ian crouches beside me. Adam shoves himself to his knees on my other side and says, “Holy—”

  I slap my hand across his mouth, but it’s too late. The beast swings its head toward us, milky yellow eyes staring at nothing while it sniffs the air. I hold my breath as sharp bits of rock dig into my knees.

  Ten yards to our right, Logan steps forward with Rowansmark’s device in his hands. The flutelike gray metal object gleams dully, but bright copper wires coil around the gears and lead to a small box in his other hand.

  I hope his modification is enough to give him control over the beast before it incinerates us where we stand.

  Logan steps to the side, distancing himself from us as he circles the Cursed One.

  A low rumble shudders through the creature as it pins us with its sightless eyes and creeps closer. Only fifteen yards separate it from Ian, Adam, Frankie, and me. The puffs of smoke coming from its snout turn into steady streams of gray-black as the terrible fire that burns in its belly rises up its throat.

  Logan had better hurry.

  We can’t run without triggering an attack, but if we stay here much longer, it won’t matter. We’ll be dead either way.

  Deep inside of me, the silence chills me to the core, and I wonder what it would be like to let the Cursed One burn it all away. All the memories. The nightmares. The yawning pit of loss that lurks within me, waiting for one tiny misstep to drag me under forever.

  Maybe I would be free. Maybe in death, I would find the peace that eludes me here.

  Or maybe the unfinished business between the Commander and me would haunt me beyond the grave.

  The Cursed One claws its way toward us, snapping thick kudzu vines like twigs. Whatever Logan’s doing with the device, it’s not working.

  “We have to move,” Ian breathes softly. “It will most likely shoot a stream of fire straight in front of it. On the count of three, scatter to the sides and don’t stop running.”

  It’s as good a plan as any. I gather myself and get ready to leap to the left. Beside me Adam trembles, his breath grating harshly against the morning air. Behind us, Frankie says in a voice I can barely hear, “You three stay put. When it turns its head, run.”

  Before I can question him, he leaps past us and yells, “Over here, you misbegotten creature from hell!”

  Frankie runs toward the monster, angling to the right as if determined to drive his sword into the beast’s belly. The Cursed One snorts, jerks its head toward Frankie, and bellows.

  A thick stream of red-gold fire spews out of its snout. Frankie dives beneath it, but flames grab hold of his tunic and his clothing ignites. He rolls across the grass, extinguishing the flames, while the beast gathers itself for another blast.

  “Come on.” Ian wraps his arms around my waist and scoops me up off the ground. As he pulls me toward the trees, I realize Adam is already there, waiting for us, his dark eyes full of horror as he stares at Frankie.

  Frankie lies on his back, his clothes still smoking, staring up at the Cursed One with defiance written in every line of his body. The creature is ten yards away, but the sinuous coils of its body close the distance between them quickly. A guttural choking sound issues from the beast’s throat, and the smoke in its nostrils turns gray-black again.

  Frankie digs his fingers into the dirt and braces himself. I close my eyes, praying that Frankie dies quickly and that the pain is over in seconds. Praying that the monster leaves once he’s satisfied his prey is dead. Praying that everyone else has the good sense to honor Frankie’s sacrifice by remaining silent.

  “No!” Logan’s voice cracks through the air like a whip, and my eyes fly open. T
he Cursed One swings its face toward him instead of Frankie. Logan stands alone in the field with the ruined Ferris wheel thirty yards behind him. No trees for protection. No place to run.

  No exit strategy except his own death.

  Terror is a bright shaft of pain through my chest as Logan walks closer to the monster.

  I jerk against Ian’s arms, but he won’t let me go.

  The muscles beneath the beast’s scales writhe as it gathers itself. Smoke pours out of its nostrils.

  I slam my elbow into Ian’s stomach and stomp on his instep with my boot. I have to save Logan. I have to. I can run onto the field and scream. The beast will come after me instead. I’ll be far enough away from Ian and Adam to keep them safe. No one else will die.

  No one else here deserves to die.

  “Not going to happen,” Ian says against my ear, his grip tightening as I struggle harder.

  I grab his arm, drop my shoulder, and twist toward him in a move I’ve practiced a hundred times. A move designed to send him flying over my shoulder and onto his back.

  Instead, he pivots gracefully and uses my own momentum to trap me.

  “Like I said. Not going to happen. I don’t think Logan would appreciate you sacrificing yourself for him, and I’m not going to be the one he blames for it.” His eyes find mine for a moment and then flicker toward Logan, standing alone in the clearing, facing the Cursed One.

  The monster howls, smoke gushing from its mouth.

  “No!” I scream the word, straining against Ian’s grip, all thoughts of protecting Adam and Ian forgotten as the beast claws the ground and lowers its snout toward Logan.

  Logan presses a lever on the top of the small box in his hands, and it emits a strange buzzing noise. The third button on the device is still tied down.

  My breath is a sob of panic and despair as the beast shudders, lashing the fallen trees with its tail and sending sprays of kindling into the air.

  “Go back.” Logan presses the lever again and raises his voice. “Go back!”

  The Cursed One shakes itself, and its scales scrape together like metal rubbing against stone.

  “Please,” I whisper. Ian crushes me against him until I can hardly breathe, but when I look at him, he’s staring at Logan with something like pain on his face.

  Logan hits the button one more time, and the beast jerks backward. Coiling in on itself, it roars once more, strafing the ground in front of it with fire. The fallen trees burst into flame, hissing and popping, but the creature slithers over them, crushing them into splinters and extinguishing the fire. The earth trembles as the Cursed One dives back into the hole it created. Logan slowly lowers the device as the beast slips beneath the surface, its howl of rage fading as it tunnels down.

  As the monster’s cry disappears, people creep from the surrounding forest to stare.

  Jeremiah shuffles away from the tree he hid behind, his purple bow askew and his hat crushed in his hands as his eyes lock on the device Logan holds. An expression somewhere between dread and fascination washes over his face. Frankie struggles to his feet and clenches his big fists while he looks at the slim piece of gray metal as well.

  Even Adam, standing next to me with his lips pressed into a tight line, stares at the device with hunger in his eyes.

  “So he does have it. And now he’s proven himself to the doubters,” Ian says against my hair. He still holds me too tightly for comfort, and now that Logan is safe, I have time to deal with Ian.

  “Let go of me,” I say. My voice shakes.

  His grip eases. I step away from him as Adam leaves the shelter of the trees, calling for people to help him go find Thom and the wagon. Before I can rush to Logan’s side, though, Ian grabs my arm.

  I glare at him. “I’m getting really tired of you—”

  “But why didn’t he use it?” He sounds hurt and a little lost. His eyes are dark with the kind of pain that is rooted deep within me.

  I stop trying to pull away. “What do you mean?”

  “When the Commander used Carrington to attack us. When he was right there, easily in our reach, why didn’t Logan call the Cursed One and end it?”

  I meet his gaze for a long moment while I search for the right words. “Because Carrington soldiers were there, and Logan doesn’t think they deserve to die because of the Commander. And because the last time we called the beast”—I swallow past the memories that choke me—“we couldn’t control it. I’m sure he didn’t want to risk our people again.”

  “But you would’ve,” Ian says quietly, and my eyes snap to his. “You understand that Carrington chose its master, and that the soldiers are collateral damage. And if you had the opportunity to destroy the Commander, you wouldn’t stop to worry about whether you could control the beast. You’d risk anything to punish him. Even your own life.”

  My skin tightens, my heart pounds, and the lie that I know should leave my lips—the one that will protect my secrets and keep up the pretense that I wouldn’t sacrifice everything I have for a chance to hurt the Commander—refuses to come.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, and this time I hear the desperate purpose that consumes him.

  That consumes me.

  Slowly, I nod.

  “You’d go to any length to make the man responsible for your pain hurt, wouldn’t you?”

  “As long as it doesn’t endanger the few people I love, yes.”

  “Even if it cost your own life.”

  “Yes.”

  We lock eyes for a long moment, and something unspoken shivers in the air between us. He smiles, the sharp angles of his face transforming.

  “So we understand each other,” he says.

  “Apparently.”

  “Who knew I’d have common ground with the mouthy redhead?” He winks.

  I roll my eyes. “Who knew I’d have common ground with the camp flirt?”

  He laughs. “You might try a little flirting. It would soften your image.”

  “My image doesn’t need softening.”

  “It does if you don’t want your enemies to see you coming.”

  Now I’m the one who laughs. “It’s a little late for that.”

  “But it’s not too late to finish this. Anyone who abuses his power and betrays his people must be brought to justice. No matter what.” He watches me carefully. “We could help each other.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I don’t need help taking down the Commander, but I swallow the words, because he’s right. Two people working together toward a common goal are more effective than one.

  Not that Logan isn’t already committed to bringing the Commander to justice, but he has lines he won’t cross. The only lines I won’t cross are the ones that would hurt Logan, Quinn, Willow, or Sylph.

  And Logan has just proven that using the device is no longer a threat to us.

  “What do you say, Rachel? If we have the opportunity, should we destroy the man who ruined our lives? Even if it means taking the device from Logan and using it ourselves?” He extends his hand as people brush past us to hurry onto the ruined field, clutching each other and talking in breathless, hurried gasps.

  It’s just a backup plan. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust Logan. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight by his side to deliver justice. It’s just a piece of insurance in case something goes wrong.

  In case Logan doesn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it’s in front of us.

  I take his hand and shake it briefly. “If the Commander is in range, and Logan’s plan doesn’t work, you and I will kill the Commander.”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  I nod. “Whatever it takes.”

  He squeezes my hand briefly and then lets it go. I weave my way past clumps of people, climb over ruined trees, and fight to reach Logan’s side, all while trying to shake the feeling that I’ve just done something that would disappoint the boy I love.

  Chapter Eighteen

  LOGAN

  I don
’t call for us to make camp for the night until it’s nearly twilight. I wanted to put significant distance between us and the place of the Cursed One’s attack in case the beast returns to finish what it started. And I was looking for a location that could shelter us from the relentless wind. Wind that drove rain into our faces for most of the afternoon, and then whipped us dry as the sun steadily disappeared into the western horizon.

  I find what I’m looking for at the base of a rock outcropping that blocks most of the wind and also seals off the western edge of camp from possible intruders. Not that we’ve seen anyone in the Wasteland since leaving Baalboden four days ago, but that doesn’t mean our luck will continue to hold.

  Still, most of the survivors seem to feel like we’ve escaped the worst of our journey unscathed. We outwitted the Commander and left him far behind. We sent the Cursed One back to its lair without losing a single life. A sense of giddy triumph envelops the group. Children laugh and chase each other through the shelters while Jan, their assigned keeper, watches them with a light of hope in her eyes. A woman with wavy white hair and skin as wrinkled as a prune plays a violin she carried out of her home during the Cursed One’s rampage. The tune is lively and the notes swirl through the air, causing toes to tap until a few of the men gather up the courage to ask some of the women to dance.

  I smile a little as I watch them, but the elation they feel won’t take root in me. I see too many worst case scenarios, too many ways the dangers of the Wasteland can still turn against us, to feel like celebrating.

  The tall gray-white rock we’re camped beside is easily as high as Baalboden’s Wall. I feel better about our safety knowing that we have to keep watch in three directions instead of four, but the fact that most of my guards have no experience is a constant worry in the back of my mind.

  So is the fact that Quinn and Willow have yet to return. That I don’t know where the Commander is. And that I can’t explain why the Cursed One attacked us today after nearly four days of safe travel. The fight between Ian and Adam wouldn’t have generated enough noise to attract the beast, especially when I had the third button on the device tied down. It’s a mystery, and that makes me nervous.