Sentinel

by Emerald Dodge

  “Vandalism?” Reid suggested as he floated down from his platform from which he’d searched aerially. “Someone owns the dock, right?”

  “The city, I presume,” I said, looking around. “But the bomb was a big one, which points to some sophistication. I just can’t see going to the trouble of creating a decent bomb and just blowing it up in the middle of nowhere.”

  Reid threw up his hands. “You got me. That’s for the cops to figure out. If there’s nobody to rescue, our job here is done.”

  Marco raised his hand one more time, the ball of light casting a warm glow over the dark carnage.

  The lack of casualties was comforting, but something about the scene was weird. The way we all stood there, looking around for people to help, made me feel vulnerable in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

  I wanted Ember to get inside. It wasn’t right for her to be exposed like this for so long.

  “Ember, is anyone watching us?” I asked.

  She closed her eyes. “No. The only people nearby are the cops.”

  “Okay.” But I was still uneasy. I strained to explain why the dock had been targeted. Perhaps a shipment was coming in and someone didn’t want it to arrive. Or maybe some sick terrorist group had decided to test a bomb on infrastructure but didn’t feel the need to kill people as they did so.

  Reid beckoned Captain Nguyen over and quickly gave our report. The police officer thanked him and gave us our all clear. Reid gathered us around and flew us up into the air again.

  From our vantage point, I could see that the bomb had been very powerful indeed; the blast zone radiated out five hundred yards. The bomb itself had been placed in the middle of the empty dock. But why?

  We began the breezy flight home. The peaceful picture of the city offered by our altitude hid the truth: Saint Catherine had been in upheaval since Jillian’s press conference. There’d been demonstrations in front of the mayor’s office every day since the broadcast.

  Each evening, the national news networks reported on protests in other superhero cities. The Seattle, San Francisco, Chicago, and Tallahassee teams had been asked to leave. We’d received many requests for interviews, but Jillian had refused them all until after the inevitable court cases. The federal government had vowed to move against the Westerners, as well as summoned the elders to Washington.

  My wife had started something that couldn’t be stopped. I was hopeful that the nature of superheroism would change for the better at the end of it all, but between now and then stood the herculean task of taking down my family, and all families like mine. I didn’t know if I’d be alive to see the end of it all.

  As we flew over a quiet neighborhood near our home, Ember gasped. “Reid, land! Now!”

  Reid obeyed without question. We dropped to the ground so quickly my stomach fluttered, landing with a hard impact. Ember whipped around and stared at a small playground behind us.

  A man was walking toward us from the playground, barely visible in the darkness. Reid, Marco, and I moved to shield Ember at the same time.

  As the man approached, he pulled down his black hood, revealing a black mask, which he also removed. He passed under the light of a streetlamp, allowing me to see his face. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  He was no older than me, and obviously a relative of Reid’s—they had the same distinct Fischer jaw, long face, and gray eyes. Everything he wore, from his solid hooded jacket to his combat boots, was black. I counted four large knives strapped to his legs and arms. I was reminded of a ninja.

  Reid squinted, then gasped. “Raphael?”

  Raphael strode up to us, looking over his shoulder once. “Where’s your leader?” he asked urgently.

  “I’m mission leader right now,” Reid said. “Why are you here? I didn’t know you were in service yet.”

  Raphael glanced over his shoulder again, breathing hard. “I don’t have time to waste. Six hours ago, the Baltimore team murdered their leader, Imperator. The elders have ordered my team to execute them.”

  Reid’s jaw fell open. “You’re on a strike team?”

  Raphael checked behind him once more. “Not right now. Buck asked me to recuse myself because of my relation to Reuben. But listen to me, all of you.” His eyes darted across our faces. “You’re next. There’s been no official order. It won’t be a public hit. But Elder Lloyd made it clear that after Baltimore, it’s you guys. That news broadcast was your death knell.”

  Before anyone could say anything, Raphael glanced behind him again. “I don’t think anyone followed me, but I can’t stay.” He gave Reid a brief hug. “Get your leader and run for your lives. If you fight my team, you will not win. That’s a promise.”

  “Go,” Reid said, giving him a gentle push. “Be safe.”

  Raphael nodded and sprinted back into the shadows of the playground.

  When he was out of sight, Reid gathered us together. “We’re getting Jill and leaving. I’m sure she’ll agree with that plan. We’ll warn the Baltimore team, too.”

  I was also sure she’d agree. I had no idea how to process what we’d just heard, but I knew Jillian would order us to get into the nearest car and drive very far, very fast.

  We flew up into the air and over the houses, landing in front of our house less than five minutes later. Ember put a hand to her forehead. “Jill’s safe. She’s asleep…”

  Ember threw out her arm, barring us from passing her.

  Did she sense Beau on the street? I reached for my newly-assigned weapon, an extendable baton. “What?” I demanded. “What is it?”

  “That’s not Jill.”

  I was at the front door immediately. As my trembling fingers entered my code, I saw that the front door’s wooden panels were swirled and warped in a way they hadn’t been ninety minutes before.

  The door clicked open, and I burst inside. “Jillian! Jillian!” I ran upstairs to our room. The bed was empty. So were the bathrooms and the other bedrooms.

  “Benjamin!” Ember’s terrified voice came from the kitchen.

  I was there in an instant, freezing in the doorway when I saw what my team crowded around—a body on the floor. My heart seemed to stop beating as I walked up to the unconscious person, then started again when I saw that it wasn’t Jillian.

  It was Graham.

  Reid’s kitchen knife was wedged between two of his ribs. Ember held up a shaking hand. “Don’t heal him. Just touch my hand.” Her voice was trembling as hard as she was. “He’s dying. I’ll show you his final memories.”

  We touched her hand.

  An explosion of color and sound assaulted my mind as she contacted Graham, and then we were in the same kitchen, but standing in the doorway, approaching Jillian as she cut oregano for her tea. The kitchen clock read 2:45.

  I could feel Graham’s annoyance that she wasn’t asleep in bed and his certainty that he could sneak up on her. A floorboard in the living room creaked.

  Graham internally cursed Beau, who was behind him.

  Jillian spun around and shrieked. She jumped on Graham, plunging the knife into his chest. Graham fell, and the memory tilted a little as his vision changed from straight on to looking up from the floor. The steady pulse of pain from his chest colored the memories.

  Beau and Will ran in and tackled Jillian, who screamed and struggled underneath their weight. Without her powers, they were easily able to pull her arms behind her back and handcuff her.

  I couldn’t even cry out in my mind, so overwhelmed was I by what I was seeing.

  Will hauled her to her feet, so she was facing Beau. Behind Beau, Alysia wandered into the kitchen. She perched on the kitchen table and crossed her legs. She was holding a small black plastic bag.

  “Hello again,” Beau said, his quiet voice laced with a world of fury.

  “You are never going to get Ember,” Jillian growled. She spat at his feet.

  Beau merely tilted his head to the side. “Ember? Who said anything about Ember?”

  Jillian stilled. “Wha
t do you want?” Her voice was cold.

  “You know where the JM-104 is,” Beau said, tracing little patterns on her cheek. She jerked her head away from his metal hand, but he caught her chin. “My friends checked out your lead in Chattahoochee, but they didn’t find anything. You’re going to tell us what you know.”

  My heart rate increased.

  Jillian’s eyes grew wide. Over the memory, Graham’s recollection of Jillian’s words in the jeep weeks before played behind my eyes. “…I know where it is at Chattahoochee…”

  Jillian stared at Beau for a long moment. “I’m not telling you anything,” she said finally.

  Beau’s lips curled in a small smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. Alysia, if you would. I don’t want her waking the neighbors.”

  His words kindled cold dread in my stomach.

  Alysia smirked and removed a roll of duct tape from the bag. She tore off a small piece and placed it over Jillian’s mouth, cutting off her protest.

  Beau grinned at Jillian before grabbing the neckline of her t-shirt and tearing her shirt straight down the front. Jillian tried to squirm away from Beau, but Will held her firmly in place.

  My brother walked over to the stove, where the tea kettle was steaming away. Nobody spoke as he poured out the boiling water into the sink, steam rising up as he did so.

  He turned around, kettle in hand. “Are you going to tell me where the JM-104 is?”

  Jillian’s eyes were locked on the kettle. She shook her head.

  Beau nodded at Will, who grabbed Jillian’s hair and yanked her head back, stretching out her torso.

  “Don’t do it, Beau,” I whispered. “Please.”

  Beau pressed the bottom of the kettle to Jillian’s smooth stomach.

  My wife’s high, muffled scream made Alysia and Will burst into hysterical laughter. Tears streamed down Jillian’s face as Beau removed the kettle and placed it back on the burner. “Are you going to tell me where the JM-104 is?”

  Jillian shook her head.

  Beau slapped the perfectly round red burn, eliciting another muffled scream. “Last chance.”

  Jillian shook her head again, still crying.

  Beau glared at Will. “Get her out of here.”

  Will dragged Jillian out of the kitchen, Alysia close behind and still laughing.

  Graham made a little noise. “Help,” he whimpered.

  Beau kneeled next to him, his face impassive. “You’re already dead. Dealing with your corpse will just slow us down.”

  Graham’s horror, betrayal, and fear overtook him, clouding the memory.

  And then we were out of his head, kneeling next to the dying man and hyperventilating. Marco dashed to the sink and threw up.

  I was frozen in place, unable to let go of Ember’s hand. In my worst nightmares, I had never imagined that Beau would’ve come back for Jillian. From the stunned expressions around me, I gathered that nobody else had, either.

  In an instant, my mind snapped back into work, calculating what I’d just witnessed.

  Jillian didn’t know where the JM-104 was—I was certain of this. She’d refused to say anything to Beau because the only alternative, admitting ignorance, would’ve meant her death… if he believed her, which wasn’t guaranteed. I knew my brother better than anyone. If he’d decided that Jillian knew where the serum was, then nothing would dissuade him.

  A tiny voice in the recesses of my mind suggested that Beau didn’t actually care about JM-104. This was his chance to take revenge on me by proxy. He was capable of atrocity when it was purely business. What would he do when it was personal?

  No. If this was solely about revenge, he would’ve let me know that he’d taken my wife. He didn’t know that I knew he had her, which was my first and best advantage. He believed he had time to draw out the interrogations. I lifted my head up, hope rising in my chest. His worst methods would also have to be his final ones, because I wasn’t there to heal the injuries—and if I worked fast, he wouldn’t have time to carry out the worst methods.

  My nails dug into my palms so hard they drew blood. I’d show him injuries. I’d show him injuries unlike any he’d ever seen. I, too, was a Trent. He’d obviously forgotten that.

  “He’s gone,” Ember said, dropping Graham’s hand.

  There was silence in the kitchen for several seconds.

  Reid stood up. “We’re going after her. We leave in five minutes. The bomb must have been a diversion. Marco, Ember, get supplies. Benjamin, where do you think they’ll take her?”

  Ember and Marco ran out of the room.

  I climbed to my feet, fire spreading through my veins. “We’re going to Baltimore.”

  Reid opened the back door and picked up Graham’s corpse. “Baltimore? I’m going to need your help with this mission. You know these people better than any of us. Where in Baltimore? We’re going to need to stake out the location and come up with a plan.”

  “No, they’re going to Annapolis. But we’re going to Baltimore first.”

  Reid froze. “What do you mean?”

  I walked up to him and gave him a hard stare. “What I mean is that we’re going to Baltimore and warning your brother’s team about the attack, then both teams are going to go to Annapolis to rescue Jillian and finally put my family in the ground. Jillian was right: it’s over.”

  Instead of a stern rebuke for giving the orders, Reid’s eyes glowed white. A hole appeared in the backyard and he stepped outside to dump Graham’s body. The grave smoothed over in seconds.

  He came back inside and crossed his arms. “The Baltimore team doesn’t like you.”

  “I know.”

  “They probably won’t trust you.”

  “I know.”

  “We’re going to have to fight some of the most dangerous, highly-trained killers on the planet before we can even begin to figure out how to save Jill.”

  “I know.”

  “Then let’s go.” He strode past me into the house.

  I ran up the stairs in less than a second. I grabbed Jillian’s necklace from the nightstand and shoved it into its velvet box, which I put into my pocket. She’d wear it soon. My heart pounded in my chest as I gathered Jillian’s knives and uniform. She’d wear them soon, too. We’d fight the strike team, storm my old house, and rescue Jillian. She was going to be okay.

  But for every hopeful thought, though, a thousand images of Beau’s victims raced through my mind, an obscene film reel of blood, pain, and violence. No matter what Beau did, Jillian wouldn’t fare well. She was sick and powerless. It could easily get out of hand…

  No. Not this time. She’s a fighter.

  I glanced at Jillian’s tablet, which still displayed our team’s fan forums. Every thread started in the last week was about Jillian’s speech. Countless people had expressed their admiration of my wife, who’d stood up against her abusers and dared them to challenge her. She’d thrown down the gauntlet in front of three hundred million people.

  My hand closed around the hilt of Jillian’s favorite knife. As with the elders and Jillian, the fight between Beau and Jillian wasn’t going to be about brute strength, but a battle of wills.

  Battlecry would win.

  I ran down the stairs and met my team. We all looked at each other for a second, confidence evident on everyone’s face.

  Reid opened the door. “Lead the way.”

  Acknowledgments

  Writing Battlecry was hard—but writing Sentinel was much harder. Thanks are in order, because I never would’ve been able to do this without the support of my friends and family.

  First and foremost, I’m grateful to God for blessing and guiding my career. Similarly, thank you to everyone who prayed for me, and continues to pray for me. Special shout-outs to the Tumblr Catholic community and the Young & Wild Catholic Mama Facebook group.

  After that, of course… Alex. I never would’ve gotten this far without you at my side to encourage me and prod me in the right direction. I love you.


  I must thank my Scribophile critique team, especially: Alan Billing, Renee Harvey, J.S. Dewes, Ada Hardy, and Katie Acosta. Additionally, many thanks go to the ladies of Enclave: Monika Holabird, Emily Gorman, Katherine Bueche, and Ryann Muree.

  A HUGE thank you goes out to Christiana Dodge, the real queen of the horses. Where would I be without my equine technical advisor? Because of your help, my horse scenes are so much better. From one writer to another: just write. Write anything and everything that makes you happy. Read a lot. Dream big. The best time to start is now. Never, ever, ever, ever be ashamed of being a bookworm and a dreamer.

  Many thanks to Erica Sartwell, who helped me deal with the tough areas of my life as I was writing Sentinel. I wouldn’t have named Jill’s therapist anything else.

  And of course, more thanks to Sarah Gonzales, who has been at my side since the beginning.

  About the Author

  Emerald Dodge lives in Maryland with her husband, Alex, and their two sons. Emerald and Alex enjoy playing with their children, date nights, hosting dinner parties for their friends, and watching movies. They are a Navy family and look forward to traveling around the nation and meeting new people. When she’s not writing, Emerald likes to cook, bake, go to Mass, pray the rosary, and FaceTime with her relatives.

  Her favorite social media platform for interacting with fans is Tumblr. Message her on her Tumblr page!