by Angie Fox
We walked several yards behind Oghul, who was in animated negotiations with a supply clerk. The suns rose over the rows of dusty Jeeps, troop trucks, and bronze cannons on elaborate artillery carts.
At least we were far enough from the Great Divide for machinery to work. The entire area was roped off and ringed with fuel tanks and oil drums.
I glanced into the rear of a parked Jeep and jumped back as a two-headed bulldog leapt up, snarling.
Marc gritted his teeth. “I need you to focus,” he said, leading me away.
“I didn’t start that one.” It was the dog.
“We have a mission. We don’t want you doing anything to compromise it.”
“Excuse me, Rambo.” Since when had he gone military? I glanced behind us to make sure we wouldn’t be overheard, then clutched his arm and leaned in close. “Your side has some kind of hideous new weapon going.” He stiffened, but I plowed ahead. “There’s an entire prophecy about it.”
A sheen of sweat coated his brow. “Now isn’t the time,” he said, his words stiff. “We have one goal—to get you out of here and to my unit. Now behave.”
“Says the man who brought a berserker into this.”
“I need him to play good cop, bad cop,” Marc said, glancing at his highly animated buddy in front of us.
I arched a brow. “You’ve done things like this before?”
“Once or twice.” Marc tried to hide his amusement as the Mongolian snapped the clerk’s clipboard in half.
Ah, well, as long as we had a plan.
The clerk rushed to speak with a second worker near the back of the motor pool. Oghul followed and promptly began arguing with them both.
I almost felt sorry for the old army clerks as Oghul made it to the line of Hummers and Jeeps and was stomping and waving his hands. I mean, yes, they could have had us arrested and killed, but I’d worked retail and knew what it was like to deal with a jerk.
“Showtime,” Marc muttered. He strolled up to Oghul, eased him aside, and began talking to the motor pool staff in muted, reasonable tones about how we should ignore protocol, bend a few rules, and just get the crazy berserker a ride. Worry about the paperwork later.
I didn’t see how it could possibly work. No one was that smooth.
Two minutes later we had a hard-top Jeep with a harpoon sticking out the back, not that I knew how to shoot it.
The private pulled it up for us and left the driver’s side door open. “It’s filled with gas,” he said.
Marc opened the passenger door for me. “And it’s krilon-coated?”
The clerk nodded. “She won’t get sick.”
I was about to ask him what he was talking about until I sat down on the worn leather seat. The tension whooshed out of me and my head cleared. I didn’t even realize how much the energy of the Great Divide weighed down on me until the pressure lifted. “This is fantastic.”
“And rare,” Marc said, sliding into the driver’s seat and closing the door.
The Mongolian stood frowning as Marc shifted the Jeep into gear and we started off toward the back gate.
I watched the berserker fade into the distance. “Why isn’t he coming with us?”
Marc had both hands on the wheel as we bounced over the rocky ground. “He has a few more things to work out for me.”
No kidding? “Like what?”
Marc pulled out the back gate and into the bleak desert landscape beyond. “I’d rather not dump you into the middle of it.”
“Too late,” I said as I spotted the outer guard posts.
I’d say one thing for my ex. He had interesting friends.
This time, the sentries merely waved as we passed. It seemed it was much easier to get out than to get in. Go figure.
“It’s a straight shot from here,” he said.
There were no fire-spurting tubes out here, no lava fingers, just miles and miles of parched soil.
“So you weren’t surprised when I mentioned a weapon back there,” I said. “What’s that about?”
Marc glanced at me. “You think we don’t get PNN?”
Fair enough. “I’m wondering if the dig we saw back there has something to do with it.”
He kept his features even, but I saw how he gritted his jaw. “How do you know it’s not your side that’s developing the weapon?”
Well…I didn’t. And I was ashamed to realize I hadn’t even thought of it.
Sure, Marc’s side had a dead doctor, but our side had just sent Galen off on some supersecret mission. And they’d been willing to sacrifice us before.
Okay. We had to think about this. “The prophecy talks about a massive weapon.”
His grip on the wheel tightened. “Listen to me. We can’t do anything about whatever weapon the gods are developing. We have a big enough job to do already.”
I could see his point, but, “We can’t just let this go.”
Marc kept his eyes trained on the desert in front of us. “I’m just saying we can’t get sidetracked by some smoke-and-mirrors prophecy.”
Wait. “You don’t believe in the prophecies?”
He snorted. “They’re vague and they won’t tell us who—or what—killed Dr. Keller.”
I grabbed the door as we bounced over a particularly jarring rock. “They’re going to bring about peace.”
He glanced at me. “Words can’t do that, Petra.”
Um-hum. Man of action. “These predictions are more powerful than you know.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. “You don’t even believe in reading your horoscope.”
All the men in New Orleans and I’d had to pick the one with the steel-trap memory. “It’s not the same. Look,” I said, shifting in my seat to face him, “you said you’ve been bending the rules a little? Well, so have I.” And a recent adventure had changed my mind. For good. “What if I told you the prophecies are about me?”
Ha. At last I’d surprised him.
“It started with a healer who could see the dead,” I said, ready to lay it all out.
He wanted to deny it. I watched him try to absorb it. “That’s impossible,” he said, steering us past a distant hell vent.
I gripped the dash in front of us as we bounced over a rough patch of ground.
“Is it?” I should have stopped using the word impossible the second I landed in Limbo.
He refused to look at me. “It doesn’t mean that it’s you.”
All that gorgeousness and he was as stubborn as a goat.
“Then explain this: I received a bronze dagger, just like the prophecies predicted,” I said, ticking off the first of the old prophecies on my fingers. “Then, prophecy number two: I used that dagger to arrest the forces of the damned.” That got his attention. Yes, well, I couldn’t wait to tell him that story. “And then for number three: I found peace while this guy I fell for found death.” Or at least he’d lost his immortality.
Marc’s nostrils flared. “You dated someone?”
Leave it to a guy to pick up on that detail.
I dropped my hands to my sides, ignoring a tendril of guilt. This was ridiculous. I had nothing to be sorry about.
In fact, he should be glad.
He knew we had no future together. We’d both moved on. He’d lied about his death, devastated me in order to force me to get over him.
And so I had.
Marc sat ramrod stiff with the rising suns behind him. Fine. We might as well get it all out onto the table.
“Yes. I fell for someone else,” I said.
A muscle in his jaw tensed.
Well, too bad. I didn’t start this. “He broke my heart and now he’s gone. Are you happy?”
“No,” he said simply.
Why did he even care? It wasn’t like he’d been there for me. He’d cast me aside.
But I knew I’d hurt him and it stung.
I wanted to say something to make it right, but I didn’t know how. Or if it was even a smart idea. Distance was a positive thing. We needed to remember where we
stood. I folded my arms over my chest and stared out my window at the endless desert.
“Look,” Marc said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t be surprised you were with someone else. I’m not,” he corrected himself. “I wasn’t there for you.”
“You lied about being dead.” And it had nearly killed me.
I was still raw with what we had lost. I always would be.
“I’m sorry,” he said. I turned and saw the contrition on his face, the regret that went far beyond words.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” There was nothing else to say, no words that would make me feel better, or fix what had gone wrong between us.
We just had to live with it, and without each other.
I settled back against my seat and tried to convince myself it was better this way. It wasn’t. But there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
Marc glanced at me from time to time. The hopelessness of the situation hung like a dark cloud over our heads. He kept to himself, and I pretended to be deep in thought, eyes fixed on the journey ahead.
In less than an hour, MASH-19X appeared on the horizon.
I shaded my eyes against the growing glare of the morning sun. Nineteen-X was bigger than the 3063rd. Definitely as dusty. We drove along a dirt road, a flat piece of nothing, distinguished only by the relative lack of rock and debris. Low-slung tents and hutch buildings formed a miniature city.
This was it. I steeled myself.
Sneaking through the lines was bad enough. My stomach tightened. Here, I would have to blend in while talking to a murdered soul.
I blew out a breath. Shake it off.
Marc caught me out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve got you covered. Try to relax.”
Easier said than done. I realized I was shaking out my hands and stopped, forcing myself to fold them neatly, tightly in my lap. I had to look at ease, like I belonged there.
Then I had to do my job and hope I could escape.
We pulled in right near the main hospital building. It was a red tent with a gold ankh emblazoned on the side, probably on the roof as well. I shoved my back hard against the seat behind me. I was easygoing. I was calm.
Marc rolled his window down and waved to a group of nurses as we bumped down the main drag toward the motor pool.
I couldn’t believe he was being so bold. “What are you doing just driving through camp?” I hissed.
He took a particularly sharp curve past the main bulletin board. “What did you want to do? Park in those trees over there and sneak in?”
“You have trees?” I asked, trying to see.
“They’re dead,” he said, giving me a sideways glance. “I don’t want to draw any attention.” He steered us past the officers’ club. “I’m going to introduce you as a visiting doctor, and by the time your paperwork doesn’t come through, you’ll be gone.”
That was actually a good plan. I tried to unclench my shoulders.
Marc glanced back over at me. “Seriously. You look like you have a mouth full of my mom’s broccoli casserole.”
I’d never been one for green vegetables. “She never would have figured out I didn’t like it if Romper hadn’t thrown up.”
“Sure. Blame it on the dog.”
Who named a dog Romper anyway? And how was I supposed to know his dog had a weak stomach?
I eased my hand from the door and tried to take a better look at the MASH-19X.
They had the same torch posts we did, the same type of helipad on a hill past the hospital. I noticed long black poles situated along what appeared to be the edges of camp. “What are those?”
“They’re the new ‘redline’ devices. They make the camp invisible to enemy radar.”
Oh. “We don’t have them.”
He kept his eyes on the motor pool ahead. “I know.”
At that moment, it really hit me. “You truly are putting your side at risk by having me here.”
He shot me a look. “You’re not a spy.”
No, but I’d be telling Kosta about this new radar blocker.
Wait. How would I tell Kosta without letting him know I’d left?
Marc steered the Jeep into the motor pool. “Chances are, your side already knows our capabilities. We know yours.”
Peachy. “Why do you have to keep reminding me we’re on opposite sides of this thing?”
“Same reason you do.” He pulled into the nearest empty slot and shoved the Jeep into gear. “I don’t want to forget.”
We turned the Jeep in at the motor pool and began trekking back the same way we’d come. I couldn’t believe I was just strolling through an enemy MASH unit. Their recovery room stood next to the hospital, same as ours. Next came the medical supply tents and the admin offices. I even smelled the familiar combination of antiseptic and dirt.
The red dirt of Limbo never changed.
In fact, save for their tricked-out radar, I didn’t see anything here that we didn’t have back home.
Except… I leaned close to Marc. “I can’t believe you have a research facility in camp.”
“Later,” he said close to my ear as he waved to a group of doctors.
I craned my neck to see them after they passed. “Do you have to be so friendly?”
Marc shoved his hands into his pockets as we came up on the residential tents. “Count yourself lucky they’re on the way to morning rounds, or you’d be playing visiting doctor. Your name is Kate Gordon, by the way.”
“I won’t forget.”
“It’s on your uniform in case you do.”
I smoothed out the pocket, and sure enough, Gordon was sewn onto a patch.
“You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“I sure hope so.” He drew a hand around my waist. His grip felt warm and sure as he led me down a side path. Just as quickly, he let his hand drop, as if I’d burned him.
We made our way past the enlisted hutches, dodging ropes and poles. They were packed in a lot tighter than I was used to.
“It will be safer to accomplish our job if we wait until nightfall,” Marc said, guarding his words. “In the meantime, you can stay at my place.”
I tried not to trip over my feet as dread warred with anticipation. No way, no how had his place been part of the bargain.
Besides, it could be dangerous. “What are we going to tell your roommates? I’m assuming visiting doctors don’t shack up on the first day.”
I could see his fists tighten in his pockets. “I live alone.”
No wonder the hutches were so tightly spaced.
He snorted. “Here in the old army, the men live in huts, with the women serving.”
I looked up at him, shocked. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You have women doctors, don’t you?”
He nodded. “They live in two big barracks, and they serve the men in their spare time.”
“I can’t believe they put up with that.” Then again, it didn’t seem like they had a choice.
“The old gods like to cling to what they can,” he said humorlessly.
“Wait. So you have a woman serving you?” I was still trying to get my head around it. “Getting your coffee, rubbing your feet?” As if Marc didn’t already have an ego. I couldn’t believe he was about to toss me into the middle of that.
At least he looked as disgusted as I was by the thought. “I don’t make anyone serve me. I never wanted that. But plenty of the guys do it, especially the immortals. They’re not big on change.”
“No kidding,” I muttered under my breath.
He cleared his throat. “I can’t send you to the women’s barracks, or someone else might call you for ‘service,’ so to speak.”
“That’s nuts.” On about ten different levels.
He didn’t argue.
“Okay, so we’re going to your hutch.” All the same, “Nothing is going to happen there,” I warned. It was bad enough I’d gotten too close to him on the rock. “I’m not going to use you to get over Galen.”
He didn’t look too happy about that. “So that’s his name.” He glanced away. “Don’t worry. I know how to keep my distance.”
“You do,” I said. “After all, you were the one who ended it.”
After the enlisted area, we reached the officers’ hutches. They were spaced just as close together, but seemed to have a little more room inside.
“Here,” Marc said, leading me through the maze and to a wooden door that looked like all the rest.
I stepped inside.
Soothing green draping hung along the walls, held in place with ornately wound rope. He had a bed, a real bed, which must have cost a fortune to get through the portal. A homemade quilt lay over it—one I recognized from his grandmother’s house. It had been one of her favorites, displayed proudly in her guest room before she passed away.
A small desk stood near the door, crowded with pictures of Marc and his family. Marc and me. There were Christmases and birthdays and picnics and parties.
“I can’t believe you still have all of this.” It was both heartwarming and heartbreaking, remembering all we’d left behind.
“My mom put together a mean care package,” he said as the door snicked closed behind us.
“But they shipped your things back to your family,” I protested. I’d seen the boxes.
“Not all of it,” he said. “Or even most of it,” he added. “The shipping around here is as slow as the paperwork.”
“Of course it is.”
The floor was covered in carpets I recognized from his apartment, a green and gold woven one in particular that I used to lay on in front of the fireplace.
I stood with my hands on my hips and tried to take it all in. It was like he was trying to torture me with everything that had been stolen from us.
Keep it light.
I only needed to survive until nightfall. “No offense, but it almost feels like your mother decorated this place.”
He smiled despite himself, and I could tell I’d hit a nerve. “I told her I didn’t want anything new. I wanted things from home.”
I itched to remind him that he still had a place to go back to. He had a home, if he wanted it, and people who loved him. But it wasn’t my business. It wasn’t my fight.
Against my better judgment, I picked up the picture of us at Sally’s Donut Shop. We were obviously pulling an all-nighter. I didn’t even remember that picture being taken.
