With her help, they slowly made their way back to the hatch. “There’s a pneumatic release on the left side of the door. If you pull on it, it will blow the hatch.”
“Wait,” said Rowen, looking around. “Any other weapons? It’s pretty rough out there and we only have my father’s sidearm—and now yours—but it would be best if we’re all able to respond if things go south,” she said, patting the case in his duffel.
“You’re joking, right!” said Gibbs, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you, like, ten?”
She sniffed, feeling somewhat insulted. “Uhh, I’m fourteen, and I’ll have you know I’ve been shooting every day since I was six. I can handle a handgun just fine. I came in first in the fourteen-and-under USA shooting competition earlier this year.” Coming up to the door, she gripped the lever, praying that it would work. She didn’t think the lieutenant would be able to squeeze through the tiny crack in the door, especially with a dislocated arm.
“What kind of parent has their kid playing with guns every day?”
She rolled her eyes at him like he was an idiot, shaking her head at his stupidity. “Have you seen my dad? He’s Special Forces, and my mom was too,” she said, straining hard on the door release to little effect. “I don’t think I can get it open by myself. Can you give me a hand here?”
Nodding, Gibbs squeezed in next to her, awkwardly trying to find a way to use his good arm to help. “Weren’t they afraid you’d hurt yourself? Or someone else!”
Rowen took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew from past experiences that if she let her anger get the best of her, poor Scott here would have two busted arms instead of one.
“Ok, I’ll say this slowly for you: if you have half a brain and know what you’re doing, you’ll only hurt the people you intend to. Guns are fine, moron! My parents, they train every day when they’re home, and they take us with them. I got bored just watching, so I asked to try it. My mother taught me at first, then my dad. I kinda fell in love with it. Since then, I shoot every day. What’s the big deal?”
“Well, you don’t really act like any twelve-year-old I have met. Growing up in Jersey, Seaside Heights, we just hung out on the boardwalk and played foosball, no guns, no anything, just a bunch of us being normal,” he finished, finally getting a solid grip on the lever.
“I’m fourteen. You don’t listen too well, do you? How have you survived in the navy this long?” she asked, frowning at him. “Anyway, what’s normal? Any army kids will tell you that our normal is knowing that when your parents go to work they may never come back! Civilian kids are nothing but soft whiny morons that only care about stupid stuff, like what their favorite actors did yesterday and dumb holo-tube trends.”
“That’s pretty sad, I’m so sorry,” he said with a strange look in his eyes. “Here, let’s try on three.”
Rowen braced her leg against the partition and pulled on the handle. “Nothing to be sorry about,” she said, looking away.
“Guns just aren’t my thing.”
“Really? Then why did you join the service?” asked Rowen.
Gibbs broke into a boyish grin. “Flying! I love to fly, only place you get to have any real freedom.”
Rowen nodded. “Makes sense. Ok, on three,” she said, taking a deep breath, counting down with him, and pulling. The hatch blew out, sending what was left of the door blasting end over end out onto the street below, the impact echoing loud enough to make her cringe. Rowen made her way out of the Seahawk, jumping the last few feet to the ground as her brother reached up to help Scott, who gave her a grateful smile. Her father was waiting, arms crossed, his face a thunderhead of anger.
“What the hell do you think you were doing? You could have gotten hurt, or worse—” he began, screaming.
“Dad, I’m fine. I’m not stupid. I was careful,” she said, not looking at him.
“I know you’re not stupid, Rowen!” he exploded, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “But you just did a very stupid thing. What if that vehicle had exploded or collapsed while you were inside? Right now, this is a dangerous situation, and this is why we follow orders. Do you—”
“I got the job done! I was the only one who could get the job done and I did it,” she screamed right back at him, shrugging his hands off her. “I did the right thing. I know I did! You would have done exactly what I did if you could have!”
“Goddamn it! I just want to keep you safe, Rowen. You’re only fourteen, for Christ’s sake!”
The more he spoke, the more she saw red. “Just like you kept mom safe!” she screamed, not caring anymore. “We still don’t know what happened. You won’t even tell us!”
Her father suddenly looked like he’d been shot, a blank expression passing across his handsome face. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “That’s not fair, kiddo, and it’s not the same. This is a dangerous situation—”
“Yeah, this is really dangerous!” she said, not relenting. “So why are we wasting our time having this dumb argument? I’m fine; you’re fine; Jonah is fine! The pilot is fine! Mission accomplished, so let’s go!” she raged, stomping past him, storming down the darkened street, not caring if they were following.
Chapter 9: The Infirmary
December 2075
The white, sterile walls and stainless steel, along with the sharp odor of antiseptic, made Arthur’s stomach turn. Just seeing the thick leather straps that had held him in place made his eyes water with the memory of what had been done to him here. Being here made him itch all over, like insects were crawling around his skull. They took him apart here, transformed him cell by cell—to what, he still wasn’t sure. He had done his best to avoid this place since then, but the room was as he remembered it, wide as it was long, cold and unwelcoming, filled with smooth paneled machines polished to a high gloss, eerily quiet, with only the occasional groan of pain interrupting the low hum of medical equipment and personnel silently working. The doctors and nurses here were miracle workers, rebuilding the regular soldiers who were wounded in service to the corps, the mostly forgotten men and women who fought on the front lines day in and day out, who did most of the grunt work but got none of the glory. Among them, glowing like a beacon, and the only reason he could bear this place: Gwen.
She sat on a metal bench, dressed in white, leaning back with her legs swinging off the side, grinning like a mischievous child. Above her head a holographic display pulsed, displaying an infinite stream of data, most of it a soft blue, small hints of red flaring now and again. Beside her, Reverend Carmichael tapped away furiously on his tablet, not daring to look at her, his gaze shifting back and forth from his tablet to the display floating above. Gwen, to her enjoyment, was doing her best to frighten the greasy-haired reverend, every few moments casually flicking a hand through her hair or stretching out like a cat, her hands lightly brushing against him, causing the yellow-toothed man to flinch or duck uncontrollably. She laughed gleefully each time.
Arthur forced his gaze to his feet, knowing that if she caught him staring, she would spend the rest of the day being prickly, rolling her eyes at him. He couldn’t understand why he stared so much; it upset him that most of the time he didn’t realize he was doing it.
Arthur sucked in a deep breath as her full-throated laugh penetrated the din. Squeezing his eyes shut to not look, he was about to wander around the infirmary when a cool hand brushed against his shoulder, causing him to stiffen. “We often covet those close to us,” said a reedy voice that he immediately recognized.
He looked over his shoulder to find the major bishop giving him a thin-lipped smile before turning his pale, watery eyes to Gwen.
“I’m just making sure she’s ok,” said Arthur, following his gaze before quickly looking back to his feet when she glanced his way. “There was an incident in the gym.”
“Yes, I saw the footage. Impressive,” he said, his icy hand lingering on his shoulder, softly caressing. “Even then, you don’t give this level of attention to any of yo
ur other peers. What’s so special about this one?”
“Nothing, just...I don’t know. I want to be near her,” he said, trying to squirm away from the major bishop’s touch only to find the old man gripping tightly to his shoulder, his bony hand like iron, holding him in place.
“A feeling I know all too well,” said the major bishop, pulling Arthur close enough that he could feel his frail body hidden beneath his red silk robes. “She is talented, your young friend. Rarely have I been so well attended.”
Arthur stilled his features, returning his gaze to Gwen, choking back the bile forming in the back of his throat. He was surprised to find her staring back, a frown marring her beautiful face. “If you’ve seen the footage, you saw how strong she was,” he said, wanting to change the subject. “How is that even possible? I went through the process months before her, and I can’t move half the weight she threw across the gym like it was nothing.”
Arthur flinched as the old man’s lingering hand traced a line down his spine. “Yes, the girl will be a fine addition to the current field team. The good reverend will solve the mystery of the how and the why.”
In a moment of panic, Arthur reached back, suddenly gripping the major bishop’s hand as it began to caress his lower back, gliding lower with each pass. “Please,” he began, his eyes pleading as he held the bony appendage in place, “there are people here. Everyone will see.”
The major bishop frowned, his brow drawing together. “And how is that relevant, boy?”
Arthur’s eyes darted back and forth, trying to see the entire room at once, praying, his heart falling when he saw Gwen was watching with a hawkish gaze. “People will know, sir. People will see!” said Arthur, letting go once he saw the murderous look in the other man’s eyes.
“Do you think I care!” he said, speaking through clenched teeth, suddenly running his hand through Arthur’s thick curls before violently pulling on the back of his head, throwing the younger man off balance. “I could order you to strip naked in front of everyone. I could murder you where you stand, and not a soul in this room would flinch. These people respect their betters, know who they should be afraid of—a lesson you could stand to learn!”
Arthur staggered forward. The major bishop forced his head down, his iron grip unrelenting. “I’m sorry,” he gulped, not sure what else he could say.
“I can do what I want, when I want, boy, and if you touch me again, I will make an example of you. Do I make—”
Arthur felt himself pulled away with a sudden lurch, the major bishop’s icy grip vanishing, replaced by Gwen’s warm touch, who inserted herself between them, arms crossed. “That’s enough. Leave the little dude alone.”
The old man stretched to his full height, raising his chin. “Have you gone insane?” he said, surprise in his voice. “You should know your place by now, girl. Return to the examination table, or I will make you suffer in the most painful way.”
She gave him a wry smile, tossing her hair. “I may be trash from Eight Mile, but I’m not stupid. Your little bitch-boy Carmichael over there pisses himself every time I look at him. I’m pretty sure I could turn this place to rubble in less time than it takes to get you off. There isn’t shit you people can do to me and you know it.”
“Ms. Stone, remember where we found you. It wouldn’t be hard to put you back!”
“Bullshit,” she said with a laugh. “There’s no way you assholes are giving me up now, not with what I can do, but don’t stress. I wanna be here for now, so I’ll play along. But Arthur here doesn’t want to do the nasty in front of people. Throw him a bone; keep it private. It’s not asking too much.”
Behind her, Arthur’s hand shot up to cover his smile, his eyes bulging as the major bishop’s pale face turned a bright shade of red.
“Get out of my sight, the both of you!” he said in a harsh whisper, waving them away.
“C’mon, Arthur, we got cooler places to be, with much more attractive people to see,” said Gwen, quoting a popular singer, linking her arm to his and pulling him along.
“Why did you do that? He’s gonna murder us,” said Arthur, looking back to see the major bishop seething.
“Don’t look at him,” said Gwen, brushing a finger on his cheek to make him face forward. “He shouldn’t treat you like a bitch. My mom was the same way, always wanting to embarrass me. Anyway, look at him, he still doesn’t know how to react. Fuckers like him never do when people stand up to them.”
“Yeah, but what happens when he comes to his senses?” said Arthur, hesitating.
“Oh, we’re totally fucked,” she said with a brilliant smile, “but until then, clear horizons!”
Chapter 10: Incoming!
August 2073
She walked alone, brooding in silence, pale glimmers of moonlight dancing with the shadows on the broken road ahead of her. She could see her goal up ahead, an older building her father said once served as the entrance to Grand Central subway station. Once there, they would hopefully find a way down into the forgotten tunnels, finding a place to hunker down until they could get out of this mess. She sighed, wishing this was all a dream, that she would wake up and find herself back home, her still mother alive.
Hearing a noise from behind her, she rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. She knew her brother’s heavy gait anywhere. “How pissed is he?” she asked over her shoulder, slowing to let him catch up.
“Super pissed. I thought he was going to shoot you for a sec there, but I managed to talk him out of it,” said Jonah, his smile glowing brightly in the dark. “I told him you’re a pretty good shot, and it would be better to take you out after we get out of this mess!”
“My god, do you have to be such a jerk all the time?” she said, punching him in the arm. He responded in kind, giving her a little shove that was more affectionate than hostile.
“Yeah, I do. It’s my job to make you crazy. It builds character!” he said, raising his chin proudly before lowering his voice and whispering to her, “You really laid it out for Dad. I’ve never seen him speechless, but it had to be said. I don’t think he knows how bad it is for us, especially now that Mom is gone.”
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, gooseflesh running up her forearms despite the oppressive heat. Before their mother had died, they spent a lot of time talking about it, what would happen if they lost one or both parents. Growing up on base, they saw it all the time. They both had had friends whose moms or dads came home with a flag draped over a coffin. She couldn’t have imagined anything worse...until the day it they got the call. “I wish he would just tell us what happened, classified or not. We deserve to know,” she said.
Jonah nodded, pulling on an earlobe. “Yeah, if they were so grateful for her service, they could send us more than a shitty letter.”
“What about the pilot?” asked Rowen, wanting to change the subject. She felt like it was the only thing they talked about these days.
“Didn’t know anything,” said Jonah, reading her thoughts. “He and most of his crew had shore leave, but he drew the short straw and was assisting the coast guard with a search and rescue of some senator’s son who got lost on a camping trip Upstate. He was on his way back to the ship to refuel when they waved him off from landing, told him to get outta Dodge, so that’s what he did. He got chased into the harbor by unknown drones. He says his comm system went dead at first, controls went nuts moments later, taking him over the city. Stick went completely dead not long after, and well, we know the rest. Are you going to apologize?” he asked suddenly, looking over his shoulder.
Rowen coughed, cocking her head to one side, listening. “No way. It may have been the wrong time to tell him, but—”
Jonah stopped in his tracks, looking up at the stars, an odd expression on his face.
Rowen followed his gaze, noticing a distant hum. “What is that?” Before she could say more she saw her father half carrying, half dragging a semiconscious Gibbs.
“Move! Move!” he shouted, a w
ild look in his eye. “We’ve got incoming, we need to get underground, now!” said her father, pointing to a store entrance that would lead to the subway, still a block away.
“I don’t understand, what’s happening, Dad?” asked Rowen, taking the lead as Jonah slipped an arm around Gibbs, helping her father carry him. She heard it more clearly now, the deep-throated growl of thousands of turboprops high above them, making her heart race and filling her with dread.
“I’d know that sound anywhere,” said her father, looking up and then hurrying his pace. “Predator MQ-52 attack drones, never seen them stateside, but in the Middle East we used them to wipe out hard targets, carpet-bomb large swaths of captured territory. This must be a counter-offensive of some kind. Someone in the chain of command must have determined that the city is lost.”
“So, what, they’re just going to bomb everything?” said Rowen, stopping in her tracks and raising her hands in frustration. “What about all the people who live here!”
Her father shook his head, pushing her along. “The Dubai Doctrine. After the war with Al-Qaeda in the Emirates, some bean counter decided it was pointless to use troops for urban deployment, that it was better and more efficient to destroy everything and rebuild later.”
Rowen was sure the predators were right above them now. She could feel the reverberations running through her body like she was standing on a loudspeaker at a concert, half-deaf from the roar of their turboprops. “Yeah, but—”
Rowen raised a hand to shield her eyes, the night suddenly turned to day by hundreds of contrails appearing in the night sky coming from the north. She could almost make out the triangular enemy drones riding pillars of blue-and-white flame, shining brightly against the black of the night sky.
“Good god, they’re countering,” screamed her brother, his mouth hanging open.
“They’re coming from the park,” said her father, pointing. “The enemy must be using it as a rallying point.”
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 10
