Having no other choice, they broke into a run, pandemonium ensuing above them. Swarms of rocket-propelled enemy drones met the oncoming waves of predators with a wall of heavy-caliber machine-gun fire, red tracer rounds looking like knife cuts against the curtain of night. The predators were cut to pieces, exploding in blossoms of orange and white, fuel and unfired munitions thundering like a grim fireworks display.
“There must be hundreds of them,” said Rowen, mesmerized by the chaos above, doing her best to dodge the burning pieces of metal and plastic that fell from the sky. She barely had time to raise a hand to shield her face as a falling predator struck the side of a building just ahead, shrapnel exploding everywhere with a hollow roar. Her breath was sucked from her lungs, her small form raggedly blasted halfway across the street by the concussive wave. She landed hard on the hood of an abandoned taxi, its windshield a web of broken glass cutting into her skin. She screamed as flames washed over her, blistering her skin, each breath scorching agony. Coughing painfully, she lay there for a moment, looking at the sky, fighting to catch her breath. High above, thousands of the smaller enemy drones swarmed like hornets around the lumbering predator-class bombers, too slow to strike back. Wincing in pain, she fought her way to her feet, only to stumble off the side of the taxi with a heavy thud, pain lancing across her back. She wanted to lay there, give up, just die in the street like her poor aunt.
Then Jonah was there, kneeling above her, a winning grin on his face as he dragged her unsteadily to her feet, shouldering the bulk of her weight. “C’mon, ugly, no sleeping on the job. You’re gonna be fine. Looks like you got all your bits...except the boobs,” he said, laughing. She frowned at him, not knowing whether to punch him or hug him, grateful to have him at her side. She looked around to see her father with Gibbs, waving them to the entrance leading to the shops just across the street. She blinked in amazement, only now realizing how far she’d flown.
“It hurts, oh god it hurts,” she said wincing, finding that she was ok walking on her own despite the painful blistering on her skin.
“No problem, let’s get the hell outta here while we still can!” he said, keeping low as shrapnel and debris continued to fall from the drone battle overhead.
As they started moving toward the entrance, she could see him struggling. Clearly he had been hurt too. He favored his left leg, wincing with every step. “Here, lean on me,” she said, surprised at how quickly their roles had reversed.
“No, it’s ok, I’ll be fine. Run. I’m right behind you. No sense in both of us being out in the open like this.”
“Ok, just hurry up,” she said, breaking into a run, quickly arriving at the entryway. Peering into the darkened storefront, she could see her father down a wide flight of stairs, searching for a way deeper into the subway, waving them deeper into the complex. Turning back for Jonah, she blanched in horror, her breath quickening. She heard it before she saw it, the high-pitched whine of a burning predator drone, careening end over end to the entrance of the building like a meteor. Without thought, she bolted, taking the steps down three at a time in a mindless panic. She felt the shockwave before the heat washed over her, the explosion sending her hurtling hard through the glass window of the shop beyond the stairs. She found luck, bouncing on some sort of soft store display that cushioned her fall, dumping her face-first onto the tiled floor. She bounded to her feet, wiping away something wet running down her face, blinking away the pain as adrenaline surged through her, looking expectantly to see Jonah racing down the stairs, only to find at the top of the stairs, where the entrance should be nothing but darkness and stone, scant traces of light illuminating the concrete dust filling the air.
She stood dazed, staring at nothing, her knees shaking. “Oh my god, no, Jonah...” she whispered, finally collapsing where she stood, succumbing to nothingness.
Chapter 11: Breakfast at Fort Carson
February 2076
Keeping up the illusion was important, the pretense that he was asleep no matter what, so Arthur did his best to lay still, keep his breathing steady, squeezing his eyes tight while the major bishop did his business. He could cry later.
Blocking everything out, he pretended that he was someone else, far away from here. That he had a loving family that could afford school, the promise of a bright future ahead of him. He had daydreamed about that life every day he lived with his parents. He knew he would never get there, that it was far beyond his grasp, but now maybe he wasn’t sure. Arthur was deep in his fantasy when a weak grunt signaled the major bishop was spent, the old man rolling off him to dress in silence before slipping quietly out of Arthur’s room. The hollow thud of the door slamming behind the major bishop was like a dam breaking, permission to let go the deluge of tears he’d been holding back, his small frame suddenly wracked with ugly sobs now that it was over. The last few months had been peaceful, almost pleasant. He thought that he would be left in peace now that the major bishop had a new toy, one that was far more willing. He could never have imagined being so wrong. Today had been worse than most. He hadn’t bothered to give him drinks to make him numb; today was punishment for daring to talk back. Arthur’s face twisted into a grimace as he pushed everything down deep, trying to forget what happened this morning, wanting to get on with his day. Rolling off the bed, he stood unsteadily, legs trembling as he limped his way to the bathroom, the pain fading with each step. He was grateful for the shower, shuddering as the scalding water rained down on him, the perfect disguise for his tears circling the drain while he tried to wash away his guilt and shame.
He knew he should feel lucky. When he lived with his parents in Cherry Hill, the shower water always started out the color of rust, sputtering and coughing, before piddling lukewarm onto his head. Until the major bishop brought him here, he had never had a hot shower. His room, as promised, was clean, warm, and dry, and not once did he have to fight with rats and roaches to eat his meals. The room was bigger than the entire squat he’d shared with his parents, the perfect cage for a poor boy who never had anything. The old man had been true to his word. He always was. He missed them every day, his parents, even his mother. He had tried to find them after he had been allowed free access to the net. It should have been easy—the computers on the base were beyond anything he had ever seen—yet he couldn’t find them. It was as if they had never existed, like ghosts...gone. When he asked the major bishop about them, the old man laughed, telling him that he had hidden them away to encourage good behavior, every now and then giving him a picture of them. They looked happy. He claimed that they had moved out of state with the money they got for giving him up, that his father had found a good job, and his mother had gotten clean, pregnant now with a new baby on the way. He knew that he shouldn’t believe the pictures. They couldn’t be real, they looked too neat, too perfect. That he was taunting him with the illusion of his parents having a better life now that he was gone.
Putting aside his dark thoughts, he finished his shower, toweling off in front of his closet, smiling at how ridiculous it all was. He had never owned more than one pair of pants and two different shirts, never more than one pair of shoes, and now he had all this. The small space was packed with all sorts of fancy things he could never bring himself to wear, rows and rows of designer pants and shirts, silk robes so soft just touching them made him blush, colorful suits that glittered like the night sky, even the latest styles of shoes that he had only ever seen on the holo-net, all there just for him. To the major bishop’s eternal disappointment, he wore none of it, preferring a simple black service uniform with a high red collar. Asahi had been true to his word, and it had arrived at his rooms the day after the incident. Looking at himself in the mirror, he sighed, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. He was still too short. He hadn’t grown much since he’d been here, and no matter how much he ate, he still felt far too thin. It railed him that all the recruits were bigger and stronger than him. His father had been tall, so he hoped for a growth spurt sooner rather than later.
Satisfied, Arthur headed out of his room to get some breakfast, only to find Gwen outside his door, waiting, a pained look on her face. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. If I didn’t provoke him—”
“I’m fine, just fine,” whispered Arthur, looking around the empty hallway, the color draining from his face. “It’s not like it’s never happened before, it’s just...it had been such a long time, I had thought he was finished with me—bored, you know?—and I just don’t want everyone to know.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” she said, bowing her head.
“Oh god…” said Arthur, bowing his head and looking away, “I don’t...how?”
Gwen shrugged, moving in close. “Rumors. It’s not a big base. They say you’re his favorite, that you’re special.”
Having her this close, with the smell of her perfume in his nostrils, he blushed, almost forgetting to be ashamed. “That doesn’t make sense. He hates me!”
“I can rip his arms off if you want. I think if I try hard enough I can toss him into orbit.”
Arthur shook his head, a small smile growing on his face. She did that to him, made the worst seem ok. “Can we talk about something else? Anything, just not that,” said Arthur.
Gwen placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a warm smile. “Ok, no problem. You know this proves my theory that people go crazy as they get older. I’ve never met anyone over thirty that wasn’t totally fucked in the head.”
He locked his hands behind his back, nodding in agreement. “Let’s get some breakfast. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
Before they could head off to the mess, Gwen suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking his way, her hand lightly brushing his chest to stop him. “You, sir, are an asshole!” she said, giving him a brilliant smile.
Arthur was taken aback. “What—” he sputtered, brow narrowing in confusion.
She broke away then, twirling like a dervish. “You haven’t said a word about my outfit! Don’t you like it?” she said, posing like a cover model with a hand on her hip as she flicked her hair.
His mind went blank, his tongue paralyzed, looking her up and down. His heart raced, his lips curving into a smile against his will. He couldn’t help himself; even after seeing her every day, he could get lost in her blue eyes if he stared too long. With a gargantuan effort, he forced himself to look away, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. She would only make fun of him if he gawked at her too long. She took pride in making fun of him for some reason.
“You should wear something that looks more official,” he said finally, not sure what to say as he brushed past her, walking down the corridor. “Like me. Professional!”
Gwen was his polar opposite, fully embracing the closets full of clothes the major bishop had given her. Arthur didn’t think he had ever seen her wear the same thing twice. Today she wore a skintight white jumpsuit with a high collar that flared open on her arms and black, hard-soled boots that sounded like peals of thunder as she strutted down the hallway.
“Never! You need a little razzle-dazzle in life, man. Why would I want to be boring?” she said. She locked her arms behind her back and adopted a mask of seriousness, mimicking him as she followed, her boots clicking loudly as she skipped down the corridor, humming under her breath.
“Do you really have to skip like that? It—”
“Yes, I do. It’s fun. You should try it sometime, having fun. Oh, wait, I almost forgot, this is for you,” she said, retrieving a small, blue box from a pocket he hadn’t noticed. “Happy birthday! I was going to give it to you at the party, but I guess you can have it now. What does this make you, twelve, now?”
Taken aback, Arthur took the box, looking at it as though it were poison. “Thank you,” he said slowly, hesitating. “Fourteen... What party? Who told you it was my birthday?”
“The major bishop told me,” she said, giving him a wink. “By the way, pretend to look surprised. He’s been planning a surprise party for you all week. He said it was important to do things to remind us we’re family.”
“Family!” said Arthur, shaking his head. “He has some strange ideas about family. What’s in the box?”
“It’s a purity ring,” she began in a loud whisper, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth, her tone serious, “to remind you of your self-worth and that your virginity is a precious gift!” she finished, placing her hand on her chest like she was making a solemn vow.
“What! Why...wait...what! Do you think I need one?” he stammered. He could feel the heat on his face as his cheeks became flushed, turning bright red.
“I’m just kidding, silly!” she said, breaking out laughing, dropping her mask of seriousness. “The point of a gift is to open it and see the surprise. Haven’t you ever gotten a birthday present?” She linked arms with him, waiting for him to open her gift. Being this close to her, he felt a pleasant wave of euphoria wash over him. His heart thundered like a drum. Drawing in her scent, his head swirled with the fragrant rosewood soap she always used. He could feel her heat even through his uniform. It almost made him forget how his day had started. Knowing her, he kept silent, eyes forward, just enjoying the moment. He was never sure what she wanted from him—sometimes she was like this, playful and affectionate, and the next moment she would scream at him for looking at her the wrong way. Her moods were like the sea, ever changing, sometimes calm, sometimes playful, at the worst of times a terrifying storm destroying everything in her path. He never knew what to expect. “So are you going to open it, or am I going to have to take it back and give it to someone else?” she said, eyes flashing.
“Yes, sorry. My parents never had money for things like birthday presents, and the kids I grew up with didn’t have money for food. Buying anything for someone else was unheard of. First time for everything, I guess,” he said with a shrug, opening the box. Inside was a faded, gold medallion shaped like a starburst on a relief of cobalt blue. Running his fingers across it, he read the words aloud. “Medal of Valor, City of Detroit.”
“It belonged to my grandfather,” she said. “He was a fireman, it was the only thing of his my mother kept. She hated him so much, said he was a real bastard, but he was brave, saved a lot of people. I found it the other day cleaning out some junk in my room to make way for some new clothes.”
Arthur could only stare in wonder at her, unable to speak. “Thank you,” said Arthur, looking at her wide-eyed and feeling overjoyed for such a small thing. “I don’t really know what I did to deserve this...but—”
“It’s just an old medal, keep it or throw it out, it’s no big deal,” she snapped suddenly. Arthur groaned inwardly, sure he must have had that look on his face again.
“Yeah, sure, no big deal. Let’s get some breakfast,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant as he continued down the hallway to the mess with Gwen stomping loudly beside him.
They entered the mess hall to the smoky smell of bacon and morning coffee. Arthur’s jaw dropped, amazed at how the normally austere room had been transformed. The walls had been covered with streamers and balloons of all shapes and colors drifting in random directions. It was bright and warm, bringing a smile to Arthur’s face. The basic layout was the same as always, with the recruits and newbies like him and Gwen sitting at long cafeteria-style benches, plastic chairs neatly tucked underneath. The officers and senior members of the corps ate at a well-appointed heavy oak table that sat on a dais that overlooked it all.
Arthur did his best to look surprised while searching for a place to sit. The major bishop caught his eye and gave him the briefest of nods and a mirthless smile that never touched his eyes, like nothing had happened. Quickly looking away to avoid his gaze, Arthur narrowed his eyes, noticing that the room was only half full and far too quiet, most of the recruits staring blankly at their food, the grim silence broken only by the sound of cutlery scraping on plates. They had brought in a full new batch of recruits in the last week, and the room should have been bursting
at the seams.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, looking around at the sullen group.
“I heard some of the reverends talking last night. They were trying to improve the efficiency of the ascension process for children who have the gene from only one parent. It was a disaster,” she whispered, leaning in. “They lost almost half of the new recruits in less than three days. I saw the bodies piled in the morgue. They ran out of room in the refrigeration unit, so they are just dumping them anywhere they can. Everyone’s terrified.”
Arthur wanted to vomit, feeling as if he had been kicked in the gut. He placed a steadying hand on the table beside him as he felt his knees go weak. “Half! That’s almost eighty kids. I spoke to some of them, told them that the risks were minimal, that if it didn’t work we would send them home to their families,” he said, holding his eyes shut. In a fit, he slammed his hand on the table he was leaning on, splintering it into a thousand pieces, the group of teens at the table jumping from their seats, eyes wide with worry.
“Whoa, easy tiger, you’re only making it worse. These kids are already fucked up,” said Gwen, pulling him away.
“So sorry, excuse me,” he said, trembling, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Looking up at the dais, he saw the major bishop take an interest and begin to stand. He quickly waved him off; the last thing he needed was dealing with him again this morning. Moving quickly from the shattered table, he followed Gwen, looking for a place to sit.
“Look, there’s Uriel. He’s alone, so let’s go eat with him,” she said, pulling him along.
“Hey, Arty, happy birthday. That table say something bad about your mom or something?” asked Uriel with an easy smile as they plopped down across of him.
“I don’t think you could say anything about my mom that I would find insulting,” said Arthur, settling in. Gwen loved Uriel, Arthur not so much. He was just too perfect, strong and tall. At fourteen he already looked like a full-grown adult. With his square jaw and dark hair that he kept short, gray eyes, and teeth that were too white, he looked like a holo-star, not some poor recruit from the slums. It didn’t help that he was so nice, disgustingly so. He hated that someone so good-looking could be so kind. Arthur wished they guy had a flaw of some kind, bad hygiene or a stutter, maybe only one testicle, anything to make him a little more human.
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 11
