by Chad R. Odom
He yanked the steering wheel hard left. The rocket exploded on the ground beneath his vehicle. The force spun him off the road and into the grassy fields beyond. The vehicle rolled several times before settling upside down. As he looked to the tree line, he could see the gray silhouettes of the soldiers closing in on his position. He grabbed the rifle now lying on the roof of the pod, slipped out of the broken window, and stealthily made his way to the cover of the high grass and trees.
Soldiers reached the battered transport. Oryan watched from a distance, bending his ears for details. They searched the interior and then started sweeping the area nearby. Oryan had two major issues on his mind. If they opened the trunk, they would find the surprise of their careers.
The second issue was his own survival. He had to stick around to make sure, if nothing else, Balsa couldn’t identify him but he had to remain undetected.
One soldier tried to find the release for the trunk and another was closing in on Oryan’s position. He needed a diversion, and so he raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired a few rounds at his pod.
There were at least half a dozen men. Four men now held perimeter around the vehicle while the one near him lay flat, not doing much at all. Oryan punched the tree. He couldn’t abandon the vehicle and leave Balsa, he couldn’t give away his position, and he didn’t have anyone to serve as a decoy.
Oryan fired a few more shots, so that the return fire would stop momentarily as soldiers found cover, then moved low and fast, closing in on the closest soldier whose head was in the dirt. The soldier’s weapon was in front of him and there was no movement. Oryan assumed he had been hit, but he would still proceed with caution. The prostrate man shifted his leg slightly and carefully lifted his head.
“Dead men don’t move,” Oryan whispered.
The soldier stiffened and tried to roll onto his back but Oryan sat on his back.
“I’d suggest you stay still.” Oryan’s knees pinned the soldier’s arms to the ground as a few bullets whistled overhead.
Oryan leaned close to the man’s ear. “I’m not going to kill you.” He pulled the restraints free from the soldier’s waist and yanked an arm behind his back followed by the second. The soldier gave no resistance as Oryan bound his hands. “I’m not going to kill you, but I will need to ask you some questions. You’re going to stay here, and I’ll be back. If you try to run or if you decide to call for help…” Oryan grabbed his weapon from the ground. He tapped the muzzle against the man’s helmet. “Don’t test me on this one.”
He fired more shots at the pod, careful not to hit the trunk. Before he left, Oryan checked the restraints. His hostage wasn’t going anywhere.
He approached the pod with no resistance. This made him even more wary. Bullet holes perforated the surface in a few places. The passenger door and frame were dented from the explosion that had sent Oryan into the grass.
He nearly tripped over a soldier lying in a large pool of blood, his throat slit and his weapon missing. Another soldier shared the same fate only a few feet away.
Oryan found the radio with the third and fourth guards, who were side by side with bullet entry wounds in their faces. From the very limited evidence he could see, the first two guards were killed by hand. Whoever killed them took the second victim’s firearm to finish off the other two quickly.
Oryan grumbled under his breath and slapped the vehicle with the palm of his hand. He scanned the area but could see no signs of Balsa. More soldiers approached, so he recovered the bag with the Arkon armor and returned to the soldier he had captured.
Oryan untied his captive’s legs and pushed him into the woods until he was sure they were clear of prying eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asked. The soldier remained silent. Oryan inspected his rank insignia and continued. “Okay, private, sit down, legs around that tree.”
The soldier began to look back at Oryan incredulously but he was cut short by a sharp slap to the face. “Look forward. Sit down. I told you I wasn’t going to kill you. That holds true so long as you do what you’re told.”
With some difficulty, the private obeyed the command, and Oryan knelt behind him. “Here’s how this works. I’m going to ask you some questions. If you don’t answer me, I’m going to start shoving the bark from this tree under your fingernails. Still don’t cooperate; I’ll shove it in your eye sockets. Any questions? Good. Now, what were you doing here?”
The soldier was sweating heavily. His breath came in ragged gasps but he held his tongue. “Have it your way,” Oryan chipped bark from the tree behind him. Once he had a sliver he could use, he grabbed the soldier’s fingers. They were like ice to the touch but sweat dripped off the ends. The soldier tried to struggle, but Oryan forced the issue with a quick twist that dislocated the digit. The man yelped in pain, reminding Oryan how little time he had.
“Okay! Okay, okay. We’re supposed to be picking somebody up and handing them off to another unit. That’s all they told me.”
Oryan nodded. “Better. Why did you attack my vehicle?”
“We were ordered to attack any vehicle that came across us: military or civilian.”
“Who’s the prisoner?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Oryan covered the soldier’s mouth and grabbed a finger tightly and slid the sliver beneath his middle fingernail. The soldier’s howl was muffled, but it didn’t stop him from thrashing. “I don’t know! They don’t tell me anything! Please, I don’t know!”
Oryan stopped. “I believe you. Just one more question, and we’re through. Where’s the rendezvous point and how many troops are there?”
The young soldier closed his eyes, forcing his tears down his sweat-stained cheeks. “About a quarter-mile north west of where we hit your vehicle. There’s about fifty men total.”
Oryan leaned close to the private. “Thank you.”
***
After putting the Arkon armor back on, Oryan approached the rendezvous point, which was where the soldier told him it would be. He was hoping that Balsa would be here as well, trying to get on board a military escort back to safe territory.
A large, heavily armored pod moved quietly in the middle of the marching troops. Whomever they were transporting to hand off would be in that vehicle. If they’d picked up Balsa, he would likely be in there, too. There was a second vehicle following shortly behind, a troop transpod. After following them for a while, he realized he needed to move fast. If any more troops arrived, he would be hopelessly outnumbered.
He stealthily made his way to the front of the column just around the bend. His rifle was slung on his back and a grenade was in his hand. As the first vehicle rounded the corner, the prisoner transpod came to a sharp halt, and the soldiers dispersed to various places both on and around the road.
The prisoner transpod turned on high-beam lights. Oryan’s keen eyes could still see the vehicle beyond. He was also able to determine where the troops were moving based on the shadows he saw in every direction. There was a break in the lights as a tall man approached from the middle of them. Oryan could see many of the details that most could not. He could see everything from the man’s rank to the color of his eyes. The Major held his rifle across his chest, while the soldiers around the transport pointed theirs directly at Oryan. He kept his head slightly bowed so that between the light and the Arkon tech, no one would know who he was.
“Turn around, put your hands on your head, and kneel down!” the Major commanded in a gruff voice. Oryan did not answer nor give any sign that he was going to.
The Major raised his rifle. “I won’t ask again! Turn around, put your hands on your head, and kneel down!”
Oryan slid the pin from the grenade. With a flick of the wrist and a shove from his fingers, the grenade landed on the ground a few feet from the Major who yelled in alarm and jumped away, landing belly down in the grass.
There was a loud explosion, and a dozen soldiers converged on the spot where Oryan had been. The Ma
jor drew himself up from the ground just as the prisoner transpod sped away. He shouted for the men, calling them wildly to pursue. In a panic, the Major ran to the troop transpod but another explosion exploded in the engine and sent him back to the ground.
***
The prisoner transpod was in a place it would be easily concealed, barely detected, and quickly disposed of once Oryan had his prisoner back. He released the locks on the cargo hatch and then used the security card he had lifted from the driver to complete the process. He took a deep breath before he opened the doors. What if Corvus and Sicari were wrong about Balsa? What if he wasn’t an Agryphim? Balsa was from Navarus and knew Oryan’s face well. That meant Oryan had revealed the fact that he wasn’t dead to a person who would make living outside the Archide camp just as precarious as living in it. Oryan was regretting his decision. He should have let one of the others capture Balsa instead of doing it personally.
He could sense the presence of another human being but could not see details, and Oryan was unwilling to turn on any lights.
A guard sprang from the darkness and swung at Oryan. With a relaxed, casual movement, Oryan dodged the attack, sending the guard tumbling head first out of the hatch. Oryan grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm sharply, preventing the man from hitting the ground face first. The man screamed and twisted, landing on his back.
Oryan knelt over the wounded guard.
“Please,” he panted heavily. “Please don’t kill me.”
Oryan looked at him coldly. The man reached up with his good hand and gripped Oryan’s shoulder near the neck so tightly he scratched Oryan’s neck with his fingernails.
“Don’t beg. It’s unbecoming,” Oryan said before rendering the soldier unconscious.
“You should’ve killed him,” said a familiar voice from the hatch.
The weight of the vehicle shifted as the prisoner stood and walked into view. He was an impressive specimen, tall and strong, dark and ominous. His field military uniform disguised much of his sculpted physique. His black hair now shaved closely to his head and his black eyes were as void of emotion as they always were. When he finally rested his eyes on his rescuer, for a split second, he looked puzzled.
“Who are you?” Kovac demanded.
Oryan was still gaping. He’d expected Doran Balsa. What he had was Lucius Kovac. His heart froze as he realized how compromised he had become. Balsa knowing he was alive was bad. Kovac knowing it was far worse.
He quickly regained control of himself. “Who I am is of no concern,” he began. “You’re free to go.”
Kovac eyes him curiously. He lifted his hands to display the cuffs that held him bound.
“That’s not my problem.” Oryan stepped back.
Kovac stepped off the transpod and Oryan disappeared deeper into the shadows. “At least tell me your name so that I can thank you properly.”
Oryan held his tongue.
Kovac pressed the issue. “Come into the light.”
“You’re in no position to make demands.”
Kovac held a brief look of contempt. “Have it your way,” he said as he turned to leave. Like a bolt of lightning, his rescuer’s eyes pierced his memory. He had seen them before, on huge screens before adoring fans and beneath a menacing helmet on the battlefield.
“Oryan?” he asked. His rescuer was gone. Kovac smiled a subtle but eerie grin. He knew his guess was right. The soldier on the ground moaned loudly. He was coming to but he was the only one around. “Oryan Jeckstadt,” he rhetorically asked the shadows as he began searching for a way to rid himself of his bonds. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
Cornered
“I know, baby, but we have to go.” Celeste was busy gathering only what she was sure to need while reassuring Asher, who was making this more difficult than it needed to be.
“I don’t want to leave!” he complained obstinately.
Celeste stopped for a moment and glared at Asher. She didn’t have time for this. “Son,” she said in a stern voice. “We’re not talking about this anymore. Get your things and let’s go.”
Asher glared back at her as his face contorted in frustration. The anger turned to tears. “I don’t want to leave!” he screamed.
Celeste’s frustration was brimming over. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum like this in his life. Celeste used to listen to other parents complain about their children behaving like this and was grateful Asher was not the same. Now she understood why it infuriated the other parents. She was ready to let him know this was completely unacceptable when she noticed something behind his anger.
Her hostility melted away and she knelt next to her son. “I know this is hard. I know you don’t want to go, but it’s not safe here anymore.”
Asher sniffled and the tears came on stronger. “But what about Dad?”
Oryan. Celeste already had a plan on how to contact him. The message was already with Eldar. This place was the only one Asher had lived with his father. To him, this place meant Dad. It wasn’t the place but the person for him. Why had she not considered that before? Maybe because, until now, Oryan hadn’t been in the equation.
“Dad will find us, I promise. I let him know where we would be, so he could come be with us.” Celeste did her best to comfort Asher.
“How do you know? If it’s not safe, won’t he be in trouble, too?” Asher countered.
He was too smart for his age. She set her jaw. “Listen to me, son. There’s no trouble that will keep your dad from getting to you, understand?”
Asher’s sobs slowed. “Yes.”
“Ok, then trust me when I tell you he’ll find you and please go do what I’ve asked you to do.” She hugged him tightly for a moment before he hustled to his room. She refocused on the task at hand. In her small bag, she stuffed some food and water and several jars of the salve.
“Mom,” Asher called. She didn’t respond immediately. Celeste was ticking off the checklist of things she needed and didn’t want to break her concentration. He called again and she ignored him. Then, she heard another voice that chilled her blood.
“Mom, Sicari’s here,” Asher explained why he was calling for her.
She bolted from the room to the door. “Don’t let him…” She stopped in her tracks. Asher had let him in.
Sicari was playfully smiling at Asher until he saw Celeste. The panic on her face was wiped away when he saw her disheveled features and pale face.
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting anything?” he asked softly.
Celeste swallowed hard. Asher’s eyes darted between the two. He inched closer to his mother, trying not to make his movements known to either person.
“No,” she choked out after several failed attempts. “Just taking Asher for a walk.” Celeste reached out her hand, firmly took Asher by the arm and tucked him behind her.
“Were you leaving right away?” Sicari remained unphased by the strange turn of events. “I could use a moment or two of your time.”
Celeste forced a smile. “Sure,” she said unconvincingly. “Let me a few things together.” She spun on her heels and hustled down the hallway with Asher. Once she was in her room, she closed her bag, and threw it over her shoulder. Frantically, her eyes searched for any last minute item she might be missing.
On the small table near her bed, she saw Armay’s scrolls and the small cylinder. The lens was already in her pack. She grabbed up the scrolls and cylinder, opened a pouch of her bag, then reconsidered. If she were to be caught, the bag would be the obvious place to look. Her brain raced for another spot to hide the items.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Asher whispered seeing the perspiration on her face.
“Just a minute, honey,” she responded. Her hands brushed her leg and inspiration stuck. With her fingers, she popped a few stitches from the seam of her pants and slid the scrolls and the cylinder into her clothing.
Celeste took Asher’s hand and moved to the window. “On second thought,” she shouted back at Sicari. “Today is
n’t a good day. I hope you understand. I just don’t have time.”
“Make time, Celeste,” Sicari’s answered from the door of her bedroom. Lathena and Bartlett were behind him. “It’s important.”
Celeste slid between them and Asher, carefully lowering her bag from her shoulder. Sicari took a step back so the Arkons could move in.
“Whatever he’s telling you, he’s a liar,” Celeste stated firmly. She didn’t know if they knew who he really was, or if they were simply being dutiful soldiers. “He’s a traitor. I can prove it.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I’m here to help,” Sicari said from the doorway. “Celeste, you can just come with us. It doesn’t have to get ugly.”
Celeste tightened her fist and plotted her move. “Asher,” she said quietly, “through the window!” She sprang to the bed, then brought her foot across Bartlett’s face. He hit the wall hard before going to the floor. Lathena took advantage of the off-balance Celeste and threw a punch that glanced off Celeste’s temple. Celeste grabbed Lathena’s wrist and spun hard, throwing her enemy over her back on the ground.
Lining up her next blow, Bartlett grabbed her arm and pulled Celeste to her feet. He punched her hard in the stomach, taking the air from her lungs but she brought her foot into his crotch despite the pain.
Asher was in the window when Sicari grabbed his leg to pull him back in. Asher took Sicari off guard by breaking Sicari’s nose with his free foot. The traitor backpedaled then went to grab the child again but Celeste grabbed Sicari by the hair and jammed her foot into the back of his knee. Sicari went down like a stone. Celeste planted her elbow into his already broken nose.
Sicari grunted in pain, grabbed Celeste’s wrist, and wouldn’t let go. She dragged her nails across his face with Lathena pulling her by the waist off of Sicari. Sicari released his grip and Celeste was finally pulled free of him, but not before Celeste kicked him one last time in the profusely bleeding nose.