The Beyond (A Devil's Isle Novel)

by Chloe Neill

  “Assholes!” I said, and crawled back. “They speared my truck!” I worked to wrench away the spear, the metal warm and vibrating with magic.

  An ogre pounded toward us.

  “Claire!” Liam called out.

  “I see him!”

  But Gunnar was already out of the truck, leaving the door open and slipping around its side.

  I wrenched the spear loose just as Gunnar reached the back of the truck. He pulled his weapon, a shocker used to incapacitate Paranormals, and pressed it into the ogre’s leg.

  The ogre barely flinched, but struck out, massive arm swinging like a wooden club. He caught Gunnar in the chest, and I heard the crack of ribs as the momentum sent Gunnar flying through the air like a rag doll. He hit the ground hard nearly twenty feet away.

  Later, Liam would tell me I screamed like a banshee. But I didn’t hear it. I swung the spear at the ogre like a hitter with the bases loaded. It connected with his temple, and he fell straight down.

  “Shit,” I said, and handed the spear back to Liam, jumped out of the truck bed, using the ogre as a springboard, and ran toward my fallen friend.

  “Gunnar!” I screamed as Containment officers fired around me and downy feathers fluttered through the air like rain. “Gunnar, hold on!”

  I reached him, fell to my knees. He was unconscious, his arms and legs twisted. There was blood on his head, blood on one of his legs, blood on his side.

  And scattered around him, chunks of metal and shrapnel from previous battles, including one chunk beneath his hip, large enough to put his body at a cant. He’d fallen right on top of it. A fulcrum of past fights.

  “Gunnar!” I screamed, and the world became a blur.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was Malachi who lifted him, flew him back to the outpost, and Liam who drove the rest of us back in Scarlet as Containment cleared the field.

  “What have we got?” the med tech asked, pulling on gloves as we met him at the gate, and Malachi placed Gunnar on a gurney gently as he would a child.

  “Hit by an ogre in the chest,” Shon said. “Flew twenty feet and landed hard in a shrapnel field.”

  “Mm-hmm,” the medic said calmly, cutting away clothes and inspecting the patient.

  “He waited for you,” Shon said as the medic looked him over. “Spent the night in the outpost, because he wanted to be here when you came through again. Just in case.”

  Of course he had. And because of that, because of his loyalty, he was bleeding out on a cot.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, and had to work against the rising panic. “Fuck.”

  “Scalp laceration, and he’s going to need surgery on the hip,” the medic said, looking up. “I can only triage him, and I will, but he’s going to need more than we can give him. He needs a doctor and a good facility.”

  “He needs Lizzie,” I said, thinking of the Para nurse who practically ran the clinic in Devil’s Isle. I looked at Malachi. “You could fly him back faster than we can drive.”

  “I can’t keep him stable.” Malachi’s voice was kind, but sad. “I can’t treat and fly him at the same time.”

  “Fuck,” I said again, letting anger rise up, because anger felt better than cold and bone-deep fear. And God knew I had plenty of that.

  “You drive,” I told Liam. “I’ll ride in the back with Gunnar, try to keep him stable.”

  “It’s pouring rain,” Liam said.

  “There’s not enough room to stretch him out in the cab.” I looked at Shon. “You’ve got a tarp?”

  “Finicki,” she called out, and a soldier jumped up from his seat. “Grab the tarp and figure out a way to secure it on the back of that truck.”

  “On it, sir,” he said, and ran for the door.

  “Gavin and I can ride in the back, too,” Rachel said. “Keep the tarp in place, help keep him stable, keep an eye out for unfriendlies from the rear.” She looked at Malachi. “You can fly ahead? Keep an eye on the road, and let Lizzie know we’re coming when we get close, so she can get set up?”

  “Can and will,” Malachi said.

  Five minutes later, we were on our way.

  * * *

  • • •

  Liam drove fast, faster than Scarlet had probably ever been driven. I was in the back with Gunnar, huddled beneath the tarp and cushioning his head from the cracks and potholes we hit along the way. We made it in forty minutes, and I’d need to spend weeks to get Scarlet back into fighting mode.

  But it was worth it for Gunnar.

  Malachi had done good work; we were waved through the gates of Devil’s Isle, where an aggressive four-wheeler with lights flashing and sirens blaring escorted us to the clinic.

  Gunnar still hadn’t regained consciousness by the time we pulled up in front, where Rachel and Gavin ripped off the tarp, and Lizzie and her staff jumped into action, loaded Gunnar on a stretcher, and moved him inside.

  “I’ll go find Tadji and Gunnar’s parents,” Gavin said, hopping out of the truck.

  Every member of Gunnar’s family had left New Orleans, most after Belle Chasse. But his parents had come back; they hadn’t been able to stay away from their son—or their city.

  “Thanks,” Liam said, and I heard the sounds of guy hugging and backslapping. They drove each other crazy, but they knew when to come together, when to be family. This was one of those times.

  I was still on my knees in the truck bed, jeans and shirt soaked through with rain, one of my best friends bleeding and unconscious. And now that he was inside, safe in the hands of a woman I trusted, I began to shake.

  “Shit,” Liam said, and climbed into the bed. “Come on, cher. Let’s get you inside and out of those clothes.”

  He got me to my feet, handed me over to Malachi, who got me on the ground and under the balcony of the first building that made up the clinic, which was spread among several interconnected town houses, guest homes, and cottages.

  “You are very wet,” Malachi said.

  “And how are you?” I asked, raising my gaze to his.

  “I’ll be fine.” There was concern in his eyes. “I’m stronger than most humans.”

  “Not the time to rub it in,” I said.

  “I am sorry for his injuries,” Malachi said. “For whatever part my theft played in them.”

  “I don’t need an apology for that,” I said. “We need the Abethyl, and you figured out a way to get it. I can’t blame you for that. But I will blame you for not just telling us the truth in the first place. We’d have been better prepared. You could have trusted us.”

  “I should have,” he said. “And that is my failing, not yours.”

  Liam was quiet during the exchange, but I knew he’d want his own words with Malachi later. For now, Gunnar was our focus.

  * * *

  • • •

  This waiting room, the second I’d visited in the cluster of buildings that made up the clinic, was small and still very New Orleans. Mismatched chairs were placed here and there in a former living room, hardwood floors squeaked with every step, and there was a small table in the corner that held a water dispenser and a coffeepot.

  Rachel made coffee, while I changed into a pair of dry scrubs.

  “I’m going to the Cabildo,” she said, when we were all together again. “I want to update the Commandant, let him know about Gunnar. And change clothes myself.”

  She looked at me. “I know this won’t make you feel better now,” Rachel said, squeezing my arm, “but you’re good in a crisis. He’s going to come through because you moved quickly, knew what to do, how to treat him.”

  She was right. It didn’t make me feel better, but I managed a nod. “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to get the package to Darby,” Malachi said. “I’ll be back.”

  Because the show had to go on, even if Gunnar was unconsciou
s and bleeding.

  When Liam and I were the only ones left in the room, he touched my arm. “Are you all right?”

  I didn’t hesitate. I turned into the sanctuary of his arms, and let the tears fall.

  “It’s all right, Claire. Let it go.”

  “I’m tired of war. I’m tired of prisons. I’m tired of fighting.”

  “I know.”

  He let me get it out, then pulled back, brushed away the tears beneath my eyes. “We could stop fighting. We could leave all of this behind.”

  Emotion swamped me, so many feelings that I had to look away. “I can’t leave New Orleans. It’s all I have left of him. If I leave, that all disappears.”

  “Ahh,” Liam said, apparently realizing I’d meant my father. “He’ll always be with you. Whether you’re here or somewhere else. He’s in your mind, in your heart. In the minds and hearts of everyone he met, everyone he helped.”

  That didn’t feel like enough. Not now.

  “But I’m not going anywhere.” He held me tighter. “I’m not leaving you, and neither is Gunnar.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Hospital waiting was a board game. In and out of chairs, shifting from one room to the next as you were made to stop, were allowed to move forward, waited for the next move.

  Time passed in arrivals and departures, the movement of people in and out of the waiting room—nurses getting coffee, Containment soldiers wanting an update on Gunnar.

  Gavin, with Burke and Tadji in tow, was the first of our crew to return.

  “Gunnar’s family?” Liam asked, rising to shake Burke’s hand, give Tadji a hug.

  “They weren’t at home. Containment’s sending a soldier to the house to wait. I thought I’d be more use here.”

  “Thank you,” Liam said, and squeezed his shoulder.

  Tadji’s eyes were huge, swollen, when she came to me.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I said, embracing her, and hoping against hope that was true. Because I wouldn’t accept anything else.

  “What happened?” she asked, when we were seated in two remarkably uncomfortable ladder-back chairs and she leaned into me, my arm around her shoulder. I told her about the Beyond, about what we’d seen, about Malachi’s injury and Rachel’s skills, about Elysium City and pools and talking deer. About the Abethyl and the battle at the Veil, and the hit Gunnar had taken.

  About the drive back to New Orleans, holding my best friend’s head in my hands, praying that we made it in time.

  “I wish the Veil had never opened,” she said. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”

  I understood the wish, the heartache it would have spared. But I looked around the room, at Liam and Gavin sitting across from us, at the Paras who’d come to check on Gunnar, at Moses, who’d dropped by to say hello and promise he’d be back after he finished watching Adventures in Babysitting on VHS. Because they’d reached a “crucial moment.”

  I probably wouldn’t have met her, Liam, or Gunnar. Certainly not Malachi or Moses or Rachel. Tadji wouldn’t have started working at the store, and I wouldn’t have started teaching.

  The Veil shouldn’t have been breached, and the Court shouldn’t have come here looking for war. We hadn’t made the tragedy. But we’d tried to make something of the tragedy. To adapt and evolve, and find our fit in the sometimes uncomfortable new world. In that way, at least, we’d won.

  Rachel came in, having changed into Containment fatigues and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  “How is he?” she asked, taking a seat beside me.

  “Nothing new,” Liam said. “We’re still waiting. What’s the latest on the storm?”

  “The hurricane crossed over southern Florida yesterday. Right now it’s a category four over the Gulf, and it’s only going to get stronger. It’s expected to make landfall late tomorrow. Rain’s already started, as you can see.”

  “Evacuations?” Liam asked.

  “Devil’s Isle is the designated shelter for Paras,” she said. “The president doesn’t want them to scatter outside the Zone. There are caravans out of the Zone for humans tonight and tomorrow morning.”

  “Anybody still here is probably hard-boiled enough to want to stay,” Liam said.

  “Maybe,” Rachel said. “But New Orleans is already hard. I’d bet there won’t be many who want to stay to see it get harder. On the plus side, the Seelies didn’t attack anything today.”

  Before she could elaborate, Lizzie appeared in the doorway.

  We all stood up, Tadji and Liam and I holding hands.

  Lizzie looked us over, her expression perfectly neutral even as flames spun beneath her skin. “His family?”

  “We haven’t found them yet,” Gavin said. “We’re working on it.”

  Lizzie glanced around. “Technically, we’re supposed to report to the family of non-Paras, not friends. But given you’re his family, too, I’ll just tell you—he took a hard knock. Some internal bleeding, but we think we have that handled. Concussion when he hit his head, and he’s got some minor swelling in the brain. We’re monitoring that, and so far, it’s stable, but we’ll have to see.”

  Fear began to rise, to tighten my throat and put burning tears at the backs of my eyes. But I knew there was no better place for him to be right now. And no one I trusted him with more, so I made myself breathe, in and out.

  “Three broken ribs. Wrenched shoulder, but nothing broken there. His hip is a mess, but we’ve set the bones as best we can. He’ll need physical therapy. But he’s young and he’s strong, and there’s every reason to be optimistic.”

  “Is he awake?” Tadji asked. “Can we talk to him?”

  Pity crossed Lizzie’s face, was gone in a flash. “He’s still unconscious.” When Tadji sucked in a breath, Liam put an arm around her shoulder, and Lizzie held up her hands as if to stem the tide of panic.

  “That’s not unexpected or unusual,” she said. “It’s a response to stress. He’s healing, and it will take time.”

  “How long until he wakes up?” Liam asked.

  “There’s no way to tell.”

  “Can we stay until he does?”

  Lizzie shifted her gaze to me, tried for a smile. “Of course. If you’re willing to risk uncomfortable chairs, rooms that never go quite dark, and the constant movement of nurses in and out.”

  I didn’t see that we had much choice.

  * * *

  • • •

  Tadji leaned against me, and we waited together.

  It was two more hours before Gunnar was moved into a room, and another twenty minutes before they let us see him. They’d be situating him, I knew. Hooking up monitors and machines powered by Devil’s Isle’s impressive generators.

  When we finally went in, I didn’t like seeing him there, face pale, eyes closed, wired like a machine. A stripe of his thick, dark hair had been shaved for a neat line of stitches.

  “He’s going to be really mad about his hair,” Tadji said with a half laugh. “It was his pride and joy.”

  “Yeah, but in fairness he has a lot of pride and joy.” I squeezed her hand. “Gunnar is not humble.”

  She laughed, swiped at a tear. “No, that’s not a word I’d use.”

  “And you know a lot of words,” Gavin said. He came in with steaming cups, offered one to Tadji. Liam was behind him, offered one to me.

  “I’m okay,” I said. But in truth I was exhausted, riding on fear and adrenaline.

  The door opened, and a man looked in. He was tall and broad shouldered, with tousled auburn hair, and blue eyes staring from a face with a strong jaw. His gaze went to the bed, and there was something in his eyes that wasn’t just friendship.

  Tadji glanced at me, her brows lifted. I shrugged, glanced back at the man.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Claire. You’re a fr
iend of Gunnar’s?”

  His brow knit. “I’m not entirely sure.” He ran a hand through his hair, biceps bunching with the move. “I mean, we were friends before. We hadn’t really talked about—I guess I’m not sure . . .” He held up his hands, closed his eyes as if to compose himself. “Sorry, I’m a mess today. Let me just get myself together.”

  There’d been longing in his eyes. Gunnar hadn’t mentioned a romance, so maybe they were still in the friends-and-dancing-around-the-possibility-of-something-more stage.

  “We’ve all been in the same boat,” Tadji said. “Take your time.”

  When he opened his eyes again, they seemed clearer. “I’m Cam. Cameron.”

  “Tadji,” she said, then introduced everyone else. Handshakes were exchanged, people evaluated.

  He stepped to the end of the bed, looked defeated as he stared down at Gunnar. So I scooched over, made some room.

  “Come on over, Cameron,” I said. “Looks like you’re having a shit day like the rest of us.”

  “Not the greatest,” he said, moving beside me.

  “Shit day all around,” Gavin agreed.

  There was a knock at the door. We looked back, and found Cantrell and Stella Landreau in the doorway.

  They might have come back for New Orleans and Gunnar, but they’d refused to give up their home, their lifestyle, their pretensions, their fantasy that life would just go on as it always had. And everything touched by magic, everything that made the world dangerous for Gunnar, was an enemy.

  Including me.

  I hadn’t seen them since they’d come back. They both looked older, more worn—and very unhappy. I braced for impact.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Landreau.”

  “Claire. Tadji.”

  “You may not know Gavin Quinn,” I said, and introduced him, then gestured to Cameron. “This is Cameron, one of Gunnar’s friends.”