Deception

by Alex Bratton

  For a moment, the mountain grew darker as the moon dipped behind the ridge. Soon after, dawn spilled out over the valley in a rush of gray. Baker would be finishing her morning run. Had she already discovered their absence? Lincoln moved as quickly as he dared, wanting to beat her back to camp but fearing a nasty fall.

  After five minutes of walking and listening to birds chirping, he climbed around a boulder to slide down the slope. Something moved in the brush off to his right. Curious, Lincoln paused, listening for it again. The noise grew louder, and then he saw Baker wading through dense foliage toward him.

  Lincoln held back a curse. Caught like a kid stealing candy, Lincoln tensed, waiting for her onslaught. Then, he remembered he had no reason to feel embarrassed. She had been the one holding them against their will.

  When Baker spoke, her voice sounded bitter. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He didn’t have time to devise an excuse before she drew her sidearm and pointed it at him.

  “There’s no need for that!” he said, hoping the others would hear and stay away.

  “Lower your voice.” Baker closed the gap between them to grab his arm. She turned him back up the mountain, jamming the muzzle into his ribs, pushing him up the trail. “Where are the others?”

  Lincoln’s anger at being held against his will, at having a gun pointed at him, at having to even sneak away at all overrode his good sense. Baker was under orders not to kill him, he knew that much, and suddenly he didn’t care what happened to him.

  He shook her off, eyes on the gun. “Why—?”

  A blinding orange light flashed up through the trees below them, followed by a blast of sound like a deafening peal of thunder. The mountain trembled, the air with it. With surprising strength, Baker shoved Lincoln to the ground as another blast caused the trees to sway. Branches cracked and snapped around them. Hot air whooshed over Lincoln’s back, ruffling his shirt.

  When it passed, Baker jumped up, tugging at Lincoln’s pack. “Hurry!”

  He climbed to his feet to see a bright mushroom cloud rising over the camp hidden under the trees. Lincoln gaped at the way the fire and smoke grew over them. Above, two enormous black ships appeared out of the smoke, their hulls gleaming orange from the fire below. They hovered over the valley, looking more like polished stone than metal.

  Maybe they are stone.

  With an anguished groan, he realized that no one in the camp could have survived that. The thought hit him like a physical blow, stirring him out of his shock.

  Baker still tugged at Lincoln. “Now! We've got to go!”

  He didn’t need to be told again.

  They scrambled up through the trees as the sky turned dark again with smoke. After several minutes of huffing and puffing, they reached a dense stand of pines beneath a shelf of rock—the tunnel entrance. Lincoln led the way through the trampled undergrowth.

  The team wasn’t there. He clambered up the rock to the narrow shelf above it. The duffel bag was gone. They had already left.

  Knowing his friends couldn’t be far away, he hurried down the mountain, a stitch growing in his side as he gasped for breath. Baker shouted something at him. Lincoln ignored her, his fear growing while he searched for his friends. Shockwaves still shook the ground, and the cloud of smoke hung over the trees even on this side of the mountain.

  He had to find them.

  The Nomad had spent the night hidden in cloud cover over Appalachia. Doyle appeared an hour before dawn when he brought Mina a new pack and her old clothes, now clean. Then he left, giving her a chance to change back into her jeans and shirt. She rolled the sweater and tucked it in her bag. It no longer smelled, but little snags and holes peppered the loose knit. Mina still needed it. None of the clothes on the ship fit her well. Still, she put the overlarge sweatpants and t-shirt she had borrowed into her new pack along with the sweater.

  When she entered the cold white galley a few minutes later, Doyle handed her a mug of coffee. Dressed in clean jeans and t-shirt, he looked fresher than she did. “We’re not far,” he volunteered. “The Nomad detected lots of heat signatures over the mountain.”

  Mina wrapped her cold fingers around the hot cup and took a sip before asking, “If the Glyphs could find camps with heat signatures, why did they need hybrids?”

  “Actually, the Condarri don’t use it on their ships. The Nomad is using modified human technology to do it. And hybrids have proved invaluable at gathering information.”

  Doyle opened her bag and began stuffing food into it, dried hybrid rations, sealed in white paper-like packages that hissed when opened. Mina had tasted it. She preferred the rabbit food she’d been eating recently to its powdery blandness.

  “You talk like you aren’t a hybrid,” she said as Doyle continued to add food.

  He raised an eyebrow at her accusatory tone, but Mina didn’t care. Despite the bed and quiet room, she hadn’t slept at all, and the thought of a tough hike up the mountain with thirty pounds strapped to her back was doing nothing for her mood.

  To keep her mind off it, she said, “So tell me about this place.”

  “At first, we thought it was just another bunker—”

  “We?”

  “Myself and some other hybrids.” Doyle paused to see if Mina would interrupt again, and when she didn’t, he continued, “The hybrids know of the bunkers scattered around, but this one is buried in the middle of nowhere. It’s nowhere near a population center or has any strategic placement. It’s useless, and the Condarri show no interest in going there. Even after the recent reports of humans gathering, they’ve been reluctant to send in more hybrids to assess the situation.”

  “So why are humans going there?”

  “That’s one of my questions. The other being, what’s there that the Condarri wish to hide?”

  “Couldn’t it be a coincidence that humans are there?”

  “Maybe.” Doyle’s frown said he doubted it.

  “Then why did you take so long to come here?”

  “At first, there was no reason, and we suspected nothing.”

  “We again.”

  Doyle shut the freezer door with a harsh snap. “Do you have something you want to say? Because now is the time to get it out. Unless you want to die, you can’t speak openly about the hybrids. For all anyone else knows, they don’t exist.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No. There are other hybrids out here—rogues who won’t hesitate to kill you to protect their identities.”

  Irritated, Mina plopped down in a cold seat next to the small table and pretended to fix her ponytail. Doyle went back to digging food out of a drawer in the wall.

  Another question tugged at her, burning on her lips until she could no longer hold it in. “Doyle, why did you come back for me after I left?”

  He paused his packing to rub a hand through his short hair and lean against the counter, studying her. “I told you. I regretted our argument.”

  Mina snorted. “You’re a hybrid. Why do you care?”

  “Do you wish I didn’t?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Maybe I can’t answer it. What do you want me to say, Mina?”

  Mina stood, placing her coffee on the table. “I don’t want to be someone you feel you have to protect.”

  “Why does that offend you?”

  Because I’ll never be your equal. She toyed with the idea of saying it aloud, but the thought seemed cheap, and yet she wondered why it bothered her. Why did she want to feel equal to Doyle? This man who had committed murder before her very eyes. If anyone could claim the high ground, she could, but that’s not how she felt at all, and it bothered her more than anything else.

  Doyle moved toward her, his hand brushing her arm. “Are you upset with me for coming back… or yourself for coming with me?”

  “Neither. I want clarity.” Mina tried to ignore his warm hand on her arm, his thumb pressing into her skin, but she looked at it anyway.


  “I’ve answered every question you’ve asked,” he said.

  “Except this one.”

  “Do you regret meeting me?” he murmured.

  She brushed her fingers across the faint scars on his arm, leftover from the dog mauling. “No,” she said. “I would be very ungrateful if I did.”

  “I don’t want you to stay out of gratitude.”

  “But you do want me to stay,” she said.

  Mina met his eyes, knowing that would only draw him in closer. Last night, Doyle had seemed content to let her keep her distance. This morning, he pressed toward her, and she couldn’t push him away. With the prospect of meeting others today, they possibly were spending their last few minutes alone. Mina had a sudden, inexplicable desire to keep Doyle to herself. Suddenly, she regretted her current mood, her harsh words.

  “Why didn’t you turn and run the minute you found out what I was?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to spend my life running.”

  “Sometimes running is the best choice.”

  Doyle leaned in, an arm sliding around her waist, dark eyes asking silent permission. His body was warm, a sharp contrast to the cool kitchen. Mina inhaled against him, smelling soap, ice, and fire. Weird. She put an arm around his waist, ready to close the distance but hesitated.

  She shouldn’t be so easily taken in.

  Why? It’s not like anyone else is around to care who I kiss.

  With that thought, Mina lifted her chin to meet him. Their lips had just brushed against each other when the Nomad shuddered. Mina gripped Doyle’s arm as a violent jolt tilted them backward. They tumbled with the ship, hurtling toward the wall. Doyle grabbed the counter with his free hand just in time to catch them both from bouncing against the cabinets. Mina’s cup flew off the table and smashed onto the floor. Then, the Nomad righted itself, and they regained their footing. Doyle released her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Instead of answering, Doyle grabbed her arm and dragged her through the door, seizing her bag on the way out. Mina expected them to go to the cockpit, but he turned right and passed the bunk room. The door to the spiral staircase opened, and he pulled Mina down it so quickly she thought she would fall.

  “Wait!” she said.

  Doyle’s feet hit the bottom running. Still gripping her arm, he pulled her through several rooms at the bottom of the ship.

  She winced and tried to shake him off. “Let go!” But he didn’t release her until they reached the hatch. Mina rubbed her arm. “What’s going on?” The hold quivered again before going still. “That’s not right, is it?”

  Doyle hefted the backpack onto her shoulders. The added weight on her back was nothing compared to the weight in her stomach.

  “You have to get out,” he said as Mina shifted the bag around.

  “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

  He secured the straps around her body and shook his head. “No. You have to go. They’re coming.”

  The weight in Mina’s stomach jumped to her throat. “The Condarri?”

  In the floor behind, the hold door opened. Icy wind funneled through the opening, whipping Mina’s hair into her face. She turned, expecting to see the ladder going down to grass or dead leaves, but the gray pre-dawn light shining into the hold was enough to tell her they were still airborne.

  There was nothing below them but air.

  Unable to tear her eyes away from the gaping sky, Mina grabbed the wall for support. Doyle pulled her over to stand at the edge, steadying her against the wind.

  She pushed at him, but he held her too closely to gain any leverage. “Are you crazy?” she asked, glancing down.

  Far below, the still-dark mountains looked like ripples on water. Something large and black glided by underneath the Nomad, blocking the view.

  Doyle held Mina at the edge, perfectly balanced despite her struggling. He was saying something over the sound of the wind. Mina’s heart pounded in her throat. The frigid air stung her eyes, blurring her vision with tears.

  He was going to toss her out. Somehow, she knew it was true. She clutched Doyle’s arms, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

  “Don’t!” she shouted.

  “Pay attention!” Doyle pried her fingers away. “Give me two days. When you land, hide! Don’t look for me. Don’t run. Just hide! Got it?”

  Mina’s lips quivered in the cold. “Land?”

  In answer, Doyle closed the gap between them and kissed Mina hard on the mouth. Surprised, she hesitated a second then leaned into him, returning his kiss with the same intensity. Doyle’s lips were warm, but his mouth tasted like ice. Her heart pounded in her chest, either a result of her desperate terror at standing so close to the edge or the feeling of Doyle’s firm hands wrapping around her arms. The Nomad shuddered again.

  Doyle shoved.

  Mina lost her footing and fell backward. She grabbed for him, for the ship, for anything to stop her fall, but all she felt was stinging air so cold it stole her breath. The Nomad shrank above her, its door closed. Doyle was gone.

  Mina’s head swam. Wind pummeled her body, whipping her clothes until she thought they would tear. She twisted in mid-air, blinking to clear the tears.

  She was going to die—smashed into the trees, impaled on their branches. Either that or every bone in her body would break when she hit the ground. Mina imagined both happening, her body slinging through the trees, shredded to pieces before landing on the mountainside. She gasped for breath. Why had Doyle saved her life only to throw it away a few days later? She had been so stupid to trust him!

  Unwilling to watch the ground grow closer, Mina steadied her breathing as best she could and looked around. The sky was growing lighter. To the north, two monstrous ships, each looking like they could house a small city, hovered inside black, dense smoke covering the valley.

  The fire followed the wind until the entire valley was aflame. Even at this distance, the heat warmed Mina's cold, raw cheeks. She was going to fall straight through the flames before striking the ground.

  She felt oddly detached from the revelation, as if the whole thing were happening to someone else.

  Then, the morning sun blazed to the east, and she shut her eyes against the sudden brightness. As she did, the wind stopped howling, and the heat disappeared. Confused, Mina opened her eyes. Everything had gone dark, but the fire must have been close even though she could neither taste nor smell it. Any second now, she would burn. Mina tensed, squeezing her eyes shut, terrified and expectant, but the darkness only closed in tighter. Then, the wind ceased altogether.

  She opened her eyes. Instead of falling, she was floating in the murky air. Something was slowing her down, but what? Invisible branches grabbed at Mina’s outstretched arms, and she pulled her hands into her body to protect them. With a soft thud, she landed on prickly twigs and leaves. Mina grasped at the ground in relief, half afraid of being ripped away from it and back into the air.

  Cool air clung to her skin, but Mina couldn’t see much even as the darkness lifted. She stood, and her backpack threw her off balance on the steep slope. Quivering, she sat again to make sense of what had just happened.

  How had she survived? The ground shook, the rumbling a sign of the Condarri ships somewhere above destroying the valley. Was it the camp Doyle had mentioned?

  The odorless cloud around her slowly dissipated, and the scent of burning wood filled her nostrils. A billowing cloud blocked the sky, grown from the blaze on the other side of the ridge.

  As Mina looked around in the dim light, an urgent thought pushed itself to the front of her mind. Hide. She looked up at the smoke above and then through the gloom to the trees below.

  Where?

  Chapter Four

  At the creek, Lincoln looked for the shady spot over a clear, deep pool where they’d had luck catching trout. Alvarez, Nelson, and Carter hadn’t arrived yet.

  “Hello?” he shouted. “Guys! Where are you?”

  “Shut up!” Baker
hissed. “You don’t know what else is here!”

  But Lincoln was already climbing down toward the water to look through the trees on the other side. The gloom beneath them still limited visibility. He turned to Baker beside him, who was also peering through the undergrowth.

  Another rumble shook the air, and in the ensuing echo, a roaring sound like a gust of wind caused both of them to look up. A summer storm, maybe? Lincoln couldn’t see anything in the gloom above. Then, the dark cloud above them faded to reveal sunlight that touched the cool nook.

  “Hey, anybody! Alvarez!” he called again. The woods remained silent. Even the birds had ceased their morning song.

  Baker raised her gun and pointed it at Lincoln’s face. She had attached a silencer. Surprised, Lincoln took a step back.

  “You'll get us both killed,” she hissed. “Now shut up and hide!”

  She motioned for him to crawl under a small tree overhanging the pool. Its low-hanging branches brushed the meandering water.

  Hide from what? But he crawled into the foliage, drawing his long legs under his chin to keep them out of sight. Baker followed.

  We were only minutes behind the others, he thought as he warily kept an eye on Baker. If they’d got here first, they would have waited for him. Maybe they hadn’t reached the creek at all. Maybe they’d been forced off the trail somewhere. Lincoln considered climbing out to look for them, but Baker was watching him with her gun on her knee.

  What was going on?

  A male human ran through the smoke and trees below. He looked young, early twenties, a corporal by his uniform. Calla watched him dodge burning trees and grope his way through the smoke. His coughs pierced through the roar of the fire. She heard everything—trees crackling in the flames and falling; heat consuming metal, plants, and bodies; tents sizzling into nothing.

  She stretched, flexing her newly repaired body. The human was inconsequential. One survivor to carry tales and fear of the invaders. Fear that would spread among the remaining humans, discouraging and killing them. Yes, one survivor. As always.