Aegis Desolation: Action-Adventure Apocalyptic Mystery Thriller (Aegis League Series Book 4)

by S. S. Segran

  She lingered on the scar for too long and Hutar noticed. He hastily pulled his vest higher to conceal it, then returned to his work as if nothing had happened. “How fare the Chosen Ones? Any further news?”

  Nal repositioned herself so she could sit properly. “I am unsure. Magèo has not been sharing much as of late. I get the sense that he is keeping some things from me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I do not know. But he seems more preoccupied with his work, whatever it is.”

  “You share a workspace.”

  “One that happens to be in a fairly large building. Besides, it is not as if I have access to everything of his.”

  He gave her a look, then leaned in close to grab something from another gardening box behind her. Their cheeks brushed and a little “Oh!” of surprise escaped her. Hutar pursed his lips in a small smile, then focused on his task. She fought to stave off a rising flush as she got to her feet. “I should get back to work. I will return with your evening meal later.”

  He nodded without looking at her. Clutching her basket, she exited the greenhouse and hurried upriver toward the home she shared with her family. Saiyu and Ashack strode side-by-side from the opposite direction. She waved at them. As they came to a stop before her, she put her right fist over her heart and inclined her head.

  “Good afternoon, Elder Saiyu, Elder Ashack,” she said pleasantly.

  Saiyu smiled. “And to you. I trust all is well?”

  “Quite. I have just delivered Hutar’s midday meal.”

  Ashack examined her wordlessly. She wilted; the muscular Elder constantly exuded a brusque, vigilant presence that was unsettling.

  Saiyu nudged him with a quirked brow. He blinked slowly, then spoke. “It is kind of you to have taken over for Huyani. As our primary healer, she has other responsibilities.”

  “That is precisely why I volunteered to step in,” Nal said. “I am happy to help where I can. Huyani has done much since the arrival of the Chosen Ones.”

  Ashack tilted his head ever so slightly, and Nal felt as though she was being examined again. “Magèo really trusts you,” he said. “I can see why. You are a good soul.”

  Unsure how to respond, she dipped her head, mumbling. “I ought to get home. My mother has some work she would like me to—”

  “Of course. Take care, Nal.” With one final look, Ashack placed a hand on the small of his mate’s back and they carried on.

  Nal watched them go before hastening over the bridge toward her abode. What was that about?

  As Tegan got comfortable in her seat aboard the aid plane, her phone buzzed. An unknown number flashed on screen. After a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “Hello?”

  A clear, silvery voice came over the receiver. “Uh, hi. Is this Tegan?”

  “Yes . . . Who am I speaking to?”

  “Oh, oh hey. Hi. Uh, I already said that. Sorry. This is Kenzo—the guy who stepped aside so you and your friend could escape the New Mexico Sanctuary. Victor added your number to the phone he gave me.”

  “Right! I definitely remember you. I’m glad we finally get to speak. Mariah and I were lucky you turned out not to be repurposed. I’ve been wanting to thank you, though I wish I could do it in person.”

  “It was nothing, really. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself involved in.”

  “And yet you agreed to help Victor?”

  Kenzo laughed sheepishly. “It just feels like I can trust you guys more than whatever is going on in New Mexico. But there’s still time to see if I made an error in judgement.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you kinda stink at being charming?”

  “Excuse you! I’ll have you know I’ve charmed my way to being a confidant to the Head of my Sanctuary.”

  “Have you now?”

  “Yeah. I mean, as close to it as I can be, anyway.”

  “Mm. So why the call? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, no, yeah. Things are fine at the moment. Just figured I should just touch base sooner rather than later, you know?”

  There was an awkward pause as neither Tegan nor, apparently, Kenzo could figure out what to say next. He jumped in a few seconds later. “Shoot, I gotta go. But yeah, it was good speaking with you!”

  “Likewise,” she told him, barely able to hold back a chuckle. “Stay safe.”

  “You too. Bye!”

  Tegan ended the call and slid her phone back into her pocket. Seems like a funny guy. Strange call, but glad we got to connect finally. Hope ’Riah and I get to meet him in person. She tapped her fingers on the plastic armrest. If he’d decided to stop us that day, who knows where we would be right now.

  Aari nudged her. “Was that the guy who let you guys go in New Mexico?”

  “Yep. Courtesy call.”

  The plane shuddered as they readied to take off southward. The aircraft could carry thirty passengers, but the rear had been converted into a cargo hold for medical supplies. The only people there besides the friends and Victor were two pilots and four friendly, though haggard, aid workers. Chief, collared and leashed, laid by Victor’s feet.

  Aari connected to the plane’s wi-fi and scrolled through his social media feeds. She smushed the side of her face against his to steal a look at his screen, eliciting a humored snort from him. “Anything new?” she asked.

  “Same old, same old. At least the cure’s getting out to people. I wish we could distribute it faster in more places, though.”

  Across the aisle, Victor spoke quietly into his phone. He’d been on a call with the young girl, Anya, for the past fifteen minutes; she was currently staying with Gareth, Deverell’s twin, at the Lodge. Anya was the orphaned daughter of the late Ina Deol—a doctor directly responsible for the creation of the virus that plagued the world, as well as other projects belonging to Phoenix and its underground endeavors. Dr. Deol had wanted to atone for her heinous actions after Gareth found her in Russia but had been assassinated when she defected.

  Though Anya knew Gareth slightly better, Deverell had told the friends that she’d taken an immediate liking to Victor. She was deaf and preferred communicating via sign language, but with Victor having been away from the safehouse for nearly a month, she was willing to sacrifice her comfort and wear her hearing aids so she could speak with him over the phone.

  Tegan thought it was cute. Victor was always gentler with Anya than anyone else. She sensed that there was something more to it, a deeper understanding. But when she questioned Deverell, the man refused to say anything, citing that Victor’s past was his and his alone to share.

  Which means I’ll probably never know, she mused.

  Her thoughts slowly drifted off, wandering to the families she and the others had left behind in Dema-Ki. She hoped they were adjusting well. Being thrust into an unfamiliar village in the remote forests of the north was not an easy change. The image of her father’s face appeared in her mind, the alert glint of a cop’s gaze set beneath a head full of well-kempt dark hair. She missed his rambles that she’d listen to with half an ear, ranging from the ins and outs of laws and regulations, to ordnance awareness and the friendly competition the police had going with the fire department.

  Victor hung up a few minutes later just as the plane lifted off the tarmac. He seemed lost in thought, but it was hard to tell for certain; his thinking face and his barely concealed expression of annoyance often looked the same.

  Tegan stared out her window as they passed the city of Houston below on their right, marveling at the shrinking city as they gained altitude. Her attention shifted away as the Sentry headed to the cockpit. Curious, she squeezed past Aari and followed. She found him leaning against the frame of the cockpit entrance; he glanced at her as she joined him and resumed his surprisingly amicable conversation with the two caboclo pilots.

  They had acquired tickets from California to Texas through sheer luck, but international travel restrictions were still in force in most countries. Victor had resorted to c
alling in a couple of favors. A Brazilian pilot for a non-profit that did aid and charity work in South America agreed to help, while another aid group arranged to fly Mariah, Kody and Deverell to New Zealand.

  Tegan gazed out through the wide windshield. She didn’t mind heights in the least, but the polar opposite terrified her. Diving—and being in deep water in general—would send her heart aflutter, the result of a childhood accident she could never quite shake.

  As they passed over the Port of Galveston, a bright orange flash swept through the air, followed by a shockwave that buffeted the plane. Tegan scrabbled to grab something, gasping as she stumbled backward. Two firm hands steadied her by the shoulders. She looked up, clutching onto a seatback in belated reflex. Victor gave her a short nod, then frowned at the back of the pilot’s head. “Carlos, what was that?”

  The man turned his face slightly but kept his eyes on the sky; though he had paled, his grip on the controls was steady. “I’m not sure, amigo. You guys should go back and buckle in.”

  When they returned to their seats, Aari was slack-jawed by the window. They crowded around, and Victor cursed softly. A few thousand feet below them, the port was in flames. Fire raced rapidly outward, devouring everything in its path. A giant sulfur mound by the water, now ablaze, billowed thick black smoke that covered the area, hiding the view from the air.

  “What in the world,” Tegan whispered.

  Aari was already looking at his phone. “No news yet.”

  “It only happened seconds ago,” Victor said, securing himself into his seat. “Give it a few.”

  The others aboard the plane sat in shell-shocked silence, heads buried in their hands. Someone offered a quiet prayer.

  It was a half-hour later when most of the story made its way online. Aari summarized the article: “Galveston port authority tried to reach out to a supertanker that wasn’t responding to their calls. They sent out a Coast Guard cutter to investigate. The tanker smashed through the cutter when the boat apparently stalled, and continued on and plowed into a docked LNG carrier.”

  “LNG?” Tegan repeated.

  “Liquefied natural gas,” Victor said. His voice was hollow. “The body count from that . . .”

  “Before their boat was destroyed, the Coast Guard reported hearing screams on the radio from the tanker, but it was all garbled,” Aari continued, scanning the report. “That’s all they’re saying for now.” He turned his phone off, pressing it against his lips. “Obviously it could have been anything, but . . .”

  Victor rested his head back and shut his eyes. “No point speculating until we get more information.”

  Aari slid lower in his seat, resting against Tegan’s arm, and they rode out the rest of the flight without much conversation.

  * * *

  The first thing Tegan noticed upon landing was how hot and muggy it was despite it being eleven at night. Oh, no, she thought. I can’t do this. Why don’t we ever get a mission that takes us to Norway or something?

  It had taken nearly twelve hours to get to Brazil, including a refueling stop in Jamaica. The plane had touched down at a regional airport northwest of the larger one in Manaus. It was quicker to disembark at the smaller airport as they would not need to go through regular customs, though a health screening was still required to ensure they weren’t bringing the virus into the country. Tegan found the practice odd as both strains had already made their way past the border, but who was she to question another country’s authority.

  The aid agency had a Jeep waiting for them outside the terminal. The pilot followed them to the vehicle and, as the friends and Victor got in, said, “We’ll meet here in three days, okay? The team has deliveries to make so please, please, don’t be late. And be careful. Manaus may be the capital city of Amazonas, but it is not the safest. Especially now.”

  “We’ll be here,” Victor assured him. He shook the man’s hand through his open side window. “Thanks again, Carlos.”

  The curly-haired pilot waved them off. They drove into the gritty metropolis with their GPS guiding them toward a location marked five hours away. With the detours they’d have to take over unpaved roads, the journey would most likely stretch to seven or eight hours. Their target Sanctuary was situated in Urucu, under a huge petroleum refinery Phoenix had acquired from the state. According to an online map they’d pulled up before leaving San Francisco, it was deep in the heart of the rainforest.

  It never ceased to amaze Tegan how much of the world she was able to explore, albeit not for pleasure.

  As they drove, one thing became clear: whether the locals were sick, rioting, or raving, it was a giant, violent party in Manaus. Music blasted around them, rattling the Jeep’s windows. Men and women staggered along the streets, yelling and drinking and laughing. Military personnel combed the city in protective gear, trying to shepherd the citizens back into their homes.

  “Guess they’ve had to implement martial law here, too,” Aari said from the passenger’s seat. “But I’m not sure how effective it’s been, looking at all this.”

  Tegan, in the back with Chief, studiously observed their surroundings. The wolfdog joined her, ears pricked, though she suspected he was keeping an eye out for danger more than anything else. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he snuffled in response.

  Victor had to keep one hand on the horn as he inched the Jeep through the throng of people. “Come on,” he grumbled. “Move it.”

  “So, Manaus was called the Paris of the Tropics in the late nineteenth, early twentieth century, huh?” Tegan said.

  “Someone checked out the Wikipedia page,” Aari teased.

  She wanted to quip back, but her gaze landed on a sight that made her heart leap into her throat.

  Ahead of them, a woman had climbed onto the rooftop of a two-story building covered in graffiti. Blood leaked from her nose and ears as she screeched up at the sky, a sound between agony and fury. Then she bolted toward the edge of the roof at full speed.

  “She’s gonna jump!” Aari yelled.

  Victor’s hand shot out his window, releasing an acoustic wave just strong enough to throw the woman back. She dropped onto her side, stunned, before seeming to come to her senses. A man in an aid shirt clambered to the rooftop and jabbed a needle into her arm. She pushed him off and made an attempt to run, but her legs gave out. The aid worker knelt by her, holding his hands out soothingly.

  As Victor guided the Jeep forward, Tegan watched the pair through the back windshield until she saw the aid worker help the woman upright. The woman seemed dazed but far calmer.

  “That’s crazy,” she breathed, slumping down and looking at Victor through the rear-view mirror. “Your reflexes are sharp.”

  He stepped on the gas as the people clogging the road started to move to the sides. “They have to be. And so do yours.”

  They crossed into the neighborhood of Compensa. Garbage and broken bottles littered the streets, and more military personnel shoved the rowdy crowd toward residential areas. A voice blared over a loudspeaker in Portuguese but was ignored. Gunshots sounded behind the Jeep. Tegan didn’t dare look.

  Aari took in everything with round eyes. “It’s so chaotic. People handing out the little bit of cure they have while authorities are trying to maintain order no matter the cost . . . I thought things would get better once the sap was ready for distribution.”

  “It takes time,” Tegan said. “Undoing the effects of Reyor’s work won’t happen overnight. Too many dominoes have fallen.”

  Victor clicked his tongue. “Not to mention, certain organizations and governments aren’t necessarily looking out for people. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cure is being stockpiled in warehouses somewhere.”

  “Like what happened in Puerto Rico with their unused emergency aid, or New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina,” Aari murmured.

  As they neared the Rio Negro Bridge on their left, Victor slowed the Jeep’s approach. “Crap,” he snarled. “Crap, crap, crap. Windows up. Now.”


  Tegan nudged Chief off her and did as instructed, then leaned forward between the seats. A horde of at least a hundred people blocked the ramp to the bridge in a full-blown riot. Fires were ignited around them, flickering with a drunken sway matching the inebriated crowd and highlighting them in a hazy, hellish radiance.

  Several cars ahead of the Jeep decided they’d rather not risk trouble and pulled out of the lineup to retreat into the city. The friends and the Sentry found themselves behind a cargo-laden semitruck with a driver that seemed determined to make it onto the bridge. He didn’t shy away from using his powerful horn to scare the crowd, but once the rioters realized he wasn’t doing anything more, they swarmed around the vehicle, some even scaling up the sides.

  “What’s going on?” Aari whispered.

  “Mass hysteria,” Victor said, grim. “I’ve been hearing about this from other Sentries. When people find out they test positive for the virus in places where the cure is taking longer to reach, they resign to the idea of death and hold what some have started to call a ‘Night of the Anguished’. Basically they drink and rave like it’s their last day on Earth and act out violently in hopes that they’ll get killed before the virus takes them. Others . . . just do it themselves.”

  Tegan was speechless. On the semitruck ahead, a man had made it to the top and was howling, a lit Molotov in hand illuminating his manic grin. The crowd whooped and hollered in approval.

  “Idiot.” Victor lowered his window enough to get his arm out and flicked his fingers. The Molotov flew out of the man’s grasp and into the dark river below. The man watched it disappear, aghast, before leaping off the truck and diving in after it. Victor groaned, the beginnings of an oath leaving his mouth.