by B. C. Tweedt
-------------------------------
Roman had wanted to be unimpressed by StoneWater, but they had made it difficult from the start. He sat in a cylindrical train-car that barreled across the ocean inside a transparent tube. He’d ridden in bullet trains before, but never one that traveled through a barrel like an actual bullet. The ocean waves crashed beneath him, the sun hung above, and the seats were comfy.
He shifted, feeling underdressed as a lanky, suited passenger eyed his muscular, tattooed frame from across the bullet-car. Roman adjusted his nosepiece, glaring in the passenger’s direction. The man held back a gag and averted his eyes.
Soon, StoneWater’s island came into view. Other superstructures rose from the sea around it, and tube-tunnels diverted from the main tube, like exit ramps, towards them. One tube even dipped under the water. But their car continued onward toward the main facility. The island wasn’t massive, but it had several runways, a heliport, a small navy, and a cluster of buildings like a shrunken city skyline.
Dee-Doo!
“Approaching Fiore Island,” a pleasant female voice announced from an intercom. “Please stay seated for the scan.”
A circular bar on the car’s perimeter hummed from front to back.
Dee-Doo!
“Approaching Station One – Civilian Deck. If you do not have special security clearance, please exit now.”
Suddenly the sun was gone. The tube dove inside a tunnel and emerged inside what resembled a bustling subway station, crawling with suits and uniformed soldiers. Their car hushed to a stop, and a ramp extended to their opening door. Most of the passengers exited, some giving him curious looks.
Dee-Doo!
The door slid shut, there was another security scan, and the car jettisoned forward again.
“Next stop – Hangar Deck.”
The tube continued deeper and deeper into the facility, curling in and out of buildings, giving Roman glimpses of StoneWater’s power. He saw lines of Apache helicopters, well-armed soldiers, all sizes and shapes of drones, and more. He also noted the vents that would emit gas if he happened to be hostile, the exit ramps that would most likely take him to their interrogation dungeon, and the sentry guns training themselves on anything that moved.
This place was a fortress.
“Last stop: President’s Wing. Security Clearance Alpha granted.”
The car hummed to a stop at the end of a steel barrier. The door opened to a grassy lawn.
Hesitant, Roman stepped off, feeling the give in the grass. It was real. And so were the rushing rivers on both sides of him. They were inside the island. Underground. There were no guards – just him and the one figure standing at the far end of the long grassy room, staring at the banks of monitors grander than a theater screen.
He strolled across the lawn, taking in the hidden sentry guns in the walls. There was even a sniper in a grassy ghillie suit thinking he was clever.
“Roman,” the man said, still examining the monitors. “I assume you’re not one for small talk. We’ve been given a task that may interest you.”
Pictures of soldiers appeared on the monitors. Grover. Diablo. Forge. SmokeStack. Syndrome. It was Rubicon.
His stoic face hid his excitement. “Give me a team,” Roman demanded. “When we find them…”
“…they’re all yours. Until then, you’re ours.”
He huffed, thought about it, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”
-------------------------------
Greyson stood over Asher with Kit at his side. His face burned with anger, examining the fanny pack around the boy’s waist. It had been Nick’s. He’d given it away? Why?
“Go back,” he scowled.
Asher tried to catch his breath as if the wind had been taken from him. “So’wwy,” he huffed. “I…” Asher reached for the Bible as the wind lapped at its open pages.
Greyson snagged it before Asher could. “Did Rachael tell you where I was?”
“No. Evewy’one’s looking fo’ you. No one knew; but Kit knew,” he said, gesturing at Kit.
Greyson nodded. “Rubicon back?”
Asher nodded back. Being Dan’s son, he’d been privileged with Rubicon’s secret. “SmokeStack b’wought Kit. Said he’s mostly healed.”
Kit panted at Greyson’s side. Asher was still in snow, reluctant to move.
“I like y’uh place.”
Greyson’s anger stalled. “Thanks. But it’s private.”
“Why?”
“Because there’re people looking for me. And if they find me, I don’t want them finding everyone else.”
“People looking for you? Like y’uh dad?”
Greyson sighed and looked to the sky, trying to maintain his patience. “I hope not.”
“A’h you still going to look fo’ him?”
“I told you to go.” Greyson snatched Asher by the arm in a sudden fit of anger and pulled him up. But Asher planted his palms in Greyson’s stomach, pushing him back. Kit growled.
“No! We ‘ah supposed to be f’weinds! You a’h supposed to watch me.” He pushed Greyson again, forcing him to take a step back, but not any further.
Greyson let the boy take out his frustration but then took in what Asher had said. “I’m not supposed to watch you. Sydney is.”
Asher pushed his chin down, pouting, playing with his ID lanyard. “For now. But she’s leaving, so I thought you could…”
Greyson bent down to his level, looking him in the eyes. “Sydney’s leaving? Where?”
“It’s sec’wet.”
Scenarios pecked at Greyson’s thoughts, but only one made sense. “She’s going with Rubicon? When?”
The boy’s pout ended as fast as it had started. “Tomow’oh! A’h you going to stop h’ah? Ms. Rachael doesn’t want h’ah to go, but Dad says she’s needed. They need a g’uhl and a boy.”
“Who’s the boy?”
“I said I’d go, but they already chose. Nick.”
Nick? If they had needed a boy, why would they have chosen Nick?
Jealousy dragged Greyson’s shoulders down, sending a painful reminder of his injury stinging across his chest. Of course, he knew why, but it didn’t make it easier to swallow.
He had to stop this. Rubicon couldn’t swoop in and tear their group apart anytime they wanted. His group was a package deal. They had no one else but each other anymore. Their parents were dead, kidnapped, or traitors. They were their own family now. “Come on, Ash.”
Asher grabbed for Greyson’s hand, but Greyson was focused dead ahead, grabbing a walking stick and marching up to the pass. “You going to stop Syd from goin’?”
Greyson paused, contemplating the irony in being the one trying to stop Sydney from running off and doing something stupid. How often had it been the other way around? And how badly had he hated it?
“They can’t just take her. We’re a team.”
Asher ran to catch up. “My mom tried to stop my dad from going to w’uh. Befo’ah I was bo’wn. Now he wished he would’a stayed.”
“Exactly. But Sydney and I are just…friends.”
“Nuh-uh.”
Greyson eyed him as he picked the best path to the pass, slipping and regaining his step in the snow. “Nuh-uh what?”
“You a’hwent just f’weinds. You’ah in lo-ooooove.”
Greyson cracked a smile. “Love, huh? What do you know about love?”
“I’m in love, too. With a diffe’went hot g’uhl.”
Holding back any condescension in his smile, Greyson nodded at the boy. “With who?”
“H’uh name’s Chloe. If I get her, we’d have the two prettiest g’uhls in camp.”
“Uh…first of all, I don’t got Sydney. You can’t like, own a girl. Especially one like her.” As he said it, he realized – she might be the one wanting to leave. If it was true, he couldn’t stop her as much as she hadn’t been able to stop him. “She can leave if she wants.”
He thought hard. Why would she leave? The only thing he could think of that would draw her away would be what had drawn Greyson away – the desire to find his family. Maybe she’s going after her own family…
“I don’t think so. She would want to stay with the team. She’s always tried to keep us together.”
“Cuz she’s in love with you, and you’ah in love with h’uh.”
Greyson choked out a laugh. “I’m not in love with her.”
“You should be.”
“Why should I be?”
“Cuz she’s awesome.”
“True,” he chuckled, imagining her changing his shoulder’s bandage. “But it’s not like I can just choose to love someone.”
“My Dad says you can. He says true love is like a pie,” he began, tapping one finger at a time. “The filling is the kind of love when you ca’yah for people and a’h nice and all. The whipped c’weam on top is the smoochy huggy stuff. But the c’wust is choosing to love someone for the ‘west of you’ah life, no matt’ah what – and it keeps the whole pie togeth’ah.”
Greyson was pondering the meaning, as well as his own hunger.
“And he said too many people eat just the whipped c’weam and it makes you sick. The best pie has all th’wee.”
Greyson chuckled. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”
Asher grinned with a pause. “I still think you love h’uh.”
“Well, think what you want.”
“You chose h’uh. When she fell.”
Greyson felt a twinge of anger. It was one thing that the boy had heard the story. It was another for him to bring it up. “Whatever. If it’s a choice, I choose not to be. I don’t want to be in love or whatever. Not yet.”
Asher scrunched his forehead. “Why not?”
They reached the end of the pass and reveled in the camp’s valley below. “Because I’d be split.”
“Split? Like divo’ced?”
“No. I mean, like, I couldn’t go and do things if I needed to. We’d want to just stay with each other. She’d hold me back, and vice versa.” He contemplated his own words, beginning to understand that stopping her from going would be falling into that same trap he was describing. Sure, he didn’t want her to go. But did that mean he loved her?
Maybe he should just let her go.
He started down the steep slope, stabbing the walking stick through the snow for balance as his thoughts wrestled with one another. Let her go? And Nick? Then what do I have left? They are all I have left. He couldn’t just let her go. Not without a fight.
“Don’t you want a g’uhl to hold you back?”
Greyson smiled. “I guess if you think of it like that. But you know what I mean. There’s more important stuff to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like stopping a war.” The two paused by a tree empty of needles, resting their hands on its trunk. They let the wind pass by without interruption, watching the tiny figures of kids playing kickball below. Tinny shouts could be heard like little pin drops.
Greyson eyed Asher in his red stocking cap with a childish white ball on top. Greyson was scared, but he knew he shouldn’t push that fear onto someone as innocent as Asher. Discussion of war was supposed to stay up in the mountains, hushed, far from the ears, minds, and realities of children. It wasn’t even on the kids’ radar. It hadn’t been on his radar until a few weeks ago when he’d seen it in the streets of Georgia. Now it was all he could think about; the fear that scraped under his eyelids offered little escape.
“We’ll stop it, Ash, before it even starts.”
Asher gazed straight ahead, watching the kickball game from above, a new perspective – a wider one. “A’ah you going to leave? To stop it?”
They shared a long look before Greyson answered. “If they let me.”
Chapter 8
“Bang, bang!”
A small boy grabbed his chest, spun on his heels, and fell to the dirt with a dramatic death moan worthy of an Oscar. The girl who was the source of the gunshots turned her stick-gun toward a surviving pack of kids hiding behind one of the cabins and ran after them. “One thug down! You’re next, traitors!”
The kids behind the cabin ran off with the armed girl in hot pursuit. Greyson and Asher watched in amusement until their path took them across the “dead” boy, who twitched his legs in spasm, aware that he had an audience. Greyson poked his walking stick into the boy’s side as Kit sniffed at him. “Cops and robbers?”
The boy opened his eyes and cocked his head. “No. Arcans, Plurbs, and Merks. I’m an Arcan. Well, I was. Now I’m a dead Arcan.”
Confused, Greyson asked him what a Merk was.
“An American, duh.”
They left the boy to his act, and Asher had to explain as they walked down the main brick thoroughfare. “It’s Plu’hbs and A’hcans v’uhsus the M’uhks. A’hcans don’t like the Plu’hbs, but the Plu’hbs fight for the A’hcans anyway. No one wants to be an A’hcan. They don’t get guns.”
Greyson digested the new game. It wasn’t as simple as the cops and robbers game he knew. “Why don’t they get guns?”
“The M’uhks took them.”
Still wrapping his head around the game, he turned onto a sidewalk, but Asher pulled at his shorts. “This way. Ja’wyd is in the w’uhkshop with SmokeStack and Mu’wwy.”
Asher took him past the fountain with a giant moose statue as a disc-drone whizzed above on a meandering route over the banner welcoming them to Camp Courageous, ‘Where Everyone’s an Adventurer’. They followed a winding walkway toward a small warehouse with a door cut between two hedgerows. Asher knocked loudly and rubbed his knuckles after, but Greyson couldn’t help but notice the keypad and security camera.
“This is a workshop?”
“That’s what SmokeStack said. He said he needed a d’wink, Ja’wwyd said he could mix him one, then Stack told him he knew someone who could show him how to make something that would knock his socks off.”
Just then there was a loud, reverberating bang inside that sent the boys retreating back to the walkway. Soon the door swung open, belching white smoke and four human figures wearing goggles, coughing among the swirls.
Greyson and Asher were stymied on the walk, watching Jarryd and one of the men who Greyson figured to be SmokeStack laughing, coughing, and laughing again with hands on his knees. The man was barrel-chested, with naturally charcoal black skin, and completely bald. Though Greyson hadn’t met the man, he had a guess as to how he earned his nickname – he looked like he was fresh from squeezing himself up and out of a coal plant’s smoke stack.
“And that’s my kind of cocktail,” SmokeStack declared as he removed his goggles, his bright white eyes proud with menace.
Jarryd returned the look and yanked his goggles off. “I still have my eyebrows, right?”
“Yeah, lil’ man. That’s more than I can say.”
It was true. SmokeStack’s face was completely bald, too.
“I told you to wait,” a man with large glasses and a nest of curly hair said.
SmokeStack laughed. “Since when do we take orders from you, Murray?”
“Since never, but it’s common sense. I mean, look at the results.”
The other man, Forge, was not laughing. “You knew that would happen, Stack. We’re supposed to keep a low profile.”
“Loosen up, Forge. Just teaching the kid a little somethin’.”
“Everything okay?” Greyson asked, prompting the first looks from the other four.
“Greyson!” Jarryd shouted. “You should’a seen it. Murray was showing us how to make a smoke cocktail. You mix six parts potassium nitrate with…”
“You made a smoke bomb?”
As Jarryd nodded, SmokeStack pushed up from his knees, standing over a foot taller than Greyson. “So this is Orphan?”
Greyson took two steps back, but Kit
took two forward, wagging his tail and sticking his nose into SmokeStack’s hand. The towering man eyed Greyson and then glanced at Kit. “You found him, huh, boy?” SmokeStack took a treat from his pocket and fed it to Kit. “Just like Kit here has a knack for finding people, Bartender’s got a knack for mixing.”
Bartender? He meant Jarryd?
Jarryd’s smile confirmed it. He’d been given a call-sign.
And then it struck Greyson. If Jarryd is being nicknamed, is he being recruited, too? Are they going to take him and Nick both?
He took a confident tone. “You’re taking Sydney somewhere?”
SmokeStack took a moment to study Greyson, but it didn’t take long to choose his words. “This doesn’t concern you, kid.”
“You getting her parents? Nick and Jarryd’s parents?”
“Really?” SmokeStack asked. “Who do you think you are?”
Forge stepped in, giving SmokeStack a look. “It’s classified, Orphan…”
“You can’t just take her.”
“A unique opportunity arose, we offered, and she accepted,” Forge explained.
Greyson tried to contain his defiance. “I want to go.”
SmokeStack was visibly annoyed, but Forge drew a more compassionate stance. “I understand you’re concerned about her…”
“No,” Greyson lied, shaking his head. “She’d be fine. She’s stronger and smarter than the rest of us. But we all should go. We’re a package deal.”
“The mission only calls for one boy and one girl.”
“Then I can be the boy.”
SmokeStack touched a finger to Greyson’s shoulder and watched him hold back a wince. Greyson swallowed the pain, but it made him shake. He hated that he shook, but he did. And SmokeStack saw it. “We need a boy without two bullet holes in him.”
Asher sided up to Greyson, as if to comfort him.
“Besides,” Forge said, closing the door and glancing around the camp. “Your identity is compromised.” He pulled what looked like thick swimming goggles from his neck and played with the straps. Then he untied a kind-of scarf from around his neck and handed both to Greyson. “Rachael should know better than to let you wander about without cover. You should wear these goggles and this gaiter in public. Keep the gaiter around your neck and just pull it up over your nose when you’re out.”