War: Bridge & Sword: Apocalypse (Bridge & Sword Series Book 6)

by JC Andrijeski

  From that distance, only a few miles southwest of the peninsula, I couldn’t make out so much as a single skyscraper in Manhattan through the driving rain, not until the cameras zoomed in to a perspective only a few dozen yards offshore.

  Balidor muttered the whole time he shared the images with us. Apparently, whatever he’d found out about New York’s current status hadn’t reassured him, even apart from the underwater OBE’s we’d have to navigate to get there.

  Bottom line was, he wanted us underway.

  Now.

  Despite Balidor’s irritation with us, and the hurricane beginning to rage around us, Revik, Wreg and I remained in relatively high spirits.

  We’d commandeered a jeep-like vehicle with a long storage bed for carrying all our booty. Revik cranked that thing up to around sixty miles per hour on the straightaways, so we weren’t long in making the distance across the length of the monstrous-seeming base.

  We were soaking wet by the time we arrived, shivering like dunked dogs, even though we’d been crouched behind the windshield to avoid the worst of the driving rain. The jeep had only that low windshield and no roof.

  And yeah, we were late, as Balidor kept reminding us in a grumble.

  Revik told Balidor we’d be back before dawn, so I understood him being annoyed. I knew Jon would be more than just annoyed, and not only from our tardiness.

  He was going to be furious. Especially with me.

  No matter what I told him about whose idea what was, or Revik being pushy with the training thing, or what happened when during the actual acquisitions part of things, Jon was going to flip out. He’d expect me to be the responsible one of the three of us, and fair enough, I guess. I owed him about ten times over in that area.

  Complicating that, I knew he’d view it as a betrayal that we’d left him behind in the first place. He could be awfully touchy about the human versus seer thing, and still saw himself very much as “human.” Which was funny, really, since I’m pretty sure no one else did.

  Regardless, I knew I’d be in trouble with Jon, even before.

  After Wreg got shot, I was totally screwed.

  It didn’t help that Wreg and Revik kept looking at one another and saying, “It’s just a flesh wound!” in falsetto British accents as they laughed like idiots.

  I couldn’t quite believe it even happened, truthfully.

  Revik, of all people, had been acting lookout.

  Mr. Hair-Trigger-Paranoia himself somehow managed to not feel an approaching patrol of military-trained seers, or warn us before they got close enough to fire on us.

  Granted, they appeared to have decent sight rankings, all five of them, and even Wreg noted some kind of unusual shielding protected their light. They must have ID’d us as not belonging there before they went inside; there’d been no perceptible delay between them finding us and them shooting at us.

  Whatever the reasons it happened, Wreg didn’t let up the whole way back in giving Revik crap for being a “horny, easily-distracted youngster.”

  And yes, it was weird.

  Weird enough that it made me worry a bit. About Revik, that is.

  Revik himself pretended to blow it off. He groused at Wreg instead, accusing him of making too much noise and spending too long in the warehouse picking through experimental tech when Wreg knew they’d be able to ID-tag our aleimi as not belonging now that we were operating outside the mobile constructs erected around the Humvees.

  I wasn’t buying it, myself.

  The damage to his aleimi must have been worse than I’d been admitting to myself––or worse than Balidor, Yumi or Poresh admitted to me. Either way, he shouldn’t have missed five seers to the extent that they walked right up on us like that.

  Luckily, his proficiency with a gun didn’t seem to be hampered at all.

  He got two the old-fashioned way, meaning by shooting them in the legs and shoulders as soon as he turned. The third he fought hand-to-hand, and had him out in about five minutes, although it felt a lot longer than that while I watched him.

  Meanwhile, Wreg’s shirt was soaked in blood, and he was sitting behind one of the crates full of heavy artillery, gasping. After I finished knocking the remaining two seers out with my aleimi, Revik dug the bullet out of Wreg’s arm with a knife and “probably ruined his favorite tattoo,” Wreg grumbled to me at least three times.

  Revik showed me how to fashion a makeshift tourniquet on his upper arm, then did his best to clean Wreg up, then clean up the blood Wreg left behind, in the hopes he couldn’t be ID’d that way, either. While he did that, I spent some time trying to use my new healing thing on Wreg, in the hopes of dulling the pain at least.

  I’m not sure it did much, truthfully.

  Minutes later, we were back to doing crime, only now with Wreg moving a lot slower, and five strange seers in military uniforms asleep and tied up on the hangar floor.

  Revik had me experiment with the whole “healing ability” thing a second time, when Wreg’s pain became an issue. That time, he supervised, and even showed me a few things. Revik and Balidor were both convinced I was developing some kind of special skill in that area, and Revik was eager for me to use it––presumably so he could help me hone it for use in the field.

  Personally, I had my doubts it did much, even the second time, but Wreg insisted he felt better. Anyway, I couldn’t help seeing the wound through Jon’s eyes, which I knew would be a lot less blasé than Wreg’s.

  Revik was pretty pleased with my attempt at the healing thing for some reason.

  He gave me a warm kiss before he finished re-bandaging Wreg’s arm, ignoring additional ribbings from Wreg about “public displays of horniness.”

  I could tell Revik felt pretty off-balance from not being able to do much with his own light, and probably embarrassed he hadn’t realized the extent of his handicap before putting me and Wreg in danger. He did a pretty good job of hiding it, but I definitely noticed the difference. Even before Wreg got shot, he was a hell of a lot jumpier than usual.

  He also kept insisting I stand behind him, even though I was in a better position to defend him than the reverse.

  Luckily, that same paranoia had him on those seers the instant they fired at Wreg.

  Truthfully, the fact that I hadn’t seen past that cloak bothered me, too.

  Usually I was pretty sensitive about that kind of thing––meaning people wanting to kill me, Revik, or my friends.

  Wreg felt them before me or Revik, and while I knew Wreg had a high sight-ranking (a lot higher than he’d usually admit, frankly), he’d also been the most distracted of the three of us, going through military tech and playing around with various weapons and security devices like a kid in a toy shop.

  So yeah, with me and Revik’s major fail on the sight front, Wreg getting shot, knowing what Jon would have to say, worries about the underwater OBE, and Balidor being pissed at us, I was pretty wound up by the time we got back to the docks. My aleimi felt jagged with extra current; it was almost a relief to start to work unloading our new toys from the jeep’s flatbed.

  As it turned out, I got a pass on Jon’s wrath, at least in the short term.

  Someone had already locked Jon up in the quarantine crate below.

  That struck me as strange at first, but on further thought, it made sense. Jon’s blood still showed up as human in blood-cat tests, so he had to come in with the rest of the humans, even with his immunity to the disease.

  Since we were late, pretty much everyone else was already waiting for us inside the submarine. That left Revik, Jorag, Neela, Loki and me to finish unloading crates, while Chinja, Yumi and Rex operated the crane next to the larger of the submarine’s two hatches.

  Wreg got escorted by Jax to the infirmary down below.

  They’d already installed both quarantine cells, which ended up being a good thing for us; we were able to jam our stolen booty into every crack and crevice that wasn’t currently being used by someone or something else.

  W
ith the last box secured in place, Jorag climbed down the crane while Yumi, Rex and Jorag secured and locked the hatch from above.

  Now sweaty and hot despite the cold air, driving rain and whipping winds, Revik and I struggled our way through the upper hatch and into the relative silence and stillness of the lower decks. By then, I was exhausted, worried about Wreg, worried about Jon, worried about Revik, worried about the storm, worried about FEMA protocols, and worried about everyone who’d stayed behind for us at the hotel.

  On the plus side, I felt strangely purged of the worst of the death and chaos we’d witnessed on the drive from Albany.

  Climbing down the ladder after Revik, I hadn’t even turned around yet when a familiar voice brought me up short.

  “You both look almost as bad as Wreg,” the voice observed.

  When I craned my neck to look down from the ladder, Balidor was watching us, his gray eyes unreadable.

  “Was this meant to add suspense to our trip?” he queried, raising an eyebrow at me. “Or are you just testing my emotional responses? Making sure they are as unshakable as what must always be expected from the leader of the Adhipan?”

  A smile tugged at my lips. “Do you ever just come out and say things, ‘Dor?”

  “I don’t want to be around when your brother sees Wreg,” Balidor returned easily, smiling more genuinely that time. “How is that for ‘saying’ something?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed in agreement. “You and me both.”

  “You made a liar of me, too,” Balidor added, that humor still in his voice. “I had just spent a not-insignificant amount of time assuring brother Jon that you would let no harm come to that monster he’s involved with. Then look what you did.”

  Revik chuckled, caressing my back when I jumped off the ladder and stepped closer to him.

  “How did it happen?” Balidor glanced at Revik, watching as Revik’s fingers tugged me to stand closer to him still. The Adhipan leader’s eyes held a flicker of worry, there and gone before I could make sense of it. “Wreg said they got past you. Some kind of unfamiliar shield technology? Of course he was more colorful about it…”

  Revik grunted. He gave Balidor a less dismissive look than he’d given me out in that supply warehouse.

  “Yeah.” He combed the fingers of his free hand through his black hair. “Neither of us had seen it before. Tied to something mechanical, Wreg thought… in the armor, maybe. Semi-organic. But there was definitely a closer source. Non-dimensional, I mean.”

  I blinked, glancing at Revik, half in surprise, half in irritation.

  He’d clearly noticed a few more things about that armor than I had, and more than he’d deigned to share with me.

  Revik raised his eyebrow at me in return, then looked at Balidor.

  “I would ask Wreg, see what he says,” Revik added, his voice more subdued. “He’s the one who gave me the intel I’m sharing. And it seems I’m not quite as reliable as usual in that area,” he added ruefully, glancing at me, a near question in his eyes.

  Balidor only nodded, but I saw him studying both of our faces.

  I wondered if he was reading one or both of us.

  With him, it was pretty much impossible to know for sure.

  “What else happened out there?” Balidor said. “Do I even want to know?”

  Revik grunted. “Karma. Although this time it missed me and hit Wreg, poor bastard.” Revik slung his arm around my shoulder. He pulled me against him, holding me flush with his body. It surprised me, but it took me a few seconds to realize why.

  Then it hit me. He almost never touched me overtly in front of Balidor.

  He was cautious with affection in front of most of the military seers, but he particularly didn’t do it in front of Balidor.

  Before I could puzzle through that, Revik added to the Adhipan seer,

  “…Wreg will probably get the last laugh, though. I have a feeling I have more coming my way. Karma, that is. Possibly at my wife’s hands, if not those of the gods.” At Balidor’s humorless grunt, Revik’s smile widened. “Or do you mean, ‘what else happened’ in a more far-reaching, cosmic sense, brother?”

  Balidor smiled, but that shrewder look never left his eyes.

  “I mean,” he said lightly. “What, in the name of the gods, is causing you to hover over your wife like a hyper-protective dog?” He quirked an eyebrow before his eyes swiveled to me. “And what is she frowning about with her eyes, even when she is smiling? Both of you look so tightly wound, I worry you might explode in a minute.” He stared harder at Revik. “…and truthfully, I’m not even certain it’s for the same reasons.”

  Swiveling his gaze back to mine, he lifted his lips in a half-smile.

  “Was that sufficiently direct, Esteemed Sister?”

  I gave a tense laugh, glancing up at Revik. “What does he mean? Nervous? Who’s nervous?” Seeing the expression on Revik’s face, I hesitated, my smile faltering.

  Revik was giving Balidor a hard look, one that contained an overt warning.

  “…No really,” I said, frowning more genuinely that time, looking between them. “What’s going on?”

  “I believe I was asking you that,” Balidor said mildly.

  Despite his words, I could tell, somehow, he’d taken Revik’s warning to heart.

  His light backed off both of ours in the same set of seconds.

  Frowning as I continued to study the immovable look on Revik’s face, I said, “As for my nerves, it’s a lot of things. Mostly where we’re going. That madness outside the gates.”

  Pausing, I added more seriously, “I also felt something while we were out there. Raiding supplies, I mean.” At Revik’s sharper look, I shrugged, waving it off. “It was nothing, really. I figured I just picked up on something in the base construct, some alarm on the military end. Really, it was a blip, like a warning pulse. Nothing happened, so I let it go.”

  Looking away from Revik’s frown, I glanced at Balidor. “Nothing’s wrong here, right? Nothing happened while we were gone?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, no,” Balidor said, but again I saw him exchange a barely perceptible look with Revik.

  I fought back and forth on whether to try and pin the two of them down, then decided it would be pointless, at least right now. Clearly, my attempt to be transparent on my end hadn’t moved Revik enough to change his mind about opening up on his.

  Whatever was eating him, it was obviously heightening his paranoia. I figured I’d have better luck trying to get it out of him when we were alone.

  At my thought, Balidor’s smile grew less subtle.

  Of that, I have little doubt, he sent humorously.

  Funny, I sent back, letting him feel my annoyance. Of course, you could save me the trouble just this once and tell me. Not cater to my husband’s paranoia around me actually knowing things. It might be a fun change. You know… telling the truth.

  Balidor shook his head inside my mind, clicking softly.

  No, no, my friend. I am sorry, but this is one topic I absolutely do not want to get in the middle of. Not for any amount of good will, favors, food or money.

  Frowning harder at the seer figure of speech, I looked from Balidor’s unreadable face, only to find myself staring up at Revik’s even more unreadable one.

  “Jerks,” I muttered, for the second time that day.

  Revik squeezed my shoulder with his fingers and arm, but I sensed him closing his light up even tighter than before.

  Sighing in defeat, at least for right then, I motioned with my head towards the oval door leading out of the foyer below the main hatch.

  “Shall we?” I prompted, giving Revik a meaningful look before I glanced back at Balidor. “I’d like to check on Wreg. And meet this new friend of Chandre’s. Preferably before she gets us all killed in the underwater OBEs, screaming ‘Viva la Displacement!’ when it turns out she’s a plant of Shadow.”

  “Funny,” Revik muttered, bumping up against me.

  His voice made it so
und less so.

  “Yeah, I’m a funny woman,” I agreed. “Ask anyone.”

  Balidor chuckled, but I noticed the sharper look never left his light gray eyes, not when he looked at either of us. That look, if nothing else, convinced me I needed to have a talk with my husband, and sooner rather than later.

  9

  SEIGE

  FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD Daniella Anita Vasquez, hacker name, “Dante,” looked out the window of the 47th floor hotel room that had become her home in the past however-many weeks.

  A freakish kind of quiet lay over the city.

  Fires burned in the background, but even those seemed to happen in silence. Dante saw figures moving, shadowy forms, what looked like people in uniforms. She heard gunfire when she stood on the balcony earlier, but now that had stopped.

  It was more like a vid than real life. She had to remind herself those were people… actual people… down there.

  Not holo-men, not even icers. People.

  She’d been downstairs when some fundie with a grudge went after the hotel itself.

  A freakin’ bomb. Like something out of the movies. Like a news feed about seer terrorists, or some kind of disturbance in the Middle East, only it really happened here, right in front of her.

  It was loud as hell––like a viced A-bomb went off, right inside her head.

  Glass exploded inward. Another explosion shattered the next panel down, right before a large pane of the window facing Fifth Avenue crashed down in a single line, like a sheet of water that broke over the pavement in a deafening wave.

  Dante had been thrown back by the blast.

  She slammed into one of the gold couches in the lobby, dazed from having hit her head on the marble floor when she got thrown past it. She hadn’t even managed to raise her head when seers were already rushing directly towards the source. More out of habit than real thinking, Dante scrambled up and followed them.