by S. S. Segran
“Looks like an intercept,” Victor said.
Gareth’s grip on the wheel constricted. “It’s just two trucks. We’ve got six Sentries with abilities. We can handle this.”
Distant staccato thumps grew louder until Victor felt it in his chest like the rapid beating of a colossal heart. An immense, dark shape eclipsed the bus. Lightning strips of disbelief shot through the Sentry as the source of the shadow descended into full view directly ahead of him.
A V-22 Osprey flew over the pickup truck in front of the bus, its loading ramp open. Dim lights inside outlined a figure in full combat gear behind an M2 machine gun pointed directly at the convoy. The rotors of the aircraft tilted up until the plane hovered a short distance from the vehicles. The commando readjusted the gun lower. In a breathless second, Victor knew what was going to happen but his lungs were a vacuum and he couldn’t scream.
The white pickup truck in front of the bus exploded.
Gareth yelled, swerving around the flames and smoke that poured from the scorched wreckage, but Victor’s focus was entirely on the two young Sentries who lay dead inside it. He didn’t register the bus’s front tires being shot out, nor the Osprey swinging around and landing on the isolated freeway facing the convoy. He only snapped back when he felt their big vehicle tilt perilously to the right. Shrieks followed as the bus tipped and plummeted into the ditch. Victor’s head stuck something hard and he blacked out.
He came to a few seconds later, askew against the dashboard, and found that the left side of the bus was now the ceiling. Groaning, he peeled himself off and wiped the blood trailing down his temple. Whimpers and crying trailed from the back of the vehicle. A sharp pain in his side signaled that he had at least a couple of bruised ribs.
That’s fine. Dealt with worse.
As he pulled Gareth from his slumped position against the steering wheel and ensured that he was conscious, he telepathically connected with the Sentry at the back of the convoy. Talk to me, Gabby.
The plane shot our truck after you guys fell, she said, an ache in her words. Ryan and I managed to bail out before the car exploded. I’m some ways behind you in the same ditch your bus fell into. He’s in the one on the other side of the road.
And the SUV that was behind us? Victor asked, helping Curtis and Samuel sit up.
Two men just got out. They’re splitting up to check the ditches. They’ve got tranquilizers but I see handguns, too.
Can you guys manage?
Ryan has the bag with the explosive gels, but I can handle one guy. There’s enough light scattering from the cars that I can use my abilities to blind him for a bit.
Good. Gareth just did a roll call and apart from some injuries, everyone here is fine.
What about Duke and Beth?
Victor screwed his eyes shut. They’re dead.
The other Sentry let out a choked curse.
We’ll make Reyor pay, Victor vowed. But we need to get the families to safety first.
Vic, the men up front are moving in on your position. Full tactical gear with masks, trying to open the emergency hatch on top of the bus. I’d blind them, but they’re not facing me.
Victor heard a loud pop from the back, confirming the opening of the hatch. I hear them.
Cover your face. They’re about to throw in smoke grenades.
Before Victor could yell a warning, there were two distinct clinks followed by the hiss of released smoke. Coughing and screeches erupted from the back of the bus as the suffocating cloud spread to the front. Victor pulled Gareth, Curtis, and Samuel into a crouch facing the cracked windshield. Through it, he saw two armed men slide into the ditch from the road and run toward them.
Victor bared his teeth. Like hell you’re taking any of these people. He swept his hand out, forcing a concussive blast that tore the windshield apart. Smoke rushed out of the opening. Glass shards hurtled toward the commandos and the men fell. Victor tuned his hearing to their comm units, picking up chatter as the rest of the commandos wondered what had happened. A throaty voice assured that it would be checked out. At the top of the ditch, Victor spied two tall men. One wore an eyepatch and by his commanding posture, the Sentry pegged him as the man leading the ambush. The other was smaller, possibly the second-in-command.
When Victor honed in on Eyepatch, he heard him supplying a play-by-play of the situation to someone in his earpiece; the Sentry could recognize the voice of Tony Cross anywhere.
Tony’s overseeing this capture, too? Must be pulling double to get on Reyor’s good side.
The commotion of people screaming as they were dragged out of the bus via the emergency hatch made Curtis and Samuel turn to help, but Victor grabbed their arms in a vice grip. “Don’t do anything,” he whispered. “Gareth and I will take care of it.”
“By letting them take our families?” Curtis growled.
Victor leveled his gaze. “No. By going with them. Gareth and I will blend in, act like we’re part of your families. We’ll strike when we’re ready, so don’t do anything.”
Curtis looked angry but Samuel urged him toward the back of the bus. Gareth tailed them as he turned off his radio and covered it with his blazer, Victor doing the same. Two men in black stood above them atop the side of the bus, rifles pointed downward to prevent anyone from fleeing through the windows.
Victor was the last to be roughly pulled out. He bit back a cry as arms tightened around his bruised ribs and threw him to the ground. Four commandos quickly herded the group of seventeen onward, keeping the families pinned between them and the bus so there’d be no escape. The men on top of the overturned vehicle moved closer, weapons trained.
Victor stayed close to the families by instinct, as did Gareth. He did a mental count: Six men were focused on them. Eyepatch and his second-in-command by the ditch at the front of the bus, and two men were at the back of the destroyed convoy. He heard struggles but didn’t have the time to check in with the other Sentries.
As they neared the midpoint of the bus, Victor caught Gareth’s eye. Understanding passed between them. As they shouted for the families to duck, Gareth faced the two men on the flipped vehicle, and Victor launched a concussive blast that threw the four ground commandos thirty feet away. The older Sentry stumbled against the bus, winded with spent energy.
The families gazed around, wide-eyed. Victor looked up, his breathing labored, and heard the men on top of the bus scream before dropping their weapons, tendrils of vapor rising from their heating bodies. Gareth pushed on with dogged fixation until they toppled off the bus onto the road behind. Whimpering was heard as the commandos lay on the asphalt, their fevered bodies weakened by rapid dehydration.
Two of the men Victor had flung got to their feet, disoriented. Victor forced himself away from the bus and ran toward them. He needed to recharge before he could send out a blast strong enough to knock them back down. He heard Gareth on his heels as they tore over the field.
Just as the men reached for their weapons, both Sentries bowled them to the ground. Victor was quick, slipping behind his target and locking him in a sleeper hold. Once the commando was out, he fished around the man’s ammunition belt, found a tranquilizer dart and stuck it in the man’s neck.
The commando Gareth fought had gotten the upper hand. He trapped the slimmer Welshman below him, crushing him until the Sentry had turned a sickly shade of blue. As he pressed his pistol to Gareth’s forehead, Victor struck out with a kick that would have made any pro soccer player proud. His boot caught the commando across the head, knocking him out and stamping a massive bruise on his face.
Gareth rolled upright, gasping for air. “Thanks!”
Gunfire responded in Victor’s stead. The Sentries spun around. Eyepatch and his second-in-command fired over the heads of the families and into the ground at their feet, shouting at them to hurry forward. Tegan’s father tried to fight back and received a bullet through his shoulder for his effort. He cried out, blood splattering the bus behind him, and was shoved through t
he ditch and up to the road with the others.
“No!” Gareth screamed. He took off at a sprint, leaving Victor to race after him.
They rounded the front of the bus and climbed over the ditch. The families were being steered toward the Osprey, its propellers still rotating in preparation for takeoff. Victor drew in his energy and readied another concussive blast. Before he could unleash it, the road rocked as an earth-shaking boom threw everyone in the vicinity to the ground. A gust of wind billowed the smoke from the Osprey’s destroyed wing toward Victor until he could taste the acrid tang in his mouth. Through the ringing in his ears and the sting in his eyes, he saw the families scatter from the plane, their muffled voices yelling at each other to hurry.
As the curtain of smoke churned past Victor, the Sentry at the back of the convoy reached out with her mind. She sounded exhausted. Vic, Ryan stuck the explosive gels onto one of the plane’s wings.
Victor got his feet under him, forcing the distorted world to steady up. So I see. Remind me to buy that guy a cake when this is all over. You okay, though, Gabby?
Yeah. Just took care of the two guys in the back. They were tough, but I got ’em.
Good. Some of the families are headed toward you. Corral them while I get the others.
A few feet ahead of Victor, Gareth struggled to get up. Just past him, the Osprey tilted, off-balance with its right nacelle consumed by fire. Victor traced a line from the remaining wing down to Camilla, Jag’s older sister, who could barely lift herself after the effect of the detonation. He leapt over Gareth’s hunched form and ran to her, lifting her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him like a lifeline.
The sixty-foot-long Osprey tilted further, its spinning propellers listing toward the road. Victor made a break to safety but knew he was too late when the thumping of the rotors turned into a tornado of metal projectiles. He threw himself to the ground, using his body to shield Camilla from the fragmented blades. Something sliced across his back, not deep but enough to carve through his shirt and skin, leaving a hot gash. He roared, curling his hands into fists so tight his nails cut into his palm. The clanging and high-pitched whine of the shredded propellers flying echoed around them, followed by the low, heavy thump of the burning Osprey hitting the ground.
The sounds of a child crying and a woman shrieking, followed by car doors slamming and tires squealing made him drag himself off Camilla. He twisted around, suppressing a yelp as the skin around his wound contorted. He could just see the taillights of a vehicle flying past the wrecked Osprey. Another SUV took off after it. Victor blinked through the haze but couldn’t find Gareth anywhere. He unclipped his radio and turned it on. “Gareth!” he barked.
The Welshman answered a moment later. “They took Sam and his child! And Mariah’s mother! I’m going after them! Take care of everyone else!”
“Don’t do anything stupid!”
“I’ll do what I have to! I’m not losing them!”
Victor jammed his radio back onto his belt and offered Camilla his hand. She didn’t take it and stared up at him instead, her dark hair a mess, a gash on her cheek, fear lancing in her amber eyes. Fear and realization. Realization that it was all real. The danger her youngest brother and his friends faced, the threat of an enemy bent on doing whatever it took to win.
The Sentry knelt, ignoring the sting in his back. He held out his hand again, and this time she took it. Victor squeezed gently. “We’ll keep all of you safe,” he said. “I promise.”
63
Marshall rested against a tree, heedfully watching Kody as the group hid from the late morning sun under some sparse foliage. The teenager turned his red ball cap backward and paid his friends no mind as he inspected the Cessna. Perspiration dotted his face. Marshall had to squash the impulse to mop the sick boy’s forehead and sit him down with a water bottle. Not that he could have; in the state Kody was in, the boy was likely to snap Marshall’s fingers off with his teeth. Besides, they had limited water and no one felt like making the long run to Momella Wildlife Lodge, though Tegan had scouted the area and said that Ajajdif and his men had cleared out of the neighboring resort.
After finding the seeds the night before, the six of them had headed down the mountain on the backs of the elephants. Subira’s people had become more open with their conversations but the young leader herself did not partake much in the dialogue. Upon reaching the base of the mountain, the sounds of gunfire drifted to their ears. Subira informed the group about the government’s frequent nighttime sweeps of towns for rebels and rogue soldiers, something now commonplace in the region. She’d advised them to stay put until morning. They acquiesced, taking the time to rest and converse with the Watchers. When morning arrived, Subira bid them goodbye and good luck as she and her people disappeared into the forest.
Marshall started when Dominique’s head dropped against his shoulder, then smiled at her sleeping form. He gave her leg a once-over, making sure blood hadn’t soaked through the fresh gauze he’d tied over her wound. Tegan, Aari and Mariah were perched on a hefty log to his left, sharing a bag of stale chips. Marshall would have liked to eat something to quiet his stomach but his neck and throat were still sore from his fight with Hajjar the day before.
“You sure you don’t need help, Kode-man?” Aari asked.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” came the curt reply.
The friends on the log cast grimaces at one another. Marshall sympathized. Kody’s temperament had worsened to match his pounding headache. There was nothing anyone could do except wait for the seedling in Mariah’s backpack to grow and hope that the sapling could heal Kody somewhat, even if it was not fully mature.
Marshall repositioned himself so Dominique would be more comfortable against his shoulder, then saw something black-white-and-red and opened and closed his eyes a few times. “Is something wrong with my vision, or is that tree directly ahead alive and moving?” he asked.
The teenagers quirked their heads at said tree a few hundred yards away. Tegan grinned. “Neither! Those are birds! I think they’re hornbills. Hundreds of them, by the looks of it.”
“I know we’ve been globetrotting for a reason,” Aari said, tossing a chip into his mouth, “but it’s nice to finally just pause and take it all in. We’re in Africa. Who would’ve thunk?”
Marshall drank in the sight of the savannah and the grand peaks of Kilimanjaro and Meru on either side of the group. It was deceptively tranquil given the state of the world, but the Sentry rarely passed on an opportunity to stop and smell the roses. It was a nice moment of serenity.
A moment that was quickly and rudely disrupted by the thumping of aircraft rotors. The teenagers scrambled out of the shade of the trees to get a view of three helicopters coming from the north. There was no mistaking their target.
Kody closed the fuel cap on the wing of the Cessna and hurried to join them. “Those are Mi-17’s,” he informed them monotonously. “Russian-made transport choppers.”
The gray helicopters hovered low over the savannah. They spread into a semicircle and kept a distance of a city block from the group. As they hung in the air, a rough, Russian-tinted voice boomed over a loudspeaker; Marshall recognized Ajajdif. “Before you get any smart ideas, I will warn you only once: Don’t try anything. We have your families.”
By this time Dominique was completely awake and the Sentries were by the teenagers’ sides. Mariah raised a hand as if determined to bring down one of the helicopters. Another voice came over the speaker and the girl’s hand dropped weakly to her side.
“Stop! Please, stop!” The shriek swept across the plains. “Why are you doing this?”
Mariah would have fallen if Dominique hadn’t caught her around the waist. “Momma,” she whispered.
The voice of a man both furious and terrified followed. “Stop the car or I swear I’ll—”
He was cut off by a child’s wail. “Daddy!”
Kody stepped in front of the group, hands curling into fists. His che
st heaved dangerously. “That’s my father and brother!” he roared. “If you hurt them, I’ll rip out your spine and strangle you with it!”
The powerful thumps of helicopter blades drowned his threats. He started to run toward the enemy but Marshall leapt for him. They fell, and as the Sentry rolled them upright, Kody flew into a fit of blind rage, pummeling his fists against Marshall as he tried to writhe away. The teenager burned to the touch, his aggravation accelerating his fever. Marshall held him tightly.
“Kody,” he murmured. “Stop, kiddo. Stop.”
“They have my family!”
Kody jerked his head, catching the Sentry under his jaw. Pain exploded from the contact but Marshall hugged the teenager closer, one hand cradling the back of the boy’s head. Kody choked back a sob before allowing himself to go limp in Marshall’s arms.
Ajajdif returned to the speaker. “Now that I have your attention, I want the four of you to listen carefully. Come quietly with the seeds and you have my word that I won’t harm your families. Better yet, I’ll throw in a little bonus. Come without resistance, and I will let Mr. Sawyer and Ms. Mboya live.”
The helicopters descended, landing on the plain and kicking up a dust storm. Two dozen heavily-armed Tanzanian mercenaries poured out from the open ramps at the back of each aircraft, forming a crescent perimeter that still gave the group space. Marshall eyed them, then reached out telepathically to Victor. Colback! What’s going on?
Ambush, the Canadian Sentry responded. They made off with Mariah’s mom and—
I know. Reyor’s people are giving the kids an ultimatum.
Crap. Gareth just took off after them, but he’s on his own.
We’ve already lost Jag, Colback. I won’t lose these four.
Trust me, none of us want to. But it’s not looking good. I… I’m sorry.
Marshall severed their connection viciously but his grip was gentle as he hoisted Kody up. The rest of the group clustered around them. Mariah, her voice still a cracking whisper, said, “They have our families. Look at us. We’re in no shape to fight fifty fully-armed men, and if we try anything, they’ll kill Marshall and Domi. What do we do?”