Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  A young woman stands in the doorway and stares at me with frightened eyes and a nervous expression. Locks of blonde hair pile on top of her head. She shoves at a pair of black-framed glasses barely clinging to the end of her nose, and looks to Penelope.

  “Sorry. I guess I should have knocked.” Her hands disappear into the pockets of her white lab coat. I toss my eyes toward Penelope.

  “There she is,” Penelope announces. She nods toward the woman. “Claudia, this is Ian. He’s a bit edgy, as you can imagine.”

  Claudia tips two shy fingers at me before her hand slinks back into the folds of the lab coat. Her eyes stay fixed on me—green eyes with yellow specks that brighten against the reflection of her glasses. I don’t acknowledge her, and she says nothing more. I fall back into the chair and drop my head into my hands again.

  “Claudia, here, is Aaron’s sister. And the best darn medical assistant I’ve ever known. Mainly because I trained her.” I hear a smile in Penelope’s words. “She’s my one small comfort in the absence of David.”

  I’m silent. My elbows dig painfully into my knees as I lean into my palms. Despite all of Penelope’s reassuring words, every worse case scenario I can imagine invades my brain, and none of them end with Kate living. I’ve had nightmares that were less torturous, and any sense of peace I’d felt vanishes as the reality of Kate’s impending surgery grows closer.

  “Penelope?” Claudia steps closer to her sister in law.

  “Mm-mnh?”

  “Ruthie’s baby, little Anthony? He—” She cuts short, lowers her voice. “I just came from there. He died this morning.”

  A long pause. I look up, concentrate on Penelope. She pulls on the gloves and rearranges the instruments on the rolling table.

  “Why didn’t she send for me?” A thickness invades her voice.

  “What would be the point?” Claudia asks. “It’s her fourth dead child. I think she expects it.”

  Penelope only nods, ending the conversation. I study a lone crack in the floor. Another dead baby. My chest catches, and Tabitha is in my head again. I shake her off. It seems I’m always doing that lately.

  “Ian?” Penelope comes to me, crouches again, eye level. “This surgery could take several hours. I want you to be prepared for that.”

  I straighten, a fierce agony igniting. She takes hold of my wrists, squeezes them in her strong grip.

  “Under different circumstances, I’d encourage you to go for a run. Release some of your pent up energy.” She purses her lips. “It would be better than sitting here counting the minutes. But I’m also not sure leaving the house is wise.”

  I consider this. Everything in me wants to take to the trees, run with all my might as fast as I can go, and I’m tempted. I’m tempted to race to the ends of the earth and never look back.

  But if Kate dies, and I’m not here . . .

  I couldn’t bear it.

  I choke back a sob, and I feel every inch of my own despair in the sound. Penelope’s grip tightens. She brushes a piece of my hair from my eyes. My heart pounds, heavy.

  “We’re going to do all we can.” After a moment, she adds. “And she will survive this, God willing.”

  My shoulders sag under the weight of my heart. God willing? There it is again. In Eden, we don’t need a god. We believe in our own strength—our own will. We believe in the Code. It’s all we’ve ever needed.

  It’s all we need.

  I try to absorb this, pull comfort from it, but today, I can’t quite grab hold of it.

  It doesn’t matter; I’ve seen too much, endured more. Kate, too. We’ve been together in her world across the river. There’s no god over there, either.

  I’m ashamed to say I recognize my own arrogance in my thoughts, and if Kate were awake to hear me, she would be so disappointed. For as long I’ve known her, she’s wanted to find truth, to find meaning for her life. She hopes there is a god, and for her sake, I hope so, too. I really do. But for me? I just don’t care one way or the other, and I’m afraid that this may crush her hopes into the dirt.

  Kate still has no answers, and regret eats at me. Because I was just too self-absorbed—too focused on my agenda. I didn’t try to help her with her own.

  Now, all of my problems seem microscopic.

  Claudia watches our exchange in complete silence. I’d forgotten about her. She stands tall and straight, her eyes alert. She meets my gaze, and I have to admit, I like that about her as a first impression. It proves her confidence. That she just might be capable of helping Penelope pull Kate through this. Her serious lips are pursed, and her nostrils flare slightly with her breath. She blinks once.

  Penelope seems to trust her, and since I’ve decided to put my faith in Penelope, I suppose I’ll have to trust Claudia, too. My eyes plead with hers. Bring Kate back to me—it’s all I want. It’s more than any person should ever be allowed to ask of another—especially a stranger. But I ask it anyway, and even still, I feel hopelessness surge through me. There is no guarantee that I will hear Kate’s voice again—or see her eyes. Feel her touch. She lies motionless on top of the white sheets. I clutch at my chest—a gesture that’s becoming all too familiar.

  I’m falling apart.

  “We’ll give you a minute with her before we begin.” Penelope’s voice breaks through the ache, and I take in a quick breath.

  Silently, she and Claudia leave the room, and I don’t hesitate this time. I’m at Kate’s side the moment the door clicks into place. I take up her fragile, tiny hand, kiss it once. The lump in my throat feels like a boulder. But I can’t cry. I won’t.

  “Hey,” I whisper. I push a strand of her hair away from her cheek. “Penelope’s going to fix you up today. Pretty soon, you’ll be as good as new. I just know it, Kate. You know why?” I’m close, and my lips graze her cheek when I speak. “Because you’re a survivor. Every time.”

  Her breath comes in quick puffs, a slight wheezing intermingled with the sound. I rub my thumb across her bottom lip, and squeeze my eyes closed.

  “I love you like no one has ever loved another person in all of history,” I whisper.

  I press my lips to hers; she gives me no response, and my heart groans.

  Can she hear me? If I knew one way or the other, maybe I could have some peace. But I just don’t know. I look at her, and I see only the shell of who she is. Her vibrancy, her spunk, her essence—all of it is buried somewhere underneath the shadow of death that looms over her.

  I press her limp fingers to my lips. They’re cold, and I warm them with my breath.

  I deserve this. If she dies, I deserve this pain. That bullet was meant for me.

  The tears come then, big rolling giants that trample my cheeks. I wipe at them furiously, angry at myself for not being stronger.

  “I’m sorry,” I sniffle. “I shouldn’t have come back for you. I should have stayed away like you asked, but I was selfish. I just . . . I wanted you.” I fall to my knees beside the bed, an agony ripping through me. “I should have done what you asked.” My words blubber out of me, sloppy and wet. “You wouldn’t be dying if I’d only done what you asked. I’m sorry, Kate. I’m so, so sorry.”

  I cry myself out there on the floor beside her bed as I cling to her frail hand. And when Penelope slips into the room, I’m spent. Broken. Hopeless. She urges me to my feet.

  “Come, Ian. You can’t do this to yourself. Get your emotions under control before you self-destruct.”

  I digest her words. Self-control negates self-destruction—straight from the Code. Penelope’s hands burn hot on my skin before she quickly pulls away. For a moment, I believe she literally thinks I might explode.

  Maybe I will.

  Claudia stands near the end of the bed, waiting. Any other time, I would be embarrassed for a stranger to see me cry. Not today. I focus on Penelope.

  She holds a small book, and she shoves it toward me.

  “I know you aren’t a praying man, but perhaps you’re a reading man? Here’s somethin
g to pass the time. It will be worth your while.”

  I take the book without looking at it, wipe a hand across my nose.

  “Please don’t let her die,” I whisper.

  The silver specks dancing in her eyes mesmerize me. She tugs me into a rough hug. I don’t resist.

  In the kitchen, I clean my face. My eyes are puffy and sore for only an instant before they clear. I take a deep breath and refocus my energy. I have to keep it together.

  I make my way out to the front porch, suddenly not caring who sees me. But luckily, the soldiers have finished their rounds, and the street is empty. I’m beginning to gauge their schedules, and I know they won’t come through again for at least a couple of hours.

  I take another deep breath to calm my twitching nerves. The sun shines hot, and the air is warm with a stickiness, but gratefully, there hasn’t been another heavy rainstorm since I crossed the river. I study the sky, look to the south. Nothing but blue as far as Eden.

  Strange. When your city is under siege, it goes without saying that you expect to see something other than the ordinary riding on the horizon. And yet, for miles and miles, ordinary is all I see.

  An aching captures my heart as thoughts of my family swim around, weaving in and out of my conscience. I involuntarily press my palm against my chest. My burden grows heavier by the minute.

  I wish I had some clue about them. I left them before I knew we had an enemy to fight. Another thing to add to my growing list of guilt.

  I scan the sky again. I wish Justin would hurry up. I’d feel better if he were here. I always do.

  My emotions are in shambles; the survival stem clicks just beneath my skin, a desperate pulsing. I want to cry, to scream, to hit something. None of those choices would make me feel any better.

  Running is the smarter choice. I should head out of the village toward the east. I don’t. I should also stick to my original plan to lay low, keep myself out of sight, and therefore, out of mind. I should go back inside and pass the time reading that book. I don’t.

  Instead, my adrenaline pumping, I push all reason aside, saunter off the porch, and head straight for the center of town.

  My world has been turned upside down in every way by these monsters, but I am a firm believer in negotiating first and fighting second—if it can be arranged. And since I’m not trapped in Eden, I’ll have to be the one making those arrangements. If they choose to kill me, fine. Maybe I’ll even be deemed a hero for trying. But before all that, I plan to ask questions.

  Someone is going to give me some answers.

  Chapter 4

  U

  niformed soldiers line the street leading to the main plaza. Some prop up against the trunks of trees and casually hug their firearms to their chests. They look bored, disinterested. Tired of waiting for the action to start. Others are watchful, alert, ready for a fight.

  Check points are set up coming into and out of the plaza—a folding table and two chairs every few yards. The villagers form lines at each where they’re patted down, their bags are searched, items confiscated. Blacksmiths are ordered to place their newly-forged weapons in metal bins with large locks. Except for one man who argues over something they’ve taken from him, the villagers seem overall compliant. In just a few short weeks, they’ve been conditioned. The arguing man earns a hard smack for his insubordination, and two of the lounging soldiers are called over to apprehend him. Still dazed, he lets them drag him away.

  I’m disgusted.

  I have no items on me, no backpack, no weapon, so I pass the first two check points without incident. But there’s no hiding where I’m from, and I feel the suspicion like a living thing. It lingers on the air with the heat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see soldier after soldier stiffen as I pass, casting each other surprised glances. Every once in a while, a soldier slides his finger discreetly over the trigger of his weapon. Every one of my muscles is tensed, ready to retaliate if necessary. I take a deep, trembling breath to still the innate desire to react. I can’t react. For now, they have to believe that I’m harmless. I’m just a desperate visitor who’s come for the doctor’s help.

  But it’s clear by the expressions on their faces . . . they had no idea I was here.

  I tower over every one of these guys, so I deliberately slow my pace, not wanting to attract anymore attention to myself. I wish not for the first time that I hadn’t dropped my bow at the overhang. Just to feel my fingers wrapped around its grip would be enough.

  I continue on without making eye contact. If there weren’t so many of them, I might take a chance at swiping one of those guns. One soldier, even two might not be such a handful. They’re young—many of them barely older than me. And although they’re fit and more than likely strong, a lot of them don’t seem very experienced. Or interested in the cause for that matter. Lazy, indifferent, complacent—these would be more fitting descriptions. Like someone just took a bunch of kids, threw them together, and gave out guns like lollipops. The guards in Eden could take them in a heartbeat... if it weren’t for those damned weapons.

  And that’s the irony. This enemy, even with their inexperience, has found a way to kill us.

  But . . . they can die, too. This is a refreshing thought. Get the Eden-killers away from them, and they’re just ordinary soldiers who are no match for us. I toss a quick glance at a guy with his finger on the trigger. He’s small, scared. He doesn’t quite know where to look, so his eyes twitch nervously, darting from object to object and never fully landing on me.

  I struggle to keep from clenching my fists as one by one, the soldiers begin to notice me. But I’m not interested in speaking to any of them. I’m looking for only one man.

  At the last checkpoint before the turn, I spot him. He stands slightly apart from two other soldiers, his face frigid. He stiffens when he sees me—not with fear, but with intensity—and then he swivels his head to pop his neck.

  Play it cool, I think.

  The hatred in this soldier’s eyes is smoldering, and for a moment, my bold plan strikes me as faulty. I had hoped he would be less hostile considering his kindness last night. Apparently, I was wrong. I feel his animosity toward me dripping from every one of his pores. I probably shouldn’t broach a conversation with him, either, but the urge is too strong. I need something. Something I can take back to Eden if I get the opportunity.

  I study the soldier. He’s in his thirties, broad-shouldered, intense. A permanent scowl is embedded in his wrinkled forehead. He stands shoulder-width apart, his rifle clutched in both hands. He’s definitely not one of the lazy soldiers.

  He sends a clear message just in his stance, and I can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t reported me to his superiors. He’s had time; he knew exactly where I was and could have sent someone after me by now. I mean, I’m what they’re after, right?

  So why didn’t he tell anyone where to find me?

  There’s only one answer: he must have an agenda.

  I sweep the lines. They’re all silent. The soldiers, the villagers—all eyes on me. I take the last few tentative steps to the checkpoint and stop. My first plan? See how far friendliness will get me.

  “Hi.”

  I lift my hand, ready to shake his. He doesn’t budge, so I raise my fingers to my forehead in a half-salute.

  “I’m . . . Ian Roberts. I wanted to thank you for helping me last night.”

  His eyes shift toward the two hard-edged soldiers standing rigidly beside him. Their expressions flood with surprise. They stare at him a long minute, but they don’t address it. He must have rank. They refocus their full attention on me. I ignore them.

  “The girl I brought here,” I forge on, “she’s in bad shape. Penelope’s performing surgery now. To fix her liver. I think she has a chance. I hope. But she might not have if it hadn’t been for your help. So, thank you.”

  The corner of his right eye contracts, barely perceptible.

  “I didn’t do it for you.” His voice is hard, cold. “I won’t do an
ything for you or any one like you.”

  I chew on my lip a minute, not surprised by his response.

  “And why is that?” I will my fingers to relax at my sides as they fight to clench themselves. The muscle in his jaw works. He doesn’t answer.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  This is going downhill fast. I lift my hands in a gesture of amnesty.

  “Look, Eden is full of a lot of good people. We help people; we don’t hurt them. I think if your commanders could sit down with our Board, you’d see—”

  He jumps forward, shoves the barrel of his rifle up under my chin. The momentum pops my head back slightly. I raise my hands an inch higher in surrender and stare at him down the bridge of my nose, and I don’t move a muscle. But my survival stem soars to life, clicking out of control with the sudden, rapid beating of my heart. I swallow, focus on my breathing, and the gun presses harder with the movement. I am solidly aware that one flick of his finger is all it would take.

  “We have no interest in negotiating with you,” he growls. “You shouldn’t have shown your face again.”

  I blink, waiting.

  “I gave you time to get help for the girl. Time’s nearly up.”

  He jabs the gun hard. I grunt, but I can’t control my survival stem any longer. In one motion, my fingers fly out, and his rifle is in my hand. I shove it under his chin. His eyes go wide.

  Every soldier watching cocks his rifle and aims it straight at me. The clicking fills my head, this time full of warning. I’m alone. I won’t win this fight against Eden-killers. But my breath heaves out of my lungs, my eyes honed in on the face of this one soldier who confuses me. Who lends help in one hand while threatening with the other.

  “Why didn’t you go to the lieutenant general about me?” I ask the question quietly and through gritted teeth so that only he hears me. My trigger finger presses ever so slightly on the weapon. He swallows. I shove the gun harder and lean in close to his ear.