by T. M. Catron
“But the humans keep re-forming them,” Doyle said.
What would the Condarri do with the humans once the hybrids died? Calla dismissed the thought. It is not your place to question them. She continued, “Assuming Halston’s on foot . . .”
“A big assumption.”
“He doesn’t have a ship, we know that much. He might be using an old vehicle if he’s been lucky enough to find fuel when he needs it. But plenty of people out here treat fuel like gold. He’d have to fight for it, and would he risk that now? A vehicle won’t get him to the bunkers.”
“So if he’s on foot, we can guess at how far he’s traveled since we last heard of him, which was four weeks ago at the camp.”
“Four weeks,” repeated Calla, thinking. Using the hologram, she overlaid a terrain map, beginning with the destroyed campsite and then zooming out to draw a radius of 200 miles. “How many miles a day, do you think?”
“Over that terrain? There aren’t enough trails to take him where he wants to go, so it depends on how desperate he was to get away and who he met. Ten miles a day is easy for a fit human. A hybrid fearing for his life? Who knows? That’s an area though, of over 125,000 square miles. He could be anywhere.”
Calla summoned a holographic keyboard that provided a human interface with the Nomad. She preferred to communicate via her adarre, but she had to admit the keyboard was more convenient for certain types of input. The keys glowed golden in front of her. She punched in coordinates and then looked up Halston’s profile, one she already had memorized. “Normal combat training—nothing specific there.”
“He’s still capable of great speeds and endurance.” Doyle studied the profile as Calla continued reading aloud, summarizing.
“Halston was responsible for cutting off the humans from their food sources, namely destroying croplands by poisoning the soil with a chemical he synthesized. He spent most of the time before the invasion in a lab. Then he went to Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland to keep an eye on the labs there. During the invasion, a small military unit left APG for the bunker in West Virginia. Since Halston was already involved, he was the logical choice to protect it. So he left with the convoy. That’s the last on record. After that, I don’t know what happened.”
“He made a mistake,” Doyle said thoughtfully. “His poison killed the early crops, but subsequent rains mixed with it, making it harmless. Theoretically, humans can use the farmlands now if they try.”
Calla looked sharply at Doyle. “How do you know?”
“The humans were drinking the groundwater, and they didn't die.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t know it was him until now, but it explains why he went rogue, if there has to be a reason. His mistake would have meant a death sentence.”
“He should have accepted his failure and its consequences!”
Doyle glared at Calla. “And that’s why you failed to stop the rogues—because you don’t understand anything unrelated to loyalty and duty.”
Angry, but aware of the dangerous tone of Doyle’s voice, Calla let the remark slide. She didn’t want to fight him here. Another time, once they completed the mission. After a brief pause, she pulled up the keyboard again and a new map appeared. “These five are the bunkers within that radius.” She tapped the image. “These are the bunkers we know are being used by hybrids. So if we take out those, it leaves only three possibilities.” The three dots glowed green.
“How is Halston able to hide from the adarre?”
“I still don’t know. And he’s not the only one who’s figured out how. The Nomad’s range is limited, but we should have more hybrids registering in this area of West Virginia. They were there. Then they disappeared.”
“How many?”
“Approximately one hundred, spread throughout the eastern half of the country.” Calla and Doyle didn't discuss the possibility of the missing hybrids dying. The adarria registered all hybrid deaths.
Doyle watched Calla, perhaps to determine if she were withholding information. “We’ll have difficulty tracking down and killing all one hundred,” he said after a moment.
“We could recruit more loyals to help us.”
“No, the more who know our mission, the more risky it becomes. We don’t know yet how the rogues are hiding. And we don’t need any more loyals tempted to join the rebellion. Let the rumors keep everyone confused.”
Calla raised her chin. “If you hadn’t killed my three, we’d have more help.”
Doyle leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “They would not have been loyal to me, though. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? Don’t feel safe with me, Calla?”
She squared her shoulders. “You don’t frighten me.”
Doyle’s eyes flashed. “Not yet.”
Calla held his gaze. She wouldn’t let him goad her into an argument. He only wanted an excuse to reprimand her. “Halston will be using one of those bunkers.”
“Assuming he hasn’t left the mountains altogether.”
“It’s logical. It’s not the only possibility, but it is logical, and it gives us a starting point. The bunkers are familiar territory, difficult for humans to reach, and easy rendezvous points for rogues on their way through. If we can find Halston and catch him, we can figure out how to expose the other rogues.”
Doyle transferred the locations of the bunkers to the Nomad. “The problem with this plan, of course, is once we find Halston, he’s not going to just turn over the locations of the rogues. He’s too smart for that.”
“We don’t need him to. Give him information and then let the rogues lay a trap for themselves. They’ll take it from group to group, and we only pick them off once they’re all gathered in the same area. Since you’re showing them the truth, there won't be a lie to see through.”
“You want me to use the adarre to show the rogues that the Condarri have left the bunker unguarded, that it’s time to act.”
Technically, the bunker was unguarded. The Condarri had left for now. Calla and Doyle would draw in all the factions and create a rush to the bunker. They didn’t know why it was so important, only that it was.
“Yes,” she replied.
“At any rate, there are bound to be rogues hiding in the bunkers. We can at least flush out a few.”
Doyle requested an exact count of hybrids who had come to Earth, then cross-referenced it with known deaths. The results confirmed their suspicions. So far, the rogues had only been a problem in North America. Calla assumed this was because of the strange hall in West Virginia, which the rogues believed to be key. Hybrids around the world may have heard about it, but now physical barriers stood between them and the prize. Even a hybrid couldn't swim across an ocean, and using Condarri transportation would be suicide.
No, so far, they had accounted for all hybrids outside of this continent. None were dropping off the map like the rogues in the eastern United States. As soon as Calla and Doyle killed the loyals, they would know exactly how many rogues were left and could prevent any more from joining their cause.
Calla glanced at Doyle as he left the bay. Their biggest problem would be convincing the rogues to believe either one of them. Calla was well-known for her loyalty, a fact that made her glow fierce with pride. Doyle was better-known than she. Even though Calla doubted his loyalty, most other hybrids did not.
Within a minute, the Nomad reached the area of the first bunker deep in the mountains of Virginia, hidden by dense forests and rugged terrain. The ship made a wide swath around and landed a few miles away.
“Stay here,” Doyle said as he grabbed a grubby-looking pack.
“Why do you want to go alone?”
“I don’t need you anywhere near me if I’m to make myself believable at all.”
“And just how do you plan to do that? How will you convince them?” she asked. Calla burned to know what secret Doyle was keeping and was uneasy about letting him out of sight. If he was a traitor, he had a pe
rfect opportunity to slip away.
“Stay here.” It wasn’t a request.
As soon as he left, Calla walked to the cockpit to see which direction he turned in the twilight, but the Nomad was already floating in wispy gray clouds. Doyle had taken over the ship fully then.
She cursed him—she was trapped for now. Stealing the ship was out of the question. Without proof of his treachery, she would be labeled a traitor for deserting a commanding officer. Legitimately, Doyle could be gone a few days, making Calla all the more frustrated that he could be anywhere before she had reasonable proof he had deserted.
Five days. She would give him five days before labeling him a deserter and hunting him down herself. She imagined hauling Doyle before the Condarri court, exposing his sins to all. If only she knew what he was hiding.
If she couldn't go with him, at least she had the ship to herself. Calla left the cockpit and turned to the bedroom, standing in front of it for entry, but the door didn't open for her. Doyle had locked it.
Chafing at her treatment, she returned to the hospital bay and called up the map. It floated in the center of the room, a three-dimensional image of the mountains below. With a wave of her hand, Calla moved the map to the East and zoomed in.
They had found the dead Condarri here. Before that, warships had destroyed a large human camp. Rogues had been hiding there. On bad information from Williams, the Condarri had attacked too soon. But Calla had been in charge, so the blame fell on her when the rogues disappeared. She had assumed one of them killed the Condarri. And then Doyle had found and killed Thompson, claiming he was responsible. It fit.
Yet before the camp, Calla had not heard from Doyle in almost three weeks. He had disappeared, which was not entirely unusual, but he hadn't reported any camps during that time, either, which was very unusual.
And what about Thompson? His premature killing still puzzled her, but the Condarri said Doyle had provided evidence. What evidence? Thompson’s final words came back to Calla—“not a traitor.” Even dying, he had maintained his innocence.
Frustrated, Calla punched through the hologram with another wave of her hand, shutting it off. She commanded the window to reveal itself, and the dark stone of the outside wall dissolved. The ship still floated high in the clouds. Darkness had fallen.
Calla entered the galley and opened a freezer drawer for something to eat. Some of the food was missing. She slammed it shut, envisioning Doyle supplying the rogues with food from her personal stores. Had he gone that far?
Instead of eating, she chose a top bunk in the sleeping compartment and hopped up, turning to face the stairway door in case Doyle returned sooner than expected. She didn’t want him to catch her unaware. Calla adjusted her pillow, breathing deeply to dismiss her grievances. A faint scent rose up from the pillow. It reminded her of ice and sweat and something else. She closed her eyes and concentrated.
Doyle’s scent.
Of course, it was all over the ship, a fact Calla had noted the moment she entered. But it was particularly strong on the pillow. Annoyed, she tossed the offending cushion onto the chairs below and grabbed another from the next bunk. This one was clean. At least she wouldn’t have to smell the traitor all night.
Day 86
MINA SWEATED ON TOP OF a short precipice, beneath the shade of a tree with broad, waxy leaves. A forty-foot drop protected her on one side while dense growth hid her from view from above. Doyle had said to give him two days. What he’d meant by that, Mina wasn’t sure. Would he be back in two days, or was she supposed to hide for two days? She’d hidden—if he’d told her to hide, he had good reason. She ate and slept near the precipice, watching the trees below for any signs of activity. But she saw and heard nothing. The last thing of interest had been the oily black cloud above disappearing into the sky.
Bored, she decided to leave the next morning. Doyle might be looking for her, and she’d give him a better chance of finding her out in the open. She’d had nothing but time over the last couple of days. Nothing but time to think about her recent decisions. About her loyalty to Doyle.
She wouldn’t soon forget her panic at free-falling through the air into the smoke. Once she was safe, that panic had turned to anger. Wait until she told Doyle exactly what she thought of his little stunt. She came close to leaving him—again. But they were past that now. No sense in debating the issue with herself.
And that kiss. Getting too involved with Doyle was a stupid idea. Not because he was half alien—he looked human—but because of his violent lifestyle. It bothered her. It also bothered her that she would kiss him again.
Near sunset, she settled down to hide one more night. Thunder rumbled in the distance, so Mina pitched the small tent Doyle had sent with her, finishing just as the first drops of water splatted on the leaves above. Then she tucked herself into it, leaving the flap open to watch the rain.
It lasted over an hour with thunder persisting well after it stopped. She dozed a while and woke in darkness. Lightning flashed in the distance as she pulled herself out of the tent. Thanks to the thick growth overhead, the stone beneath the tent remained dry. Mina eased out to the precipice, sitting with her legs hanging over and breathing in the green scent of rain. Through the leaves above, clouds raced across a crescent moon. Not so many months ago, she would have been terrified of being alone in the dark. Now sleeping outdoors had become so familiar, anything else seemed like a distant dream. Even the Nomad had been a phantom, a dream only.
She was thinking to slide back to the tent when she noticed a light flickering through the trees below. It disappeared and then reappeared close to the base of the precipice. She pulled her legs away from the edge and lay with her feet near the tent, her head hanging out over the ledge.
The light disappeared again. She held her breath. Maybe Doyle had finally found her. She almost called out to him, but then remembered he didn’t use a light. He didn’t need one; he could see perfectly in the dark. So whoever walked below was probably human.
When the light didn’t appear again, Mina pulled herself away from the edge and crawled back into her tent as quietly as possible. No one would find her as long as she remained quiet. She left the flap open and listened with her eyes closed.
But she couldn’t sleep. Two days of hiding and sleeping had left her rested and irritable. Mina shifted around, unable to find a comfortable position. Then a far-off grunting noise caused her to freeze. She strained to listen. Something snorted again in a deep, regular rhythm. It almost sounded like snoring.
Mina eased out of her tent one more time, carefully feeling her way to the edge of the cliff to peer down through the trees once again. A small campfire burned directly below, its light flickering on gray rock. It didn’t shine on a person, but the sound coming from that direction was definitely someone snoring. Mina observed in amusement, trying to remember when she’d last heard such violent snorts.
A shadow passed over the fire.
She blinked. The fire reappeared and then disappeared again, blocked by something. The snoring ceased, and a man’s voice drifted up from the camp. “Who are you?”
Another man stepped around the fire. “Why can’t we speak to you through the adarre?” he asked.
Hybrids. Mina held her breath.
The other man shifted into the firelight too, sitting cross-legged directly in front of it. “Because I don’t want you to.”
The other hybrid remained standing on the other side of the fire. “Impossible.”
“And yet you know it is possible. Finally had to light a fire so you and your friends could find me. You’re tracking skills are sorely lacking.” The undergrowth below rustled slightly. More shadows moved to the edge of the light, ringing in the speakers. At least six people stood around the first man now. Six shadows. Mina couldn’t see their faces.
“I brought friends too,” the first hybrid said. “You won’t beat us.”
“Why have you been killing hybrids?” asked the second.
“
Why are you here?”
“The Condarri have ordered—”
“Yes, I know. But why are you following orders?”
“Treason!”
“I committed my treason some time ago. The Condarri have no control of me now. And neither do you.”
Two more hybrids stepped into the circle of light. The first jumped to his feet and joined them. Then they all lined up across the fire from one other like they were drawing battle lines. Three against seven. Mina slid back, hoping no one looked up. Was Doyle down there? She wished she could see their faces to check.
“How are you hiding your adarre?” the second hybrid asked again.
In answer, the first hybrid lunged at the second with a long knife, slashing him from navel to chin. The hybrid fell into the fire screaming. Flames sputtered and scattered like fireworks. Then together, the other hybrids lunged at one other, now five against three. Guns fired, the sound cracking painfully loud in the tight space.
And then Mina lost track of who was doing what. Someone stomped through the fire, sending a burning log rolling down the hill. Someone else screamed. Another gunshot, part of the ongoing firefight. Two moved back into the light—the rogue leader against a female hybrid. The rogue slashed at her while another tried to grab him.
“Traitor!” Another one yelled and lunged. The rogue elbowed him in the face, and the hybrid’s neck snapped back. The leader reached for the other’s neck and twisted, crunching bone, and wrenched her away from him.
The rogue stood panting in the middle of the carnage, doubling over with his hand on his side. Were all the others dead?
No, someone was behind him. The next second, the rogue’s face twisted in agony as the shadow behind slit his throat.
He sank to his knees next to the fire.
Mina clamped a hand over her mouth and held her breath. The other hybrid would hear her and come find her too. She rolled to remove herself from view, wishing her heart would stop beating so loudly.
She listened a long time, staring through the leaves, refusing to move her body. Above her, the sky clouded again and another grumble of thunder rolled across the mountains. When it rained, Mina still lay there, allowing herself to breathe more easily. The hybrid wouldn’t hear her over the downpour. The rain drove harder than before. Even beneath the protection of the leaves, it soaked her in minutes.