“When was the last time you had contact with the station manager there?” Jared asked Crane. He wasn’t a fan of the rescue mission. And he wasn’t the only one. Several of Crane’s soldiers were attempting to talk him out of the plan.
“We haven’t been able to get through to them,” Crane admitted.
“TOXIC has control of the station,” Jared replied.
“Yes, but they haven’t started evacuating people yet,” Crane said. “We can reach them before that happens.”
“And then what? Our induction facilities are full. Where are they going to go?” Jared demanded.
“Hundreds of people died in the raid in Tennessee,” Brand pointed out. “You said yourself it was chaos. You barely escaped. I don’t think it’s worth the risk. We don’t have the manpower.”
“Not worth it!” I demanded, interjecting myself in the argument. “What if Mac decides to execute them? He’s likely operating in panic mode after receiving UNITED’s order to turn himself in.”
“Talia’s right,” Frederick agreed. “Director McDonough is desperate and irrational. We need to send help.”
“TOXIC is already there,” Brand insisted, rounding on Frederick. “You’re a Viewer, not a Visionary. You saw something that is happening as we speak. We’re already too late.”
“If we leave now, we’ll be there in an hour,” Frederick shot back.
“With minimal forces. Even if every able body here went, we’d still only have thirty, forty soldiers tops,” Brand replied.
“All this talking is a waste of time. The longer we argue, the more people die, and the less chance we have of getting there before Mac starts carting the defectors off to prisons.” Already on edge from lack of sleep and my evaluation, I felt ready to explode.
“This isn’t up for discussion. Brand, you’ve been in contact with the bases in Denver and Seattle, correct?” Crane asked.
“Yeah. They’re ready to deploy on your command,” Brand confirmed reluctantly.
“Good. The Denver team should be able to get eyes on the situation pretty fast,” Crane said. “Give the order.”
After that everything happened in blur of barked commands. Before I knew it, I was aboard a hoverplane with twenty Coalition soldiers, and outfitted with a mini arsenal of weapons.
The ride to Kentucky was tense, the mood on the plane volatile. The Coalition soldiers weren’t used to so much action. Several of the others had been part of the attack on Tramblewood and still sported the evidence. I was glad to see Janelle. I liked her, and she had proved herself a solid soldier in the last attack. She sat next to me on one of the long metal benches. We didn’t speak, but having her close by was a comfort all the same. Frederick was also on my plane. He spent the ride lost in a trance, viewing the events in Kentucky as they unfolded. Every so often he’d provide an update to the group at large. So far, all the residents were still being held captive by TOXIC operatives, who were waiting for Mac to arrive.
Crane had insisted that Brand stay at the cottage. He said he didn’t want to leave it unprotected, and Brand needed to coordinate the impromptu fight from there. When we’d left, Penny was in the control room with Brand, ready to call the shots from our home base. I hadn’t had time to talk to her about her own evaluation, but took it as a good sign that she was still at the cottage.
As expected, the Denver team reached the camp first. They were in constant communication with our team through the onboard communicators. A soldier named Benton provided a running commentary that was piped through the overhead speakers. Using radar, Benton’s team had determined that several TOXIC hovercrafts were patrolling the airspace surrounding the camp. The fight would start in the air. Over the speaker in our craft, I heard Brand order the Denver team to wait for our arrival. We were approximately an hour ahead of the Seattle team, but we weren’t going to wait for them. Once we rendezvoused with Benton’s team, we’d strike.
“Mr. President, we have the enemy crafts on our radar,” the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker. I recognized her throaty drawl; it was Donna – the same pilot who’d flown us to Tramblewood.
“Okay, everyone strap yourselves in. This might get ugly,” Crane ordered.
I secured the shoulder harness around my body. My palms were sweaty, sliding over the metal of the gun in my hands. Adrenaline pumped fast and furious in my veins. Nausea rolled through my stomach, making me glad there was nothing in there to throw up. I was still a little woozy from the loss of blood and the sedative from earlier. Deep inhales, followed by long exhales kept me focused. Beside me, Janelle imitated my breathing method, mumbling something that sounded like a prayer.
“Denver team has an enemy craft locked in their sights,” Brand said over the speaker. “Denver team, fire in three, two, one.” I closed my eyes, expecting to feel the shock waves from the explosion, but we were too far away.
“It’s a hit. Repeat, it’s a hit,” Brand said.
“Alpha team, fire in five, four, three, two, one,” this time it was Penny. Her firm, authoritative tone comforted me. I felt better just knowing she was there.
The plane rocked as the pilot released the missile, causing my head to ricochet between the shoulder straps of the harness.
“Negative, hit,” Donna shouted over the speaker.
The plane swerved wildly, dipping low on the left side. The maneuver propelled me forward, the harness suspending me in mid-air. I yelped, clutching frantically to my gun. I checked the safety, relieved to find it engaged. At least if I dropped it, the weapon wasn’t likely to go off accidentally. I suppressed the bubble of manic laughter caught in my throat.
“Denver team, fire in three, two, one,” Brand commanded over the speaker.
Our plane rocked, and for a brief second I thought that it was a shock wave from another plane exploding too close to us. Then we began to spin, and I knew we’d been hit. One minute I was upside down, feet dangling over my head, the next my spine slammed against the metal seat, only to have the cycle repeat over and over again.
My screams were lost in those of the other soldiers. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my gun to my chest, and prayed for the ride to end. It seemed like an eternity before Donna regained control of the plane. The man across from me leaned over and vomited onto the floor. I hoped we didn’t start spinning again, I would lose my own stomach contents if his landed on me.
“Alpha team, do you copy? How bad are you hit?” Penny sounded frantic now. “Repeat, Alpha team, do you copy?”
“We’re hit pretty good,” Donna responded over the speaker.
“Make the drop, and get out of there,” Brand barked. “I’m dispatching a pick-up hovercraft now.”
“That’s our cue,” Crane said from across from me, and started unbuckling his harness.
My fingers fumbled with the release clasps, and I couldn’t seem to focus my eyes. When I was finally free of the harness, I tried to stand, but another jolt sent me crashing to my knees. Pain exploded down my calves. I willed it away, now was not the time to nurse an injury. I used the bench I’d just vacated to push myself to my feet.
“Hatch opening in five, four,” I met Crane’s eyes across the cabin and he nodded, “three, two, one.”
The doors in the belly of the plane drew apart, creating a chasm. The ground was so far below. I swallowed hard and jumped.
I counted to five, then pulled the cord attached to my shoulder strap. The parachute sprang up, yanking me upwards temporarily before allowing me to float downward. The ground rushed up to meet me, not fast enough, though.
Gunfire erupted from below. All around me, bullets tore through the other soldiers’ parachutes. Someone close by screamed as his body hurdled towards earth at an alarming speed. I braced myself for the inevitable. A spark of hope ignited in my chest when I was within ten feet of the ground, my chute unscathed. Not wanting to test my luck, I grabbed a knife from my belt and deftly sliced through the shoulder straps, falling the last six or seven feet to the grass be
low before a TOXIC bullet tagged me.
From above I’d seen TOXIC operatives littering the neighborhood, and had been worried about landing in the middle of them. Thankfully I landed in the backyard of a small home that was devoid of people. I quickly ran for safety and flattened myself against the back of the house, the siding pressing hard into my back. I counted to three, punctuating each number with a deep breath, then I rounded the corner, gun first.
“Talia,” snapped Crane in my head.
I pivoted, searching for him.
In the camouflage suit, he was hard to spot in the bushes of the next house over. It wasn’t until he raised a hand to beckon me over that I was able to make out his shape among the leaves. As quietly as I could manage, I hurried to join him.
“We need to get to the rec center,” Crane sent.
I nodded my understanding.
“How?” I responded. I’d lost track of our location during the emergency evacuation.
Crane touched the opening in his ear, and I heard the tiniest crackle of static. “Brand,” he whispered. “Brand, it’s Ian, do you copy?”
Brand’s voice was faint, and I could just make out his reply. “I’m here, Ian.”
“Do you have my location? Can you direct me to the rec center from here?” Crane whispered back.
“Affirmative. Stand by.” Brand’s words drifted from Crane’s earpiece.
My heightened sense of sound registered footsteps an instant later. “Operatives, rounding the house,” I sent Crane.
“How many?”
I listened harder, concentrating my energy on my hearing. Three distinct sets of feet.
“Three, I think. Unless they're running in sync,” I replied.
“Are you sure you saw them land over here?” a man’s voice sounded over the chaos taking place on the other side of the house.
I held my breath. Three was manageable; Ian and I had the element of surprise. And I could control three minds at once if push came to shove.
“Yes, Jackson, I’m sure. Two people came down back here,” a second man replied.
I focused on the second speaker, willing him to recant.
“Actually, I think it was a couple houses down, to the left,” he amended his statement.
Ian’s earpiece pinged. “Ian, the rec center is approximately one kilometer to the east of your current position,” I heard Brand say.
I closed my eyes and urged the operatives to start moving. I knew the only reason that I could hear Brand through the transmitter was because of my heightened senses, but I wasn’t taking any chances. The operatives were close, no more than five feet away. If one of them was a Morph, they might hear him, too.
When Crane didn’t respond, Brand tried again. “Ian, do you copy?” Crane tapped his ear canal, one short thud, followed by two longer ones, ending with three short ones. A code, I realized.
“Understood,” Brand replied.
On the other side of our hiding place, the operatives were already in motion. Their angry voices drifted back as they set off in the direction the guy I’d manipulated indicated. When we were sure that they were gone, Crane crept into the open. He stayed low, crouching as he surveyed the area.
“Let’s move,” he sent, once he seemed satisfied.
I slid from the bushes, and together we jogged east. I remained vigilant, expanding all my senses simultaneously. I sniffed the air like a dog for the scent of gunpowder and sweat. I listened for the thudding of boots on grass. My eyes darted up, down, left, right, searching for the slightest hint of movement.
The houses provided us cover, but the breaks in between left us vulnerable. We paused, only briefly, at each one. Crane plunged ahead of me to draw any fire in the event that we were spotted. Shouts and the steady staccato rhythm of gunfire wafted from the street. My palms itched with the desire to run out there and help the Coalition soldiers that were fighting to take control of the situation. The prisoners were more important. If we didn’t move fast, there was still a chance TOXIC would get them out of here before our people reached them, and then it wouldn’t matter who was in control of the station.
I felt the vibration in the air before I heard the hum of the hovercraft. I looked up, searching the clear. It was close, and approaching fast.
“Ian, three o’clock,” I sent, pointing towards the approaching plane. He followed my finger and nodded. Crane tapped his ear again, and spoke to Brand.
“It’s ours, Seattle team,” he sent back to me.
We started moving again, and moments later parachutes dotted the sky, coming to aid our efforts. I relaxed slightly, before realizing that they were going to draw attention to our position. I picked up my pace, trying to put as much distance between us and them as possible. Too late.
Operatives poured around the sides of the houses. Between the house behind us and the operatives on our right and left, we were surrounded on three sides. The only option left was the woods in front of us.
“Run,” Crane screamed, not bothering to communicate the command mentally. There was no point. We’d been spotted.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I took off. My legs burned as I pushed the muscles harder. The sound of my racing heartbeat drowned out the shouts of Mac’s people. My ears registered a dozen or so soft clicks as fingers pulled triggers, and I braced myself for the pain that would accompany their bullets piercing my skin. Mentally, I deflected the ones the ones I could identify. One managed to evade my powers and skimmed my right shoulder. The suit took the brunt of the blow, and the smell of singed fabric assaulted my nostrils. I ran harder. Another burst of gunfire erupted behind me. A second bullet struck square between my shoulder blades. Pain blossomed from the point of impact, and I stumbled forward from the force. My knees struck the grass.
Get up, get up, get up, I ordered myself. The woods were less than five feet away. If I could make it there, I still had a chance.
“Hold your fire, it’s her,” someone screamed behind me.
Run, run, run, must keep going, I thought.
I willed myself to stand, blocking the pain shooting down my spine. Terror propelled me into the woods. I could feel my pursuers closing in, and I started to weave between trees, hoping to throw them off course. I wasn’t sure how many of them there were. Too many minds to count. My legs ached and my lungs burned and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to run forever. I used the best weapon I had: my mind. I sent misdirecting thoughts over my shoulder, praying at least some of the operatives would be led astray.
It worked. The footsteps veered to the right. I collapsed behind an ancient oak. Gulping fresh air, I assessed my situation. I was alone, wounded, and had no way to communicate with anyone. Panic set in, coming on hard and fast, and nearly crippling me.
You’re better than this, I chastised myself. Think, plan, stay alive.
First things first, I needed to see how badly I was injured. The pain in my back had dimmed to a dull throbbing sensation. I twisted my arm behind my back and fumbled for the wound. Instead of a bloody hole, my fingers closed around a warm, misshapen lump midway between my shoulder blades. The bullet hadn’t penetrated the suit; the fabric was thicker back there and had snared the metal before it could do any permanent damage. The first flicker of hope broke through. I yanked the bullet remains free and threw it to the ground. Next, I assessed my shoulder. The material was singed, the skin underneath red and tender. I touched the sensitive spot gingerly with one finger. It stung, but the injury wasn’t incapacitating.
Now confident that I was going to live, I needed to devise a plan. I needed to get back to Crane and his men. Crane. He was out here somewhere, he had to be. I opened my mind, searching for his. My heart sank when my mental feelers returned no results. They’ve captured him, I thought.
“Not good, not good, not good,” I muttered under my breath. Crane’s life was more important than mine. Without his leadership, the Coalition would fall apart. Without him, who knew what Victoria and the Council would do with me, Pe
nny, and Erik.
The crack of a branch turned the sweat covering my face to ice. I went rigid, molding my body against the tree trunk. I tried to latch onto the person’s mind. My attempt was met with a brick wall of resistance. Stubborn pride made me try again. The second attempt was as unproductive as the first.
“I don’t think she could’ve gotten this far,” a man called. Every fine hair on my body rose; I knew that voice.
“The ground is trampled, she definitely came this way,” a woman called back. She was panting, and her voice came from a much farther distance.
Heavy footsteps, no longer trying to be discrete, came next. I tried not to breath, not to so much as twitch a muscle. Maybe they will leave, I thought. No such luck. More branches breaking, more people talking, more operatives coming to join the search.
Think, Talia, I ordered myself. They want you alive. They will take you to where they are holding the other prisoners, probably where they are holding Crane.
I tried to put myself in Mac’s shoes. Mac was logical, calculated. He would’ve ordered his men to take Ian alive, too. He’d want to be the one to end Crane’s life to send a message to UNITED. By now, he’d know Crane was collaborating with them. The blow would send a message: Mac wasn’t going down without a fight.
Surrendering was contrary to my nature, to every ideal TOXIC had drilled into me. Death was better than capitulation, Mac had taught me that. Death was also selfish. Too many people were counting on me.
I inhaled, long and even, then, before I lost my nerve, stepped around the tree.
“Hello, Captain,” I said, my voice steel.
“Lyons,” Captain Alvarez replied, not looking nearly as pleased to see me as I’d anticipated.
Guns clicked behind him, but I kept my eyes trained on Captain Alvarez. I might crack if I thought too much about the barrels pointed in my direction.
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