“You think we can get to the Quad through this tunnel?”
“I don’t know. I’ll know when we get there, but I’m betting it’s still blocked off and forgotten. If I’m right, they won’t be guarding the tunnel entrance, which means they won’t expect anyone to pop out of this innocuous little building near the Quad either. Get me close enough, and I’ll be able to tell you if we can backdoor our way into Professor Red’s little piece of paradise instead of battling through a solid ring of POE up top.”
Coru shook his head in appreciation. “If you’re right, Nelson, you may have saved this whole operation. This could get us into SFU tonight instead of days from now. And with more protection.” He slowed. “And if this isn’t an option?”
“Let’s not think about that just yet. Let’s go with it will work.”
Nelson had a point. Why borrow trouble? They had plenty already.
“Do you know what you’ll do when you get there?”
This was the big question. Coru shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. We stay open? Play it by ear; stay flexible; seize every opportunity—whatever it takes. Bottom line: We come out of New Pacifica with that antidote, no matter what we have to do to get it.”
Nelson’s face lost its smug expression. He sat down beside the map and closed his eyes. “I sure as hell hope so. My family…” He stopped.
Coru didn’t need Nelson to tell him his worries for his family. It was apparent on his face.
Nelson’s eyes popped open. “POE, huh? Protectors of Earth? Pieces of Excrement, if you ask me.” He closed his eyes again and settled his back into the curved bank of their hiding place, obviously prepared to sleep until it was time to strike out.
For the first time, Coru heard the sound of rain outside their enclosure. Mattea and his team would be soaked to the skin in this. Miserable weather. He shivered for them. Maybe it would keep the enemy in hiding. New Pacifica’s coastal rain was chilling to the bone.
Coru was too wound-up to rest. He tuned into Wren, connecting to her as an observer, and was surprised to find the team was almost at Pitt River. The concern was–how to cross it. From where they were hidden, it seemed the bridge was indeed protected, but maybe lightly? It was hard to see through the rain, which was coming at them in windy blasts, angry waves of water slapping against the cement wall they were crouched behind… Maybe it was wishful thinking, but, there were only four men in sight, and they looked as unimpressed with the weather as Mattea’s team was. Mattea and Wren were working it out.
Coru joined them. The mental exercise felt rusty, like stretching a reluctant muscle long unused. He was so thankful their unique connection was back. Can you scan them, Wren?
Wren was worried—this crossing was important. It’s so far and I don’t know their patterns. It’s so fragmented. It’s nothing like reading you two. It’s like you’re right next to me, no matter the distance. But these minds I don’t know…I hate to give the wrong intel.
Mattea risked moving closer to the bridge, leaving his men behind. He said, I think there are only the four.
Wren went silent, her mental presence gone for several moments, cutting both Mattea and Coru off. Then she was back, and they were connected once again. “I think I have it. They’re bummed. They’re the only ones who showed today, less than half. Two of them are sick, the other three, they don’t know why they’re not there. Since there’s only four of them today, they’re talking about just taking off for home. Who’s going to complain? The guys who didn’t show?
Mattea laughed mirthlessly. That would be too easy.
Coru could see Mattea was exhausted, having been on the run for forty-eight hours. He was ready to drop. They all were. You should eat, he told him. Food instead of rest works for a while.
Mattea agreed, signalling the others forward. He told them to eat while they waited. Tom was adamant he would eat after the bridge. His teeth were chattering, and he had no appetite for eating soggy rations in this downpour. Tom wanted to go for broke. We’ve waited long enough, he told Mattea. Mattea had to agree. They were nearing the end of their endurance. Every moment wasted here could mean lives back in God’s Country.
Wren had already confirmed Smith, Simon, and Kelly were on their way back with three POE trannies, two to leave next to the others they had secreted last night, the third to drive back to the Vedder Bridge for more. If they caught them right, they’d leave one for Coru, Nelson, and Wren’s escape, and all go together with four POE trannies, pick up three more at the Vedder Bridge making a swift escape into the interior of BC. Mattea’s team put their heads together, formed a plan and moved forward…
From their cool, dank hollow, Coru and Wren linked hands and watched.
Mattea and Tom moved forward first, still within the footpath section of the bridge that ran along the north side of the bridge. Staying low to the ground, running their hands lightly along the cement divider that separated foot and bicycle traffic from motorized vehicles and onto the deck of the bridge. The problem was, the four disgruntled guards in waterproof ponchos were hashing out their options right smack in the entrance of the four-lane bridge. They stood in a tight huddle, facing one another, their shoulders hunched against the wind and rain. They weren’t even pretending they were watching the bridge.
Mattea didn’t want to kill them as a matter of course—killing the guards would bring attention to the fact someone had breached the bridge. The only saving grace if that happened was the POE, or whoever cared, wouldn’t know if someone was breaking in or out of New Pacifica. But Mattea wanted his team’s escape to go unnoticed so Wren, Coru, and Nelson could have this route as an escape if they needed it. A killing here might up the security to a point that that option would be cut off completely. If the guards elected to head home, he’d be happy. If they’d move it along closer to the Burnaby side a bit, chat it out undercover somewhere, allowing the Indies to slink on by, it would make him happier still. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Mattea dashed the water from his face and leaned closer to Tom. “Could we climb through the underside?
Tom shook his head, water trickling down the side of his haggard face, losing its way in the stubble on his chin. “No. Can’t be done. We have to go over.”
“I was hoping you knew something I didn’t.”
“Nope.” Tom signalled for Gary and Waylon to move up closer, then locked eyes with Mattea. “I know you don’t want to do this, Matt, but we have no choice. We’re losing light, we could miss Smith and the others, and every hour, maybe every minute we waste here could mean lives. They plan to poison everyone, preparing an invasion that will kill thousands while we’re hesitating over four. It’s a numbers game.”
Tom was right. Mattea pressed his lips flat and gave one curt nod. “Fire only when fired upon. Weapons check.” They went through the motions, their weapons at the ready long before now.
He waved for Tom and Gary to go first, sticking to the foot path running along the north side of the bridge—the only structure that offered even a little cover. The two brothers crouched down and ran awkwardly along the path, right past the huddled guards, even though the wall meant to protect pedestrians from traffic was too short to be much cover. If even one guard glanced over, the Indies were exposed. It crossed Mattea’s mind if these guardsmen were to survive the coming minutes, it would be through dumb luck alone.
Once the Hansons were safely past, they set up with their weapons on the far side of the guards and covered Mattea and Waylon. The pair crept forward, traveling low, ever mindful of the enemy. They slipped easily by, then dared to rise up, sprinting for the other side. Could this blasted rain be the Indies saving grace?
Suddenly Waylon stood erect, screamed, “Behind you!” at the Hansons, who swivelled in alarm. A swarm of armed guards was charging the Hansons from the east end of the bridge. Their cover blown, the guards started firing. The clueless huddle of four in the middle of the bridge broke up, guns ablaze, taking out one of their own before the
y even saw the enemy. The Hansons dropped to their bellies, returning fire to the east while Mattea and Waylon fired west. Surrounded, trapped in the center, the Indies had no way out beyond mowing down what looked to be up to ten guards.
How had they gotten it so wrong?
The huddle boys went down easy enough. Mattea had been prepared, though he’d wanted to avoid killing them at the start. He had wanted an untouched passage for Coru, Wren, and Nelson to escape with the antidote.
That option lost to them now, Waylon and Mattea fell flat on their bellies like the Hansons, counting on the curvature of the bridge deck to aid them in some measure against the eastern guards, and began elbowing themselves along the cement surface, squinting against the wall of steady gray rain. Were they facing maybe seven guards now? Were there more farther along the expanse of bridge?
Mattea popped his head up and back down. No, not guards. POE. It was the hive mind, the one mental configuration Wren had so far been unable to crack with any consistency. With the POE, she was so often flying blind. He needed to be careful. Wren couldn’t protect them here.
He pulled off his pack and brought out his secret weapon, the one he’d stolen from Freeland when he’d gone underground to claim their trannies and weapons to leave. By then he’d felt no loyalty to Freeland, only to his chosen family. Michael Grimes ran a tight operation in the weapons claims area, just not as tight as he believed.
He hauled out the staging apparatus, attached it to the end of his weapon, screwing it tight.
“What the hell is that?” Gary gasped, risking a second take between returning rounds with the advancing POE.
Tom didn’t ask. Tom had seen Mattea steal it. In fact, Tom had distracted Michael when he realized what Mattea was up to, though he hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about what Mattea was carrying in his over-stuffed bag throughout their push to New Pacifica.
“A parting gift I liberated from Freeland.” Mattea shook the black missile-shaped canister out of the thick drawstring bag he had hidden it inside, just saving it from hitting the pavement, and stuffed it into the open end of the launcher.
Waylon bobbed his bushy eyebrows at Mattea, his grey eyes sparkling. “Someone’s been a naughty boy.”
“My Momma always said I’d come to no good,” Mattea replied with a strained half-grin, shoving the mystery missile in hard until it clicked into place.
“Your Mamma would be right,” Waylon chuckled, clearing out a place for Mattea, shaking his big head, water shedding from his hair like from a lion’s mane.
Gary predicted, his voice tense, “This is either going to blow up in our faces or save our asses.”
Waylon bobbed up and took a quick look over the rise. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m voting for the saving our asses part. There’s a pretty little widow back home I’ve been meaning to court since last summer. I just decided right here, right now, that as soon as this shindig is over, I’m gonna go calling.”
Mattea shook his shoulder free of tension and hunkered down with his weapon. “Give me some cover fire; just enough to let them know we’re still interested.”
The Hansons obliged, making a noisy rat-tat-tat without wasting a ton of ammo.
“Stay the hell down,” Mattea grunted through gritted teeth. “Don’t exactly know what this baby is capable of, but we’re about to find out. It’s now or never, boys.” Abruptly, he rose up, then sank right back down. “Nope, not going to happen. Too damned heavy.”
“This is a two-man operation, son,” Waylon drawled amiably, moving up and grasping the front end of the barrel. “On your count, sir.”
“On three. One. Two. Three.” Together Waylon and Mattea rose, Waylon in front, the barrel resting on his thick shoulder, Mattea directly behind. Mattea sighted the advancing POE and fired. The missile flew from his weapon, slamming Waylon to the side and taking Mattea’s legs out from under him, sending him skidding back on his belly across the pavement as though he’d been shot out of the gun himself. He paid that no mind. No one did—their gazes were sewn to the fireball that used to be a small POE army. One minute there, the next—gone.
The Hansons were first to get to their feet, staring, taking a few hesitant steps forward, then looked back, their faces incredulous. “Geez. You took out part of the bridge with that thing.”
Mattea could see Tom was talking but heard nothing. His ears were ringing. He was slow to rise, his journey across the pavement having burned off a layer of skin from his belly and forearms. The driving rain was punishing, but it was soothing as well. He rolled over onto his back and let the rain cool his exposed skin. “Can we get across?” He couldn’t even hear himself.
Tom came to stand over him, nodding. His lips formed, “Yeah.”
Mattea answered, “That’s all that matters,” still unable to hear his own voice. It was surreal.
Waylon one-handed Mattea back onto his feet while poking at his ear with his other. “Geez, I think my hearing’s finished, man.” At least that was what Mattea guessed he was saying.
Mattea grinned. “That’ll teach you to—.”
Wren screamed in his head, Not safe! Not safe! Another. There’s ano—!”
Waylon saw the danger and leapt in front of Mattea, a silent spray of bullets raking across him from the west side of the bridge, Waylon’s body jerking as each bullet made its target. The fourth guard, not killed by his own men after all, stood before them, reeling, blood pouring from his grinning, gaping mouth before he pitched straight forward onto the deck of the bridge, finally dead.
“No!” Mattea caught Waylon before he fell, falling with him, cushioning Waylon’s impact on the bridge deck with his body. “No. No. NO!” His hearing was returning now, bringing with it the sound of the rain, the sound of the others’ gasps leaking through.
The Hansons rushed forward, fell onto their knees before Waylon.
Waylon looked stunned at what had happened, like he didn’t believe it was him, lying there, bleeding. He touched his stomach, lifted his hand, surprised to see it was red. Rain rinsed his hand clean almost at once. “Well, hell,” he murmured, slumping farther onto the pavement. “That… did not… go… at all…,” he sucked in a shuddering breath, then coughed, spewing blood, “like… I… planned… it.” He stared straight ahead without blinking, his chest not moving. Mattea’s heart dropped. Then Waylon took a mighty gasp and looked up at him, like he’d just thought of something important. “You’re our lifeline. Saved… our lifeline... Nobody better…”
Waylon’s eyes drifted closed and his head fell to the side. Even now, the driving rain could not beat down his mane of red-gold hair.
WREN’S SOBS woke Nelson with a start. The man was on his feet in an instant, fists clenched. “What’s happened? Happening? What’s wrong?”
Pressing Wren’s face against his chest, Coru frowned and shook his head at Nelson. Now was not the time.
Nelson narrowed his eyes and glanced around the hollow, saw rivulets of water were trickling down the banks now, with water pooling at the lowest point. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours.”
Nelson blinked in surprise.
Coru murmured, “You needed it.”
“You sleep?”
“No. Wren was guiding the men to the Pitt River Bridge. It… it was a tough day.”
Nelson’s expression stilled. “How tough?”
Coru glanced down at Wren then raised his eyes to Nelson, reluctant to tell him what had happened, knowing he must. He knew how close he and Waylon had been.
Wren pushed away from Coru and faced Nelson. “I’m sorry, Nelson. I’m sorry I couldn’t save…” Fresh tears flooded her eyes and she was unable to go on.
Nelson’s gaze returned to Coru.
Coru lifted his hand but didn’t know how to soften the news. “They all made it to the Pitt River Bridge. They fought all damned day to get there. There were guards, they got past them, thought they were home free. But there were POE soldiers comin
g from the other end. They were out manned, trapped in the middle…”
Nelson’s gaze returned to Wren. “I thought you were supposed to see the dangers? Warn them? That’s the reason we’ve stayed here, to let you work your magic, right?”
Coru stopped him. “She did. She protected them the whole way. If Wren hadn’t been with them through Mattea, they’d likely be dead long before the bridge.”
Nelson opened his mouth to protest further, but stopped himself, pressed his lips in a tight line before asking in a low voice, “Tell me what happened.”
“Wren can’t read the hive mind. It’s foreign to her. Mindless. Like a hum in the background. She’s just now catching it, recognizing it. I hear it with her now. It’s insidious, like white noise. We just didn’t know it for what it was.”
“Okay.” Nelson’s eyes held doubt, but acceptance of Coru’s explanation.
“The POE are trained to be single-minded, what Wren calls the hive mind. She didn’t know they were there at first. The good news is our guys saw them in time and fought them off—Mattea and Waylon worked together to launch a missile. It took out their hearing.
“It was Waylon who saw the guard at the last minute. Wren was screaming at Mattea, but he couldn’t hear her. And Wayland… He… He jumped in front of Mattea; saved his life, took the bullets himself.” Coru closed his eyes for a moment, the image of Waylon’s grinning face, encircled by a mane of fiery red hair filled his thoughts. They’d known one another only days, yet the man had dug out a place for himself inside Coru’s heart already. “I’m so sorry, Nelson. Waylon is dead.”
Nelson slumped back against the damp earth bank and scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Oh my God. Waylon.” He stayed that way, swaying, with his face covered for several minutes, then dropped his hands and bent down to pick up his pack, moving slowly, like an old man. He croaked, “Waylon knew what we signed up for,” then turned away, fussed with his pack, stuffing the remains of his day’s rations back inside and securing the strap. These tasks took a great deal of time and attention.
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 28