Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2)

by R. R. Roberts

  He finally turned to face them. “We all know what we signed up for. We have no time to mourn Waylon. We can celebrate him after we beat these assholes. We should get started.” He looked at Wren, his eyes kind. “Wren, you good to go?”

  Coru read she was taken aback by Nelson’s ready willingness to forgive her, to move past this, to move against the POE.

  She nodded, “Uh-huh,” not trusting her voice.

  Coru knew there was no telling her she was not to blame. Maybe they were all to blame.

  Nelson stooped, picked up her bow and quiver. “Can’t forget this. You’re unstoppable with this.”

  She swallowed hard and took it from him, squaring her shoulders.

  They donned raingear, then emerged carefully, looking around through the slate gray rain, taking the lay of the land. The knee deep, thick grass was drenched, and bent in waves across the rolling parkland. In the near distance, and in the closing light of late-day, the closely spaced apartment buildings they had woven through last night showed evidence of having survived fire with varying levels of success, yet still rose up stoically to the east. The surrounding stands of trees sagged with the weight of water on their fall leaves, many now laying on the ground, forming a slick patchwork carpet of golds and reds below them.

  There was no one in sight. Coru saw that Nelson, like he, had first checked with Wren before stepping clear of their sheltering cedars. When she nodded the all clear, Nelson took the lead, setting a hard pace along the outside wall of Tanya’s stronghold just as Mattea’s team had done this morning.

  Coru was surprised to find he had a reserve of energy he had no business having, testament to the power of a mindset focused on survival. If they did not make it across that highway tonight… He didn’t want to even consider the consequences of failure. Wren called out to Nelson, jerked her head to the left, and they sprinted for a stand of trees. She’d heard a group of minds—an encampment, hiding out, licking their wounds from the previous night.

  She spoke, for Nelson’s benefit. “There’s a group of…I’d say twenty set up at the base of that building, behind the old playground wall. They took a beating last night, but they’re still free. They’re preparing for another night attack from the POE. And they’re scared, frankly. They don’t think they can get through a second night. If they get even a hint of us nearby, they’ll come out blazing. We go around this way.” She pointed to another building. “That building’s empty—for now. We’ll have a better chance. Beyond that, I don’t know yet. Is it doable?”

  Nelson nodded, and led the way once again, heading to the building Wren had indicated. They reached it and ran straight around it, knowing no eyes were on them here, and sped down a straight track between four more buildings Wren was able to clear. There was now a long exposed grassy berm between them and the next roadway.

  Both Coru and Nelson looked at Wren. She closed her eyes and concentrated. When she opened them again she looked uncertain. “I’m… I’m not sure.” She drew her fingers across her forehead. “I’m so tired. I’m worried I’m missing things now.”

  “Maybe we should try some old-fashioned tracking,” Nelson suggested. “This can’t all be on you. I’ll go ahead. If it’s clear, I’ll signal with my LED light. One flash.”

  Not waiting for their answer, Nelson was sprinting across the long, wet grass, his arms pumping. He had to be in his forties, yet the man could move. Coru tracked him with his scope, ready to pick off anyone who showed an interest. Nelson was out in the open for far too long for Coru’s liking. He crested the berm and disappeared from sight. What had he found on the other side…

  Wren was scanning, finding nothing.

  The LED light flashed once.

  Coru and Wren took off across the open field, following Nelson’s path, not nearly as fast as he had done. Wren was smaller, slower, and neither she or Coru had had any rest. They crested the hill, their strides changing from an agonizing ache to brutal knee punishing braking strides as they fought to keep their footing on the steep incline on the other side. Abruptly, the first road they needed to cross was before them, Nelson waiting on them. They caught up and together the three of them crossed, Coru and Nelson each grabbing Wren under her arm on either side, lifting her as they ran. Making the far shoulder, they dove directly into the trees and dropped onto the ground under them, the pine-needle covered ground surprisingly dry here. Throwing off their packs, they lay on their backs, gasping for air like fish out of water.

  “Only a couple of dozen more, then we’re into Burnaby Park proper, where the lovely POE are trying to take the place over, then TransCanada Highway. Then it’s clear sailing to SFU.”

  Wren laughed breathlessly. “Keep telling yourself that, Nelson. You might believe it after a while.”

  “Gotta stay positive.” Nelson got to his feet and dragged his pack over one shoulder and threaded his other arm through the opposite strap, hitching it up on his back and clipping it tight across his chest. “Come on kiddies, playtime is just beginning.” His words were playful but his eyes dark holes of sorrow. Nelson was playing positive while his heart was broken by Waylon’s death. Maybe he was even trying to out-run it?

  Considering their situation, Nelson’s reaction wasn’t the worst way to go.

  Coru and Wren rolled onto their knees, rested a moment then got to their feet as well, dashing the rain from their faces.

  They worked their way north, one block at a time, welcoming the darkness that gathered around them. It seemed, too, that the rain, though a hardship for sure, was on their side. It kept those pockets of people Wren could hear tucked safely away, clearing a path for the three Indies to work their way toward SFU with minimal interference. Block after block, with a combination of Wren’s scanning, rerouting to avoid minds she discovered, and Nelson scouting ahead, they made good time. Their original idea of going roof to roof was unsupportable here—the buildings were spaced too far apart, not like in downtown Vancouver. So, street level it was. More dangerous, but quicker. The good news—SFU was miles closer than downtown Vancouver.

  Small comfort, but comfort nevertheless.

  They were within sight of the TransCanada Highway when the rain quit. Just like that, it was done. Sweltering inside their raingear, they shed their outer layer, allowing blessedly cool air at their over-heated limbs, drank from their canteens and broke out bread and cheese Amanda had packed for them. Ambrosia.

  Hidden on the south side of the highway, Nelson explained what came next. First, they’d cross the main highway, following it on the north bank until the overpass to Gaglardi Way, which they would follow until they crossed the little Brunette River to Government Street. Here was where the proposed tunnel emerged, now a forgotten politician’s pipedream from the past.

  “My brain’s fried. Can we get there before light? Should we even try?” Wren asked, pulling her knit cap off and scrubbing at her scalp, attempting to get some blood flowing to her head, Coru knew. “I’m not sure about what I’m hearing anymore.” It was well past midnight and she was on her last legs.

  He gazed down the steep slope to the highway, covered in hip height broom, a hardy and stubborn weed, now just bare stalks until next spring. They could use it for hand-holds as they descended. It was a tough old plant, if he recalled what Mattea had told him about it. Not native to Canada—originally from Scotland, used as packing material in Scottish immigrant ships, many years ago.

  Wren glanced over at him and sent him a tired smile. Random.

  “You sensing what’s up ahead?” Nelson asked, noticing the exchange.

  She breathed in a deep breath and closed her eyes, straining to pick up traces of brain activity. Coru could sense it felt like struggling to make your way through thigh-high mud. She let out a sigh and opened her eyes, blinking them wider, willing them to stay open. “There are people all around us now. Mostly sleeping. But there are a lot of them on the other side of this highway and they’re not all sleeping. “Back here, there’s quite the argu
ment unfolding as we speak. It’s like they’re playacting. They don’t even mean it. How stupid.”

  “Are they aware of us?”

  “Not yet,” she replied dryly, then paused. “I think. The truth is, I just don’t know anymore. I’m pretty sure they’d catch on if we get sloppy.”

  “So, we don’t get sloppy,” Coru concluded.

  Nelson added, “All we need is for them to look the other way for a few more miles. Once we’re inside that tunnel, we’re golden. We can rest there. It’ll be safe.”

  Coru slapped his leg. “Let’s get to it.”

  They stood, gathered up their stuff, preparing to start down the steep incline. Wren ducked back down, suddenly, hissing, “Get down! It’s a diversion!”

  “What!?”

  “The argument—it’s a diversion. We’re being hunted. Behind you.”

  A man stepped out of the brush behind them, flanked by many others. Too many others. He was dressed in layers, all his clothes black. His hands were wrapped in black, with only his fingers showing. His fingers were white and rested on the trigger of an old AK rifle, his fingernails black with grime. He was grinning, nodding his head to the right and left, eyeballing his companions with an “I told you so” smug expression. He pursed his lips and looked skyward, his dark hair matted and spiking in all directions before strutting to where they were crouched, frozen in the gravelly dirt. Smiling, he kicked at the gravel and chuckled when Wren recoiled.

  His grin widened, showing missing teeth all along one side of his face. “You’re just not good at this, are you?”

  17

  MIKE: YEAR SIX: WEN 2041

  IT WAS the rainy season in Vancouver, that relentless, day after day gray downpour that sucked the joy from life, perfectly reflecting the mood inside the Egger’s penthouse. Mike held his tongue and took each day as it came, grinnin’ and spittin’, acting like everything was okay when it so was not okay.

  January and February tested his resolve every single day.

  The strange part was Cherry’s gradual change over the last few weeks of March. After months of silence, of accusing looks, something had changed. Well, the sun was finally back out, for one. She was getting out more for two. Cherry was unusually cheerful. Friendly, even. While Mike was still wracked with guilt about the way they had ended the New Year’s party and started 2041 together.

  The truth was, he’d blackmailed Cherry into staying with him after…after the New Year’s Eve incident. He’d told her he’d go to the police, tell them all about Bruce Trenholme’s untimely demise. She’d been packed up and heading out the door when in desperation, he’d grabbed her and whispered in her ear, “I picked you up from Girls, Girls, Girls. Who do you think they’ll believe?”

  She’d stared back at him like he’d stabbed her in the heart. Which he had, hadn’t he?

  Even now, despite her elevated mood, he could see the injury in her almond eyes; it haunted him. But there was no going back now. He’d had to find a way to make her stay with him, give him time to make up for what he’d done. He could use a time machine. What he wouldn’t do to go back and undo that night. It was too damned ironic, wasn’t it? A Time Bore portal in an alley not five miles from his condo waited still yet would not allow him to reenter.

  The only explanation was two had emerged and two had to return.

  He now knew Zhang was never returning to their own world, and the truth was, Mike had no appetite for the trip himself. Yes, he’d screwed things up with Cherry, but his work? He was killing it at work. Things were happening; things were changing for the better.

  First, Mike was enjoying a front row seat watching Zhang in action. The man was focused, a machine that never quit. With every move, every decision, he acted with wisdom and true empathy for this planet and its future survival. How had Coru gotten it so wrong?

  Zhang and Coru had been best friends once, not that long ago, in the scheme of things. Was it such a stretch their falling out had been based only on a misunderstanding, a lack of imagination, of considering possibilities outside of the confined world of Cloud Rez? One man inspired, the other hamstrung by their lock-stepping father’s rhetoric? Mike thought not. In fact, it turned out that Charles Wood was the actual harbinger of the earth’s future ecological disaster, not Moses.

  This was a huge lesson for Mike. Huge. It changed the way he saw everything.

  With Wood out of the picture, and Moses on site, things were beginning to change for the better. Moses had killed to get here, yes, but Cyprian had left him no choice, branding him as unstable and saddling him with a Guardian, tying his hands at every turn. The fact Moses had managed to have the Time Bore built and then had the guts to jump through the untried device himself rather than risk another’s life was testament to his commitment and integrity. He’d been maimed in the process and never complained, focused only on his mission to save the planet.

  Being unimaginative, in WEN 2341, Coru had chosen the safer route, to go to surface and get his hands dirty trying to undo the damage man had done to it, while Moses had dared to take a political and more practical approach. Moses had risked his life, had come here in WEN 2036, was in the trenches, making things right.

  The real betrayal was the fact that Coru was most certainly here as well, doing something completely unhelpful, obviously.

  Two had come through the Bore, he and his brother, yet it was only he, the younger, who had built himself a platform, risen up and connected with Moses Zhang and learned the truth. He was now working with Moses instead of against him. Together he and Moses would save this world from itself. Where was Coru’s solution?

  Nowhere.

  Thinking back, Mike shuddered at the horrible mistake he’d almost made through his own ignorance and willingness to drink in his father’s brainwashing. Under Zhang’s tutelage, Mike had finally been free to grow up. Knowing Zhang had Wood’s work secure and at the ready to unfold in a controlled and responsible manner was a comfort. Moses would ensure their old world would in fact exist, though it would be much changed—for the better.

  Moses in charge instead of Charles Wood was the key to their planned success.

  With Moses, Charles Wood’s haphazard reveals to an undisciplined public were no longer a threat. With Moses, this knowledge would certainly be revealed in a controlled and thoughtful manner, for the good of all. There would be no ruined “Surface” under Moses’s watch.

  Their newest corporation, “Earth First” was coming into its own now. It was being well received, was becoming more influential and more powerful with each passing day, bringing in powerful people from all over the world. Mike was excited to come to work each day, excited by their wins, about the possibilities that were absolutely on their way to solid, earth and history changing events.

  Yup—everything was going perfectly. Except here at home.

  Until a few weeks ago, that is. That’s when he’d caved and brought Conrad into his confidence and asked for his help. That wasn’t strictly the truth. He hadn’t admitted to the New Year’s Eve incident. He couldn’t think of it himself, let alone tell his best friend what he’d done. But he had pointed out Cherry’s depression and need for distraction. Cherry needed to get out, make friends within her new reality. She wasn’t the headliner of Girls, Girls, Girls anymore. She was Mike Eggers’ wife and was expected to act the part. He was glad Jessica was gone. Cherry didn’t need the maid to be her best friend; she needed other rich men’s wives, influential women as friends.

  He had Conrad to thank for the turnaround, for bringing Cherry out of her shell. Conrad had reached out, and found a way to connect with Cherry, involving her in local charity work, encouraging her to mingle with women with too much time and money on their hands.

  Cherry’s first sojourn into the fundraising world had been to raise funds for some crazy plan to reintroduce wild Pacific salmon up and down the coast. Some guy claimed he had authentic Pacific salmon roe. Wasn’t going to happen, of course; Mike had already explored the
idea. It was dead in the water. Ha ha—dead in the water. The Pacific salmon were finished.

  But for a while there, she was happy, and Mike wasn’t about to burst her bubble. And there was always the clean water project to fall onto in a pinch. So many causes, so little time…

  Seeing Con patiently guiding his wife out to some meeting or fundraiser gave him hope things would improve between he and his distant wife.

  Today’s meeting was about the new Ebola Nexus virus that had recently emerged in Africa—where all good viruses grow up—if he remembered correctly. He mouthed “thank you” to Con over Cherry’s head.

  Con grimaced, out of Cherry’s sight of course, raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. But he didn’t falter. The guy had the patience of… Mike stopped.

  Couldn’t think of an example. Didn’t matter.

  Con had more patience than Mike ever would and was willing to step in when Mike was slammed with work.

  And he was slammed, for sure. He and Moses’s work had multiplied rather than fallen away as a result of their combined efforts. Mike was enjoying the experience. The unfortunate part was the fact that Mike had to keep much of his work secret from Con, his best friend, his only true confidante here in WEN 2341. He regretted the distance his work with Moses had created between him and Con, but it couldn’t be helped. Conrad knew about the Time Bore of course. There had to be some logical explanation for Mike’s meteoric rise in wealth playing the stock market, and for his talent at creating new personas for both of them.

  In fact, it was Conrad who’d cautioned Mike to let a few investments slide, suffer a few losses to stay under the radar. Very good advice as it turned out. Mike had never been investigated. And Con hadn’t suffered from their friendship, either; he’d amassed a tidy sum himself, though he was very low key about it all.