Satori turned from the incoming screen info and looked ahead, the Crucible now clearly visible in uncomfortable detail. And there, along the wall, several gates had opened, hordes of Dominion combat vehicles rushing out, cloaked in swirling clouds of dust.
“Get us on the ground!” she ordered. “All units on the ground!”
As she watched all this unfolding she thought again of Willet. She’d been trying not to. Trying to keep her focus where it belonged, but if Darvon was right and Willet was captured inside those walls ...
He could still be in there alive.
* *
Horus stood on the open field, in the breeze, shirt off, Kang beside him, listening to the fading roar of the Kazerai transport as it fled the impending melee. Its thunder only barely masked the sharp crack and pound of gunfire ripping back and forth, the exchange between the Venatres and Dominion. As the transport receded the sounds of the battlefield escalated until those noises filled his senses.
So familiar. It felt far too natural.
They’d never made their target, he and Kang, much to his relief. Instead they’d been ordered back, here, to counter the counter-attack. And as he stood there, preparing for the slaughter, he harbored more doubt than ever.
He glanced at Kang, who smiled in anticipation at the wide line of approaching Venatres aircraft. Behind them the racket of a hundred Dominion armored transports began to weigh on the air, meshing with the sounds of gunfire and explosions. Horus looked around, watching their soldiers surge into battle from the nearby walls of the Crucible; more and more guns lighting up, the whole scene intensifying by the second.
“Let’s give them a spectacle,” said Kang, speaking above the noise. He indicated the Dominion soldiers, the ones whom they were to lead. “To make their hearts race with the lust for battle.”
Horus turned his focus back to the approaching Venatres. And there, running toward them, was a small wall of powered infantry. Skull Boys. Intent exclusively on the Kazerai.
“Ah,” Kang smiled wider. “Act One.” And without further comment was off; a blur of motion, rushing into the phalanx of powered armor head-on.
Horus hesitated.
Then followed.
* *
Jess shrank behind a cabinet in the packed closet, making herself as small as she could as the group of soldiers bumbled around the office just on the other side of the door. There was no way they’d miss her if they opened the closet, no way she could hide, but it was instinct. She couldn’t just stand there. And so she squeezed as tight as she could. Terrified, eyeing the Icon in her hands. Deciding that, if it came to it, she’d just twist it and activate it. Better to die falling to Earth than as a prisoner in the hands of the Dominion. Especially after what she’d done to their Shogun. She shuddered in the small space as she imagined what was in store for her.
Outside the sounds of explosions and gunfire kept getting louder, shaking the command building and rocking the air. Part of her felt vindicated the Venatres had arrived, that Zac might even have returned, yet she also knew there was no hope they would ever find her. Not in time to save her. She was on her own.
Then a miracle.
“Hansu Team!” came a radio voice among the soldiers, barely audible through the door and above the racket of combat. Jess strained to catch the dialog.
“Hansu here.”
“To the gates!” came the order. “Form up with your unit!”
Instruction that was, at first, met with resistance: “We haven’t finished our sweep.”
“Leave the priests for that! If we don’t repel this attack that will be the least of our problems! All units to the front!”
“Sir, she may have the Relic—”
“I said form up with your unit!”
Jess held her breath. Impossible! Yet, the chaos of the attack was evidently far more pressing to the military leaders in charge. Hesitation as she squinted in hope, scrunched up tightly behind the cabinet.
Please please please …
Then: “On our way.”
Yes! She held her breath as the men collected themselves, hoping they wouldn’t decide to make one last, quick check of the closet before leaving. They were right there, after all.
But they headed back into the main room. She listened, ears ringing, assessing each sound they made. After a few tense moments she heard no more sign.
With a heavy shudder she exhaled. The strength of it turned quickly to shakes and she grabbed hold of the filing cabinet and, with some difficulty, got her body in check.
She had to find a way out of there.
Cautiously she slipped over to the door and cracked it open …
The office was empty.
Further, peeking around, making sure they weren’t hiding somewhere, tricking her, she came all the way into the office.
No one.
What now?
Something outside flashed and drew her attention, and as she turned to the windows she cringed. The full compliment of Venatres forces were on the ground outside the walls, the battle at a high boil on the open field. Klaxons blared, explosions rocked the floor, gunfire filled the air.
The Crucible was at all-out war.
Nervously she went closer to the glass. The window was the best way out, she realized. Not back through the building. Frightening as that was, she would have to climb. She looked down at the ground far below and swallowed, then hefted the icon, realizing she would need both hands for any sort of escape. She began hunting around the room, at length finding a small band of material that looked like a belt or something. It would work. She checked and it fit around her waist with a little to spare, so she lifted the tunic and used the band to strap the Icon securely at her hip, cinched it tight, checked that it held securely, double-checked, then dropped the tunic over it and went back to the window.
More soldiers would be coming.
Taking a deep breath she tested one of the thick panes and found it could be opened. With a grunt she pushed on it, admitting the noises of battle in full. Crisp, high fidelity explosions sent her ducking back inside. She took a deep breath and rallied her determination, went over and stuck her head out, making herself search the exterior walls. The room was at the top of the building, the roof directly overhead. It was a dozen or so floors to the ground and the sight of the pavement far below assaulted her senses, spiking her vertigo badly.
Now, however, was not the time for such concerns. There was no choice. Now was the time to move.
She took a deep, steadying breath, found a pipe running along the outer wall to the roof, in reach, sturdy brackets holding it, extended one hand toward it, holding fast to the window sill with the other—leaned out over the breezy void, tested her grip, put both hands on the pipe and, before she could chicken out …
Swung into space.
Her feet kicked a few times in thin air, terror rising in her throat. She gripped tighter and found purchase with her dangling feet on the edges of a bracket. Only a few toes on either side, but she pressed in and held like vice-grips. Consciously she concentrated on the feeling of the Icon against her hip. The strap held. And suddenly, in addition to the fear of falling, the fear of being shot, the fear of being found … she experienced a sharp, tingling panic at the thought of the Icon twisting as it rubbed against her and, POW! popping her into thin air. She closed her eyes and swallowed. Fought the spasm-inducing dread as she hung there in the breeze.
Then, pulling with her arms and pushing with her legs, she pulled herself higher, rough green tunic blowing up around her waist in the wind. She would go up. To the roof, which was just a few long feet above, and make a quick survey of the whole area. She hitched her legs up to the next bracket, squatted against the pipe like a frog and, again, used her legs and arms to push and shimmy to the next hand and footholds. Not graceful, not pretty, she was sure, hugging the pipe for dear life. She wore nothing beneath the tunic, mooning the hell out of anyone who might be watching below, but in that instant cared not one bit what anyon
e saw or what they might think if they did. In fact, she almost wished she’d left the distracting, flapping tunic in the room and climbed the pipe completely naked. All she cared about was not falling.
All she cared about was living.
She continued the dozen or so feet up to the ledge, reaching it with only one close call—a minor slip that left her gasping for breath—threw a leg over, rolled to the top and lay on her back. Heaving, staring up into the blue, cloudless sky.
Up here maybe she could stay out of sight until she could flag down one of the Venatres or something. She sat up. Checked the Icon and looked around. Pipes and duct openings dotted the roof.
Hesitant, she got her legs under her and stood.
And upon standing cringed, feeling painfully vulnerable up in the open air. Strands of hair blew across her face, tunic billowing in the breeze; no weapons, no nothing to protect her. Just a silly girl. And a long way to go to reach the good guys. She looked out across the far, towering wall, across the field of fire and destruction beyond. Was waiting on the roof really the way to go? If anyone came into the office they would see the open window.
Should she try shimmying down the pipe? To the ground? A quick peek over the edge disabused her of that idea. Way too far. Way too many chances to fall. Way too many chances for someone to shoot her off.
So, what? Wait to see if the Venatres won? Hope they didn’t turn their attention on the building where she was, hope they didn’t send bombs flying her way? She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to close the window—stupid!—which meant, when the priests did search the room, they’d spot it and look up …
Then something caught her eye. Outside the walls, on the field of battle amidst the chaos and confusion, standing out against the dark mass of fighting men, blasts and war machines, something … Bare skin. A figure she recognized. It was Kang. And there, in the thick of it, not far from him …
Zac!
Flying back and forth, delivering blows to a bunch of Skull Boy armored units. How she could see them so far away … but the two Kazerai stood out, like impossible little skin-colored dots, zipping at unnatural speed, impossible angles. Maybe it was that bizarre motion that drew her attention. For a moment she was captivated. Though she’d seen them fight already—experienced it—watching the Kazerai in action was still unreal.
She came out of her brief trance, fixated on Zac as he fought. Tiny at that range, fighting on the side of the bad guys.
Zac!
There he was!
Yet so far away.
Impossibly far.
“Zac!” she yelled without thinking—crouching at once in reaction to the sound of her own voice. She cringed as it echoed off the nearby buildings. Someone would hear.
Someone would …
Zac would hear.
The thought came to her like a bolt. A grand epiphany.
Could he?
If everything else about him was super; if he could see better, yell louder and all else, could he not hear better as well? Even over the thunderous sounds of combat? Even so far away?
She stood. “ZAC!” That one was loud.
But she could do better.
Leaning into it, she belted out that one word, with every fiber of her being, every ounce of energy she could direct into it:
“ZAC!!”
She coughed.
Watched and waited.
And …
He turned. Out on the field of battle.
He heard!
Zac heard!
Thrilled, she jumped up and down, no longer caring if anyone saw. Zac heard her and that was all that mattered. He would protect her now.
She waved her arms:
“ZAC!”
And he focused.
Listening, head cocked like a puppy trying to locate the source of an unexpected sound. Like back in the woods, when he first heard the airship. He separated himself from the melee. Kang took the brunt of the attack from the remaining Skull Boys and Zac came closer, wandering further toward her, trying to understand what he’d heard, distant face searching the skyline of the Crucible and she was about to yell again but …
He saw her.
She waved harder. Big sweeps of her arms. She couldn’t make out his expression at that extreme distance but she could swear his face, looking up from beneath his short crop of dark hair, had the look of dawning recognition. She could feel it.
He ran. So fast it made her flinch. Straight for the wall surrounding the compound and for an instant she lost sight of him. Then he was landing atop it, the same wall she’d leapt in the Skull Boy and she recoiled in surprise—though she knew what he was capable of. He alighted easily, looked in her direction, then jumped down inside the compound and she lost sight of him once more. Breathless she went and stood near the edge of the roof, watching, heart racing faster than any terror had yet driven it, about to faint that he was actually coming.
Somehow, some impossible way, Zac, whom she’d lost and found and lost again, was coming.
Zac!
From her vantage she caught glimpses as he dodged through the compound, down streets at a fantastic clip until he came skidding up to the base of the building. Closer to the edge she went, right up to it and gazing down, swooning from more than just the height.
Zac!
Like Romeo he stood there, come for her, looking up from a dozen floors below. But this was no Romeo. No foppish prince in a feathered cap, come to recite passionate lines of longing in the hope he might find a way to her. This was a warrior beyond any other, who would throttle the king and lay waste to the kingdom to have the hand of his Juliet. Nothing would stand in his way.
He crouched, gauged the height and … pushed off with insane force, leaping toward her as if shot from a gun. She cringed away from the edge as he came arcing up, past her with a rush of air, cleared the top, over her, maxed out and dropped behind her to an easy landing.
Twelve floors!
She ran to him. Crashed into him, so choked up she couldn’t speak as she grabbed him full force. The moment rolled into a blur; immediately she felt his warmth, absorbed it, his power—as if enveloped in a blanket—then he was pushing her to arm’s length, hands on her shoulders and holding her there so he could see, confirming her reality. But she pushed back into him and he let her, wrapping his arms around her as she hugged him so hard, face pressed to the side against his chest. He hugged her back, squeezing tight, and she could tell he was as overjoyed as she was to be standing there.
He wasn’t a bad guy.
In that instant everything receded and she began to cry. Tears of joy, mostly, but also tears of frustration. Cheek pressed against him, crying onto his warm skin; she felt the Icon against her hip, angry with the futile debate in her head, wanting to twist it while in his embrace and take him back. Wanting so badly to just end this. Zac would save her from the fall on the other end. The moment was perfect, he was there, the way was open.
But she was not his Juliet. And if she twisted it … he would have to leave her. He could never stay, and she realized in one agonizing moment she was not ready for this to be over. Not ready for them to be over. Juliet or not, she couldn’t leave him. Here he was, in her arms, and the reality of him was far too much; much more than the concept, which was hard enough, much more than she ever even dreamed, so real, and there was no way she could make this decision and let him go. Not here. Not now. What is your problem?! She began to shake with the uncertainty of it, violently shake, too afraid, not ready and a million other hesitations hobbling her. She and Zac could never be. When she went—whenever she went, whether now or later—he must return. He must leave her, and he would be gone forever. That, the prospect of that, the absolute pressure of the moment, the right decision—the decision she knew she had to make and yet couldn’t—froze her thoroughly.
She cried harder. The tears flowed, running down her cheeks and onto Zac’s skin. She released him with one hand and rubbed her eyes, her face, making an eve
n bigger mess. She must look like a clown.
He leaned and whispered into her hair. “You’re alive!” He’d given her her moment, to be, to let go the pent-up emotions, and now he was talking to her. “I can’t believe you’re alive!” He was so thrilled with the truth of it. Gently he took her head in his hands, turning her face to his—relieved beyond measure.
She sniffed; stared up into his pale blue eyes as he held her, feeling the upward push of her own face, wanting so badly to close the distance between them. Then, as if hearing her desire, he did. Leaned and put his forehead directly to hers, their eyes inches apart. Looking so deeply into her that, for one blissful, serene moment, it felt as if their very souls merged. As if he coursed through her, with her, all around her. She shivered harder with the overwhelming sensation.
She loved him.
I love you!
She concentrated on breathing.
“Guess I found my Kryptonite,” he said. “I haven’t been able to think of anything but you.”
She closed her eyes and pushed against him, pressing her forehead harder to his. Aching so badly to kiss him. But where before that might simply have been a foolish flight of fancy, now it was something more. Now it was simply wrong.
Zac was married.
He ran his hands through her hair, as if feeling his own desperate passion. Her heart skipped. She kept her eyes closed, holding to the moment. Not daring for more. Breathing in the smells, absorbing every touch, desperate that it never end.
And for a time they stayed that way, the tremendous sounds of the distant battle failing to impinge on their reverie.
Then she opened her eyes and he was there, looking back. Into her, just as deeply as before. So deep.
“They said you were dead,” he practically breathed the words, filling her with them. In a sort of rapture, it seemed, to discover whatever he’d been told had, after all, been a lie. She shuddered at the intensity of his presence, knees weak, feeling as if everything in that moment conspired to make her collapse.
She nodded gently against his forehead. Went to speak and her voice croaked. She cleared it: “I got out before the car exploded.” It was mundane, a dull thing to say—this was a moment for epic, poetic, pronouncements of love—but she had no other words.
Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1) Page 35