Anna gulped, while stinging tears rose from the slap. So be it. This was plainly not a negotiation, but a final confession; there was no mercy here for her or the others. These people had dropped a bomb on New LA, after all. They'd taken out Lucas' team in the midst of treaty negotiations. When the questions were done she was almost certainly going to die.
Her mind raced ahead. The cure would die in her belly, and so would Peters and the others. Ravi's death would mean nothing. These people respected strength only, but where was her strength now?
There was a click; a pistol slide being cocked.
"I see you heard that, Anna. Show me what you're worth."
What was she worth? What was Amo worth? The answer came back easily. He'd made his decision when he slaughtered Gap.
"I can give you Amo."
"Better," said Inchcombe approvingly. "I'm waiting."
Anna closed her eyes, and listened. Not to the sounds in the hangar; the bustle of people moving in the background, and soft voices offering reassurance, but to the place the line should have been. It was still gone, blown away after whatever happened in central Istanbul, and her sense of it was frazzled anyway after wearing the helmet and taking on Amo, but residual images remained.
The people nearby, thousands of them, showed up as new signals in the air, making their own unfamiliar stippled pattern. In a cluster nearby was a group of her people. Peters' signal was strong amongst them. She cast her thoughts wider, feeling for the dark storm of anger that had surrounded Amo when she last saw him, and found it.
It was clear. It was powerful. It was already far to the North.
She opened her eyes again. Now the gun was in her face.
"What the hell was that?" Inchcombe asked. "Communing with your God?"
"Listening to the line," Anna said.
Somebody laughed.
"You're this close, Anna," Inchcombe said. "Pull it round or that's it."
Anna snorted. Bullshit. Here was her strength, and feeling it rise up, she knew she wasn't even close to death. She took a deep breath and cranked up the aggression, grinding words out of her throat like a broken gearbox.
"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything about life out here, in the line. So listen." She took a breath, moistening her dry mouth. "Shoot me, shoot my people, and I promise you'll be dead in months. All of you. Your shield's gone and the line's gone too, poisoned by your 'lepers'." She took a rattling breath and pressed on, using anger as her crutch. "The other bunkers won't take you in, and I know you can't make another shield big enough to cover even half of you all. If you don't do exactly as I say, when I say it, you are going to die. It's a fact." She managed to crane her neck and look around. The hangar was dark, there were five shadowy figures circled around her, holding weapons, looking angry. She redoubled her aggression. "You want to know where Amo is? I can tell you, because I know the line in ways you never will. I can feel him, just like I can feel you, and your people, and mine. You won't believe that, so I can prove it. You're holding my people in Hangar outbuilding 11. Go confirm it. Send that shit who just slapped me. As for Amo, he's gone to the North. Already he's a hundred miles away, out of your range. There's nothing you can do."
She let a pause hang while she swallowed again. Shit, that was a lot of talking. It hurt in her lungs, in her throat. Still she pressed on, forcing the last bitter pill down.
"Amo is bullshit, anyway. You need me, and you need a cure. I'm pregnant with it. For that, I need Lucas alive. I need my team alive. Hurt any one of them, and you are dead." She looked at the blur of Inchcombe, then round at the rest of them one by one. "Every single one of you is dead, and I'll be left laughing over your graves."
Her throat felt rubbed raw with sandpaper. She took heavy, panting breaths in the aftermath, while the rest of them took all that in.
Somebody laughed.
"I say we toast the cheeky little bitch right now," somebody said.
Inchcombe raised a hand, addressing her people without turning her head
"Did you tell her where her people were being held?"
Anna saw the outline of somebody shrugging.
"Use your words, Montcliffe," Inchcombe snapped, steel stabbing into her voice. "Tell me, did one of you tell her, or mention it front of her?"
"No," Montcliffe answered, angry but obedient. The same guy from before, she remembered his name too. "Maybe someone on the floor said it? She might have overheard."
"That's enough."
He fell silent. Inchcombe leaned in.
"Anna, you'll understand there is no condition under which I'll make the promises you're asking for. Not after everything you've done, not after Gap and Brezno, after this."
Anna laughed, a painful hacking sound. "Then you're an idiot. That was Amo who destroyed the bunkers. You need to learn to distinguish between us. I'm here to help you. I always was. If it wasn't for me no one from your Command would still be alive."
Inchcombe's eyebrows beetled together. "That remains to be seen. I'll be interviewing the Command survivors. We're also going to move your people, and I want you to play your little trick again." She gave a gesture to that effect, and somebody moved away. "In the meantime, you're going to tell me what this cure is. You're going to tell me every word of what you know. And after all that, I still might have you shot."
Anna couldn't stop a smile creeping onto her face. Perhaps it made her look guilty. She hoped it made her look confident. This was progress. This was something she could deal with.
"Water," she croaked. "Do my eyes again. Let me sit up, like a proper human."
Inchcombe sighed, but gave a sign. Concessions. They fiddled with the ropes tying her to the crate for a time, clearly unaccustomed to the task, until Anna stepped in and directed them, showing them a clove's hoof knot that she'd often used on her catamaran. They held up a bottle and water went down her throat and cooled the burn. Her eyes cleaned up better as they dabbed away more gunk, until she could pick out Inchcombe's eyes, more curious now than they were angry.
"Make this good," Inchcombe said. The anger was burning there still, tied up tightly with shock and grief. She'd just lost everything; her home, her leaders and hundreds of her people, maybe people she'd loved and cared for. She was looking for somewhere to pin the blame and take revenge, just as much as she was seeking a way to make it right.
Just like Anna.
So she licked her lips and began the story of the skinless man, Ravi and her impregnation.
* * *
After the story, there were questions. Many of them Anna didn't know the answers to. Many she withheld. Some areas she feigned knowledge of, like the 'lepers'. How had one of them blown up in Istanbul? What had happened to the line? How had Amo beaten General Marshall so many times?
She didn't know, so gave vague answers about 'the power of the line', while trying to figure out the truth herself. She hadn't had time to even think about it yet. The things Amo had done? They defied explanation. And the Amo she'd encountered in the bunker's Command had been nothing like the man she'd known, wrapped up in his burning black storm. His eyes had been so wild; like a feral animal, like he hadn't even recognized her. How could she explain any of that?
It scared her even now. When she blinked she saw Amo again, looking down and making his decision.
Kill her? Not kill her?
It had been a long moment. There'd been nothing she could do.
"What is it?" Inchcombe asked.
Anna realized she'd shuddered. She had to get better control. They'd made progress together, but needed more. The gun had been put away after she'd done her trick twice more, locating her people in spite of them trying to trick her by once splitting them into separate groups. Yet still she was sitting here tied up. Still her people were being kept from her, and they weren't telling her anything.
Yet Inchcombe had shifted a little with each answer. Not exactly shrinking, or growing weaker, but retreating slightly into herself. An
na had said the world up here was different, that Inchcombe didn't belong, and here was the proof. Anna had powers they didn't share. What else was she capable of?
That was a gap she had to close.
"Salle Coram," she said starkly. "I was thinking about Salle Coram."
Inchcombe's eyes narrowed. Deon Inchcombe, to give her full name; that much Anna remembered now from the treaty negotiations. Australian, green-eyed, exhausted and overwhelmed but holding it together. With her were Montcliffe and two others, a man and a woman, both armed. The rest of her team, those who could still walk after whatever Amo did to them, were helping the sick, clearing dead bodies before they started to rot in the heat, scavenging down into the bunker to collect food and gear.
"What about Salle Coram?"
"You remind me of her," Anna said, slowly. Inchcombe stiffened. "Perhaps you knew her?"
"She was the head of the Maine bunker," Inchcombe said flatly, insulated by the aftermath of shock. "We were in contact. You killed her."
Anna nodded. "We did."
Inchcombe pinched the bridge of her nose. She was losing patience. "So tell me, Anna, why do I remind you of her?"
"You look lost, like she was. She got the role when everyone above her died, just like you. She didn't know what to do. She ended up dead, with all her people."
She let that hang. Inchcombe looked at her, then blinked, as if rousing herself from a reverie. "I think we're finished here."
She started away.
"Did you ever wonder why?" Anna called after her. "I know you must be curious, how we beat your bunker." Inchcombe stopped. Montcliffe nearby squeezed his fists tightly. "Why Salle Coram surrendered to Amo."
Inchcombe didn't turn, but she didn't walk any further away. "I'm sure you want to tell me. It won't change anything here."
"Maybe not," Anna pressed, "but why not listen, you may learn something." Long seconds passed, until Inchcombe turned back. Her face was a mask that hid anger inside. Good. Emotion was something Anna could use.
"Are you hoping for a quick death, here? Trying to antagonize me?"
Anna glared at her. It was cruel, perhaps, but it was going to get more cruel. There was only one way forward now, and it was through this woman. The alternative was to stay tied up, and she'd seen the look in Montcliffe's eye. She knew what he would do if given the chance.
Just an accident, he would say. Who would speak up for her and her people then?
The ropes had to come off now.
"Salle Coram underestimated us," Anna said. "She underestimated a man named Cerulean, my father. A cripple in a wheelchair, but he turned the tide against her, because he understood the line. Salle tried to make him a demon, but she couldn't, not fast enough. He got a warning to us, and that warning sealed her fate. Her ignorance killed her."
Inchcombe stared, the anger animating her face now, pulling her lips toward a snarl. "Do you feel better? Unburdening yourself like this?"
Anna let her lips curl into a matching snarl. She'd barely gotten started. "We killed Salle Coram, Deon. We killed her demons, we crushed her plan, and when we came to take Maine, and she climbed up to surrender, do you know what she said?"
Inchcombe stared stony-eyed.
"She said she'd been rooting for Amo for years. Praying for him. Hoping somehow he might figure out a way to save both his people and her own. She dreamed, Deon, but she didn't do a damn thing. She wasn't ready when Lars Mecklarin died, and she wasn't ready when we came knocking on her door, so all her people died. That's why she reminds me of you. Because you are not ready for what's coming your way. You're going to lead your people to the same fate as Salle Coram."
Inchcombe's eyes burned. Anna saw the truth in them, and that's why the fire burned so hot. Inchcombe knew she wasn't ready.
"Let me frag the little bitch now," Montcliffe spat, taking a step toward Anna, dropping his hand to his gun. "I can't listen to one more word of her bullshit."
Anna didn't look at him. She stared only at Inchcombe.
"Walk away now with these ropes on my wrists, and I'll be dead by the morning. You know I'm right. And you'll be making excuses like Salle Coram when the end comes."
Inchcombe stared at her, the anger becoming confusion. "You're a killer. I can't trust you."
"You can't trust the bunkers. They're not your allies anymore. The old world is dead, Inchcombe, and you need me if you want to survive. It's that simple." She looked pointedly at the ropes.
Inchcombe was weakening. She was angry and exhausted. The moment broke.
"Untie her. Let her go."
Montcliffe gasped. Then he drew his gun.
He didn't get any shots off. Inchcombe drew her own weapon and pointed it at his head.
"Stand down, soldier."
He turned slowly. Anna got a good look at his face. He was handsome enough, with broad red cheeks, short dark hair, a five o'clock shadow. His eyes were blue and disbelieving.
"Are you serious?"
"Holster your gun and get out," said Inchcombe. "There's a hierarchy here."
He stared at her. He stared a little too long. Then he smiled, and holstered it.
"Yes, ma'am."
He left.
Inchcombe gazed at Anna for a long moment. Taking her measure. Making her decision.
"Let her go," she said again, then turned and left.
They cut her loose. They left Anna sitting on the crate alone.
The enormity of the task ahead settled heavily on her shoulders. Her eyes closed. She pushed against the weariness, but there was no strength left.
INTERLUDE 3
The chopper blades slashed the white air, while Joran passed in and out of consciousness. People were shouting and someone was tugging on his arm. They rose up into the air. He pulled back weakly, and was greeted with more darkness.
When he roused next Sovoy was sitting by his head, his eyes haunted, his face pale. The dull thump of blades filled the dark space. It was cold.
"What did we do, Joran?" Sovoy asked. His gaze was far away. "What was that signal we sent up?"
Joran tried to speak. "I-"
"You said it was just one word. Hello. The SEAL's saying it was bigger though, something genetic, some fusion of the line with a virus trigger. The whole world just rocked, Joran, not just here! All twelve stations in the Array erupted. What was in that message?"
Joran floundered for a firm grip on reality. His left arm felt strangely light. "Hello," he managed.
"It can't have only been that! They had to bomb the Zeta Array in Siberian China; a nuclear bomb, Joran! Some of those things got out, but we weren't even synced with Zeta Array, so how the hell did that happen? 'Hello' can't have done all that. They may even have to bomb our Array too, nobody knows. Those things, they were…" He tailed off. "The SEAL wants answers. They've been talking to me, waiting for you to wake up, but I don't know." He took a shuddery breath. "They've recalled us, we're heading for Istanbul right now. The inquisition is coming for you, and you need to have some answers. Just tell me you didn't sabotage us, that's what I need to know. I've heard reports of impacts on the wider populace…" He tailed off again, gazing past Joran's face.
"I just-" Joran tried, but there was a mismatch between his voice and his thoughts. A bomb?
"They almost took your arm, you know," Sovoy said flatly. "Sawed off at the shoulder. I told them to stop. I don't know why. Look."
He pushed Joran's head to the side, so he could see the stick of bitten flesh that lay there, suspended in a traction cradle. It was almost funny. There'd always been a normal arm there, and now there was this partially bandaged, iodine-slathered, partially savaged lump. It looked more like a half-carved piece of pork than anything that belonged to him.
"They're using words like zombies," Sovoy said. "They asked for Sandbrooke, but of course he's dead, isn't he? I saw enough of that. And you walked right out into them, like they were calling you in? Jesus." He shook his head. "I wish I'd never seen that. It's a curs
e, you know? Whatever we did, we were messing with forces we never should have touched. We got burned, Joran. You got burned. Billions of dollars in investments lost, for what? So you could jump the research queue and get your name up in brighter lights? I feel sick."
He leaned to the side, gagging briefly.
Joran stopped staring at his chewed arm. It wasn't real, that was the only way to deal with it. If he looked any longer, if he accepted it, he would burst inside. He lifted his head and looked around the bare bones interior of the gunship instead. It looked familiar; they'd brought him in on one of these, on the first day. Now they were taking him out the same way. Lining the walls were a few pale-faced security personnel, rifles on their laps. Sandbrooke's teams. On the floor before them were a few bodies and body parts wrapped in white plastic. The air smelled of fuel and ice.
"Hello," he said again. "That's all."
Sovoy looked sideways at him and shuddered. A tear welled in his left eye.
"I believed in you," he said. "You lied to me."
"I-"
Sovoy slapped his face. The sting came before the sense of impact. Then Sovoy was on his feet. "They should have taken your arm. You're a traitor to us all. It was more than 'Hello'. The whole damn world's in chaos, Joran! A nuclear bomb! I joined you to help people, not do this. Oh, God. Our lives are over."
He wandered away. Somewhere out of Joran's sight, he took a seat.
Moments later, not long enough for Joran to get to grips with what was happening, another man came to his side. It was one of Sandbrooke's men, with the same kind of easy, professional confidence, despite the circumstances. He wore a headset. On a stool he set several boxes, atop which he placed a slim silver computer, clicked a few keys, then swiveled it so the screen faced Joran.
There was a man's face there in close-up, square-jawed and handsome with bright brown eyes. He wore an expensive suit and stood in an impressive office space, where narrow, angled walls set with tall windows revealed a dappled blue sky and hints of high-rise buildings.
The Lies (Zombie Ocean Book 8) Page 6