“Are you fucking crazy?” the director demanded.
“Nobody fucks with my people,” the general replied.
Connor’s lips curled in anger. He was furious, indignant. “Might I remind you, General, that the president is only a call away?”
"I’m sure he is,” Murdock said. He turned to the Asian soldier. “Sergeant?”
“Sir?”
“If another guard tries to touch this young lady, I want you to drill a hole right through that fucker’s head."
The sergeant cocked his VK-26 and aimed it at the director’s face, appearing completely unfazed by the wild request. “Yes, Sir.”
Connor’s jaw went slack.
"I survived the closest thing to hell on earth," Murdock growled. “You think I'm going to let a rat-fuck like you run me off?”
The director’s nostrils flared as he cursed under his breath. He’d gambled against a foe and lost. Glancing at the line of guards behind him, he ordered them to fall back.
“But, Sir?” one of the guards protested, his brow drawn in confusion.
“Just do it!” the director screamed. “And tell Rogers to get his ass out here now!"
Reluctantly, the guard banged on the door of the cell behind him, and a few seconds later, a large man with cropped blond hair and dark eyes strolled out. He wore a black t-shirt that was tight around his thick chest and arms, as well as a pair of black parachute pants which were tucked into the tops of black military boots. In his hands, he carried a thick baton, that he wiped lovingly with a blood-stained towel. Noticing the general and his men, he turned to the director and frowned. "Is there a problem, Connor?”
“We’re done here,” the director snapped. “Take the guards and leave.”
The blond man’s face twisted in annoyance. “Now?”
“Yes, now! Goddamnit! Doesn’t anybody do what they’re told anymore?” Grinding his teeth, the director turned his attention back to Sibylla and offered her a slight bow. “Such a shame we didn’t have more time to get to know each other. I’m sure my men would’ve loved…” His eyes slid over her body. “…to have gotten to know you better.”
In defiance, Sibylla spat at him.
The act caused the director to indulge in one last grin. When he was done, he turned his attention to the general and said his last goodbye with a polite bow. “Murdock.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” the general growled, motioning toward the exit with his chin.
Sibylla watched in relief as the director departed down the hallway, leaving his men to carry the body of the unconscious guard with them. As soon as they’d left, Sibylla raced for the door of the cell, reaching for the metal handle and yanking it open.
“Wait,” the general said, pressing a hand against the door and shutting it closed again.
“What are you doing?” Sibylla asked. “Get out of my way.”
“You need to be prepared.”
“I only need to see Dillon.”
“And you will,” he assured. “But first, you need this.”
Sibylla stared at what looked to be a black EpiPen in his hand. “What is this?”
“It’s called the Sandman—a high-powered tranquilizer. One shot of this and the person falls asleep instantly. We use it for the soldiers we can’t save on the field.”
A chill ran up her spine. “For the soldiers that you can’t save on the field? What are you saying?”
He placed the device in her hand and closed her fingers around it. “All I’m saying is to take it.”
“Why?”
“Because…it’s the least I can do for you. Now, hurry. We don’t have much time.”
Sibylla glared at the door, idling as she felt a wave of apprehension wash over her. She was worried over what horror lay waiting inside for her. Tightening her hand around the Sandman, she pulled the door open and entered.
The cell was much larger than her own, but just as dismal. Concrete walls. Stuttering lights. No windows. Against the far wall, a red hose was wound around a metal reel, its brass nozzle still leaking from recent use. Below it, a putrid stench lifted from a pool of water. In the middle of the room, a single metal chair sat, while against the opposite wall, organized perfectly atop a surgical table, Sibylla was horrified to find several rusted tools and leather belts spread out, their surfaces stained with dried blood from where they’d ripped into human flesh.
Sibylla flinched as she heard something stir behind her. Spinning around, she found a young man blindfolded, hanging shirtless by his wrists. His chest was bruised, and his arms were lined with thick gashes. Blood trickled from the corner of his head. He was barely breathing.
Dillon!
Sibylla rushed to grab him. But her touch appeared to be too much, and he let out a low moan as her hands slid up to his shoulders. Realizing how badly his arms were hurting, Sibylla reached for a nearby metal chair and propped it beneath him.
“Thank you,” Dillon managed. “Whoever you are.”
Sibylla pulled back the blindfold and saw bruised puffy eyes. They’d beaten him beyond belief.
Fighting back tears, she reached to touch his face, stopping just short of his skin as she feared that her touch would hurt him even more. “What have they done to you?” she whispered.
His head lifted at the sound of her voice, and he turned to the room, struggling to determine where the voice was coming from. “Sib, is that you?”
Sibylla calmed him with a hand to his chest. “Yes, Dillon. It’s me.”
His brow furrowed. “How’s this possible?”
Sibylla glanced back at the door of the cell, watching as Murdock entered the room. He stood off to the side, respectfully removing his cap and remaining silent in the background. Sibylla looked back at Dillon. “That’s not important. All that matters now is that I’m here with you.”
“For a little while at least,” he said.
He was right, she knew. Whatever time Murdock had granted them would soon come to an end. She had to make the most of it. As badly as it pained her.
“Dillon, how did they—”
“We were betrayed,” he said.
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head and swallowed through a dry throat. Sibylla rushed to the hose and turned it on, filling her hands with as much water as she could. Bringing it to his mouth, she watched as he drank. When he was finished, he took a moment to regain himself. “They came into my room as soon as you activated the failsafe. No one could’ve responded that fast.”
Sibylla sighed as she ran through the list of possible suspects. She thought of the other activists, the people who she and Dillon had marched with in the past. But none of them were their friends, and none of them knew what she and Dillon were doing. And for good reason. People betrayed. Especially in a world where everyone seemed to be getting arrested for anything. But who? Who could’ve done this to them? The possibilities were endless.
“Screw them,” Sibylla said. She wiped the blood from his face and kissed his cheek.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “All that matters now is getting out of here.”
“Exactly,” Sibylla said. “So, what’s the plan?”
“There is none.”
Sibylla looked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m making a deal.”
“Dillon, you can’t.”
“I’m sorry, Sib. But I can’t let them take you. Not now. Now while we’re so close.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” he said. “Look, Sib, remember when we first met?”
“Of course, I do,” Sibylla said, a faint smile touching her lips as the image of spring filled her mind. She remembered seeing him from the bedroom window of her parents’ house, watching as he sat on his front lawn drawing pictures of medieval knights and dragons on his tablet.
As neighbors, they’d never spoken before. It wasn’t until some of the older kids from down the street had come on their bike
s to make fun of him that they’d met. Even though he’d fought back when they’d taken his tablet, he was still too small to stand up to the lot of them. And that was when Sibylla went down to help him.
“And do you remember why you helped me?” he asked.
“Because,” she said, gently touching his face. “I couldn’t stand the fact that they were hurting you.”
“Exactly, and now it’s my turn to do the same.”
Sibylla’s hand fell to his chest, her gaze lowering to where a bruise had blossomed. She knew how he was when he made a decision. There was no reasoning with him. She rushed for another idea. “But what about the Cause?”
“You’re more important.”
“That’s not true.”
“To me it is.”
Sibylla stared at him in disbelief. She couldn’t believe what he was saying, how much he was giving up for her. Confessing to Division was like signing a deal with the devil. It was forever.
“I can’t let you do this,” Sibylla whispered.
“You have to,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because…I love you.”
Sibylla gasped, blindsided by his words. He’d never told her that before. Now that he was saying it to her here, she couldn’t help but feel as though a huge part of her life had been stolen from her. Refusing to give up, she cradled his face. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“Sib—”
“I’m not going to just turn away and let the man I love give up his life for me.”
“Sib—”
“I’m not that type of person.”
“Listen to me!” he demanded. “I can’t live knowing that you’re not free, that they’ve got you locked up somewhere hurting you. It’d be too much, and I…” His head fell forward before he could finish, and his body went slack, exhausted from the outburst.
Frightened, Sibylla gripped him by the waist and balanced him on the chair, realizing that he’d passed out from the pain.
“Let him be,” Murdock urged. “He deserves to rest.”
“I’m not leaving him here,” Sibylla said.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Connor’s still out there,” Murdock warned. “It won’t be long until he comes back with more troops. I’ll have no choice but to turn you and Dillon over to Division.”
“Fuck Division!” Sibylla growled, her lips trembling with anger. She kissed the side of Dillon’s head, brushing away the blood from his face. “They can go fuck themselves.”
“I can still save you,” Murdock said. “I can still save him.”
Sibylla tried to shake his voice from her mind. “Why? Why would you help us?”
“Because we need you.”
“You need me?” She laughed through her tears. It was a bitter laugh, one that rose from her throat like razor blades. “You don’t even fucking know me.”
“I knew your father,” he said. “And that’s enough for me.”
“For what?” Sibylla glanced over her shoulder at him. “I won’t survive a day with the Eagles. You know that.”
Murdock gave a shrug. “Perhaps. But if I’m to save Dillon, I’ll need to offer my superiors something in return.”
“You mean a sacrifice?”
“An asset,” Murdock corrected her.
Sibylla shut her eyes. It was always the same with the military. Promises that were never kept, assurances that would never materialize. But what else could she do? They had her. And worse, they had Dillon.
She stared at him with an aching heart, noting how bad he looked. He was barely breathing now, soft gasps wheezing through bleeding lips. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she cleared her throat. “If I go with you…if I take the deal, what happens to him?”
“He’ll be moved to a military prison, where he’ll get the medical treatment he needs. Eventually, I’ll see that he gets released.”
“And Division?”
“They’ll never touch him. I swear it.”
Sibylla stayed quiet as she considered his words. Could she do this? Could she actually become a soldier?
Suddenly, Dillon awoke. He stirred with a shiver, as if waking up from a nightmare, and Sibylla quickly caught him in her arms. “Sib?” he asked. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, Baby,” she whispered, soothing his fears with a gentle kiss. He settled once more.
“I was scared you were gone.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m still here.” He was so weak, so very weak. Any more torture and there was no doubt in her mind that he would die. Pressing her head against his, she shut her eyes and took in his scent, faced with the greatest dilemma of her life.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Dillon said.
“I know,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Reaching behind her back, she undid the turquoise necklace that he’d given her after her father’s funeral, a reminder that they’d always be together, even in death. Wrapping it around his neck, she rested the center of it over his heart and smiled. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
Removing the Sandman from her pocket, she pressed it against his shoulder, listening to the hiss of serum as it flushed into his bloodstream. His body went limp, and his moaning died, taken away by the gift of sleep. Letting him go, she turned around to face the General.
He was staring at her through calculating eyes, his cap resting in his hands. He looked pensive. “Well?” he asked. “What’s your decision?”
6
The Drop
The frame of the Salamander transport shook as it lowered through the clouds, rumbling against the pockets of turbulence that guarded the range of mountains up ahead. Frightened, Sibylla clutched the straps of her safety harness and tried to breathe.
She hated flying. Even as a child she found it horrifying. To her, the sky was like a vertical ocean of nothingness. Nothing to hold onto. Nothing to stand on. There was no other way to describe it.
Shutting her eyes, the image of Dillon flashed through her mind, and she was suddenly filled with a stinging sense of regret. Had she done the right thing? Of course I did, she told herself. How could she have expected Dillon to risk his life for hers, especially when she loved him so much? But wasn’t that what she was doing for him? Staring at the dried blood beneath her fingernails, the last piece of Dillon she might ever see, she took a deep breath, steeling herself to the bleak future on the horizon.
The Nest was hidden somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. Only a handful of pilots and top-level government officials knew of its exact location. Supposedly, it was blanketed by an electromagnetic shield that concealed it from spy satellites roaming overhead, and protected by a gated fence manned by a small army of well-equipped soldiers. Nothing could get in; nothing could get out.
The Eagles was the most dangerous branch of the military. As Russian and Chinese forces spread into Eastern Europe, the U.S. quickly learned that they couldn’t respond fast enough to the attacks, even with the multitude of bases it had stationed throughout the world. Its only answer was to build a fighting force strong enough that it could match the enemy in both speed and ferocity. It was out of this edict that the Eagle program was born.
Suddenly, soldiers stuffed into titanium drop pods were being shuttled into the atmosphere, where they were redirected into a hellish descent of reentry. Thousands of men and women burning through a flaming atmosphere, dropping at thousands of miles per hour as they descended into active battlefields where, if they survived the crash, would quickly be swallowed up by a storm of bullets and explosions. It was maddening—a voyage into hell that caused even the bravest of hearts to falter. But it allowed the U.S. to be in any part of the world within hours. And for that, it was worth it.
Sibylla glanced at the recruits around her and saw men and women dressed in black bodysuits, their faces stern, their eyes focused. They were the prototypical soldiers; young men and women determined to serve their country. But t
hen there were the others. Roguish brutes with scarred faces and menacing frowns, facial piercings and wild hairdos. Savages who were more likely to rob or rape you rather than recite the Pledge of Allegiance. But that was the rub.
The program was so dangerous that most of its recruits dropped out within the first week, and those who did remain suffered from short lifespans. It was a dire situation. To refill the ranks, the government was forced to turn to its penal system for answers.
Suddenly, criminals of all sorts—murderers, serial killers, even child molesters—were applicable for enlistment. It was a deal made in hell. But one that was necessary if the program was going to survive. From what her father had told her, rapes and beatings weren’t uncommon in the showers. The only other monsters to fear were the sergeants, followed by the enemy.
Sibylla froze as she noticed one of the criminals, a dark-skinned man with long black hair staring at her from one of the back rows. His face was decorated under a pattern of tribal tattoos, and his left eyebrow was pierced with a gold ring. Studying her through predatory eyes, he shot her a playful wink and smiled with a mouth that was filled with metal-capped teeth. She looked away.
“Don’t let them scare you.”
Sibylla looked up to find a good-looking young man with ebony skin and light green eyes sitting across from her in their booth. He was tall with a broad chest and a short haircut that said he took pride in being clean. Dressed in the same type of black body suit that she’d been issued, she could see the roundness of his hard muscles.
“Who says I’m scared?” Sibylla’s voice was calm. But inside, she was struggling in fear.
He looked at her. “Just trying to be friendly, that’s all.”
Sibylla cocked her head to the side. From where she was from, the only people who were nice to her, were the ones who wanted something from her. She had to be careful. “Thanks,” she said. “But I’m good.”
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