Weapons of War: Explicit Edition (Rising Book 2)

by Tracey Ward

  I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder. I can’t see the Stadiums from here but I’ve got a good idea of how far away they are. I watch the cloud of smoke disperse over the open sky, slowly blotting out the already weak sun. The wind is taking it north, toward the Colonies. An explosion like that will bring them out to investigate, and I’m right in the middle of their most direct path to the source. They’ll take their trucks on the interstate and be here in fifteen minutes. Maybe less. It’s plenty of time for me to head east or west, whatever it takes to get out of the way, but I don’t because I don’t want to. What I want is to find out what blew up, so I decide that instead of running away, I’ll run toward the flames. If I’m fast, and I am, I can beat the Colonists there.

  I tug on the straps on my backpack to secure it tightly before taking off at a brisk pace. I know my body well. I fall into a rhythm I can maintain without exhausting myself and I hold to it, wary of keeping enough energy for later to fight, be it man or Risen. Or whatever else might be waiting for me at the explosion.

  Nine minutes. That’s how long it takes me to run to the open area of the old Boeing Airfield, and I know I’m cutting it dangerously close when I get there. The sun is sinking closer to setting and I’m grateful for the cover of deep shadows. There aren’t many buildings on this end of the airfield. Not a lot of places to hide, but I make do with what I have under the belly of a single-prop Cessna rusting out in a parking lot parallel to the runway. I pull out my binoculars to search the area. It’s empty. Just a white passenger jet slowly turning black, burning with a heat I can feel from almost half of a mile away. An angry orange, cauliflower cloud billows over the top of it, jet fuel igniting itself into a frenzy that will consume the metal bird within hours. The steel frame may still stand when the flames exhaust themselves, but anything or anyone inside will be brought to ash by the fifteen-hundred degrees burning at the heart of the fire.

  It’s fascinating to watch. Mesmerizing, like a camp fire but on a monstrous scale. I want to get closer, but I don’t dare. There could be another explosion. There could be people hiding on this airfield, and there are definitely Colonists on the way. Six minutes after I settle into my hiding place, I see their headlights pull into the parking lot just east of me. There are two trucks, rusted and old but nearly silent with the electric engines they’ve managed to install inside them. It’s made their roundups much more effective. You can’t run from what you can’t hear coming.

  My exposed skin tingles from the mix of heat from the fire and cold at my back. A chilling wind whips around the airfield as the Colonists slowly step out of their trucks. I see them shiver, raise the zippers on their coats, and I wonder if they have heat blasting inside their vehicles. Or are they just soft from too many comforts back home. They can’t handle a cold night in the wild.

  Gussy would call them ‘candy asses’ and I think that’s a pretty fair assessment.

  One man steps to the front of the six-person pack, swirling his finger in the air. “Search the area! Walk the perimeter of the plane! Teams of two! No exceptions! Eyes sharp!”

  The group breaks apart as they pair off and follow his command. They move slowly, testing the boundaries of the heat radiating from the craft. They’re closer than I’d be comfortable with. There’s been one explosion, probably a fuel tank, but there could easily be another. A plane that large has to have a reserve, and if it has anything in it, there’s bound to be more fireworks before the night is over.

  The teams of two shout to each other intermittently, checking in or calling ‘clear’. I can’t hear them very well as they move closer to the wreckage. The whoosh from the vacuum the fire is creating as it sucks in air greedily is louder than anything. Louder than their shouts. Louder than the crackle and crunch of matter being disintegrated one molecule at a time. Louder than the footfalls of the shadows rushing in toward the teams.

  It happens so fast, even I have a hard time with it. Through the smoke and blur of heat undulating around them, I lose sight of the teams on the north end of the fire. Against the burning backdrop, I catch glimpses of silhouettes in a struggle, but while they’re there one second, the next they’re gone. The shadows blend back into the night. The men and women from the Colony are nowhere to be seen.

  “Whoa,” I whisper despite myself.

  My breath fogs in front of my binoculars, blurring my view. I lower them to look with my own eyes, but I don’t get better clarity. The bright light from the fire plays with my vision, making it hard to see into the shadows. The sun is all but gone. The headlights from the trucks stare into the darkness, illuminating the ash-ridden asphalt, but they’re alone. I’m alone.

  At least it looks like I am. But looks are almost always deceiving.

  My heart rises slowly into my throat as the reality of the situation sets in. Those were not Risen. There are people here. People good at hiding. As good as me or better, and they just stole away six Colonists in a matter of seconds, disappearing into the dark like demons descending home to Hell. Whoever they were, they burned that plane as a lure. They wanted the Colonists to come here so they could take them. Whether they killed them or not, I’m not sure, but I’d very much like to know. I’m just not willing to be captured myself to find out.

  I don’t have a lot of options here. I can run for one of the trucks, try to take it and get out of here at top speed. I can roll out from under this plane and make a break for it, heading back the way I came. Or I can hide inside the plane, wait for daylight, and hope I don’t get murdered or surrounded by Risen while I’m sleeping.

  It’s strange that that last option sounds like the worst, but I know it’s actually my best chance of surviving. If I run, I could be seen, and I don’t know where or who the enemies are. I don’t know this area. It’s dark. Finding a safe place to hide out for the night is not going to be easy. It’ll be impossible if I’m on the run. If I take the truck, I don’t know where I’d go with it and being inside a moving vehicle in the wild is dangerously conspicuous. What if the Stadiums are radioing their people right now and there’s no answer? Will they send more vehicles to search for them? What if I pass them on the road and they chase me down? I haven’t drive in years. I’m not ready for a high-speed chase in the dark. And there aren’t enough cleared roads in this area to leave by anything other than the interstate.

  No, I have to stay. At least until first light, and I’d rather wait it out inside the plane than here on the hard ground with three-hundred and sixty degrees of exposure. It’ll take me two hours to make it home in the morning. I can be there by dawn if I leave just as the night starts to give way to morning. I can be back at the Hyperion where I belong, because that’s where I want to be. I know that for certain. A single night of exploring on my own has taught me that lesson loud and clear.

  Laying here on the cold ground, my heart hammering wildly in my chest, an inferno blazing in front of me, and the haunting image of the Colonists strategically stripped from the world by what I’m all but certain were Cannibals, has given me a remarkable level of clarity about myself.

  I do not want to be alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Vin

  I’m leaving tomorrow night. It feels fast but Lexy says they’re ready. That they’ve been ready. They were just waiting for the right person to send back to the wild. And the unanimous vote from the kitchens to the laundry to the fields, is me.

  They’re making a huge mistake.

  I want out. That’s a given. And I want control of the MOHAI more than anything, but I don’t know if I can get it without involving Marlow, and that’s not something I want to do. It would kill me to hand it over to him and it would probably kill each and every one of the people inside too. He isn’t interested in truces and partnerships. He wants domination. If they open the gates to him, he’ll murder every last one of them without a thought, and that bothers me more than it should. I’ve been here a month. I’m not attached. I can’t be attached. These are not my people. But that
doesn’t mean I want to watch them all die. I can kill Risen in a thousand different ways and feel like a god going home to sleep at night, but I don’t have the same sentiment toward people. Marlow doesn’t care. Killing is killing, and the only thing he understands is obstacles. Living or undead, are they a problem? If the answer is yes, then they have to die. All of them. The entire MOHAI if necessary.

  I’m not ashamed to say I don’t have the stomach for that level of slaughter.

  So here I stand in the dark in the cold on the roof of the kingdom that could be mine, and my heart can’t handle it. No matter what I do, I don’t see this shaking out the way anyone wants it to. I don’t care how prepared they are. It’s not getting me out that will be the problem. It’s what happens after? Someone is getting betrayed, people are going to die, and my first instinct is to make sure it’s not me. Fuck everyone else, right?

  Right?

  “Shit,” I snarl at myself.

  I feel feverish. It feels like I’m burning up even as I shiver without a jacket and I wonder what’s wrong with me? Three years ago, this wouldn’t be a debate. I’d be demanding they spring me tonight. Goodbye. Good luck. Good riddance.

  So why am I still here? Why am I shivering on this roof instead of asleep in bed, dreaming of my escape?

  I curse myself again before heading back down into the building. It’s warm inside, the contrast between the hot and cold making my skin burn around my ears and deep in my cheeks. I slither through the halls with the stealth only awarded to the wild’s VIP members. Men and women on the night shift come and go through every door at random. I’m nearly caught twice. None of them are leaders but Lexy doesn’t have a perfect read on who’s up for jailbreaking me and who would rather stay in their lane, so I assume everyone is the enemy tonight. I make my way to the dark, empty showers, pull the heavy bin of towels away from the wall, and collect my stash of stolen objects. A leather strap, a length of rope, three long, furniture screws filed down to a point, a shiny spade with a green handle; a promise to a friend fulfilled. A handful of soaps.

  That last one was just for fun. Because I get bored easy, and fuck them, that’s why.

  I load my pockets with my shit and put the cart back where it belongs. It’s a quick jog through the temporarily empty halls down to the dorm. To Joss’ cot. I kneel next to her, gently laying my hand over her mouth. It’s meant to be a joke, a reference to Lexy and what a dumbass she is, but when Kitten’s eyes pop open and she sees my face, I immediately regret it.

  She recognizes me. She breathes out sharply against my skin.

  She backhands me across the fuckin’ face.

  I take a deep, calming breath as I slowly release her mouth.

  “You think I deserved that?” I demand tightly.

  “If not for startling me awake,” she whispers fiercely, “then I’m sure somewhere at some point in your life you earned that.”

  “Fair enough. Come on.”

  “Where?”

  “Outside. We have to talk.”

  I stand, offering her my hand. She looks at it like it’s an insult before rising on her own.

  I lead her out of the dorm full of warm bodies, snores, and a fart cloud that smells like somebody needs to eat less cheese. We sneak out one of the side doors leading to the docks. There are gates in our way, locks that won’t let us free and guards that will shoot us on sight if we try, so I guide her up against the wall of the building, out of the wind.

  Kitten wraps her arms around herself against the cold. She opens her mouth to piss me off, but I stop her in her tracks when I hand her the spade.

  “Merry Christmas,” I tell her quietly.

  She frowns before she realizes what it is. Then she smiles brilliantly. Bigger than I’ve ever seen before. She turns it over in her hand lovingly, whispering, “It’s so pretty.”

  “I promised you something shiny,” I remind her, thinking back to a conversation about Christmas and Cabbage Patch Dolls. She hates both, but she loves a good knife and this was the best I could do under the circumstances. I feel myself relax a little seeing it in her hands.

  “And you delivered.” She tests the tip with her finger. Her hand jerks back immediately. “It’s sharp.”

  “Why else have it, right? Keep it with you when you can. If something goes down while I’m gone, I want to know you have it.”

  I watch as she nods, obediently sliding it into her back pocket. She’s still smiling. She’s happy like a part of her has been returned. She’s better with a weapon. More confident and alive. More beautiful than I’ve ever seen her.

  I know in that moment that I have to save her. Not for any noble reasons, but because I’m a terminal narcissist at heart. We’re the same species, we’re cut from the same cloth, and I see so much of myself inside her that I feel real fear about leaving her behind, like I’ll be leaving a part of myself. And no part of me can survive in here forever.

  “Come with me,” I blurt out quietly.

  “No.”

  Her answer is immediate, like she knew this was coming. That makes her smarter than me because up until about two seconds ago, I planned on leaving her ass behind.

  I shake my head, irritated with us both. “You know I’m not coming back here. Not for you, not for anyone.”

  “Maybe not, but if I go with you then you definitely won’t.”

  “It’s not going to work, Joss. The Hive won’t bite. They don’t want to rock the boat with the Colonies and the pot isn’t sweet enough to convince them to try. They’ll pass and everyone here is going to either stay here forever or die in a revolt.”

  She looks at me coldly. “Nats included.”

  “She’s a big girl. She knows how it really is. She can yell at me all she wants, but she knows just as well as I do that no one will come here to help.”

  “Especially if you don’t ask.”

  “What the hell do you want from me?” I whisper viciously. “You want me to go out there and rally the troops, bring them back here riding on a tall white horse and save the day? I’m no hero. I never have been. It’s how I’ve stayed alive.”

  “It’s also a great way to stay alone. And if you do this, if you go and pretend we don’t exist, then I’ll pretend I never knew you. Nats will too, I’m sure. You’ll be nothing to no one and won’t that make life easier for you?” She takes a step back, her face disgusted. “So go on and go, you coward, and don’t ever look back because there’s nothing to look back on. You were never even here far as I’m concerned.”

  She turns her back on me. This little thing that I could drown in the lake right now with one hand tied behind my back, is preaching at me. Disrespecting me.

  I’ve played the ‘nice guy’ for too long in here. I’ve suppressed myself for a month, and when Joss turns away, the wild me boils to the surface, gasping and growling for air.

  I grab her arm, pulling her roughly around to face me. She’s like a little doll in my hands. She goes where I tell her to, physically bowing to my strength and size, but her eyes are defiant and unafraid as she stares up at me.

  “Don’t turn your back on me,” I warn her darkly.

  She shocks me when she leans in closer. Her body pushes against mine instead of being pulled. “No, don’t you turn your back on me. On us.”

  She shoves me, knocking me back.

  I stumble away willingly. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I’m no hero.”

  “How do you know until you’ve tried?”

  “You expect too much of me.”

  “I expect you to be a man. Not a great one, not even a good one. Just a man. A little bit of bravery and a little bit of honor. That’s all I’m asking.”

  I shake my head again, running my hands over my hair. The rage that rose inside me is already slipping back under the surface. As it fades away, leaving me to myself, I feel sick and lost. My head hurts. My stomach aches. I need the nightmare of the Colony to be over, but I can’t leave her behind. And she’ll never come with
me because she knows she’s right; if she goes with me, I’m never coming back.

  “I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out, Kitten,” I confess softly. My eyes search the dark ground. The frosted blades of the green grass under my feet. “I have no idea. I know what I should do.”

  “You should walk away,” she guesses, quoting the code of the wild.

  “Yeah. I should forget all about all of you. But I don’t know if that’s what I want to do. I don’t know if it’s something I can do.”

  “You’re not going to know until you try. That’s all any of us can ask of you anyway. We just need you to try.”

  I look at her, looking for answers, but she doesn’t know any better than I do. We’re animals, Kitten and I. We’re not made for emotions like this. Nature never taught us to doubt. Humanity did that, and it’s fucked me up something awful.

  But as much as Kitten is like me, she’s a little more too. It’s not anything I can understand, but I think it has to do with the boy. I think he adds something to her, something that I’m missing. And when I look at her there facing off with me, telling me to be better than I am, I feel an aching hollowness in my chest where that missing piece should be.

  “What do you think I’ll do?” I whisper to her. “Do you think I’ll do the right thing?”

  “No.”

  I laugh, unable to stop myself. “Thanks for that.”

  She smiles faintly. “I have my doubts, just like you. But the fact that you’re torn gives me hope.”

  “Ooh,” I sing in disapproval. “That is a dirty word, Kitten. You know that.”

  She hugs me. Out of all the messed up stuff that’s happened to me lately, that’s the most shocking; Kitten willingly wrapping her arms around me. Holding me tightly.

  “You’ll come back for us, Vin,” she whispers in my ear. “I know you will.”

  She’s lying. We both are, to ourselves and to each other, but I like this lie. If I close my eyes real tight and try as hard as I can to believe it, that ache in my chest eases off, just a little. So I nod in agreement. I hold her close, bury my face in her shoulder as she does the same. We hold onto each other, breathing into each other, and I feel stronger for it. I’m not any clearer on what I’m going to do tomorrow when the time comes, but I feel better. More solid. More sure that whatever I do, it will be what had to be done. Maybe it’ll be a good thing, maybe it’ll be a bad thing, and maybe she’ll never forgive me for being who I am, but at least I’ll be me. That’s all I can hope for in the end. To die knowing I never tried to be anything other than myself.