Something. A flutter in the little boy’s neck.
Breathe. Pause. Breathe.
He coughed. Coughed again and spit up water. Diana pulled him into a sitting position.
“Well, just look at you, Diana: you saved his life,” Drake said. “You want to keep his life?” He waited as though he actually expected an answer. When she said nothing he went on, “If you want to keep him alive, you won’t open your mean little mouth. One sound from you and I’ll drown him like a puppy.”
Already the dinghy was near shore. No more than twenty more pulls of the oars.
Diana shot a glance back at the houseboat. She saw Dekka on the top deck, but she wasn’t looking this way. She was looking up at the shrinking sky.
No Sam. No Edilio.
“Yeah, kinda sucks, huh?” Drake said cheerfully. “Anyway, Dekka couldn’t do anything. Not from that distance.”
Diana scanned the onrushing shore. No one.
Wait. Sinder. She was dragging a massive sack of something down the shore. Jezzie was behind her.
Drake saw the hope in her eyes. He winked. “Oh, don’t worry: we’ll stop and talk to them. We’ll tell them you’ve decided on a little vacation. Say you’re going back to Caine.”
Could Drake be that stupid to believe that anyone would buy that story? To imagine that Sinder and Jezzie would stand calmly discussing things with Whip Hand?
Maybe. Who knew what Drake had been up to? Who could tell how much his psychopathic mind had deteriorated?
He was singing again, more or less in time with the oars.
“What do you want, Drake?” Diana demanded, trying to put on a brave front.
Drake smiled. “Did I ever thank you for sawing off my arm, Diana? I was mad at the time. But if you hadn’t done that for me, I wouldn’t be Whip Hand.”
“I should have sawed through your neck.” Diana spit the words.
“Yeah,” he said, meeting her furious, terrified gaze without flinching. “You should have. You really should have.”
OUTSIDE
SERGEANT DARIUS ASHTON saw the signs that in his absence his quarters had been entered. Nothing most people would notice, but he was by long habit a very organized man. He had a small room in the NCO barracks, no bigger than a walk-in closet, really. The bunk was narrow and the army-issue blanket was so tight you could bounce a quarter off it. The pillow squared just so. And now there was just the slightest indentation where someone had sat on the edge of the bed and then tried to smooth it.
“Pff, that will not cut it,” he said dismissively. “Not in this man’s army.”
He moved next to his footlocker. Yep. They’d been careful, but it had been searched.
The question was, where had they put the bug? They’d surely tap his cell phone—that was a given—and they’d use the phone’s GPS to keep track of his location. But had they placed a bug in here as well?
He turned off the tracking feature for his phone. They’d still be able to see what towers his signal reached, but that was a far less accurate way to track him. The GPS would narrow his location to a few feet. Tracking the tower signals would only put them within a mile of his location.
With that done, he turned to searching for a bug. It didn’t take long to find it. It was a small room without a lot of options. The bug was in the base of the lamp. Someone had drilled a very tiny hole in the base to allow better reception by a mike no thicker than a piece of angel hair pasta.
Well. Okay, then.
So, he would have to be very careful.
He’d already decided to tell Connie. He was under orders. He had signed the secrecy document. But Sergeant Darius Ashton had been in the army long enough to know that the bigger the secret, the more likely it was to be FUBAR.
And this—setting off a nuclear weapon underneath a bunch of kids who were fighting for their lives—that was FUBAR. Not to mention wrong.
If word got out, the American people wouldn’t let it happen. He was an American soldier. He obeyed the chain of command from his lieutenant to his captain to the colonel to the general and on up to the president of the United States.
But no American soldier was required—or could ever be legally required—to kill American citizens on American soil. No way. No. That was not what he promised to do when he raised his hand and was sworn in as a soldier.
I, Darius Lee Ashton, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the president of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.
Thing one: defend the Constitution. He was no constitutional law scholar, but he was pretty sure it did not call for nuking a bunch of kids in California.
And the obeying orders part? It said according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Which quite definitely did not say that an American soldier should get into the business of killing American kids.
No.
At the same time, Darius was not interested in spending the rest of his life in a windowless cell at Fort Leavenworth. That would be the hard part: to do the right thing and manage not to get caught doing it.
He lay back on his bunk and gave it some thought. Time was short. He was morally certain of that. There was way too much activity out there. Those boys were in a hurry.
If he left his cell phone here and went out they’d know he was up to something. They would have to see his cell phone move. Texts, email, all of that would be intercepted. This would have to be old-school. Face-to-face. And if it all went to hell later, he’d have to have left no evidence whatsoever.
He tried to recall everything he knew about Connie Temple. What would she be doing right now? Where would she be? What was today? Thursday? No. It was Friday.
Too early for Connie to be cooking ribs. But not too early for her to be shopping for the Friday-night cookout.
It was a long shot.
But if Connie Temple was cooking ribs then there were only two places she could buy them. Fortunately the Vons grocery and the Fat N’ Greezy rib stand were in the same strip center.
Darius stuck his phone in his pocket. He stopped by a buddy’s room on the way out, said he was going to drive down to Vons for some munchies and beer. His buddy told him to pick up some Cheetos. The spicy ones.
It was a twenty-minute drive to Vons. And since it was a straight shot down the highway he was pretty sure he wasn’t being followed. They had no reason to suspect him, anyway, and they had lots of other people to watch.
He passed Connie’s trailer on the way. Her silver Kia was not in its usual spot.
Unfortunately it was also not in the Vons parking lot.
Darius killed some time filling his tank at the Chevron. He had a good view of the parking lot.
He drove through McDonald’s for a coffee.
After that all he could do was wait. An hour he could explain. Two hours? That would be pushing it.
Then he spotted the solution: the movie theaters. Three movies showing, all of them crap, but he’d seen one of them. Perfect. He went to the theater and bought a ticket using a credit card. He went inside and bought fifteen dollars’ worth worth of popcorn and candy.
As soon as the previews started he ditched the junk food and let himself out through one of the side exits. He was careful to keep his ticket stub.
Outside he almost instantly spotted the silver Kia.
There would be security cameras inside Vons, which was where Connie went. So he moved his own car until it was parked beside Connie’s. And waited.
She came out with a cart half-full of plastic bags. She didn’t notice him sitting there until she was behind the wheel of her car. Then he rolled down the window.
She did the same.
He looked at her. “I’m putting my life in your hands, Con,” he said.
�
��What are you talking about?”
“Life in prison if I get caught and convicted.”
Her brow furrowed. It made her look older. Which was fine with him; he liked a woman who looked like a woman.
“What is it, Darius?”
“They’re going to nuke the dome.”
TWENTY-SIX
11 HOURS, 28 MINUTES
THE ARTFUL ROGER shouted from the deck of the sailboat. Edilio heard and knew instantly that something had gone terribly wrong.
Roger was waving furiously, directing Edilio to look toward the shore.
Edilio felt his heart drop into his stomach. A rowboat moved quickly toward the land. Edilio raced downstairs, grabbed Sam’s binoculars, and raced back up with Sam and Dekka breathless in his wake.
Edilio jabbed the binoculars into his eye sockets. The boat was inches from shore, scraping along the gravel. There was no mistaking the tentacle arm that jerked Diana rudely up and tossed her onto the ground.
“It’s Drake,” Edilio said. “He’s got Diana. And Justin.”
Drake, as if magically hearing his name, turned toward him, raised one of the oars, and waved at Edilio.
Then he smashed the oar down, breaking it in half. Now he had the jagged wooden stump of it in his tentacle. He pointed it at Justin’s throat. The little boy was crying. Edilio could see the tears streaming down his face.
With his hand Drake made a mocking come and get me move.
The message was clear. And Edilio had no doubt Drake would do it.
“Where is Breeze?” Sam raged. “Edilio. Fire a round!”
Edilio didn’t hear or at least didn’t connect those words with any action. He swiveled to look at Roger. Roger looked like he’d been gutted.
Edilio raised one hand in a fist for Roger to see. So that Roger would know that Edilio understood and had not lost hope.
Sam pulled Edilio’s pistol out and fired three rounds into the air.
If Brianna were anywhere close, she would hear and know what it meant.
Drake hurried up the bluff with Diana stumbling ahead and Justin trying pitifully to help her. In seconds they would be out of sight.
Sam cursed Brianna for a reckless, irresponsible idiot. Dekka was already running down the dock. But there was zero chance of her catching Drake, not at this distance.
Sam spun to race after her. He might not catch up, either, but Edilio knew he couldn’t just stand there.
“Sam, no!” Edilio snapped.
Sam missed a step, then stopped. He looked at Edilio, puzzled.
“We’re scattered. And we can’t risk you. You die and the light dies with you.”
“Are you out of your mind? You think I’m going to let Drake come in here and take Diana?”
“Not you, Sam. Dekka, yes. Orc, yes. He’s out there, too. And send Jack as well. Anyone but you.”
Sam looked like he’d been punched. Like someone had knocked the wind out of him. He blinked and started to say something and stopped.
“You aren’t replaceable, Sam. Figure it out, okay? It’s going dark and you make light. So this isn’t going to be your battle. Not now. It’s on the rest of us to step up.”
Edilio licked his lips and looked miserable. “Me, too. My place is here. I can’t take Drake on. I’d just be another victim.” He glanced back at Roger, who held out his hands in a gesture of incomprehension that Edilio interpreted easily.
Why aren’t you going after Justin?
Why are you and Sam standing there doing nothing?
Edilio could see that the whole population was up on deck on the various scattered boats. They’d all heard the shots. They all stared hard at their leaders now, at Sam and Edilio. Some noticed Dekka laboring along the shoreline, trying to reach the place where Drake had come ashore. They pointed at her and then looked back, frowning at Sam and Edilio.
Staring at their suddenly powerless leaders.
Edilio spotted Jack on a motorboat. He was too far away to be able to hear, but Edilio pointed straight at him.
Jack mimed a who me? gesture.
Sam emphasized Edilio’s order by stabbing his finger unmistakably in the direction of Jack. Then he swept his arm to point at the shore.
Jack reluctantly trudged to the back of the boat and there came the coughing start-up of an outboard engine.
Edilio raised the binoculars again to look at Roger. He was in pain. Helpless.
He forced himself to look away, to follow Jack as he headed to shore, to sweep along the bluff and find Dekka levitating herself over rises.
And there, coming toward her, Orc.
Edilio felt a small breath of hope.
Orc, Jack, and Dekka. Could they do it?
The coyotes trotted with the relentlessness of motion that marked them as successful predators.
Brianna spotted them maybe half a mile away.
“Heh.”
Then beyond them, at the limits of her sight, a second group. The rest of the pack. Or a different pack? It didn’t matter, really: all coyotes were kill-on-sight. In fact, it had gotten so they were pretty rare.
Take out this nearer pack. Then take a quick look-see for Drake before Sam even noticed she was gone.
One of the coyotes spotted her. The result was a very gratifying panic. She made out four of them. They were tearing away at top speed.
The light was pretty bad. And the terrain was pretty rough. So she couldn’t crank it up to anything like full speed. But that was okay: a coyote might break twenty-five, thirty miles per hour. But even Brianna’s low gear was twice that.
She ran up beside the nearest of the coyotes. It glanced at her with death in its dumb eyes.
“Yeah,” Brianna said. “All dogs go to heaven. Coyotes go the other way.”
She swung her machete.
The body took two steps, tripped over the head, and tumbled into the dirt.
Two of the coyotes decided to stand side by side and make a stand. They were panting, tongues lolling, already worn out. One had a ruff matted with dried blood.
“Hey, doggies,” Brianna said.
She danced forward and they snapped at her. But it was no contest. She decapitated one. His mate, the one marked by dried blood that had probably once given life to Howard Bassem, turned tail and ran and Brianna severed her spine.
“I never liked Howard,” Brianna said to the body. “But I like you even less.”
She had trouble finding the fourth animal. It had probably decided to cower and hide. In the dim light it was hard to see. Everything was brown on brown, even the air itself, it seemed.
She waited patiently, watching.
But if the coyote waited her out, it could probably get away when the final darkness came.
Anyway, if time was short, she had a more important target. Coyotes were mere accessories: Drake was the main goal.
Brianna took off at the cautious pace of a galloping thoroughbred, pursued by a sense of guilt and worry about what Sam would say if she came back with nothing but three dead coyotes to show for it.
She’d have to get Drake. That would stop Sam’s complaining.
Where were the coyotes? Drake had expected them to close in with him as soon as he reached the bluff. They should have been waiting there.
No coyotes.
Not good. They had abandoned him. Which meant they were abandoning his master as well. Like rats deserting a sinking ship.
Not for the first time Drake felt the sharp edge of fear. Maybe the stupid dogs were right to go rogue. Maybe the gaiaphage’s power was waning. Maybe he was serving a failing master.
Well, not if Drake succeeded. Then the gaiaphage’s gratitude would be even greater.
He had to move fast. Fast! Once night came he would be safe, maybe, but until then…
Drake feared two things. One was that Brittney would emerge just when Drake needed to be able to fight.
The second was Brianna.
So far she wasn’t in sight. But that was the thing about
Brianna: she could show up in a real hurry.
Night would be the end of Brianna’s usefulness. Even this weak iced-tea light was dangerous to Swift Girl. But he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about her until true darkness came.
And then there was the problem of finding his way back to the gaiaphage. The coyotes could have done it with smell and their own innate sense of navigation, but he was no coyote.
“Let us go, Drake,” Diana said. “We’re just slowing you down.”
“Then move faster,” he said, and snapped his whip, cutting through her shirt and painting a red stripe on her back. That was nice. That was good. No time to really enjoy it. But yeah, that was good.
She had cried out in pain. That was good, too. But that wasn’t his job. No, he had to warn himself: he’d made that error before. He’d let himself be distracted by his own pleasures.
This time he had to come through. He had to deliver Diana to his master.
“You’ll move or I’ll see if the little kid likes old Whip Hand.”
He heard a noise and glanced over his shoulder, flinching in the expectation of a machete suddenly zooming at him at the speed of a motorcycle.
He should have finished Brianna back at Coates. She had just been an annoying nobody then. He’d barely known she was alive. Now she was his living nightmare. He should have finished her.
Nasty little brat. The memory of her taunts was still a red wound in his psyche. He hated her. Like he hated Diana. And that frosty prig, Astrid.
He loved the memory of humiliating Sam, but even now the memory of his triumph over Astrid gave him a warm glow all over. He could hate guys, he could want to destroy them, he could enjoy making them suffer, but it was never as deep and intense as it was with girls. No, girls were special. His hatred for Sam was a cool breeze compared to the seething, hot rage he felt for Diana. And Astrid. And Brianna.
The three of them: so arrogant. So superior.
He reached with his whip and snagged Diana’s ankle, tripping her and causing her to land hard on her belly.
It scared him. He could have hurt the baby. The consequences of that he could not bear to think about.
Justin turned and clenched his fists and yelled, “Leave her alone!”
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