by R. H. Scott
But Stone spun on him wildly. “I am nearly done, Marshal.” He turned from Romani and once again honed in on Sloan, holding her in his grey eyes, speaking to her and her alone. “You’re going to be just fine, kid. I promise.”
Silent tears trailed down Sloan’s face. Please, no. . .
Stone spun around to face the Order, his gaze falling onto the only one who stood—Colonel Christopher Don Luke. Stone took a large breath, his massive shoulders heaving. “It was you; it was always you.” The colonel clapped a hand over his heart—he was crying.
Sloan craned forward, trying to will Stone into changing his mind. No rebellion was worth this—nothing was worth this. She would live out her life here, she would serve Romani, they all would do anything to stop him from doing this.
But it was too late. Stone spiraled back around. “Senior students of the Academy—you have been fooled! You were all abducted as children, brought here by this man!” he yelled, furiously pointing at Romani.
The Order looked on in shock. A handful of students stood. Romani lunged, feral, at Stone, but their general easily deflected, holding the small man in an arm lock. He continued to yell, as the sentries marched towards the stage . . .
“You have been trained here to fight for the enemy—your families are searching for you! You have a choice! Do not be what we made you—get away!”
Romani fought to break free from Stone. “Guards!”
The sentries circled, storming the stage. In the mess of it all, she could still hear him. “GO! Leave this place now!”
Elijah abruptly stood. “NOW!” And at his cry, all forty-three leaped to their feet, chaos breaking out in the room. Elijah grabbed Sloan, fighting her towards the exit when, despite any plans, she struggled to get to Stone. She wriggled in his arms, forcing herself to turn back, forcing herself to get to Stone somehow. She could see him—in the mess of everything—she could see him. He was on his knees. Romani was yelling. The Order was holding someone back. A gun was trained on his head.
“NO!” Sloan screamed. Elijah whirled her around in his arms, forcing her to look away as the shot rang out.
It took six of the boys to hold the doors shut against their screaming peers, fighting to break out. Edward rammed the discarded tire iron through the handles—temporarily trapping them. It would give the Others just enough time to get to their positions, and by the time the seniors broke free, it would give them enough time to either stay or follow. Elijah spun. “Go, Sloan! Get to my Skyshell as soon as you can!”
She looked around her group. She scanned over the bobbing, running heads of those panicked students who had escaped—she saw him nowhere. And she knew what she had to do. Stone had given his life for the cause—how could she abandon the mission he had died for?
She spun on her heel and took off, running with Chase and Joss, Corbin and Banks in tow. It didn’t take them long to reach the armory and Chase easily brought down the two sentries standing guard as Joss opened the safe room. She followed him in and they each grabbed their assault rifles, ammunition and a spare handgun. She pulled on a thigh holster, locking in the handgun, and shoved as much extra ammunition as she could into her pockets.
“Let’s go!” she yelled at the boys and within an instant, they had taken off, sprinting back down the corridor for the nearest pod. It didn’t take long before they were in the Infirmary. At their sudden entrance, the hospital staff fled—abandoning their tasks at hand in a flurry of fear. The entire Academy now knew something was happening. The five of them ran down the tight corridor, hefting along their weapons, following the mental blueprint Edward had mapped for them.
They ran in a single file up a flight of spiral stairs, let by Chase, who had Edward’s key card. A burst of sunlight blinded Sloan as he pushed open an escape hatch, and just like that, they were on the graveled roof. She trotted over to the edge of the roof and looked down—they had an eagle-eye view from here. She could see the large Odyssey Skyshells, some of them already lowering their back trays to load the children. She could see the guards rushing in from the gate, and to her amazement, they were being resisted by guards and students who hadn’t been Others. Which meant two things—the seniors had escaped the hall and Stone’s final words had truly impacted them.
She knelt to the ground, setting up her rifle, securing her precision scope and mounting it on her quickly assembled tripod. She loaded her rounds, crouched down, found her sight—and took aim. This is for you.
The ivory sentries rushed the hangar and she took a deep breath. She thought of Tandy—and she fired. Pulling the lever, she opened the breech, ramming it forward to reload. They only had a matter of minutes left. She took aim and, seeing Kenny’s face, fired. Reload. She thought of Kevin Young—and fired. She could see Donny—and fired. And finally, she could see Stone—and she fired.
Guard after guard fell, bursts of cherry burgeoning from their white uniforms. It was horrifying . . . and it was necessary. She looked into her scope and scanned the tarmac. She saw Edward, two children in his arms, his medical supplies hauled over his shoulder, sprinting to Jo’s Odyssey. She found Elijah—he was perched on the loading tray, pulling kids up to him from Kristin, on the fifth Odyssey in the line. The children were reluctant, terrified and screaming. She saw Jack get hoisted up and she felt a wave of relief wash through her.
“We need to get out of here!” Corbin yelled from his spot. He was right. The masses of children were being boarded—they didn’t have long to get down there and board themselves. She didn’t have long to find him.
Shots fired out wildly behind them—sentries were trying to get on the roof. Sloan spun over to see Corbin and Banks dealing with the situation. “Definitely time to get moving!” Banks called.
Sloan leaped to her feet, abandoning her assault rifle and pulling out her 9 mm. She leaped over the bodies of the sentries Joss and Corbin had taken down, and ducked into the escape hatch. Chase led the way, navigating them to the unfamiliar service pod Edward had suggested they get to. Sloan, 9 mm in hand, took the high aim, Joss the low.
Sentries appeared on every corner. Sloan fired at will, nearly deafening them all in the small corridor. They rounded the corner—two more appeared. Chase leaped on one—Joss took care of the other. Sloan leaped past them, dialing in the pod code, and as they all fell in, the doors closed around them just in time—a spray of bullets denting the thick metal.
“We need to get going,” Chase reaffirmed. Sloan wiped her brow against her sleeve. She tried to push the image of Stone out of her mind. Had anyone else known that by distraction he had meant self-sacrifice? Had Elijah known?
The pod doors opened and the sound of the mayhem in the garage was an assault on her ears: the cries of children, the gunfire, the heavy whirring turbines. They were behind Donny’s office and slowly, they each crept out into the madness. She kept close to the wall and snuck up to a sleek all-terrain vehicle. She trained her 9 mm over the hood, taking aim on the sentries, and fired. The familiar slick sound of pod doors drew her eyes—the main pod had opened up and a handful of guards poured out. She fired at will.
A rush of heavy return fire had her duck low. She glanced over her shoulder; Chase was perched at the office door, firing. Joss knelt beside him. Banks and Corbin rushed in, appearing at her side. She glanced around at all the chaos—the destruction. Small fires had erupted from engines, a child’s scream ripped through her, the never-ending explosions of gunfire echoed all around, and the droning engines of the Odysseys surrounded them with a muted backdrop.
“I’ve got this. You advance!” Banks yelled, leaping over the hood of the vehicle. Sloan lurched up, watching him, 9 mm in his one hand, hunting blade in his other. She couldn’t help but briefly wonder if he had picked that up in the armory—or taken it off one of the many bodies that had fallen before them today.
“Let’s move!” Chase
yelled, running to her side. She bolted forward, keeping her body low against the next row of vehicles. She checked her clip and reloaded. A muffled cry drew her eye up. An angry assault of bullets and Banks had fallen, lifeless, onto the bodies of his victims.
Raising her weapon, she fired at the guards. Bodies mounding—lifeless sentries scattered across the tarmac, many of whom she had killed. Many of the Others. They were many and motionless—lying like fallen leaves. Sloan quickly noted that there were no more children in sight. They had all boarded—and the last remaining were her, Chase, Joss and Corbin.
And Jared.
“Get to the fifth one down—it’s Elijah’s!” she yelled to the boys, and without hesitation they took off. She waited back, scanning the tarmac, slowly stepping out from behind the vehicle. Any calm that she had felt previously had completely dissipated. It was go time. And she didn’t know—
“SLOAN!”
His familiar voice tore through her. She whirled around, until she saw him. He leaped over the piled-up bodies. He had a streak of blood across his head, his shirt was torn, and his eyes were wild. And he ran to her.
“Jared, come on!” she urged, reaching out her hand to him. In an instant he was in front of her.
“What’s going on? What happened—Stone’s dead,” he rambled crazily.
“I know—I will tell you everything, but we have to go!”
She grabbed his hand and lurched him forward onto the tarmac. “Go where—Sloan, this crazy! They’re saying you’re defectors.”
She turned, looking into his big blue eyes. “I will explain later,” she promised, trying to pull him on.
“No—no—we can’t! It’s treason.” He fought her, holding her back.
She spun on him. “Jared—do you trust me?”
This was it. This had been the downfall of their relationship—and after everything, here it was, coming to the forefront at the downfall of their Academy. He looked her over and she could practically see him contemplating an answer.
And finally, he spoke. “Yes.”
She wrenched him forward, running for the Odyssey. They ran across the tarmac and as a sentry appeared in the distance, Sloan felt a sharp tear run through her shoulder. She released Jared’s hand—raised her weapon and fired.
They were so nearly there. She fought against the powerful wind coming off the Odysseys. Twenty paces left. She forced her legs forward—her arm felt on fire. Leaning out of the tray from the Odyssey was Chase, his arm outstretched for her. Ten paces. She stumbled in a slick of oil and blood. Jared hauled her to her feet. Five paces.
Three paces.
Two. And her hand was in Chase’s. With a mighty heave from Jared—she was on the tray. Chase pulled and she scrambled with her legs, finally boarding. She turned around for Jared but he wasn’t there.
“JARED!”
He stumbled into view, fighting a sentry who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. The guard struck at him violently. Sloan reached for weapon—but it was gone. Fallen from her when she slipped.
Elijah was beginning to move the Odyssey forward. “JARED!” she screamed.
Jared spun, landing a roundhouse kick against the sentry. The guard went down and Jared scanned for her—his eyes locking in on hers. Elijah kept the aircraft moving—gaining pace.
Jared ran and with a forceful leap, managed to land heavily against the tray—catching her wrist. His weight was too much; she could feel a burning in her shoulder and a straining in her abdomen—the baby.
“Chase—help me!”
He looked to her and hesitated. “He’s one of them—let him go, Sloan!”
She glared at him before turning her gaze back to Jared. His eyes were panicked as he scrambled to get footing on the metal tray.
“Never!”
Her stomach buckled—her body warning her off the strain.
“Dammit, Chase—I’m pregnant. Now help me!”
She turned her gaze to him and found his shocked stare, his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes wide. And then he moved to her side. He grabbed Jared’s wrist and helped, hauling him on board. Jared fell into her arms, rolling them back.
He sat up slowly as the tray began to close. He pulled her up. She felt dizzy and nauseous. She looked to her shoulder—blood was streaming from her. A gunshot wound. Her hand instinctively fell to her stomach. Her vision began to blur. Jared’s face was all she could see. His voice all she could hear.
“You’re what?”
She closed her eyes. He was on board. They were all on board—leaving this place. She hadn’t left him behind. Which, really, when she thought about it, came as no surprise at all—Sloan Radcliffe had never been able to walk away from Jared Dawson.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Having completed this, my first book, I have learned a great deal about the process of book writing, editing, publishing, drafting and re-drafting. Authors create stories, but it is only once they have the assistance of incredible professionals does a book get created. I would like to thank Richard Curtis, my wonderful and patient agent, who has been with me every step of the way. Without his guidance I would be lost—he has been fundamental in transforming the book from rough draft to polished manuscript. Richard took a great leap of faith with my piece; he saw past the messiness, typical of a first-time author, and envisioned what the story could become. He had my full trust from day one and I could not dream of a better mentor. Furthermore, I would like to thank David Pomerico and his entire team at Harper Voyager. David, from his first look at the book, could see what I had written and what I wanted to be writing, and helped me put my vision into words. David showed me how to take a step back and reconnect with the essence of the piece, and for this I am forever grateful. I would also like to thank the incredible group of editors I have had the privilege of working with during this time. Betsy Mitchell, Jena Karmali, Joan Burkeitt, and everyone else who leant their time and skill to this piece—you make writers look good. I would also like to thank my family, without whom I would never have been able to achieve this. Your patience and support—your late night reading and note making—well, I couldn’t have done it without you. In particular, I would like to thank my mother, for her unwavering strength, love and guidance. Thank you for giving us your all. I would like to thank my grandparents for their incredible literary achievements and their support of my own writing pursuits. I would like to thank my godfather John, for always supporting me. Finally, I would like to thank Jamie, for telling me that if I knew what I wanted to do with my life, why would I waste my time doing anything else. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R. H. SCOTT, born 1991, has spent the better part of her life traveling with her mother and sisters. Having lived on three continents by the age of twenty-one, she developed a unique interest in differing societies and psychology. Scott completed a BA in sociology and socio-legal studies and is currently working on her MS in experimental psychology. The granddaughter of two published authors, Scott has had a lifelong passion for writing. Outside of her academic endeavors, Scott writes full-time and enjoys spending time with her family, traveling and reading.
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COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CHOSEN SOLDIERS. Copyright © 2016 by R. H. Scott. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmit
ted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition FEBRUARY 2016 ISBN: 9780062457202
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062457219
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