“I like it here.”
“You've been quiet.” He arched one eyebrow. “More than usual.”
I shifted in my seat and sipped my drink.
“What's eating at you?” he asked.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. There was so much I could say, but would he understand? “I’m a medic, and I couldn't save…” I choked, unable to finish without sobbing.
“I never said war was easy. You can't save everyone.”
“Maybe if Perez hadn't let the Heavies in the room. If she had barricaded the door—”
“You’ll drive yourself crazy thinking about what if. Trust me, I've been at this a long time.”
I gulped down the rest of my whiskey and pushed the glass forward, making eye contact with Jorge.
Tyren sighed. “I’ve seen many soldiers get lost in escape—booze, drugs—don't let that be you. You’re destined for greatness, Ida. You’ll rise above this. The first time is hard.”
Usually I appreciated Tyren’s company, but now it felt like he was driving a dagger through my heart, tearing open the raw memory of the orphanage.
“In your debriefing interview, you told them you and the girl hid among a pile of dead bodies.”
I cleared my throat. “I didn't see another way out. The Heavies were marching down the street. If they'd found us…”
“You saved that girl's life twice.”
“Yeah, and for what?” I slammed my fist on the bar top. “An orphan who had a brother is now an orphan who has nobody. What will happen to her? Does anybody give a shit?”
He paused and stared into his glass. “I don't know. I'll have to look into it.” He shifted on the stool and turned to face me. “I’ll make sure she's properly looked after.”
I chewed the fraying edge of my thumbnail and wondered if he would be true to his promise.
“What you did in that room, Ida, was incredibly honorable. You saved the girl's life. Yes, others died, but you sacrificed your own life to save her from being killed again. You got her out of a war zone.”
“But her face… When she found out her brother died.”
He frowned.
“Tyren, I could've saved him, too, if—”
“Just stop.” He pushed his stool away from the bar. “It hurts when someone dies on your watch. It’ll always be that way, but you have to learn to manage through it.”
I dug my nails into my palms. “Manage through it.” I wanted to choke on the words.
“I put you up for a commendation to recognize your service.”
“But—why? Perez died, the boy died—”
“You're not responsible for their deaths. This is a war where many will die. Every life you save makes a difference, Ida.”
I crossed my arms. The biocuff on his wrist lit up, and he glanced at it.
“I have to go.” He swiped his ID card on top of the bar. “This is on me. Happy birthday.”
After he left, I finished my glass, letting it numb my tongue and warm my belly before walking the quad. It had been hard to sleep lately. Every time I closed my eyes, Hanna begged me to save her brother.
In dreams, I kept replaying the moment of decision. Save the girl, or save the boy? An impossible choice.
Sometimes I dreamt that I saved him instead, but that hurt just as bad.
Tyren had said this is the reality of war.
For every life I saved, would I would lose another?
Is that how it would be?
I didn’t know how much war I could take.
END OF BOOK 1
Brink
Rogue Spark Book Two
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
One
2044 Outer Territories
99 lives saved. Ida Sarek wondered if she would make it to 100 today.
It might be her last chance—her military service was up, and she would soon return to civilian life. In three days, she would start over in Spark City, a place she’d never been. Hard to believe the time was finally here.
Her team chanted, “We are protectors. We help the wounded; we kill our enemies. Nothing can stop us.”
Ida closed her eyes tightly as she realized this might be the last time she said these words. She repeated the verse with the others, but only her lips moved, “…Nothing can stop us.” Gathered together with her fellow soldiers in a small circle, she reached out to touch four or five other fists, grasping each other in a confused muddle. A long, desperate handshake.
Turning away, Ida gazed through one of the ship’s small portal windows at the copper desert sands and braced herself.
They were on the edge of a death zone.
Deep in the Outer Territories—desert land—Ida and her team readied themselves to enter a town that had been attacked by Heavies, the alien force that had invaded most of Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and Asia.
It was a salvage mission. The front-line soldiers had pushed back the alien creatures and forced them to retreat miles away. Now it was clean-up time.
“How bad do you think it’ll be?” she asked the others.
“Don’t ask me man, I just work here,” a soldier said, followed by nervous laughter.
Ida rolled her eyes, swallowed hard, and peered through the window again. Her gaze followed dust spirals that erupted below the hovering ship.
They waited for the signal to disembark. At the head of the line, Ida felt an unusual tightness in her chest. She was part of a crew of medics and body bag carriers—only she wasn’t exactly sure what she was, because she was different than the others.
Her talents were a secret; she could tell no one because she’d signed over her rights to the military. It beat living on the streets on the verge of starvation like when she was a kid.
Sent to a remote, secret medical facility, she’d been tested, forced to endure rigorous physical training, and operated on four times. The surgeries changed her forever, and left her with a unique ability.
Since then, her life had become a whirlwind of military boot camps, training exercises, and now three years spent in the Territory battle zones. Soon they’d release her. Whatever experiment she’d been must have been disappointing.
The door of the ship raised, and Tyren, her commanding officer, entered and addressed the soldiers seated side-by-side awaiting their briefing. “Medics,” he said in his booming voice, “I have a read on the situation in this village.” He looked down, and his voice turned gravelly. “It’s not good.”
The team members stopped their nervous fidgeting. He said, “This was a small farming village. Been here for centuries. Many men went off to fight, leaving mostly women, children, and elderly.”
Tyren scanned the soldiers before catching Ida’s gaze. “A few soldiers were stationed here for security, but they were no match for the Heavies who ambushed last night.”
Always more dead. Ida pushed away the thought and tried to focus.
Seated next to her, the group’s
newcomer, Jessa, exhaled audibly. She was the first hybrid mutant to join their squad. Hard to tell with her combat gear, but close up, you noticed pointed, triangular ears sticking straight up from her head and dark orange fur covering nearly all her skin. Long black whiskers topped off her freakish appearance, yet her face and eyes were human-like. Ida wasn’t sure how she’d ended up sitting next to her, since she’d been careful to avoid the mutant.
“You should prepare yourselves,” Tyren finished.
Ida stood. “Any chance of survivors?”
“Comms said not likely. Good luck out there,” Tyren said and exited the ship.
The soldiers rose to their feet, stretched, and threw on the last of their gear. Within a minute, Ida’s team started their trek toward the village on foot, carrying medical equipment and extra body bags.
When they arrived, the sight was devastating. Bodies lay twisted on the desert floor in all directions. The metallic smell of blood tinged the air, forcing the soldiers to don biohazard masks.
The team started tending to the victims—checking vital signs and spray-painting large red X’s on the chests of the dead.
Ida branched out, alert for any cries for help. She had to act fast and find those with life-threatening injuries. Otherwise, if they were too far gone past the brink of death, she would be of no use.
She pushed on and passed dozens of mangled bodies. Tyren was right. Mainly women and children. So many dead, it made her head ache.
The Heavies, large in mass, outmatched human soldiers. Despite communication attempts, nobody knew what drove the alien race. Operating as a collective, like insects, the Heavies would descend on a battle zone, dropped from large ships in metal pods. On the ground, they would emerge like hatchlings from an egg, attacking and killing any life they found. Eight-feet-tall, reptilian, they carried thick blades (close-up, the weapons seemed to grow out of their arms). Formidable, they wore armor that rendered them impenetrable to bullets.
The Heavy ships contained weapons that discharged a hot flashing pulse, their blades had been forged from metal originating from another world. Nobody knew where.
Ruthless, the creatures made no distinction between soldier and innocent civilian; they only wanted to seek and destroy. Most civilians had been evacuated from the Outer Territories, but the Heavies were pushing the boundaries. Areas once thought safe were no longer, and there were always pockets of stubborn people who refused to leave their homelands.
And her farewell mission—this death zone—was the worst of all. She’d seen thousands of injured and dead bodies over the years, but nothing like this. So many dead children. Innocents. The attacks on civilians were getting worse.
As she stepped around scattered bodies, she crossed blood-stained sand. The village lay in ruins, with small fires still smoldering among singed, collapsed homes. Ida paused, alert for signs of life or calls from her comrades should they find someone alive. She spun around slowly, taking in the full scope of the scene.
Jessa the hybrid yelled, “Got a live one! Need assistance.”
Ida ran over to find her applying an oxygen mask to a girl who looked about nine. “I’ll take it from here,” she said and pushed Jessa to the side.
The mutant stepped away from the girl’s body. “I was told to stay out of your way and let you do your thing,” Jessa said. So, Tyren had briefed the new recruit. Good. Ida worked alone. Always.
“You heard right,” said Ida, avoiding direct eye contact. “Go on. Keep searching for more.”
The hybrid hesitated, then left, joining the other medics.
Ida went to work on the small body below her. She checked for a pulse and found a slight murmur of life in the girl’s veins.
Smoothing tangled brown hair away from the girl’s forehead, she placed a small towel beneath her head. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll be just fine,” she whispered.
Ida pulled off her gloves and inspected the wound—a long slash in the girl’s chest where an alien blade had torn through vital organs.
She placed her bare hands on the wound and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
Before making the jump into the girl’s small body, she thought, 100 lives saved.
Two
Spark City
Lucy wondered what it felt like to walk on a warm beach and feel sand under your feet. Once, when she was small, she’d seen a picture book about Hawaii. Mesmerized by the exotic images of mountains, ocean, and volcanic sands, she’d often sketched tropical scenes in her notebooks.
Reality in Spark City was much different. Instead of balmy breezes, she forced her way through a biting arctic wind that rose off a steely, gray lake. Drawing her coat closer around her body, she dug her fists deeper in her pockets and tried to make her body thin and upright to cut through the air.
Adults and children hustled by in different directions as the rush of the crowd pressed in during the busiest time of day. Early evening in the city was when the factory day shift workers finished, headed home to scrounge food, and slept enough to live the same day over again. The poor city workers spent their time manufacturing clothes, household goods, and luxury items for the wealthy.
Gone was the prosperity of the first two decades of the 21st century. After the earth’s temperature had spiked suddenly in 2025 and the rising sea covered much of the coastal cities, the world’s priorities had changed.
Lucy didn’t know much about those times, just that all the adults her mom’s age referred to them as the “good old days.” They marveled about a time when laws required kids to attend school for eight hours a day and reminisced about how families had two cars each and lived in huge houses with green lawns. Now, people crammed into high-rise buildings in small apartments with just enough room to sleep and print their protein meals.
Hybrids—mutant humans spliced with animal DNA—roamed the streets and had as many rights as humans. She didn’t know much about hybrids and had never met one, but someday she hoped that would change.
They weren’t much different than humans (shared 98% of their DNA in fact), so Lucy didn’t worry so much that they were different, unlike many adults who hated them. Some angry people spit at hybrids in the streets or flipped them off.
Snow flurries dusted the air, and Lucy picked up her pace as the chill bit into the exposed parts of her face. She tied her hood’s drawstrings tighter and her stomach tensed as she traveled home. Would her mother be coherent? Would yet another boyfriend be in their apartment?
Lucy had found it harder to occupy her days. She still couldn’t face telling her mother she’d lost her job last week. Her income as a seamstress in a small textile warehouse hadn’t been much and was the only thing keeping scraps of protein for their food printer.
Losing her job hadn’t been her fault. For all the times Lucy had dreamed of stomping out and shouting, “I quit,” the reality was far less glamorous. The shop’s owner grew sick and had decided to move in with a relative in another city. With everyone in the warehouse fired, Lucy had hung her head and tried to block out the pleas of the twelve-year-old orphan boy who was taking care of four siblings. What could she do to help when she had her addict mother to look after? Finding work would be hard enough as more and more soldiers returned from the war seeking jobs.
Lucy avoided eye contact with anyone in the crowd. She tugged briefly at the money belt inside her jacket, a constant and reassuring confirmation that her important belongings were secured from the many pickpockets she would pass. Not that she had much to steal anyway; she was down to her last fifty.
As the sun set, Lucy hurried to get home before dark. She’d been mugged once, and the assailant had flashed a knife. Frightened and trapped, she’d given the man everything she had on her—money, biocuff, and her skybus card. It had been humiliating. She never wanted to be caught in a dangerous situation again. If only she had a weapon of her own, or at least knew how to fight.
Lucy’s path took her along the lakefront, on a wide, concrete path. She kept on
the right side of the lane, following the general flow of foot traffic behind men, women, and children who wore the heavy steel-toed boots common in factory work.
At her job, Lucy had kept to herself. Another girl, also seventeen, who’d worked next to her station at the warehouse had been friendly. She’d comment that Lucy’s sewing was pretty and would often try to catch Lucy’s gaze. Once, Lucy couldn’t help but return the smile. The next day, the girl’s station was empty. Something must have happened to her, because an older woman replaced her later in the day.
That’s what happened when you tried to get to know someone—they disappeared or disappointed you.
As Lucy neared a small footpath that led to a wooded shortcut, she glanced at the lake. How cold the water must be. She shivered. Once she’d witnessed a man fall in. Other passersby had tried to help him climb out, but he’d started swimming away from shore. Among a small crowd, Lucy had watched for several minutes as the swimmer stopped suddenly and sank. A woman next to her muttered the man must’ve had a death wish.
Lucy’s thoughts returned to the drowned man for weeks afterward and those words: death wish. She couldn’t help it. Would her mother be better off if Lucy took a lake swim? One less mouth to feed. But she knew better. Her mom wouldn’t last on her own. Even though Lucy was seventeen, she’d never be able to leave her mother’s side.
The top of her high-rise apartment building came into view as she traveled the worn path through the woods. She crossed a small footbridge over the north pond, glancing at the old dome-shaped conservatory, as she often did. The dilapidated building had always fascinated her. The architecture was unique and old, but she didn’t know enough about history to know when it had been built.
The Rogue Spark series Box Set Page 11