by Rose O'Brien
Jen lifted her shirt and pointed to a thin white scar about two inches long just below her right short rib.
“Only took a handful of stitches to close it up,” she said. “And I got to keep the switchblade.”
He reached into the pocket of his fatigues.
“It wouldn’t happen to be this switchblade, would it?”
The knife was cheap stainless steel, with a maroon plastic grip. The release for the blade was a black metal catch near the top of the grip. He’d found the thing, covered in blood, on one of the elves in Jen’s apartment.
Her face lit up. “That’s it! That’s my lucky knife.”
She started to reach for the blade, and he pulled his hand back. Could he trust her not to stick it in his carotid the second his back was turned? They’d made some progress today. She seemed less hostile, but maybe that was all an act. Just last night, she’d tried to seduce him so she could knock him out.
On the other hand, it was her knife. Did he have the right to deprive her of the chance to defend herself if their pursuers caught up with them?
As he pulled the knife away, her face fell a little. Something twisted in his chest at the sight, and he frowned.
“I need your word,” he began. “I want you to be able to protect yourself, but I also don’t want to find this sticking out of my back.”
He leveled his best attempt at a stern look at her.
“I’m putting my trust in you,” he continued. “I’m asking you to do the same with me. Promise you’ll stop trying to escape and that you’ll work with me to get you to safety?”
She looked back and forth between his face and where he was holding the knife. Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed in thought. That pause, more than anything, convinced him that if she gave her promise, she would honor it. If she’d given the promise immediately, without thinking about it, he wouldn’t have trusted her completely.
“Okay,” she said, finally. “I’ll stop trying to get away from you. And I’ll work with you to get us to Damascus.”
He sighed in relief and slapped the handle of the knife into her open palm.
***
As they neared the outskirts of Ramadi, Jen felt her nervousness mounting. Until just a few weeks before, Ramadi had been under ISIS control. Republican forces had recently retaken the city, but the area was still reeling from the assault, and who knew how many ISIS operatives were still in the area. It wasn’t like the guys wore uniforms.
Jen had bounced around a lot of dangerous places over the last few years. She’d interviewed warlords, rebel leaders, insurgents. No one scared her like ISIS. Through all the incarnations of terrorist groups in this part of the world, she’d always encountered people who thought on some level that they were fighting the good fight. ISIS was a different animal. The craziest, most vicious, ruthless, sadistic killers had formed a well-organized machine. It was like the leaders had put up recruiting posters for the most evil motherfuckers they could find. And they’d found them.
She’d filled Theron in on the situation in Ramadi as they’d neared the city. There was a small hotel on the north side of town that was friendly to journalists and foreigners, and they’d agreed to stay there for the night. Jen just hoped the place was still there.
“Be sure to have those military papers ready,” she told Theron. “The checkpoint guards are going to be extra jumpy.”
Digging in her messenger bag, she found her press credentials and her passport, complete with a journalist’s visa tucked inside. She handed them over to him.
“I suggest we stick as close to the truth as possible. Tell them I’m a journalist covering the conflict for an American publication, and you’re my private security. Are your IDs and visas in order?”
“They’ll stand up to any inspection,” he told her.
Her eyebrows popped in surprise.
“We’ve got mages inside the State Department that can get us perfect documents,” he told her.
“That’s not creepy at all,” she said sarcastically.
“We’re just there to help. There are members of the shadow races at every level of every government. They protect the interests of the Council, sure, but they’re also tasked with nudging players toward peace.”
“Where were they in 2003?” she said, referring to the US-led invasion of Iraq that had destabilized the entire region, perhaps irrevocably.
“We can’t stop every war,” he said. “But we’ve stopped a few. Dark forces thrive in the chaos of war, and it makes it difficult for our people to operate. So we try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum when possible.”
A thought occurred to her and the question fell out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“ISIS—they’re not any of yours, are they?”
He shot a look that was very similar to the one she’d gotten earlier.
“We talked about this,” he said, a touch of anger creeping into his tone. “Sapiens are capable of far more depravity and on a much larger scale than the shadow races.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“But I wouldn’t be surprised to find a few shadows lurking in the ISIS ranks. There are bad apples in any bunch and we’re no different. And there are certain elements that have been chafing under all the rules lately. They don’t understand why we have to hide from the sapiens.”
He opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and shut it again.
Just as she was about to ask him what he was holding back, they reached the edge of town. Traffic was backed up waiting to get through the first checkpoint.
It took them well over two hours to clear both checkpoints into the city, inching along in the lines of cars. Fortunately, the papers that Djinn ban Jaan had provided them with proved to be invaluable. One look and the checkpoint guards were waving them through.
The delay meant that it was well after dark as they rolled into what passed for a downtown in Ramadi, these days. The last time she’d been through here, she’d been writing about the American troop withdrawal. The place was a little the worse for wear, having come through a recent ISIS occupation and subsequent Republican assault with major damage to the infrastructure.
Large sections of the city were without power, the street lights were a distant memory, and the traffic lights—when they were working—were treated like suggestions. Traffic was a mess, and as Jen tried to help Theron navigate the behemoth SUV, they kept running into closed streets with bombed out craters and shattered pavement.
Night held the city firmly in its embrace, making navigation even more difficult.
Theron slammed on the brakes and narrowly avoided hitting a car that ran a red light. A large truck behind them laid on its horn and flashed its brights.
“Fine, fine. I’m moving,” he mumbled under his breath to no one in particular.
Rather than trying to cross the intersection, he turned right, easing into the flow of traffic.
“Head west,” Jen suggested. “We can skirt around some of the residential sections.
Theron frowned, “That truck is still with us. And he’s tailgating.”
Looking over her shoulder, Jen confirmed he was right.
“Maybe he’s just in a hurry to make a delivery,” Jen said, trying to fight down a rising moment of panic.
“Could be,” he said. “Let’s find out.”
Jerking the wheel to the left, he cut across several lanes of traffic, leaving horns blaring in their wake as he darted down a side street. Jen gripped the handle above the door and closed her eyes, flashing back to the wild driving he’d done in Baghdad. The Powerbar she’d eaten for lunch suddenly wasn’t sitting so well.
Theron gunned the engine and made several quick turns before easing off the gas. The truck hadn’t made the turn off the main drag.
“Guess he was just in a hurry,” Theron said, not the slightest bit apologetic for the automotive acrobatics.
There was a loud crunch ahead of them and Theron slammed on the
brakes again, throwing Jen into the seat belt. Cursing, she looked up to see two cars blocking the intersection, smashed plastic and broken glass littering the pavement.
It looked like just a fender bender, but Jen reached and undid her seat belt.
“We should help them,” she told him, reaching for her door handle.
“Stay where you are,” he growled, a deep scowl making his handsome face appear harsh in the glowing lights of the dashboard.
He threw the SUV in reverse and slammed his foot on the accelerator, tires screaming as he reversed down the street at a high rate of speed. Another car was coming up fast behind them, the headlights a glaring warning in the darkness, but Theron was able to switch gears and turn down a side street.
Jen bounced in the passenger seat as they rocketed over potholes and cracked pavement. Coming down hard on her tailbone, she swore and braced one of her hiking boots against the dash.
They continued heading west for a few minutes, and eventually Theron began to slow, wary of attracting the attention of military units.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?” Jen said. “Do you really think that accident was staged?”
“I think it didn’t feel right,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road ahead of them. “I trust my gut. It’s saved me more than a few times.”
Jen stayed silent, watching him. The muscles in his massive shoulders and arms flexed where he gripped the wheel. His right hand dropped to his waist to touch the .45 holstered there. He was nervous, she could see, and trying to reassure himself.
Theron’s frown deepened, if that was possible, and he slowed the SUV. About fifty yards ahead, a large group of people were moving across the road. It was just five or six at first, then ten or twelve. By the time they got within twenty feet or so, the crowd looked closer to forty or fifty.
The people were all dressed in white robes, their heads covered and moving slowly. Beyond them, Jen could see the gates of the city’s cemetery looming like sentinels in the night. The necropolis was a large one, with the above ground mausoleums, large and small, crowded close together and glowing white in the moonlight.
“It’s a funeral procession,” Jen said, realization dawning on her.
Jen turned and looked behind them. The nearest intersection was about half a mile back. The street was narrow, crowded with homes and a few shops. With a sinking feeling, she noted that there was not a single light on in any of them, and the majority of the windows were boarded up.
They’d probably be here for a while as the mourners made their way to the cemetery. Night burials were not uncommon given the level of violence in the area and the strict rule that Muslim dead must be buried within one day of death.
As the crowd filled the street and sidewalks, heads slowly began to turn toward the two of them. Most of the faces were obscured by various head coverings, but Jen caught a glimpse of one of the figures that made her want to scream.
Grey skin hung in strips and bone shone through at the cheeks and forehead. Empty eye sockets were like black pits. She blinked hard and almost didn’t trust what she’d seen. Then she caught a glimpse of a hand peeking beneath the edge of another figure’s robe. It was skeletally thin and bone white.
“Turn around,” she urged Theron.
“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”
He was already manhandling the steering wheel into a K-turn. Unfortunately, the street was narrow, and the SUV was big.
Suddenly, Jen was thrown against the door as a tremendous impact rocked the SUV, and the sounds of twisting metal and a roaring engine filled her ears. She looked up and saw the grill of the truck that had been tailgating them earlier through the shattered glass of the driver’s window.
The fucking thing had just T-boned them in the middle of the road! Her ears were ringing and her head was spinning. She put her hand to the side of her head where it had hit the window. She caught the sight of blood through blurry vision.
Theron was half conscious beside her, shaking his head and clutching his shoulder. A groan escaped his lips.
“Hit the gas, Cap, we gotta get out of here!” she shouted.
Theron struggled to sit up and reach for the gear shift. A loud thunk brought her eyes around, and she found herself staring into the rotting face of a corpse. The thing was crouched on the hood of the SUV and drawing its bony fist back. There were already spiderweb cracks in the glass of the windshield. Another hit and the thing would shatter.
More corpses were gathering around the SUV, skeletal hands reaching out. The panic-inducing scent of gasoline reached her and sent her heart pounding. The crash must have ruptured a fuel line.
As she opened her mouth to scream for Theron, she was suddenly showered with broken glass, but not from the windshield. The window beside her head exploded inward. For a split second, she met Theron’s wide indigo eyes before a dozen nightmare hands dragged her backward through the window.
She had just long enough to wish that she’d put her seat belt back on earlier before a blow to the back of her head had her seeing stars.
***
“Jen!” Theron screamed as he watched her boots disappear out the busted window, unable to move fast enough to stop it.
His vision was blurry, his ears ringing. It was almost like he’d been hit by a—oh, yeah. He had, in fact, been hit by a truck. The same truck that was backing up and no doubt getting ready to hit him again.
He tried to lift his left hand to the door handle, but pain screamed from his shoulder, sending shocks dancing across his already scrambled nervous system. Probably dislocated then. Possibly broken.
It took more effort than it should have, but he managed to get his right hand on the handle and yanked. Nothing. The door was wedged shut from the crash.
Levering himself around in the seat, he pulled his knees under his chin and smashed both his combat boots into the door, funneling a sliver of his magickal energy into the effort. With the sound of twisting metal, the door popped open, swinging with enough force to send several of the walking corpses flying back.
Tucking his injured left arm against his body, he brought his right hand up, letting his inner fire coalesce above his palm. He mentally formed the energy into a white hot ball of flame about the size of a basketball.
Theron thrust his arm out, palm forward, and sent the fireball through the windshield of the truck. It passed through the glass like it was no more than tissue paper, leaving glowing orange edges. There was a scream from the driver, a low boom and the cab was filled with flames, the heat causing the windows to explode outward.
Scratch one threat from the board. Only forty or fifty more to go.
The flying tackle came from his left and slammed into his injured shoulder. His breath left him on a scream as fresh pain ricocheted up and down his arm, skittering across his chest and causing his vision to go black around the edges.
Anger, pain, and fear surged through him, and his fire came without being called. Orange flames leapt to life in his hands, pouring up his arms like a trail of gasoline igniting.
It was dangerous to let his emotions fuel his power. If he lost control, his power could consume him, draining every bit of his energy and stopping his heart. At the moment, though, he was a little more concerned about the ravening dead closing in around him.
The one that had tackled him, was wrapping skeletal fingers around his neck, rotting flesh slipping against the skin of his throat. Fuck, that was gross! His punch caught the creature in the jaw, shattering the skull and setting its ragged robes on fire. As the creature fell back, twisting and twitching in the flames, Theron hoisted himself to his feet, head spinning at the sudden shift.
“Jen!” he called, casting a glance in the direction she’d been dragged. “Talk to me!”
No answer came from the other side of the SUV, and he couldn’t see her through the shattered windows. Fear for her gripped his gut. He had to get to her.
Bringing his eyes back to front, he saw that
the walking corpses had arrayed themselves in a semicircle around him, corralling him against the side of the SUV. It was times like these, he wished he was an air or earth mage like his sisters. Alayna could call a hurricane gale to knock these fuckers back, and Kayla could have opened the earth and swallowed them all.
The problem with fire was that it didn’t carry force on its own. It was just energy. He could call the flames and set every one of the hideous creatures on fire. But then, he just had a dozen or so rotting corpses that also happened to be on fire.
As the creatures advanced, he formed another fireball above his right hand. This wouldn’t be enough to take them all out, but it might give him an opening. He launched the fireball at the ground just behind the corpse in the center of the group. It burned right through the creature, setting it on fire as it went. As it hit the sandy ground, the fireball’s concentrated heat exploded outward, igniting the oxygen in the air and sending burning hot earth to sizzle against the surrounding corpses. They didn’t flinch.
Oh, great, they didn’t feel pain. This situation just kept getting better and better.
The force of the explosion knocked two of the creatures to the ground and Theron darted through the opening, skidding around the front grill of the SUV in time to see Jen’s unconscious form being carried away by about a dozen of the corpses.
He couldn’t risk throwing fire; he might burn Jen. His hand went to the .45 at his hip. He was a crack shot, even at this distance, but he didn’t want to risk hitting her.
His right fist clenched. He’d just have to do this with his bare hands. He looked down at his useless left arm cradled against his chest. Make that bare hand.
Pain erupted at the base of his skull from a blow he never saw coming. As darkness swept up to claim him, his last thought was that he had failed again. And yet another friend would pay with their life.
***