Looking out into the street, he shook his head, rolling his eyes at her. “I don’t hear or see anything. It’s probably just rats, city’s full of ’em. Stop being a moron. No one knows we’re here.”
“I’m not a moron; you’re just an idiot,” she said, punching him in the shoulder. “I haven’t seen—”
Rowen felt like someone had punched her in the stomach when the card rack blocking the door tumbled over, clanging loudly on broken tile, the door to the small shop forced open by a figure large enough to block out the few rays of moonlight that illuminated the store, leaving them in near darkness.
Without thinking, she grabbed the aluminum baseball bat sitting beside the cash register and lunged for the figure with a primal roar, swinging wildly.
“Whoa! Easy, tiger,” said her father’s unmistakable baritone voice, calmly avoiding her swing and knocking the bat from her grip, deftly catching it before it fell to the floor. “Tactics before bravery, Rowen; think before you attack,” he said, wrapping her in a bear of a hug.
Gasping in shock, Rowen buried herself in her father’s arms, squeezing as hard as she could, her smile widening as Jonah suddenly plowed into them, his head buried in their father’s shoulder. She shuddered, feeling the tension and worry drain from her shoulders, grateful that they had found one another. She held on until she couldn’t breathe anymore, the humidity making everything wet and sticky.
“Are either of you hurt, anything, no matter how small,” he said, spinning each of them around, eyeing them up and down.
“No, nothing. We’re fine, Dad,” said Jonah, shrugging off his hand. “How did you find us?”
Her father smiled, ruffling Rowen’s curls. “I was across the Square, and I kept seeing a mop of red curls in the window. You gotta duck lower, dear. A sniper would take your head like that.”
Rowen cringed, burying her face in her hands. “Sorry, Dad, I don’t know what—”
“Rowen, it’s ok, I don’t think anyone would have noticed but me. But if you always practice good habits, you’ll do it when it really counts. Understood?”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile, nodding her head.
“What do we do now?” asked Jonah.
Her dad pursed his lips, looking around the store. “Well, we can’t stay here, that’s for sure, but I don’t want to leave the area until I know your aunt is safe. I was hoping she was with you guys.”
At the mention of her aunt, Rowen looked away suddenly, her breathing short. Before she had to say anything, Jonah spoke up, saying what she couldn’t. “She didn’t make it, Dad, I saw her get mowed down by one of those drones. It was quick.”
Her father’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. He stumbled back, grabbing one of the store shelves to hold himself up. “She was right beside me when it happened. I’m so sorry,” Rowen said, reaching out to him.
“Vanessa’s dead,” he said in a flat tone, quietly turning his back to them, hands on his hips and looking at the ceiling. She saw Jonah from the corner of her eye hugging himself, looking at his shoes. They stayed like that, she wasn’t sure for how long, neither of them daring to say a word. They had just put their mother, the love of his life, to rest, and now his only sister, gone. Rowen found herself torn, wanting to reach out to him, sure that he didn’t want that. She blew out her cheeks, about to say something when he turned around. “We can’t stay here. I saw some kind of airborne drone patrolling on my way here. It’s only a matter of time before we’re seen. We need to move to a secure area, make contact with US Armed Forces, and find out what the hell is going on.”
“Dad, are you ok?” she asked, her hand twitching to reach out.
“This is the mission,” he said, waving her off. “Jonah, consider this the start of your training program. Rowen, I need to know I can depend on you. This is serious now.”
A line appeared on her forehead as she narrowed her brows. “Yes, sir!” she said, stiffening, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. She had spent her whole life doing everything she could to be like him, like her mother. That he thought she couldn’t handle it when push came to shove pissed her off, but acting like a child would be the worst thing she could do now. She would be professional, use everything she knew to be the best she could, and make him proud.
Her father nodded at both of them. “We are going to head to the old Forty-Second Street subway,” he began, looking out the window and outlining their path with his finger. “It’s been boarded up for years now, but the tunnels are still there. We can access them through some of the storefronts they built over the place with. Back in ’33, after Hurricane Otto drowned the entire city, I led a team underground that helped install a new pumping system for Manhattan Island.
Rowen frowned, scrunching up her face. “Wouldn’t it all be gross by now, rotten?”
Her father shook his head. Rowen was glad to see a brief smile appear on his face. “No, everything was sealed airtight.”
“It’s better than nothing,” said Jonah.
“Ok, kids, let’s get moving,” he said, removing his Beretta from its holster on his back. He pointed the weapon away from him, ejecting the clip and pulling back the slide, inspecting the chamber. Once he was sure the weapon was to his satisfaction, he slid the clip back in place and disengaged the safety. “We have one gun with only two extra clips. That’s it.”
Rowen nodded, falling in behind him as they crept out of the store, Jonah bringing up the rear. She paused, letting her eyes adapt to the near darkness, hints of moonlight peeking through the clouds the only light in the dead city. “We’ll hug the shops on the west side of the street,” said her father over his shoulder. “If I have to engage anyone or anything, you run; get to cover. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they whispered in unison. Moving down the street, it took only a few moments before she was constantly wiping sweat from her forehead, the late-night humidity forming an ocean down her back, soaking her bra and sending her into a frenzy of awkward twists to scratch at the offending spots in hard-to-reach places. Annoyed, Rowen leaned against a light post, a wave of relief running through her as she shimmied back and forth, finally getting a moment of relief.
“You should just take it off,” laughed Jonah with a snort, the whites of his teeth glowing in the moonlight. “It’s not like it’s holding up anything.”
Ignoring him, she raced to keep up with her father, who had slowed as he approached the downed helicopter. What annoyed her the most was she knew he was right; the damn thing itched so much it made her want to tear her skin off, and at last check, after all of her begging and pleading with the boob gods, she had nothing to show for it. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Knowing Jonah, he would never let her forget that he was right and she was wrong.
She was just behind her father, ducking past the downed helicopter, when the itch came again. With a sigh, she reached over her shoulder to scratch when she felt a tightening of her bra strap and then a horrible snap that sent waves of pain into her back, like someone had stabbed her with a red-hot poker between the shoulder blades. Without thinking, she screeched, her voice echoing in the dark.
She turned to see Jonah bent over, hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Rowen went stiff, balling her fists as her blood boiled. Surging forward, she shoved her foot behind his calf, his eyes widening in surprise as she elbowed him to the ground with all her strength. He fell hard, landing on his tailbone with a grunt, the smile vanishing from his face. “You little shit; it’s just a joke!” he said, springing to his feet like a leopard ready to pounce.
Rowen braced herself, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her. Her father suddenly appeared, his thick arms separating them and holding them at bay with ease. “Are you out of your goddamn minds?” he whispered, shaking each of them in turn. “This is a war zone. We don’t have time for this, so quit it, or I’ll make you.”
Rowen struggled against her father’s grip, nostrils fla
ring, blood pounding in her ears, wanting nothing more than to claw out her brother’s eyes.
“That’s enough!” said her father in a quiet whisper. “Apologize to him.”
Rowen stopped struggling, her jaw falling open. “Me! He started it!” she said through clenched teeth. Her father cocked his head, his raised eyebrow telling her he would accept no less. “Fine, I’m sorry, but if you touch me again I’m gonna break something.”
“Apology accepted,” said Jonah, a small smile dancing on his lips in knowing he’d gotten to her.
Shrugging out of her father’s grip, Rowen stormed off, kicking at pieces of broken concrete with each step. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, anger boiling in her belly, glancing back at the two of them, heads together. She wished—
Suddenly startled, she jumped back, an ear-piercing shriek escaping her lips before she could stop herself. Falling over like a drunken sailor, she scampered back toward her father and brother who bolted to her, her father with his Beretta at the ready in front, Jonah kneeling at her side, giving her a questioning look.
“There’s someone in there,” she said, breathing hard, pointing to the darkened cockpit with a trembling hand. From this close, she could see the airframe and tail were little more than twisted messes of bent rotors and blackened, burnt metal, precariously leaning against a fallen billboard and some fallen power lines. She had only a brief glimpse of whoever it was, but it was enough to send chills down her spine. “How could anyone survive that kind of crash?” Dusting herself off, she sprang to her feet, darting over and putting her hands on the glass, peering in.
Her father shrugged, taking a few cautious steps closer. “The chopper took a hell of a beating,” he said, lightly brushing his hand across what looked like a few high-explosive impacts in the armored plating. “But it’s not like the old days when a crash like this meant certain death. With modern restraining fields in place to absorb the brunt of an impact, the chances of survival are pretty good.”
She shrugged, seeing nothing but shadows, almost sure it must have been a trick of the light, when a hand slammed against the other side of the glass, a pale face suddenly visible as moonlight broke through the clouds.
“Holy crap,” said Jonah, flinching beside her, clutching his chest.
Rowen could see the pilot was in bad shape, caked blood covering the side of his head, his skin ashen with deep bags under his eyes. His lips, chapped and faded, mouthed words they couldn’t hear.
“Can you make out what he’s saying?” asked Jonah.
Rowen shook her head, knowing only that he was tangled in his flight harness like a fly caught in a web, trapped and needing help.
“He’s probably dehydrated in there,” said her father, squatting down to get a better look at him. “If he’s been in there all day in this heat, he’s probably too far gone for us to help. I’ve seen guys whose brains were so swollen from heat stroke that they were pretty much walking corpses. We don’t have time for this. We need to keep moving.”
“So we’re just going to leave him there!” said Rowen, giving him a sidelong glance. “What happened to ‘no one gets left behind!’”
“C’mon, sis, you know that policy was abandoned years ago,” said Jonah, shaking his head. “This is the perfect example of why it makes sense. What if we lose you or me or Dad trying to save this guy? It just costs too many lives!”
“But Dad—!”
“No! We just don’t have the resources to help anyone,” said her father, standing up and putting a hand on her shoulder. “We have no way to get inside. The doors are sealed shut, and that glass is aluminum oxynitride: ALON. It can take a shot from a .50 caliber without a scratch. There’s no way my Beretta is getting through that.”
Rowen balled her fist, shaking her head in frustration. They were better than this; she was sure of it. Thinking on her feet, she changed tactics. “He might have information. He might know what’s going on.”
Her father frowned at the pale man in the helicopter before turning his back. “I know your mother and I raised you to believe we can save everyone, but given our circumstances, I’m not going to risk our lives for some stranger.”
Rowen felt her jaw drop as her father walked away, not bothering to look back.
“C’mon, let’s get going,” said Jonah, brushing past her, his eyes looking everywhere except at her.
She stood stock-still, her eyes locked on the pale-faced pilot, her mind racing, when he disappeared from view, a pang of fear blooming in her gut. Panicking, Rowen pounded on the unyielding glass, sure that he had passed out. She was about to give up when she heard a hiss followed by an ear-piercing screech of metal grinding against metal. She stepped back, realizing that one of the doors at the cargo section of the craft had opened partway. When the pilot reappeared, Rowen could see him frantically pointing upward, pleading.
“Rowen! I told you to get the hell away from that thing,” said her father, racing back, Jonah on his heels.
Seeing her chance, and before anyone could stop her, Rowen grasped one of the landing struts, scampering up the side of the fallen helicopter like a lizard, deftly slipping into the narrow gap of the half-open panel. She had just enough time to slip past the wrecked door when she heard her father’s deep voice cursing after her. Ignoring him, she entered the tangled mess, knowing she would pay for this later. He worried too much. Her parents always told her actions speak louder than words. People got caught up saying they were going to do a good thing and not actually doing it.
The interior of the Seahawk was in total disarray, stinking of melted plastic and burnt machinery, equipment normally tied down strewn around the cargo section. “Can you hear me? My name is Rowen,” she called out, carefully testing her footing with each step as she made her way down to the front of the wreck, doing her best to avoid cutting herself on the protruding struts of metal and hanging wires blocking her path. Once at the front, she found the pilot struggling unsuccessfully with his one good arm to extract himself from the tangled harness, each attempt marring his face with lines of pain.
‘Yeah, hey,” he croaked, a shudder running through him. “Thank you, thank you so much. I didn’t think I was going to make it.”
With a grunt he turned to face her, struggling hard against the belt that held him in place. “You really are just a kid,” he said, his tired eyes going wide. “I thought I was imagining seeing you out there.”
“You don’t look much older than me,” she said, finally getting a good look at him. Rowen found him handsome, his boyish features and pale blond hair making him look more like a holo-star than a pilot, yet despite his navy flight suit being rumpled and stained with sweat, he still managed to look the part of a soldier.
“Hi, I’m Scott, by the way: Scott Gibbs. My friends just call me Gibbs!” he said with a nervous wave. “Listen, I’m not ungrateful for you coming in here to save my ass... Shit, can I say ass around a kid? Fuck, now I’ve gone and said shit!” he said as his face went from pink to beet red.
“I think you better quit while you’re ahead. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” she said with a wry grin.
“Yeah, there’s an idea. I guess your dad didn’t want you coming in here,” he said, pointing a thumb at her father on the other side of the glass. “Something tells me you’ve got a major ass-whooping in your future, kid.” Rowen could only cringe at the scowl on her father’s face, and while she couldn’t hear what he was saying...she was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant for her later, but for the moment she had a mission. “So how about we get you out of this mess,” she said, looking around, bracing herself between the side of the frame and his seatback.
“Yeah, good idea,” he said, nodding. “My duffel is in the cargo compartment on the left up there. Emergency supplies in there too. There should be something to cut with in the supply kit.”
Rowen nodded, climbing toward where he pointed. Balancing herself, she shouldered his bag, still hanging off an anchor at the door. Fol
lowing his instructions, she braced her foot against a handle embedded in the floor, twisting it to reveal a small locker packed with a med kit and rations. Beneath it all she found a combat knife Velcroed to a sealed plastic case. Opening it, her eyebrows shot up, a low whistle escaping her lips.
“What’s going on? Are you ok! Did you find everything?” said Gibbs, his pitch rising with each word.
“Is this yours?” asked Rowen, holding up the slick weapon she found in the case.
“What’s mine?” he stammered.
“The SIG. You’ve got good taste,” she said, admiring the sleek lines. “SIG Sauer P620, a major upgrade from the old-school SIG P320. Reflector sight, .357 rounds, seventeen rounds per clip expandable to twenty-one rounds. This just came out less than six months ago. Amazing.” Rowen ran a finger along its matte black finish. Marveling at how small and compact it was, how perfectly it fit in her hand. She twirled the gun, pulled back the slide, ejected the clip, and then did a quick safety check, just enjoying the simple pleasure of inspecting it.
“The gun? Yeah, sure, sure it’s mine. Can you get me out of here? It’s been a rough day. There should be a canteen in my duffel, if you could, please,” called Gibbs from below, his voice hoarse.
“What? Oh, sorry. Let’s get you out of here; hold on a sec,” said Rowen, putting the SIG back in its case with a pang of regret before shoving it into his pack and rummaging around for water. Using the Velcro strap, she attached the knife around her leg. She shouldered the canteen she found and carefully made her way back down to him.
“Here, take this,” she said, opening the cap and handing it to him. He gave her a grateful nod as he drank deeply, droplets of water running down his chin. “I’ll try not to cut you,” she said with a half smile, sawing into the strap. It only took a moment to cut through, freeing the hapless lieutenant, who tumbled unceremoniously against the helicopter controls, causing the entire wreck to shift, sending waves of renewed panic through her.
He groaned, struggling to his feet as he gripped his injured shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 9