Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (218 page)

Another soldier collapsed to the frozen ground, the wind and snow burying him in a thin blanket of cold, freezing the man’s blood. Haggard and worn faces ignored their fallen comrade; the sight had become all too common during the retreat north, and Rodion slowed for no one. He sat at the front of his army, only a third of what it had been when he began his conquest and limping forward on its last leg.

Rodion reined up, the snow thick in his beard. The stallion underneath the saddle whinnied with a puff of frost blowing from its nostrils. He adjusted the AK-47 strap on his shoulder then dismounted, his legs buried in the snow up to his shins. “We make camp here for tonight.” Rodion’s orders echoed down the line, followed by a collective exhausted sigh from the men as they stopped.

Rodion squinted into the fading evening sky, the snowfall keeping a steady pace. He no longer had feeling in his cheeks and face, and he flexed his fingers to work out the growing stiffness from holding the reins. Never in his life had the cold disagreed with him so much.

Camp was constructed sluggishly, and when Rodion’s officers arrived to debrief their general on the casualties of the ride, he broke the jaw of the first soldier who spoke. “I don’t care how many die; thousands more will perish before this is over. I would sacrifice every one of my men if it meant victory. Get out of my sight!”

The ring of solitude Rodion created for himself continued to isolate him from even his closest advisors and officers. All of their pleas and reasoning fell on ears that heard only excuses. Never in his life did Rodion wish to return to the fighting pits of his youth to rid himself of the aggressive rage that stoked his fire. He picked up the rifle and trudged off into the wilderness, hoping a hunt would provide a temporary quencher to the growing thirst of death in his mouth.

The snowfall thickened and shortened his field of vision to less than six feet. The snowdrifts grew taller the farther north he marched, the cold freezing his veins. Rodion felt himself grow short of breath, and he stumbled in the thick snow, burying himself in the wet slush.

Rodion punched the ground in a fit of rage, his fist cutting through the icy soil, sending spiderweb-like lines around each crater fisted into the earth. He should have chased the Mars governors down when he had the chance. His arrogance had cost him, and now even his beloved cold sought to kill him. I will not die here. The words came to him like the slow surge of a wave, building momentum the closer it grew to shore and cresting at its peak before crashing into the coast.

Rodion pushed himself from the ground, the wind howling in the black night. He closed his eyes, letting the icy air fill his lungs and permeate to the very depths of his body. Every breath burned like fire, but each painful breath filled his body with life. He grew stronger, and he picked up his rifle from the snow, the piece of steel frozen like a block of ice.

The Mars governors were back in their capital, waiting for Rodion to either die in this frozen land or come crawling back for surrender. But there was still an army at his back. Whatever was left in his last breaths he would use to slaughter as much of his enemy as possible.

***

It felt like it was the first time seeing him, standing in his cotton white shirt and tan pants. Canice knew his clothes were dirty, but the smile on Lance’s face nullified the attire. He stood there on the deck of the Sani, the sun on his face and wind in his hair. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he looked back at her, but something wasn’t right, and suddenly Lance’s smile twisted in pain. His white cotton shirt had become bloodied, and he collapsed to the deck.

Canice sprinted toward him, but the harder she ran, the farther away Lance became. He was screaming for her help, his hand reaching out to her, but never getting closer than a graze with her fingertips. She felt the hot burst of tears burn her cheeks, and suddenly a pain ripped through her own body, and she felt short of breath, the life being choked from her.

A pair of massive hands had wrapped around Canice’s throat, and the face the hands belonged to was Rodion’s. Blood poured from his eyes, and he roared with laughter, the grip around her neck tightening harder and harder.

Canice awoke, covered in sweat, the pain in her throat gone but the rest of her body aching. All of her muscles cramped, and every movement stabbed a cluster of knives into her. She felt hands groping her arms and voices dulled from the screaming pain her body shot back at her. The faces in front of her were blurred. “Where is he?” The words left her mouth involuntarily, and she heard herself repeating it over and over again.

“Who? Canice, can you hear me? I need you to calm down.”

The blurred faces and dulled voices suddenly became clearer, and Canice recognized Kemena, her face tired. Her mind slowly went through the accounts of the battle against Rodion, the bombs, sneaking into camp, finding Rodion’s quarters, and the gunshot that killed the servant that stepped in front of her bullet meant for Rodion. After that, the scenes started to blur together. “How did I get here?”

Kemena’s hands seemed to have minds of their own as one prepared some type of needle and the other checked her pulse. “Jason.” She plunged the needle into her patient’s stomach, and Canice winced from the intrusion but bit her tongue on the scream. “You were nearly dead when he brought you here.” She pulled back on the syringe slowly, draining a pussy area of Canice’s stomach. “You need to rest.” She placed a gentle hand on Canice’s cheek, which felt oddly cool.

Canice’s mind wavered back and forth between consciousness and sleep, between pain and rest. The dreams continued, but for how long she was bedridden, she couldn’t be sure until she woke in a jolt, the once-busy room she was held in suddenly replaced with a calm quiet and the faint whisper of voices outside the walls of her quarters. She pulled the blanket off her and found that the pussy wound around her stomach had been cleaned and dressed in a white bandage.

When Canice went to swivel her legs off the side of the bed, her entire core seized up, transforming her graceful exit from bed to an avalanche of limbs crashing into the floor. She clutched her stomach, feeling as though her very insides would spill out of her if she tried moving too quickly again.

Two girls rushed inside at the sound of her commotion and gently helped her back up to the bed. They asked Canice questions, but the pain rushing through her body blocked any chance at understanding what they wanted.

“It’s okay, ladies. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Once back in bed, Canice tried lifting her head at the sound of the familiar voice but couldn’t muster the strength. It sounded like Lance, but… but…

“How are you feeling?” Jason asked, his face invading her line of sight to the ceiling above. He pressed his hand against her forehead. Even with the light touch, it still felt heavy on her skull. “Your fever’s gone down. That’s a good sign.”

Canice brushed his hand off her and shut her eyes hard. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

The dreams that had filled that time felt much longer, and hoped that the torments that plagued her during the fever wouldn’t return. As she lay still, slowly, she subdued the pain, letting her mind clear. She quickly opened her eyes. “Rodion. Did he—”

“He got away.” Jason spoke calmly, placing his hand on her arm as the words left his mouth. “My brother means to chase him down. He won’t live much longer.”

“I have to come.” Canice attempted to prop herself up but was immediately pinned down by the rippling ache in her body. She could barely lift her head, let alone fight. She pounded her fists by her sides, gritting her teeth. “I can’t just lie here.” Canice squeezed her hands tight, her knuckles turning a bright white from the pressure. “I have to help.” The anger slowly gave way to grief when Lance’s face penetrated through the thick clouds of rage in her mind. “I’d never loved anyone like your brother before, nor will I love anyone like him again.” The words blurted out of her like a geyser, quick and unexpected.

“Do you remember how he was when he was younger?” Jason asked. He picked at his fingernails as he stared into the wall. “I’ve been trying to remember him before he was soaked with war, but I was too little. I see the hard face of a sea captain but nothing of the brother Dean remembers.”

“War didn’t change him; it just made him tired,” Canice said, suddenly thinking about her dream, when Lance smiled at her, right before it turned into a nightmare. “He’d always been reserved, but the times when he flashed a smile, it was like watching dawn break.” The tears in the corners of her eyes reached the precipice then spilled onto her cheeks, streaming down unashamedly.

Jason offered a light kiss on Canice’s forehead then made for the door. “Get some rest. I’ll keep you updated on when we ride for Rodion.” He was halfway out the door then stopped and turned back inside. Struggle etched his face, as if he wasn’t sure if he should speak. “Lance, he—” Jason shook his head, looking as though he would turn away, but stopped himself once more. “I know that Lance loved, that he felt it, even though he wasn’t good at showing it. If there was anyone he wanted to be with, it would have been you, Canice.”

Once alone, Canice found the pain in her stomach replaced with something else. It was empty, a void that pulled her inward, a force that she couldn’t stop any more than the steady stream of tears running down her face. The realization of what she’d lost finally sank in. And now she was burdened with finding the strength to live without it.

***

The table was set for four, but only three filled the seats. Kemena stared at the empty chair across from her while Kit and Sam took small, slow bites from their plates, unsure whether to keep eating, stop, or speak. Kemena looked over to Kit, who hadn’t taken off his uniform since he’d made it through basic training with the latest group of recruits. Luckily, Dean had the good sense to make sure the boy was stationed close to General Monaghan, mainly working with the artillery units.

Sam kept his head down, picking at the chicken on his plate. Kemena hadn’t even seen him crack a smile in days, no matter how many times she tried to cheer him up. The war spared no one, draining the youth of their energy, and the silence was deafening.

The tent flaps were flung open, and Dean stepped inside, marching hurriedly to the table. Kit shot up out of his chair, standing at attention, as was customary for all soldiers when the governor entered a room, but Dean waved the boy down. “It’s all right, Kit. Consider dinnertime off duty.”

Kemena noticed the forced smile from both as they took their seats. She knew Kit was grateful to finally have his chance at war but was resentful that he couldn’t choose which branch to join. In reality, none of the men who joined could, but she knew Kit believed that his uncle had something to do with the fact that he was stationed in the rear with the artillery unit instead of the front lines.

Not much was said for the rest of the dinner, and Kemena noticed how blatantly Dean avoided her gaze. He would depart in less than two days, heading north into the tundra wilderness to finish off Rodion’s forces. She’d let her disapproval be known upon the news, but Dean wouldn’t budge.

With dinner finished, Kit returned to the barracks with the rest of the soldiers, offering his brother a hug, his uncle a handshake, and Kemena a light kiss on the cheek. She watched him until the back of his head was beyond her vision and then felt a tug on the back of her dress and turned to see Sam looking at his feet. “What is it, Sam?”

The boy’s blond locks were a mess on top of his small head, and he fiddled with his fingers awkwardly. “Are you going to leave too?” He looked up, his blue eyes a glistening wet.

Kemena bent down and scooped him up, Sam wrapping his arms around her neck and squeezing tight. “No, of course not.” She pulled her head back and made sure she looked him in the eye when she spoke. “You don’t have to worry about your brother and your uncles. They will come home. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Sam sniffled and nodded his head. Kemena wasn’t sure if the boy believed her, but it was enough to finally manage a grin out of him. She set him down and kissed his forehead. “Now, you go and help clear the table. When you’re done, we’ll see what we can find for dessert, okay?”

Another quick smile, and the boy sprinted inside, carefully balancing the plates with some of the servants as they walked out the tent’s side entrance. Kemena went to look for Dean and found him out back, disassembling a rifle. He kept his back to her, focusing on the weapon. “You need to speak with Sam before you go.”

“The boy will be fine, Kemena.” Dean clicked two pieces together and examined the sights of the rifle. It was one of the moderns from the vault the engineers had refurbished.

Kemena stepped in front of him then snatched the rifle from his hands and tossed it on the ground. “The boy is not fine, Dean. We are not fine. You are not fine. The people are not fine!” She kicked the dirt, sending a spray of earth over the weapon.

Dean stood, picked up the rifle, and started disassembling it once more, cleaning the parts that had been dirtied.

Kemena spun around, her lips trembling in anger and fear. She ran her hands through her hair, feeling the shaking of her own fingers through the thick, wavy curls. “You don’t have to go. You know you don’t have to.”

“It’s not about what I want,” Dean said. “It’s about what’s best for our people. Those people you mentioned that are not fine. They won’t be fine until this is done.”

Kemena turned on him so fast that he nearly dropped the weapon to the ground again. “And when is it done, Dean? When does this end? What new enemy will seek us out tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that?” Her pulse raced, and she felt the heat radiating from her cheeks. “When does it end?” She stomped her foot and shoved her husband hard in the chest.

Dean set the rifle down, his expression stoic and his motions slow. “I don’t think there is an end, Kemena. And if there is, I’m not sure if I’ll live to see it.” Dean grabbed the rifle then headed back inside the tent.

No emotion, no feeling. Kemena stepped back from the stranger in front of her. “You can’t leave us!” She clutched her stomach then fell to her knees as short gasps of air left her sobbing in the dirt. Every step Dean took forward was one more away from her, from their child, from home.