Monsters: The Ashes Trilogy (63 page)

Kidney Kicker pulled a frown. “Nothing like that. We’d have
smelled det cord or smokes. No C4 either. Just these fakes. Probably
thought he could get us going, running around, looking for the real
deal, to buy those kids more time. Even if he tried the cigarette trick,
we’ve been here long enough that if there
was
a bomb, it’d have gone
off by now.”

“And we’d all be in hell before we knew we were dead,” Finn said,
without a trace of irony. He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Which
I’m sure you’d approve of, Yeager.”

“You need my approval?” Yeager’s face was calm, though his hungry eyes raked the face of a boy to Tom’s right. Tom nearly had a
heart attack when he first spotted the kid. For a second, he thought,
Oh my God, they got him before he could get away.
But this boy’s hair
was longer, almost to his shoulders. No fresh blood on his face or
in his hair, no necklace of blue-black bruises, no cuts or raw flesh.
This boy’s eyes were dark brown, almost black, no hemorrhage at all.
Chris was lean, but this Changed was gaunt, his sunken cheeks like
axheads. Then, of course, there was the very pregnant girl hanging
onto the boy’s left arm.

Simon?
Which meant the girl was Penny. His eyes ticked to the
big blond with the mad red eyes, and he saw the sister’s ghost in the
brother’s jaw, the shape of his nose.
Has to be Peter.

At the sound of Yeager’s voice, Simon stirred, although without
much energy. Tom knew the look. Throw a burlap bag over that
kid’s head, slap on plasticuffs, squat him next to a mud-baked wall,
and Simon could’ve doubled as a captured Taliban. Finn had broken
Simon—and you were talking about breaking a monster.

Yeager saw it, too. To Tom, the old man looked like a weary
scarecrow with no straw. “I won’t beg, Finn.” Yeager gestured to the
waiting crowd. “We made our choice.”

Yeager.” Finn turned back to Kidney Kicker. “Anything else?”
“Only his weapons.” The man held up Jed’s Bravo and the Glock
19. “Lucky he was so busy trying to fake us out, he didn’t take a shot.
Coupla knives, too.”
“That’s not right.” Mellie gave him a narrow look, her gray eyes
careful and suspicious. Other than the blocky square of her head, she
didn’t look like her brother. “He had an Uzi.”
“Yeah, and you would know. I saw where you got all my other
stuff from under the damn trough,” Tom said, knowing the dismay
showed. He tried pulling himself a little straighter, but his stomach
grabbed and the words came on a grunt. He braced his middle with
one arm. He kept the other hand propped on his right thigh, over that
divot of scar from Harlan’s bullet, to keep from falling over. A crazy
thought sparrowed: now he had a matched set—scar on the right,
scar on the left. “I lost the gun in the explosion at the church.”
“But not your head.” Finn’s right hand rested on the revolver’s
pearled handle, his index finger keeping time in a slow, thoughtful
tap-tap-tap
. Like the tick of a countdown. A sheathed parang hung
from his left hip. “Mellie said you were smart. I wondered if you’d
made it.”
“Yeah, I noticed you wired my tent. What’d you do?” His lips
skinned back in a grimace against a jab of pain. “Count left feet?”
“Would’ve, if there’d been any to count.” One of Finn’s bushy
white eyebrows arched. “I suppose we have you to thank for all this?
No children? Well, but those
shots.
Does give you the willies, doesn’t
it? All those poor kids, so much shish kebab.”
This guy really was an asshole. “No shots now,” he said, and
noticed that Simon’s gaze had drifted from his grandfather to the bell
tower. The tiniest crinkle had appeared between the boy’s brows,
almost as if he’d spotted something. Was one of Finn’s men up there?
Well, no big deal. There was only another decoy to find.
“I hope not. But, well, I’ve got
your
kids.” Finn eyed him. “What
tipped it?”
“The trash.” Bracing his side helped as long as he didn’t take too
deep a breath. At least he was no longer gasping. The ache in his back
was down to a dull roar. Not much longer he’d have to deal with
either, though, or Finn.
First principles: keep him busy, keep him relaxed,
looking at me. All warfare is based on deception.
“Cindi always picked
up. Not like I’ve never seen IEDs hidden under garbage. I just wish it
hadn’t taken me so long.”
“I’m impressed. I mean that, sincerely.” Finn gave him a speculative look with eyes that were colorless and cobra-flat. “That’s twice
now you’ve survived. First on the snow, now this. And here I thought
you were just another dumb grunt. That’ll teach me. How old are
you?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Well.” Finn hooked a thumb at Peter, who only glared mutely.
“Let’s just say
he’s
from the bad section of the Petri dish. If I’m not
mistaken, you’re younger.”
“Never.” Tom knew where this was going. The fact that none of
them had much longer to argue this didn’t stop the chill from shivering down his spine. “Not in a million years.”
“That’s what I said.” Peter suddenly let go of a broken, brittle
laugh. “I fought, I—”
“Peter.” Ernst’s flaccid jowls were streaked with tears. He lumbered a half-step before two of Finn’s men moved in to block him.
“Don’t. You’re not to blame.”
“Then who is?” Peter looked at Tom with brimming, vermillion
eyes. “You won’t be able to hold out forever. Best thing is to die fast.
Cut your throat first chance you—”
“Please be quiet, Peter. We’ve had so many interesting talks, I’d be
sorry to lose you now.” Finn’s hand hovered over that Colt, although
his eyes never left Tom. “But Peter
does
have a point. Everyone has a
price, an Achilles heel. We just need to find yours.”
“You have my kids. I don’t have anything left for you to take.” He
was afraid to glance at Jed’s Timex. Funny how subjective time was,
dragging when you most wanted it to fly. He hadn’t lied to Chris. He
didn’t want to die. There
were
the kids and Ellie to live for, and Alex,
out there, somewhere.
Stay alive, Alex, stay safe. Please understand this
was the only way.
“Don’t wish your life away, Tom”—and then there was a rasp of
metal against leather, a blur of motion as Finn brought his parang
around in a slashing cut that cleaved air with a whistle. A laser burned
across his chest as blood spilled down his front. Crying out, Tom
began to fall before Finn got a fist in his hair and that newly blooded
blade to Tom’s throat. Tom heard gasps and alarmed cries from the
old people. Yeager and Ernst were shouting, trying to work their way
up the steps, but it was Peter who broke from his guards and started
forward. “Finn,
no
!”
“Be
quiet
, Peter,” Finn said. Through a sudden, wavering sheen of
tears, Tom saw the big boy’s head snap. A shriek bulleted from Peter’s
mouth as he crumpled.
“D-don’t,” Tom managed. His heart hammered. Warm streamers
of blood were drizzling to cold stone. A millimeter deeper and Finn
would’ve flayed bone.
Hold on, Tom, you can stand this. Just a few more
minutes.
On the other hand, if Finn cut his throat, this would end for
him a lot sooner. Six of one, half dozen of the other. “Leave him
alone. Your fight’s with me, Finn.”
“We’re fighting? I don’t think so. Look at what you’ve done, the
lengths you’ve gone and what you’ve suffered, and then tell me that
your fight is with
me
. Isn’t it with yourself, Tom?”
“Finn!”
Yeager strained against men no less old but much stronger.
“In the name of God—”
“God left Rule a long time ago. You know the real question,
Yeager? How can your god allow for someone like me? Because make
no
mistake
, Tom.” Finn loomed in his sight, huge and terrible. “You
may
think
you’re used up, ready to die. I promise you’re not. The
body endures even if the spirit does not. I know where the arteries
are, what you
really
need to survive, how to make you last a
very
long
time. You
think
you need this?” Finn angled the blade until that keen,
silvered edge grazed the underside of Tom’s nose. “Or your eyelids or
lips or fingers? Those hands? Believe me, you don’t—”
“Stop!” A sudden, very clear voice, from Tom’s left: “Don’t!”
What?
Over the boom in his ears, Tom felt his mind trying to battle its way from this fog of new pain. Above him, he saw Finn’s head
snap up, those colorless cobra’s eyes suddenly huge with shock—and
was that recognition?
Who?
“Wait!” Quick as lightning, Finn let Tom go, whipping around
to the sound of weapons being readied. Mellie’s huge Magnum was
already in her fist as all of Finn’s men drew down; the guard next to
Penny had clambered atop the brownstone balustrade, the better to
aim . . .
“No!” Finn shouted. Half-turning, he spotted the guard on the
balustrade and sprang, moving surprisingly fast for an old man, that
bloody parang already sweeping up. “Hold your fire, don’t—”
There came a
crack
, the man jerking off a shot at the precise
moment that Finn’s blade caught the barrel of the weapon. Crying
out, the man staggered as his shot went wild, and then let out a loud
screech as Finn cut the parang in a broad sweep across his middle.
A gush of bright red blood spattered stone as the guard clutched at
his spurting stomach and crumpled, tumbling from the balustrade.
“No, God!” the guard shrieked. He got a hand up.
“Don’t—”
Whatever else had been on his tongue died as Finn brought the
parang down in a hard chop.
“I
said
,” Finn roared, as he booted a mighty soccer kick at the
guard’s head that sent it rocketing down the village hall steps, “no
one
fires
!”
“Elias?” Still straight-arming her Magnum, Mellie craned a faltering look back, paling at the sight of gouts of thick blood still pumping
from the raw stump of the guard’s headless corpse. “What are you—”
“Do what I say!” Finn bellowed, brandishing the dripping parang.
“No one fires! Let her through!”
My God, Finn
knows
her.
The realization blazed like a pillar of
orange fire from an IED. Still reeling, Tom now saw that Simon—that
boy with Chris’s face who had looked so beaten just a few moments
ago—was staring with a look of disbelief that was quickly shifting to
dismay and dread. On the ground, not far from him, Peter was moaning: “No no no, don’t, this is what he wants, this is what Finn
wants
.”
They
all
knew her: Finn and Peter. Simon. But how?
No, God.
Tom’s heart beat even faster, this time with fresh horror. A terrible
cold was creeping through his veins to seep into his brain and bones,
and he heard himself moan, felt himself die just a little bit more.
No, please, God, don’t do this. Aren’t I enough? What more can I give you?
Please, don’t take her, please.
Struggling to his feet, he watched her come: hands up, rifle held
high. She was tauter than he remembered. Her expression was tight,
steely with resolve. Her eyes were very bright, a brilliant green; her
long hair as deeply rich and red as his blood.
She was his breath, and he would give all he had to save her. He
could; there was still time to get clear. There was nothing Finn could
do about the hidden thermite eating metal, the buckets of homemade ANFO, the redundant coils of det cord that would, in a very
few seconds, spark to life. The bombs would blow. Rule would die,
but
she
didn’t have to. Life with Finn wouldn’t be much of one, but
without life, there was no hope—and she was hope, for him, most
of all.
But he couldn’t let Finn get away either. There were the kids to
think about—and Ellie, only eight, just getting started.
This was Afghanistan again, that day in the blare of sun and on the
rocks, with that little boy and girl: an impossible choice.
God, what good is a choice when it isn’t one? When it truly
is
between
two evils, and neither less evil than the other? If I save Alex, Finn gets the
kids. If I say nothing and the bombs go . . .
Choose, Tom
. He felt that steady pressure, that hand in his mind,
trying to knock him down, make him bend and break.
Alex or the
children: choose—and do it fast.
Because he and Alex had less than eight minutes left.

After they’d taken her weapons, she’d come to stand on his right.
As she passed, her hand brushed his, the touch so potent he nearly
gasped at the scorch and sudden burn in his heart. When she turned
to face Finn, her eyes skimmed his for only a moment, but long
enough for Tom to see that minute shake of her head. He wasn’t
exactly sure what she was warning him about, but he kept his mouth
shut. He wasn’t certain he could trust himself to speak anyway.

“You
know
this girl?” Mellie asked. Her gray eyes shot to Tom,
then to Finn. “How? Where?”
“Oh, here and there.” Wiping his gored parang on the trousers of
the headless guard, Finn sheathed the weapon. His cobra-eyes ticked
from her to Tom, then back. Finn looked both fascinated—and wary.
“You killed one of my best hunters,” he said to her.
“It was an accident.” If there was any fear there, Tom didn’t hear
it. But he sensed she was waiting for something, and thought, from
the tense line of her jaw, she was working hard, too. But working
hard at what?
Or is she holding back?
“You must not have cared about
him too much, or else you wouldn’t have left the body and all his nice
gear,” she said. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.” His snake’s eyes raked her up and down. “How
did you do it? Not even Davey could find you.”
“Davey?” Maybe it was Tom’s imagination, but he thought there
was the very slightest difference in her tone. Her laser-green gaze slid
to the boy—Davey—then back.
“Yes. You’re
very
different.” Finn turned to consider Simon, whose
face was a study in anguish, before regarding her again with genuine
curiosity. “Is Simon . . .
fond
of you? Is that why they let you live?”
What?
Tom felt his stomach lurch into his throat.
What?
“What do you want, Finn?” she asked.
“You’re able to block me,” Finn said. “How? What is it about you
that’s so different?”
She looked at Finn for a long moment. “I have cancer.”
The words hit Tom so hard he almost lost it. Probably would’ve—
collapsed, screamed, grabbed her, wrapped her up, because
no one
was touching her, no one would hurt her ever again, and he would
fight for her, he would
fight
—if she hadn’t warned him to keep his
mouth shut.
No, Jesus, please.
His right leg was already shuddering,
and now he thought he might actually fall. A red mist crept over his
vision. Really, this couldn’t get any worse. There was no hell in the
hereafter to worry about. They were living it.
“A brain tumor.” Her voice trembled, just a little. A scarlet flush
stained her cheeks.
“Really?” Finn only looked intrigued. “Terminal?”
“That’s what they said.” She moved a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m
still here.”
“Fascinating. Are you epileptic? From the tumor?”
“No, are you?”
“No.” The corner of Finn’s mouth twitched. “So you
felt
it. How
are you controlling it? Or are you? You look tense. Barely holding
on, is that it? I’ll bet it’s worse when I
drive
them, isn’t it?” When she
didn’t reply, Finn said, “What’s your name?”
“Don’t!”
Peter strained against the three guards wrestling him
back. “Don’t do it, don’t tell him! It’s how he gets access!”
Access?
Tom stared at Peter.
To what?
“Peter, it’s all right,” she said.
“But then he’ll control—”
“Quiet, boy-o.” Finn’s revolver was in his hand in the same flash of
speed with which he’d wielded that parang. “Don’t push it—”
“Stop, Finn. Don’t hurt him,” she said—and looked at Davey.
“Alex. My name is Alex.”
Alex.
Tom saw Davey’s eyelids flutter, and his nostrils flare.
What
are you doing?
“Noooo,”
Peter moaned. “Alex, no, you don’t understand—”
“No, Peter,” Alex said. “I think I do.”
“Do you,
Alex
?” Finn said, in the gentle, almost wheedling tone of
a kindly grandfather. “I doubt that. So let me . . .
show
you.”
Flinching, Alex sucked in a quick, pained breath, her head suddenly snapping the way Peter’s had when Finn hurt him—and Tom
couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop, Finn.
Please
,” he said, hoarsely. Peter was grimacing, his
head moving in a spastic jerk as his fists clenched. All around, the air
seemed to hum as the Changed, including Davey, shifted, the way
runners take their marks. He felt the guards grab his arms as he tried
to get between Finn and Alex. “Stop what you’re doing, don’t hurt
her, don’t—”
“N-no, Finn,” Alex stammered. Her eyes rolled to the whites. A
thin trickle of blood oozed from a nostril. “L-let me—”