Parallel Heat (37 page)

Kelsey focused on her work at hand, palming the coiling unit so that it churned brighter and harder and faster. ‘‘You’re opening a portal,’’ Thea gasped in understanding. ‘‘Between—’’

‘‘The base and this chamber,’’ Jared finished. ‘‘We’ve long theorized how the mitres would serve as our primary weapon against the Antousians—now’s our chance to test the theory. Firsthand.’’

‘‘And if we fail?’’ Thea pressed him. ‘‘What then, sir? Earth will be gone.’’

Jared took her by the shoulder, leading her to the target area in the center of the chamber. ‘‘Can you name another way to fight the
vlksai
? They’ve infiltrated the base, and are in their ethereal form, undoubtedly. Any of our strike positions are meaningless at this point. If they succeed, Earth will be gone anyway. This is the only way.’’

Thea understood precisely what her commander was proposing. Yes, they’d theorized this approach endlessly, but theories were one thing, and practical application in the middle of a deadly showdown quite another. ‘‘What will Kelsey do?’’

‘‘I’ll create the portal, bridge the distance while they’’—she pointed toward the two science officers who’d quietly accompanied them—‘‘man the mitres weapon.’’

 
Hope struggled to climb through crumbling debris. The assault on the barracks had finally ended, but not before the building had caved in on top of her. Somehow she’d managed to claw her way toward an opening in the collapsed wreckage, drawn toward the smell of fresher air and the vague appearance of lights.

Feeling with her hands, which were cut and bloodied from the jagged debris, she forced the opening larger, though she proceeded with extreme caution, aware that she might send more of the structure down atop of her if she weren’t careful. But she couldn’t stay inside the decimated building either; there was too much possibility that it would cave in atop her. On the outside, their enemies might capture or kill her, but inside was a certain death trap.

Good thing I’m so small,
she thought as she wormed her way through the aperture. With an unceremonious thud, she tumbled face-forward toward the ground, catching herself awkwardly on splayed hands, wincing as her wounded palms hit the ground.
Scott Dillon, where are you?
she wondered, trying to make out anything in the fumes and smoking carnage. Nothing. She could see absolutely nothing, nor could she determine a fucking thing.

No weapon, no eyesight, nothing; she felt her way toward what looked like a supply truck, crawling and keeping low to the ground. It was the only way she had a hope in hell of surviving.

 
An Antousian battle cruiser held position directly above Warren Air Force Base. So far the ship had taken out most of the barracks and other buildings across the base, but the underground facility had yet to be penetrated. Scott and Marco led a small force of Air Force soldiers in a recon mission, utilizing infrared as a means of identifying Antousian ground forces. But their best counterweapon at the moment was simply Scott’s ability at tracking his own species; sniffing the air, sweeping his gaze about the landscape, he identified scattered bands of snipers and other Antousian soldiers.

So far, they’d taken out at least twelve of the
vlksai
, Marco holding the rear as they worked their way and prayed that Jared’s plan would work.

As Scott glimpsed bombed-out buildings, torn-apart wreckage—trucks upended and jets sliced in half—he worried about Hope Harper. Without her eyesight, she would have no defense if the Antousians came after her. The colonel said she’d gone to the barracks—but all the barracks had already been leveled. During his days of captivity she had never wavered, fighting for him and believing in him; he was determined to reach her, somehow, and help her escape the clutches of his murderous enemies. The Antousians would take special pleasure with the likes of her, someone vulnerable and spirited; they thrived on breaking her kind.

Behind him, a sudden spattering of gunfire erupted. Cut off by a whine and a boom. Dropping low, a quick glance over his shoulder betrayed the truth—an exploding mortar shell had just taken out most of the soldiers who’d been following him. More explosions ensued, more bullets whistled through the darkness, and there was no sign of Marco. The Madjin must have been taken out along with the human soldiers, he realized, but there wasn’t time to mourn a fallen comrade, not if he planned to get out of this hell alive.

The whining whiz of a mortar round shot over his head.
Got to keep moving, I’ve got to get out of here!

 
Hope crawled on her belly, inching her way toward what looked like an upturned truck or jeep. All she needed was good cover, then she could ride this battle out; hopefully she’d live to see the day that seemed to be dawning over the base. Pinkish light filled the sky; surely daylight would help even the playing field in this terrible skirmish.

Through the blurred darkness, a figure rushed toward her and she screamed, burying her face against asphalt, tasting blood in her mouth. Footsteps echoed off of pavement, and she cowered, unable to flee or fight.

I’m going to die. Now. This is it,
she thought, wanting to vomit from sheer terror.

A hand clutched her arm roughly, and she wrestled to pull out of the firm grasp, but then a familiar voice hissed, ‘‘Let’s go! Come on, come on! Go, go, go!’’

She wanted to sob her relief—she staggered to her feet, lurching forward in Scott Dillon’s grasp. Tears of release and terror filled her eyes while he yanked her toward the overturned truck she’d been aiming for. ‘‘Stay with me, Hope,’’ he urged. ‘‘Stay with me. I’ll get us out of here!’’

At that precise moment there was the crack of rifle fire—or some other weapon, and Scott’s grasp on her arm loosened. ‘‘Go on to that truck!’’ He gave her a shove in its direction before turning away. ‘‘Go, Hope—now! I’ll cover you.’’

She obeyed wordlessly, making a run for it, the sound of whizzing gunfire erupting all around her. As she reached cover, she thought she heard Scott cry out, but she couldn’t see a damned thing. Crawling on her belly, she managed to reach protection behind one of the truck’s oversized wheels. Her heart felt like it might explode inside her chest, and she squinted, fumbling to adjust her glasses in the vain effort to see if Scott was okay.

 
Marco hunkered behind a pile of concrete rubble, cursing himself for getting separated from Dillon. When the mortar round had hit their band of soldiers, he’d been forced to fall back in order to cover the others. All he’d accomplished in the process was to protect the lieutenant. All the human soldiers had already been taken out. Searching for Antousians through his rifle’s sights, it seemed he couldn’t get a lock on anyone. His night-vision glasses, while equipped with infrared, seemed utterly useless against the formless aliens. Either that, or they just weren’t in his vicinity at the moment.

It was an impotent feeling, sitting like a ready target, barely concealed from his enemies. Something had to be done, some method had to be used to even the odds.

There was a way he could combat their enemies, but it frightened him almost as as much as his current predicament—he could open up his empathy and feel for the
vlksai
. A noise off to the side sounded, and he swung his rifle in that direction, gripping the trigger tightly, ready to take out his enemies. But a leggy, disoriented antelope leaped over a bit of broken concrete, then ambled right past where he hid.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened himself—his empathy—and began sweeping his perception in an arc about his position. Bracing himself, he expected an onslaught of pain and nausea, the typical headaches, but, oddly, none came. What he did immediately experience were the darkest emotions he had ever felt—vile hatred, bitter vengeance, murderous jealousy. He shuddered, catching his hand against the shards of concrete in order to keep from passing out.

I have to focus,
he thought, pushing himself harder. His arc of sensory perception fanned larger, opening.
They are here, and I can find them. I can save some of these humans—Dillon too.

 
Thea felt the floor of the mitres give way beneath her as it had the last time she was there, replaced by roaring wind and vacuum. Kelsey stood in the center point of the chamber, her hair flapping wildly, both hands extended from her sides like some powerful goddess with power over time itself. The coiling unit had vanished, dissolving around them as space and dimensions gave way to eternity. Kelsey was guiding the damn thing! Not the mitres, but the opening of the portal—apparently by sheer effort of will or desire.

‘‘Kelsey,’’ she tried calling out to her queen, but beside her Jared caught her hand.

‘‘Let her do it, Thea,’’ he shouted over the roaring noise.

She squinted at Jared, trying to understand. ‘‘Do what?’’

‘‘Kelsey . . . is . . . the key.’’

‘‘To what, Jared? The key to what?’’

‘‘Maintaining the portal—she’s got the codes, only she can do it’’ he yelled, and as the portal opened to its maximize size, Thea was thrown face-first to the floor. Only there was no floor, just memories and futures like trailing comets through her consciousness.

Somewhere in all the flotsam of impressions, she found Marco and held tight to him—knowing that doing so was vitally important. Sensing that his life, in every dimension, seemed to hang in the balance.

Baby!
he called out to her.

She felt his hesitation, then:
Yes. But I’m not sure about Dillon. We were separated. He might be dead.

Thea cried aloud, pressing her eyes shut.
Not Scott, not him!

I don’t know for sure,
Marco told her, even though she’d only thought the words, not meant to communicate them.
He could be okay still. I just don’t know.

Thea held fast to the floor, trying to lift her head to see what was happening, but extreme gravity forced it down. It was as if Kelsey, by her very presence and will inside the chamber, had unleashed a force of nature.

We’re doing that, from here!
she shouted. ‘‘Marco says a portal is opening on the base!’’ she yelled into the thrashing wind. ‘‘It’s working.’’ She managed to tilt her head sideways, catching a partial glimpse of her queen. The human was illuminated from within, a golden hue having gilded her entire body; it was Prince Arienn’s power, Thea realized wondrously, fueling the mitres and utilizing Kelsey as a sort of conductor. She held the codes, Arienn had supplied the power.

Thea began shivering uncontrollably at the monumental realization that they had finally, at long last, manned the mitres as a fully functioning weapon. And just like Jared had predicted, Kelsey was the key.

 
The pain was agonizing, blinding, suffocating. Scott had never been injured this badly before, not once in all his years of soldiering. His enemies had him exactly where they wanted him—prone and vulnerable—and the same snipers who had shot his legs out from underneath him would be closing in on him now. They were coming, already, to finish him off. At least Hope had gotten to safety.

He had to think. Had to breathe. Dragging at the dawn air, he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs, and the pain in his legs was almost more than he could bear. Groaning, he tried to sit up, tried to stand, tried to do anything. He could only writhe in his own blood and beg for All to have mercy upon his soul.

‘‘Gods,’’ he groaned, clutching at the seeping wound in his right leg. The damn thing was torn half-open, and warm, sticky blood soaked his gloves. Sniffing at the air, he sensed three Antousians nearly upon him. Fumbling with his pulse rifle he cocked and reloaded, waiting for their imminent attack. Well, they might be finishing him off, but he was going to take a few of the scum along with him. Staring at the night sky, he sucked in a steadying breath. Some part of his soul wondered how all these years of fighting had boiled down to this one moment. He was going to die—maybe he was even dead already?

‘‘Lieutenant,’’ Hope’s urgent, feminine voice called out to him from the darkness. She appeared at his side once again, crouching beside him.

‘‘Wh-wh . . .’’ His mouth hardly worked, and for the first time he realized he was shaking all over—teeth-shattering tremors racking his body.
Shock, I’m going into shock
, he thought dimly. Feeling her steady hands slip beneath both of his arms, he understood she was dragging him . . . somewhere. His mouth tried to form her name, but only a gurgling sound bubbled forth. She held him beneath his arms, pulling him somewhere. His eyes searched the open lot and he remembered their objective: a large military truck parked about ten feet away. She’d never make it back there, not with him like this.

‘‘Hope . . . get to . . . cover.’’ He collapsed weakly in her arms. ‘‘Leave me.’’

She pulled harder, rougher. ‘‘Shh, we have to get you out of the open.’’ He felt heavy and awkward in her small arms, and struggled for a moment to find purchase on the pavement, but his boots scrabbled lifelessly, his legs instantly buckling beneath him.

‘‘Just don’t struggle,’’ she hissed in his ear. ‘‘You won’t be able to walk, not like this.’’ Something strange flashed in his head—the thought that maybe he
would
live, but that he’d never be able to use his legs again. He dismissed it, fumbling again with his rifle. His hands were weak; his body was fading.

But, somehow, they did make it to the truck. He sniffed at the air again, and detected their enemies. Close, so close, but not yet upon them. For a fraction of a second, he rested in Hope’s arms, then sat upright while she positioned him against one of the truck’s back wheels.