Strikeforce (7 page)

13

Cassius finished strapping the parachute around the three of them. It didn't have enough bands to secure them all, so he had to pull some extra rope from the cruiser's cabinets and weave it in. He tied the material in several places, hoping that the force outside wouldn't be able to rip them all apart. But he didn't have the luxury of time. It would never be his best work, given the constraints he was struggling under.

He and the others stood back to back, forming a human triangle. Cassius had fastened their bodies together so tightly that he found it difficult to move his own shoulders.

“Madame's right,” Eva shouted from his side. “Once we pop the chute, who's to say the ship won't just drag us down with it?”

“Trust me.” Cassius led them closer to the edge of the docking bay, taking awkward tiptoe steps since he couldn't stretch out his legs all the way.

A deafening blast issued all around them—the sound of the air being ripped from the innards of the ship as it plummeted.

He prodded Madame's shoulder. “Pull it as soon as our feet lift off the ground. I'll do the rest.”

“But that's not how—”

“You always taught me to follow your lead,” he interrupted. “Now it's your turn to follow.”

He knew that she wanted to argue. As brave a face as Madame put on, she wasn't used to this kind of action. This sort of situation—jumping and praying—was Cassius's thing. For better or worse.

More important, he could do things that she couldn't. And this kind of escape was going to rely on his specific talents. If it worked.

They couldn't run so close together, positioned the way they were, so they continued to inch along the ground, fast as they could without tripping, until they reached the point of no return.

Once close enough to the edge, the force from the rapidly passing air became too much. It tugged up at them like a claw, sucking their hair straight above their heads. Cassius felt the sleeves of his shirt pull up. His feet lifted from the ground.

With a great lurch, the sky plucked them from the docking bay and sent them spinning into clear air. The upper lip of the bay nearly connected with Cassius's shin. He used the close proximity to kick off, pushing them farther from the sinking Skyship.

Behind him, he heard the snap of the parachute being released. All at once, they shot upward at dizzying speed. Cassius fought the wind's forceful blows and craned his neck to see the chute unfold above them. They whipped diagonally, at first away from the ship and then closer. This wasn't the typical emergency escape. Parachutes were made for cruisers and shuttles. Skyship Atlas was too big. It created wakes in the air, pushing them around in a nauseous seesaw, drawing them closer.

His arm tensed. He cupped his fingers into a fist and reached up through the air. His shoulder forced against Eva's. The wind threatened to slam his arm back to his side, but he fought through until it stretched all the way above his head.

It was time.

Focusing the energy inside of him, he let his fingers spark. A flame ignited above his hand, growing slowly until it climbed a foot in height. Eighteen inches. Twenty.

The wind wanted to tear it away, shift it sideways so that it would burn through the ropes, keeping them attached to the parachute. Gritting his teeth, Cassius kept hold of it, forcing the flame into a ball around his hand, steady in the center of all the chaos around him. Sweat dripped from his brow, eaten by the wind before he could even think to wipe it off. He felt his muscles tremble with the added exertion.

But it was working. They began to rise.

Like a hot-air balloon, the parachute trapped the heat from the fire. Even so, the tiny hole at the top let much of the hot air through, so Cassius had to keep the flame burning high, at least until Atlas was far enough away from them.

They rose slowly, but not at a constant rate. The atmosphere pulled up and down—turbulence they had no guarantee of surviving. Their parachute wobbled through the red-tinted sky as Atlas plunged ever farther below them.

Soon, a deep rumble came from the Surface, so loud that it nearly broke Cassius's concentration. A series of fire balls erupted below them, spreading along the desert landscape as Atlas ripped apart. The heat from the explosion swelled toward them, catching in the parachute and sending them even higher.

Cassius caught glimpses of the catastrophe below him—snapshots of fire and rubble—but never enough to get a full picture of the wreckage. He wondered how many passengers were still onboard during impact. It was worse than Skyship Altair had been. Bigger ship, more casualties. If nobody had been able to escape via shuttle or cruiser, how had anybody gotten to safety?

Had
anybody gotten to safety?

He thought about the Tribunal. Enemies, maybe, but he couldn't imagine them all snuffed out so suddenly. It didn't seem real.

Cassius clenched his fist, extinguishing the fire. The parachute dipped down immediately.

Atlas had crashed off to their right. If the wind started to push them toward the blazing wreckage, he'd conjure another flame to steer them to safety. Right now, all he could do was let his arms fall to his sides and close his eyes, unwilling to look down.

When he refocused on the ground, they were less than a mile from the Surface. He could see people now, running away from what was left of the Skyship. He imagined that they'd piled at the edges of the upper docking bays, jumping off just before the explosions at the center of the ship had spread to engulf them. Others had fallen to the ground on parachutes, only they'd already landed—most much closer to the wreckage than Cassius's steered chute would bring them. Most had undoubtedly been crushed.

“Look!” Eva's voice pierced his thoughts.

She wriggled her arm free and pointed to the sky, off in the opposite direction from the crash. Cassius turned his head. At first, he didn't notice anything. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the oncoming wind. Then he saw it.

The red in the air began to dissipate—fold back into itself. Normal blue sky replaced it, starting from far in the distance and racing closer to their parachute.

It stopped. The sky was blue again. Everywhere but one spot, directly in front of them.

As if being pulled by a magnet, the red energy swirled together, churning like an enormous whirlpool in the sky. Cassius half-expected to watch a tornado form out of thin air.

Something did emerge from the whirlpool. But it was no tornado.

A metal object—so seamlessly
silver that the sun beamed a blinding reflection off its hull—protruded fr
om the center of the portal, growing in size as it came down upon the earth. First it was narrow, like the tip of a missile, but
it soon expanded into a wide, oblong shape. A rocket, without windows or wings or tail fins. In seconds enough had popped out that it dwarfed everything around it. Cassius could hardly see past the metal siding of the craft. It dropped several miles away from them, sending shockwaves through the sky. Their parachute blew sideways in its wake.

Cassius watched in horror as the strange vessel fell closer to the Surface. He expected it to explode just like Atlas had, but instead of dismantling, it worked its way into the ground like a drill, sticking in the earth at a diagonal. The red whirlpool above evaporated. The ship stopped moving.

Cassius couldn't take his eyes off it, and with good reason. Within seconds, he and the others would land back on the Surface, inches away from the vessel. They were heading straight toward it.

14

A slap wakes me.

I jump and grab hold of some sort of plush handle to my side. When I open my eyes, I realize I'm sitting with my back against the wall. A cramp right between my shoulder blades makes twisting uncomfortable. My entire body aches with bruises.

My eyes part to see Avery crouched before me, hand recoiled and expression worried. She winces. “Sorry. I figured you were already beat up enough. What's another slap?”

I wiggle my jaw. It feels displaced. Nothing feels right.

Beyond Avery, the narrow space we're both in seems to be completely empty. It's not like a normal room—too long and constricted to make much sense as anything but a closed-off hallway. The metal walls are barren, dark and scuffed up beyond saving. It's unnervingly quiet, except for a constant rattle underfoot, like I'm sitting on top of a generator or engine.

“Avery.” My voice comes out weak and strained. “What's happening?”

She sits back, though a sudden shift in the ground almost throws her to the side. “Thank god you're alive.”

“Did the Drifters … did the Pearl energy make it out?”

Her jaw clenches. “Don't worry about the Pearl energy.”

“I lost consciousness … ” I shake my head. “Back in the reactor chamber. The energy … the Drifters.”

“I know.” She lays a hand on my knee, mostly to stop me from talking. “Listen Jesse, none of that matters right now. They've got us.”

I search her eyes, trying to understand. “Who?”

She glances nervously to the other end of the room. A door. I hadn't noticed it before. “Who do you think?”

My heart sinks. “The soldiers?”

She nods. “The Authority.”

“But—”

“The explosion from the reactor must have drawn them to you,” she interrupts. “Jesse, I did what I could. I tried to stop them. When they surged on you—grabbed what I thought … ” She pauses, shielding her face from view. I can tell she's fighting back tears. “What I thought might be your lifeless body. I wouldn't let them take you without taking me, too. I was sure they were gonna kill me. But they didn't. And now you're alive too.”

I peer around the room, hoping to find anything besides blank walls.

“The door's locked,” Avery says. “I already tried. They left about five minutes ago.”

“Where are we?”

Avery bites her lip. “Some sort of train. Transport, I think. It's definitely not the Chute. They hijacked it and brought us onboard. I've got no idea where we're headed.”

I stretch my arms, wincing as bolts of pain shoot through my limbs. Suddenly the rumble underfoot gains new significance. We're moving. “Why didn't they just kill us? It's worse this way. It means they're planning something.”

Avery glances at the door, hand shaking. “The entire city's gone to hell. Should be in complete ruins by now. I saw the buildings crumble, Jesse, as we were being dragged to the train car. Then, just after the Bio-Nets fell, the sky bled. It was as red as the Authority Pearls. What are we up against?”

“It's worse off than we thought,” I reply. “And I was stupid enough to think that freeing a few dozen Drifters would have any effect. If they can take down a city like that—”

“You did what you could,” she interrupts. “We're alive. We learned. Now we just need to stay alive.”

Before I can respond, the door bursts open and a pair of foot soldiers stride through, similar in height and design as the one that nearly killed me in the bunker. On first glance, it would be easy to mistake them for human, but as they turn to appraise us, the gleaming red of their eyes is more than enough to dehumanize them.

Avery grabs my arm and pushes her body against mine. We press against the wall, unable to look away from the soldiers.

They speak to each other—words I can't comprehend, but ones that mirror the desperate sounds of the pleas from inside Pearls. The native Haven language is twisted as it spills from these soldiers' mouths in deep, guttural phrases.

They're unarmed. Once I get past the initial horror of seeing them so close, this observation registers with me. Not that the guy down in the bunker had been armed, either. And not that I have any Pearls around to use as an offense.

Where did Talan and Sem go? What about Skandar?

These questions ricochet in my mind as my panicked brain tries to work out what to do. There is no help in this train car. Only Avery and I. Sure, we've overcome a lot together already, but neither of us is the least bit physically imposing when it comes down to it.

Once the soldiers have finished communicating with each other, the one on the left advances. Avery lets out a yelp as he grabs her by the arm and forces her to her feet.

That's all I need to see. The sight of her manhandled by this guy gets me standing, even though pain nearly collapses me once more.

“Let go of her!”

The soldier doesn't seem to understand. Or maybe he does. He clenches her tighter against his body, eyes blazing crimson.

“Jesse,” she says through a half-suffocated windpipe. “No!”

I ball my fists, determined to fight. I know I won't last long, but I can't just stand here and watch Avery crushed to death.

The enemy Drifter smiles, wide enough that I get a look at his teeth. The second approaches me. I tilt away, legs apart, ready to punch.

What the hell do I punch? His body's covered nearly head to toe in armor. I don't stand a chance.

Just then, the entire back wall of the train car rips open. I fall against the metal behind me, watching in horror as the train's ripped apart. The back end peels off with ruthless efficiency. Once gutted, the entire square of metal flies onto the tracks in the distance, thrown by an unseen hand.

The first soldier drops Avery. She collapses, gasping for air.

A man jumps, from above the train, into the opening he just created. He stands there, framed by the jagged hole. Train tracks disappear behind him as he grips the frame, feet firmly planted.

He wears a baggy gray shirt, so dark that it's nearly black. His legs are partially covered by some sort of armor—badly worn and cracked in several places. His head is shaved, and he wears a deep frown. I only see one eye. The other is covered by some sort of patch. From this distance, it looks as though it's been sewn into his skin somehow. His bulky shoulders heave w
ith exertion.

When he speaks, his voice rumbles with the same force as the train engine. “Jesse Fisher.”

He knows my name.

Releasing his hold on the door frame, the man stomps into the room.

The first soldier springs into action, lunging at the man before he can say or do anything else.

I watch as the stranger deflects his attack, kneeing the soldier in the gut and swinging him back through the opening. The Drifter hurtles onto the tracks outside, quickly forgotten.

Seeing this, the second soldier comes at the man, only to be met by a colossal fist, shattering the Drifter's helmet. Before the body can even hit the ground, the stranger grabs the soldier by the neck and pounds him into the opposite wall, hard enough to leave a dent in the metal. The soldier falls to the ground in a heap, unconscious. Probably dead.

The armored man turns back to me. “Come with me, Jesse.” His good eye narrows. “We have things to do.”

I back away. “I don't—”

Before I can finish, he sprints toward me, impossibly fast. I attempt to counterattack, do
something
, but in less than a second he's whipped his arm up around my shoulder. We stay still for just a moment. Then the ground falls away from us.

We're out the back opening and in the sky before I even realize we're flying.