FREED (Angels and Gargoyles Book 2) (4 page)

Carver, on the other hand, was short and pale, his cheeks a bright red. He was constantly squinting even though the sun had been behind him for hours. He had dark hair, but it was nothing like Wyatt’s. It was stringy and straight, so long he was constantly brushing it out of his face. He talked. He talked incessantly.

“Those formations? They were a work of art. Did you know that?” he said as they began their walk. And his chatter continued on along that vein for hours.

Dylan tried to walk with Bobby most of the time.

Wyatt chose a small meadow in a rare copse of trees to make camp. He sent Sam in search of water while he and Bobby went hunting. Ellie collapsed on the ground and began to cry.

“What’s the matter?” Dylan asked, coming to sit beside her.

“My feet have never been this sore. Why did he have to walk so fast?”

“To put distance between us and the Redcoats.”

“I think I might rather have been caught,” she groaned as she pulled a boot from her foot.

“Don’t say that,” Carver said. “A lot of people died back there.”

Ellie blushed. Dylan was pretty sure she had never seen her shamed quite that easily. Not that she knew Ellie all that well. They had known each other in passing in Genero, but they only traveled together a few days before Dylan was taken by the Redcoats in Viti. And since then…Ellie spent most of her time at Wyatt’s side.

“Let me see your feet,” Dylan said.

Ellie didn’t hesitate. She lifted her foot into Dylan’s lap and sighed in anticipation as Dylan slipped her sock off and began to run her hands over the blisters that had formed along the tender skin of her arch. Ellie closed her eyes, sighing again, this time the sound filled with an immense sense of pleasure.

“What are you doing?” Carver asked.

Dylan glanced at him. She was no longer afraid to tell people what she could do. There didn’t seem to be any danger in it. But old habits were hard to kill. She dropped Ellie’s foot onto the soft grass and turned to the other, again removing the sock and then touching her foot, picturing the skin smooth and perfect as she ran her hand over it. The blisters disappeared as though they had never been there, even the ones that had broken and were weeping their liquid against Dylan’s fingers.

“You okay now?” she asked.

Ellie nodded. She touched Dylan’s hand lightly. “I hope everyone is okay,” she said.

Dylan didn’t respond. She was pretty sure that Davida had survived. The fact that she heard her voice in her mind when the attack was over seemed hopeful. But she wasn’t sure about Jimmy, or any of the others. She had heard specific names, but a part of her was hoping that those names were being called out of relief or uncertainty, not because their loved ones had found them gone.

She couldn’t help but think of all the children they had left behind, all the young mothers, the lovers. She hadn’t known them long, but long enough to not want any harm to come to them. Guilt lay heavy on her shoulders. This was all because of her. If she had stayed in Viti…

“We should get a fire going,” she said. “Wyatt will have something to cook when he comes back.”

“I’ll go find some firewood,” Carver said.

Ellie busied herself pulling her shoes back on as Dylan gathered rocks to make a fire ring. The work was good. It gave her something else to concentrate on.

Sam was the first to return. Not only had he found a small stream, he had brought along some dried wood he had found on the trail. They worked side by side, lighting the fire with a few precious matches Dylan had in the bottom of her bag. When there was nothing left to do, Dylan busied herself laying out a few blankets to make a sleeping place. Sam came up behind her and watched quietly for a few minutes.

He must have seen something in her face because he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

Her hands stilled. She bit her lip. “It is.”

“No.” He touched her shoulders. “They knew the risks they were taking by coming out here. They made their own choices.”

“No one makes a choice to die the way those people died.”

“Dylan—”

“And what about you?” she asked, turning to face him. “Did you ask to be arrested? To be held in that box? All you wanted was to survive.”

“And I did, thanks to you and Wyatt.”

She shook her head. “I don’t even understand what it is they want from me.”

“Who?”

They both turned as Carver stepped out of the copse of trees, more firewood stacked in his arms. Something about the way Carver was looking at her made her nervous. She stepped back, wishing he would find something else to do somewhere else.

Sam took the wood from Carver. “Why don’t you go help Ellie boil the water?”

Carver looked over at Ellie. “Looks like she has it under control,” he said.

Sam didn’t say anything, but the expression on his face must have said volumes because Carver suddenly turned and walked off. He didn’t go to Ellie, but he moved far enough from Sam and Dylan that it was unlikely he would overhear them again.

“Who is he?” Dylan asked.

Sam dropped the firewood off to the side of their chosen sleep spot and settled beside Dylan’s blankets. “I heard he’s from Chemosh.”

“What’s that?”

“Another city. A city where the people are treated much worse than they are in Viti.”

Dylan glanced over at Carver. “Where is his family?”

Sam shook his head. “He doesn’t have one. That might be the reason why Davida wanted us to bring him along. Because he would have been completely unprotected during the attack.”

Dylan thought about that, thought about Davida’s clear compassion for all the children who were a part of their group. She would watch her nearly every morning, gather the children, and lead them in a little song. It was a song that required the smallest children to remember their alphabet, while the older children could add little rhymes that helped them learn what Davida called phonics. She was teaching them, even out here, even without the aid of computers and books.

And it wasn’t just the little ones. Davida made an effort every day to speak to each of the adolescents. She would walk alongside them during the daily trek, or she would seek them out during meals and resting periods. She laughed with them, offered them hugs, or just listened to what they had to say. Dylan had actually felt a few trickles of jealousy when she saw Davida with Ellie the first morning after they were reunited. But she saw the smile that crossed Ellie’s face when Davida leaned close to whisper something in her ear. It was Davida, she realized. It was simply her nature to want to nurture.

Dylan knew now how lucky she was to have a guardian like Davida, even for the shortened time in which they were together.

Even now. Even in the face of a life or death decision, Davida had made a difficult choice and sent her children away for their own safety.

“Do you think they will catch up to us?” she asked Sam.

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation. But Dylan found herself wondering if that came from blind faith or a desire to make Dylan feel better.

She hoped it was neither.

Dylan was in an unfamiliar place.

She was aware that she was dreaming, but the dream seemed so vivid that it had a surreal feel to her. She was barefoot, her clothes once again exchanged for a thin, silky dress. Even her hair was different, pulled so high up on her head that she felt as though her eyes had been pulled out of shape. The ground beneath her was cold and smooth, like stone, but she couldn’t see it. It didn’t seem to be overly dark, but she still could not easily see the room around her.

A voice called her name. Dylan stopped moving, her heart skipping a beat. She didn’t immediately recognize the voice, but she knew that it was a voice that came with something that frightened her.

“Hello, Dylan.”

She came out of nowhere, a beautiful woman with flowing golden hair and blue eyes that were so pale they almost seemed to disappear in a face that was made to be displayed.

There was something familiar about this woman. Something about the curve of her jaw, the tilt of her eyes. As Dylan studied her, the woman smiled. It was such an amazing smile, one that seemed to make those lucky enough to bask in it feel chosen, to feel like they were the cream that rose to the top. Dylan could feel her mood lift, as though someone had just presented her with an unexpected gift.

“Yes,” the woman said, her voice like the purest drop of spring water, “You do know me.”

“How?”

The woman touched Dylan’s temple lightly. Instantly an image burst across her mind, a memory of walking into a long chamber and meeting Luc and Lily, the couple who ruled Viti. Dylan immediately jerked back.

“No!” she cried, but she knew it to be true.

This was Lily standing before her. Lily before some illness stole her vitality.

“We are connected,” Lily said.

“What do you want from me?”

“You are my salvation,” Lily said.

Dylan stepped back, but she didn’t seem to move. She tried again, taking huge steps backward, but she always stayed in exactly the same place. Lily just watched, a patient smile on her lips.

“We are in a dream, but I have control over what you do, what you see. You cannot leave me until you wake.”

“What do you want?” Dylan demanded, feeling as though she was only repeating herself.

“I want to explain things to you,” she said. A sadness came over Lily’s face. “I think those you are with probably told you things that are not true. I came to tell you the truth.”

“And what is the truth?”

Lily gestured with one hand toward a wall that stood feet from them. The wall became transparent, and then it seemed to explode into images. Dylan saw a world filled with people, cities like the ruin Wyatt had taken to her, the streets filled with people moving in many different directions. Teenagers holding hands, old couples walking side by side, men in odd clothing holding boxes with handles, women with their bellies swollen with what Dylan now understood was a future child. It was eerily like the vision Dylan had when she walked with Wyatt that day, the man talking about something called Christmas and a young woman who kissed a boy and begged for more.

Then the image changed.

The sky filled with flying objects, things with wings like a bird or a gargoyle, but not living things. And then bright light filled the image as people screamed and bodies began to bleed.

“This is war,” Lily said. “The humans turned on one another and began killing.”

“Why?”

Lily shrugged. “Over something called oil. Some countries had too much, others did not have enough. They fought over who should be allowed to sell it, who should be allowed to buy it, and where it should all go. And then tempers got involved, leaders felt disrespected by other leaders while other groups, people called terrorists, felt that all leaders should be destroyed. And they were nearly correct.”

Lily waved her hand again, and another image filled the wall. The sky was now filled with gargoyles and other creatures, winged creatures with human forms. Dylan recognized Lily and Luc among them.

“We came to save the humans. But they didn’t want our help.”

Another image showed the humans using things like the six shooter Wyatt wore on his waist to try to hurt Lily’s kind. Angels…the word just flashed through Dylan’s mind, and it seemed appropriate.

“What happened?”

Lily waved her hand, and the images disappeared. “We did what we could for those who were willing to accept our help. We built our cities, provided them with food and shelter. And then we began getting sick.”

Dylan studied Lily’s face, saw sadness in her eyes. “You have to understand,” Lily said quietly, “we did not mean any harm to the humans. They are God’s children, just like us. We simply wanted to help end the fighting. But something, a disease that is harmless to humans, began to affect us. We couldn’t go home, but staying here meant finding a cure. So we had Biel set up his laboratories.”

“Laboratories?”

“Genero,” she said. “And there are others.”

Dylan remembered what Davida had said, about Genero existing in order to create her. “What do you want me for?”

Lily smiled softly. “You are my child, Dylan,” she said quietly. “You are my genetic copy, the one offspring of Genero who can help me get better.”

Dylan stepped back again. “How can I do that?”

Lily’s soft smile turned into something else, something sinister. But her gaze never wavered from Dylan’s face, her presence never altered in any way. She didn’t reach for her, didn’t seem interested in hurting her. But something in that smile made chills run quickly up and down the entire length of Dylan’s body.

“We’ll leave that up to the scientists,” Lily said. “The process is quite complicated. But I can assure you,” she said, her tone nowhere near reassuring, “that you will be greatly rewarded when my health is restored.”

“What if I don’t want to help you?”