Heart of Annihilation (5 page)

“Shut up. It doesn’t matter.” Justet lifted his rifle, with some hesitation, to his shoulder.

“Tell me something, Justet.” My words sounded coarse and angry in my ears. I wasn’t going to cower here, waiting for him to take me to someone who’d blow my head off. I fixed him with an icy stare. “What do
you
know about Retha? You keep talking aliens, so I want to know what these
Rethans
want with seven small-town police officers and nine enlisted soldiers, missing from their homes or places of work over the last six years.”

“What are you talking about?” Justet dropped the muzzle of the rifle, genuinely curious.

“You heard me. Taken. Kidnapped. Abducted. Whatever you want to call it. Their places trashed, like in an explosion, and a single silver coin left at the scene stamped with the letters R-E-T-H-A.”

Justet’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, the coins. Why’s this matter so much to you?”

“It matters.” I took a single step toward Justet and his rifle. I was going to find out what he knew, even if it killed me.

“You think they’re taking our people too?” Justet asked.

“What do you mean, ‘too’?” I narrowed my eyes.

“If they’re invading Earth with their weapons of mass destruction, it only makes sense that they’ve studied us first,” he mused, turning his back to me.

I’d done enough ride-alongs with Dad to know when someone was three-sheets-to-the-wind, or just plain raving mad. Justet was neither. I rubbed my eyes, looked at Justet’s back, and glanced behind me. If I was going to run, now was the time. My hesitation cost me one of my alternatives. Justet rotated so rapidly that dirt kicked up around him like a billow of smoke. He flicked something shiny and silver toward me.

I ducked, covering my head with my arm as though the expected bullet was speeding toward me. The silver coin landed near my feet. The word RETHA, stamped across it in raised letters, shone in the sun. Shaking and breathless I plucked the coin from the dirt.

“Where’d you get this?” I turned the coin over, testing the weight and balance, checking for imperfections in the surface that might afford me some clue.

The one left at Dad’s crime scene had been squirrelled away by the police as evidence before vanishing with everything else, taken by a mysterious government agency called the DLA. I’d only gotten a small glimpse of it when they’d shown it to me, obscured in a plastic evidence bag. They’d asked if I knew anything about it. I hadn’t, at least not then. The image was imprinted in my mind. Someone was taking cops and soldiers and leaving this calling card. Why?

“They’re not all bad.” I looked up. Justet’s eyes were wide, and he nodded conspiratorially. “Some just want to help us prevent the invasion.”

It took all I had not to roll my eyes. Invasion? Aliens? It all sounded so . . . But then again, he had a coin. A RETHA coin, exactly like the one left at Dad’s crime scene. And he and his minions were planning something. Something that involved twenty-seven cans of stolen ammunition, and probably a lot more I didn’t know about.

“Justet! Where the hell are you?”

The voice floated toward us from the south, and I jumped. Stomping boots followed. A jolt of energy ripped down my spine and out into my extremities. Justet turned in the direction of Sanderford’s voice.

“Lieutenant!” Sanderford called again, closer this time. “I swear, if you’re stalling again, I’ll pop you myself.”

I didn’t so much dive for cover as panic for cover. Both feet tried to be the first to start running and tangled, driving me hard to my knees behind a large juniper shrub. The exquisite, zapping pain of voltage surged into my limbs from some bizarre, unknown source within my body.

The shrub graced the edge of the slope and I found myself sliding backward. I rolled twice, letting gravity help me along, and then scrambled to my feet. I was vaguely aware of shouting somewhere near the top of the hill. Two large, dusty strides carried me a good distance down. I changed direction on the third, taking me toward the outcropping of rock I’d noticed earlier.

An M-16 chattered a three round burst. My step turned into a leap and I rolled over the top of the rocks before falling to my knees on the other side, out of the line of fire.

I lay there for what seemed like an eternity, my breath a sharp wheeze in my ears. The tingling in my body did a rapid circuit, quivering into my fingertips and then racing into my torso and legs before making it back into my fingers. I held my hands away from my body, afraid that I might electrocute myself. I almost expected to see a thin, blue line of electricity jumping between my fingers like some weird, five-pronged stun gun. I shivered, biting down until my molars ached. The coin pressed a circular indentation into my palm. With trembling fingers I shoved the coin into my pocket.

The furious rise and fall of an argument floated from a short distance. I peered around the boulder. The sound waves were almost visible in the summer heat. A set of boots stomped closer. Moments later, a camouflaged body pushed through some shrubs fifty feet away. Sanderford stopped, his rifle loose against his shoulder.

Justet stumbled out of the bushes behind the Sergeant, batting ferociously at a branch when it snagged his shirt. I was struck with the odd sense of shifting power. I guess on a rogue mission such as this, military rank could feasibly go out the window.

Lieutenant Justet tried to stop, but slid a few inches down the slope before bumping into Sanderford. Sanderford threw him off with his shoulder, and Justet found a more level spot for his feet. He held his rifle by the pistol grip, aiming it pointlessly at the ground.

“The boss isn’t going to be happy you nearly killed her,” Justet said.

“This is Rose we’re talking about.” Sanderford examined my track on the ground in front of him, his eyebrows drawn. “She’s not going to lie down and let us do our thing. She tattles on us, and you can kiss your hundred grand goodbye. I guaran-damn-tee it. She’s better off in the ground.”

“There’s a footprint.” Lieutenant Justet’s voice was small. He waved a hand at the ground. “It’s a shame, really. About Rose. She’s a hell of a soldier.”

“A helluva pain in the ass, maybe. The boss is thinking too much about this. What’s so special about Rose anyway?”

Justet shrugged, his face troubled. Fine, dry dirt exploded around Sergeant Sanderford’s boots. Sanderford crouched, touched the ground, and looked up. I swear he was staring right at me. He narrowed his eyes and pulled the M-16 strap from his shoulder.

“Maybe you should hang back this time, L.T. I can’t imagine you’ve grown a pair since you were out here with her ten minutes ago. I’ll take care of it.”

“You mean kill her?”

“If that’s what it takes.” Sanderford stood, pulling the rifle casually to his shoulder.

Lieutenant Justet didn’t answer and I realized, with a certain amount of surprise, that I was feeling an unusual affection for his weakness. He remained stock still behind Sanderford, his rifle hanging at his side.

I let my breath out slowly. My hands trembled. I looked at my fists. Could I really kill Sergeant Sanderford? I tried to remember the mantra my drill sergeants put into my head. Kill one enemy, save a thousand friends. Sergeant Sanderford was an enemy—my enemy
.

Kill Sergeant Sanderford.

A chilly calm swept my body. An odd sense of amusement lifted the corners of my mouth. I pictured the shocked look on his face as electricity from my fingers coursed over his body, blistering him with burns. I saw him fall to his knees, screaming as smoke poured from his eyes, his sandy hair scorching into black, smoldering curls. I saw myself laughing—

My stomach heaved. I pressed a fist to my mouth and breathed through my nose. The image repeated with different ghostly levels of clarity.

Was it better to be dead than a killer? My dad would say, “Defending yourself is a God-given right. Only you can decide if you can live with the consequences.”

Voltage, volted, volting
.

Sanderford’s camouflage flashed through the branches of a nearby juniper. He crouched next to my boulder, examining the scuffmarks in the dirt. Almost within reaching distance.

My lips pulled against my teeth, every muscle stressed. With desperate swiftness, born of years of military training, I kicked out.

The bottom of my boot crushed into the side of Sanderford’s knee. His legs went out from under him and he landed on his side, catching himself with a hand, then an elbow. The rifle fired three bullets zinging against the boulder. Chips of rock flew everywhere as the bullets ricocheted off in other directions.

Sanderford swung the rifle toward me. I crabbed forward and crunched the toes of my boot against the back of his hand. The weapon flew from his fingers, banging and skittering out of reach, while the magazine ejected and flew in another direction.

Sanderford clutched his knee with one hand, groaning and swearing, while clawing his way toward his rifle. I clambered to get there first. Our fingers met on the trigger and the rifle fired a single shot. The blank burned past my cheek. Sound was lost behind the blast of the rifle, turning everything into a hollow echo on my left side.

The taste of metal filled my mouth, and a sizzle of energy escaped from my skin. Sanderford withdrew his hand with a bellowing cry, only to come at me an instant later and smash his fist into my ribs. I curled my body to protect my screaming side, at the same time backhanding Sanderford across his cheek with a blessed release of energy.

A zapping sound hissed through the air, raising the hair on my scalp. Sanderford’s head thumped to the ground. Dust covered one side of his face. He didn’t move. Blood leaked from his nose and ears.

My torso cramped. I tripped away from his body. Was he dead? Had I killed him? My knees shook, but I managed to get to my feet, pulling Sanderford’s rifle up as I stood.

Lieutenant Justet didn’t move except for the toe of his boot resting on the magazine from Sanderford’s rifle. He held the hand guard of his M-16 loosely in one hand. His expression was surprisingly neutral.

Justet raised his rifle a hair. I jerked my attention back to him and lifted my own rifle to point at his chest.

“Don’t do it, sir,” my voice rushed softly across the several feet separating us.

“There’s no ammo in that rifle.”

“You sure about that?” The bolt filled the chamber, telling me either that there was a round still in the chamber or that the bolt release had been hit. I was hoping for the former but was pretty certain it was the latter.

Justet tapped his toe on the magazine, probably wondering the same thing.

“Is he dead?” he asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

That wasn’t true. I did care. Quite a lot, in fact.

“How’d you do that?” His chin quivered.

“Do what?”

He pointed at Sanderford but then dropped his hand back to steady the rifle. “Last night, and that . . . that—”

“Where’re my tags?” I set the rifle to my shoulder and sighted down the barrel with both eyes.

“It’s more than my life’s worth to give ’em to you.”

My finger found the warmth of the trigger. All I needed to do was put the smallest amount of pressure on the little curve of metal and, if there was a round in the chamber, I could take my pendant and tags from his bleeding corpse.

So very easy. The slightest pressure.

A chatter of voices sounded from the direction Sanderford had come from. My mind cleared, like a wind blowing away a lethal fog bank. My finger lifted from the trigger. I gulped.

“They’re not coming to help you, Rose.”

I took a backward step. My finger touched the trigger again and then jerked away.

“Don’t I know it.” I retreated another step.

Justet didn’t move. The muzzle of his rifle dropped. I stumbled, righted myself, and allowed a rock outcropping covered in scrubby bushes to come between us.

The second Justet was lost from my line of sight, I ran.

Branches tore at my shirt, and the pungent smell of sage followed me as I crushed smaller bushes under my boots. I couldn’t think. I wished I couldn’t feel. Voltage coursed through my body, threatening to tear me apart from the inside. The contusion on my head and bruise on my face pulsed with the beat of my heart. I pulled one arm close to my body, trying to protect my side as my ribs jabbed pain into my lungs. I clung to the rifle with my other hand.

I tried to listen for pursuit, but my left ear was giving me sketchy, hollow-sounding information and my right was jammed by the whoosh of my own breathing. My course took me dead east toward the base. But then, with a burst of ingenuity, I turned southeast—in the direction of the road where I hoped to be able to hitch a ride with some unsuspecting convoy.

It had to have been more than a mile before the rumbling of a distant vehicle penetrated my bubble of white noise. The road showed through the brush several yards to my right. I threw myself to the ground, and crouched beneath an enormous tumbleweed in the nearby ditch.

I’d pushed my body way past what it felt was fair, and my lungs were letting me know. Darkness edged my vision. I forced myself to stillness and concentrated on getting a breath all the way down to the bottom of my lungs. I heard the rumbling of the vehicle again, closer now. The engine roared low and slow. I dragged myself up until I could peer over the incline.

A brown, cumulous dust-plume from the vehicle turned to cirrus as it rose into the still air. At least it was coming from the direction of the base and not of my pursuers.

Without any ammo the rifle was only good for a bludgeoning device, which wouldn’t help with that Humvee . . . except . . .

Oh, of course! The round! The stupid, little round that I’d taken from Justet’s office. A live round. I reached into my pants pocket, frustrated with my shaking fingers, and discarded my hat, a waterproof notebook, and a tube of ChapStick before finding the small brass cylinder. I pulled back the charging handle with stumbling fingers. No round popped out. I guess that answered that question.

Sweat stung its way into the corners of my eyes. I pressed the round into the hot, black chamber, snapped the bolt back into place, and rested the rifle on a rock so it was aiming down the road. The Hummer droned into view. It could belong to anyone on the base. All Hummers looked the same, as did the high and tight haircut in the driver seat.

I breathed in and out through my nose, willing my hands to still, and lined the driver’s head in my sites. I moved the rifle by fractions as the vehicle drew closer. My finger hovered over the trigger.

The driver swiveled his head this way and that searching for something. Closer. The Hummer was directly across from me before I recognized the man inside.

“Thurmond,” I whispered. I knocked my elbow against the stony hill in my haste to get to my feet. Ignoring the stab to my funny bone, I waved one arm above my head. “T! Hey Thurmond! Thurmond!”

The Hummer skidded to a stop several yards up the road. I crawled up the embankment. When I looked up, Thurmond was already out of the Hummer. The door hung open, creaking on its hinges.

“Rose?” He paused near the taillight, shielding his eyes. A few stumbling steps brought me next to the opposite taillight. I paused in sudden trepidation, my throat tight.

I searched his face. Was there deception hidden in the concerned slope of his mouth, the familiar lines around his eyes? Up until last night I’d had full confidence in my military comrades. Liked some more than others, but I didn’t fear them. Thurmond was my best friend, my battle buddy. Of course, I’d never thought the events of last night could happen either.

“What the hell happened to you?” Thurmond’s words rang with a hollow sound. I touched my left ear and rotated my jaw.

“You working with Justet?” My legs shook, and for a moment I was sure they would abandon me.

“What?”

“Justet and his freak squad.” I let the butt of the rifle rest on the ground and leaned on the weapon for support. I should probably have been aiming it at him instead. “Are you working with them, T?”

“Justet did this to you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I would if I knew what the hell you’re talking about.” His expression was so confused and words so sincere that there was a painful release in my chest.

Of course he wasn’t working with Justet. He was the Thurmonator. I pressed a palm gently against my puffy eye, barely restraining the desire to wrap my arms around his solid torso.

“Rose?” Thurmond reached out to touch my cheek. I flinched away. He drew his hand back, surprise on his face.

“I’m fine,” I lied, looking up the road. How long did I have until Justet started hunting me down in his vehicle?

“The hell you are.”

“What’re you doing here?” I asked, turning back. Thurmond put both hands in his pockets.

“Wichman sent me.”

“Wichman?”

“Yeah. I went to the barracks looking for you last night, you know, after the commander took you out of the club.” Thurmond ran his hand across his mouth. “When you didn’t answer the door I figured you were already racked out and didn’t care to talk. But when you didn’t show up to formation this morning Wichman dragged me out of the line, and suddenly he’s shoving me toward this Hummer and telling me to take the north road up toward the firing range.” He wouldn’t stop staring. “Said I’d find you with Justet and Sanderford and he’d be right behind me.”

“We need to get out of here,” I said, barely listening. I stepped around the side of the Hummer to the passenger door. Thurmond spoke at my back.

“What’s going on here, Rose? Did Justet—?”

“No, he didn’t. Well he did, but it’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like because this whole thing is screwy.”

I didn’t respond immediately. Thurmond touched my side. “Hey, talk to me, Rose.”

The bruising where Sanderford’s boot had made contact sent pain shooting into my lungs. I turned and shoved him with a furious release of anger and tension. Thurmond took a surprised step back and rubbed his chest where I’d struck him.

“They tried to kill me!” I shouted. The whole experience condensed into five brusque syllables made my stomach flip-flop. Anger surged through my limbs. My head pounded. “Is that okay with you?”

“What? Why?” Thurmond retreated another step.

“They . . .” I swallowed to hold back a sudden desire to punch something else.

“What’d they do?” Concern etched lines in his face. He hesitated, and then brushed soft fingers against my cheekbone. I forced myself to stand there and not assault him again.

I had to trust someone. This was too big for me to carry alone. But doing that would open a door I’d closed when I’d lost Dad. I looked into Thurmond’s honest blue eyes and took a breath.

“Justet stole ammunition from the armory,” I said. Thurmond raised his eyebrows. “And it wasn’t just Justet either, in case you think I’m being . . . Anyway, Sanderford, a couple of privates, and two people I didn’t get a good look at are in on it too.” Now that I was committed, I couldn’t stop the words. So I vomited the story all over Thurmond. The abbreviated, thirty-second version that ended with me omitting the fact that I had probably killed Sanderford with a freakish volt of electricity from my fingers.

“They beat the hell out of you over . . . aliens?” Thurmond looked murderous.

“The beating was mutual.” I frowned. “Though I definitely lost.”

“But over aliens?”

“Apparently.” I touched my cheek. The skin was hot and puffy under my fingers from where I’d struck the floor last night. A breeze cooled my sweaty scalp.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Thurmond said, reaching around me and yanking open the passenger door.

I stared up the road. A plume of dust rose not more than a mile away. My stomach leapt. Thurmond was already climbing in the driver seat as I slammed the door.

He squeezed the steering wheel, whitening his knuckles. I ran a finger gently across the blood scabbing my own knuckle. After a moment he shook his head, popped the gear into drive and made a tight U-turn. Dust flew up next to the open window. He pushed the speed higher than the Hummer was made to go, making it moan in protest. Wind whipped through my hair.

Thurmond pulled an elbow up to rest on the back of the seat. His eyebrows lifted in question as he alternately watched me and the road.

“You serious about this alien thing?” he finally said.

“Yeah. It was a freakin’ awesome start to my day.” Anger churned my stomach. I pressed a hand to my suddenly splitting head. “Especially when Corporal Thurmonator entered from stage right to save the day.” I was appalled at the sudden sarcasm twisting the words. “Hoo-freakin’-rah!” I couldn’t hold his look anymore. I glowered into the side mirror, watching the road behind us.

Silence stretched between us, a long and heated thing that only cooled when Thurmond spoke.

“You hurt? Besides what’s on your face?” Thurmond asked.

“You should see the other guy.” The dead other guy.

A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.

“And they really said they were going after aliens, huh?”

I suppose I went through a similar moment of disbelief and humor when Justet told me, but having it followed up with physical violence had a way of dampening the hilarity. And after what I’d done to Justet and Sanderford, aliens seemed downright plausible.

“Rose, maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding.”

“They want to kill me! Does that sound like a misunderstanding to you? I’d think if you were going to kill someone you’d have a really clear understanding as to why.”

Thurmond shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or simply perplexed.

“Fine. What the hell do you want to do then? Go to the MPs?”

“And tell them about the aliens? No thanks.” If Thurmond thought I was off my rocker, what would the MPs think? Not to mention that an investigation would be in order, making my wall locker public domain.

“I was talking about the ammo theft.”

He had a point. I pulled my hands close to my chest and stared down at my open palms. My nerves pulled taut. Tingling voltage raced into my fingers. I suppose I
could
go to the police. There was a certain amount of security at the thought. They were the heroes of our urban world, the ones you went to when you had a problem such as this. And Justet was delusional.

That shivery, electrical feeling crawled through my hands. A delicate blue thread of light leapt between my finger and thumb. I shoved my hands between my knees.

I was delusional too.

“What about the commander?” Thurmond suggested.

My stomach twisted, remembering Justet calling someone “ma’am” on the phone.

Before my thought could come full circle Thurmond jerked his head to look in the side mirror. I looked in my own mirror. An enormous Deuce and a Half military transport truck bore down on us.

Thurmond mashed his foot on the accelerator. The Deuce smashed the Hummer from behind, flinging me into the dashboard. I caught myself with my hands and shoulder. Thurmond swore.

“What—?”

“Get down!” Thurmond shoved me to the floorboards.

The Deuce struck us again and the Hummer slewed recklessly to the side, lifting for an instant on two wheels before it slammed back on all four. The back passenger wheel dipped into the ditch, jarring everything to a violent stop.

Dust rolled through the air in hot, sun-streaked clouds. The world seemed too still, the quiet too long. The smell of motor oil and gasoline fill the air. I turned my head, trying to bring coherency to the moment, and found Thurmond’s face. His mouth moved and the world sped up with a rushing sound, focusing into a distant echo of words.

“Rose, did you hear me? Get outta here!” Thurmond held his side with one hand, crushing his uniform into little mountains and valleys. He shoved at my shoulder with his other hand. “Get out! Don’t let them see you!”

I fumbled with the latch. The door fell open, exposing the dirt in the ditch. I tumbled out, my hands hitting the ground first. The rest of my body followed, landing with an unsightly flump and sliding down the incline a few inches. One foot caught in the Hummer, halting my descent. The strap of the M-16 hooked around my ankle, the rifle itself wedged against the floorboard and seat. I twisted to get free. Desperation clouded my reason.

A vehicle door slammed.

I closed my eyes, took a frantic breath, and with abrupt efficiency, pulled the muzzle of the rifle up and away from the seat. I yanked my leg out of the Hummer, dragging the M-16 with me.

I braved one more glance at Thurmond. He hunched over the steering wheel, hand clutching his side, frantic eyes on me.

“Don’t let them see you. You hear me, Rose?” he whispered.

I nodded. He scrunched his eyes shut and pressed his lips together. I wanted to go to him and call for help. Instead, feeling like a coward, I untangled the strap from my ankle and kicked the door shut.

Voices lilted over the top of the Hummer. “Should’ve been on our way to Air Guard base by now to load the C-130. She’s not going to like it if we’re late.”

From the way the Hummer was slanted in the ditch I could see only the soles of several pairs of boots on the other side. I pressed my back against the slope and wormed my way upward until I was beside the back wheel.

“She’ll like it even less if she finds out you didn’t take care of this.” Sergeant Sanderford’s gruff voice brought a peculiar mixture of exultation and terror trilling through me. He wasn’t dead. But on the other hand—he wasn’t dead. “We’ve got time anyway. Wheels up at twenty-three-hundred hours.”

“He doesn’t know anything.” Justet this time. “We’re wasting time, not to mention that now we have to do something about him.”

“He knows something all right. Thick as thieves, those two. We’d have to take care of him anyway.”

My thumb found the safety switch of the rifle and flipped it to the off position. I wondered if I’d be able to find a single clean shot quick enough to save Thurmond. The racking of a pistol made my finger freeze on the trigger.