Heart of Annihilation (8 page)

I couldn’t understand why my face was burning. I wasn’t even sure if my heart was beating.

Then there was pain.

A nauseating thrumming centralized near my right shoulder and burned across my entire arm. My mind wanted to retreat into oblivion. Flashing images of Deuces, rifles, airplanes, pistols, and parachutes trampled out another memory clinging to the surface.

I clenched my eyes and then slowly blinked them open, terrified of what I might see. The sun blasted hot rays onto my face. I squinted, turning my head to the side. Brown sand covered everything. The only life visible was a handful of scrappy plants scattered helter-skelter. Dark sand. Darker sand. A scorpion standing on wet, bloody sand.

I felt a strange detachment to the fact that my blood was leaking unchecked across the desert. The scorpion, on the other hand, made me severely uncomfortable.

Without thinking, I lifted my hand to direct a small electrical bolt into the creature. It popped backward with a fizzle, landing on its back a foot away.

A jolt of surprise spasmed my body with pain. I stiffened and stopped breathing, afraid to move. Slowly, I let my breath out in shuddering increments.

I opened my eyes, finding myself face to face with the dead scorpion. Its legs curled over its abdomen where a trail of smoke rose.

Did I just fry that thing? No . . . yes. That was new
.
Wasn’t it? I tried to remember.

The plane. I remembered the plane. The angry faces.

And Thurmond.

Where was he? Why was I here alone? I clenched my fist. Something confined my fingers in a sticky claw. I lifted my hand to see a bloodstained chain entwined around my hand. Twin tags clinked quietly together, and my half-circle pendant flashed a reddish-golden color in the sunlight.

I wanted it. Wanted it so desperately that I had boarded a plane full of hostiles to get it back. No, no. I boarded the plane to save Thurmond. Right?

Don’t be ridiculous.
The cold voice spoke into my mind with calm reasoning.
Only one thing on that plane mattered. And now you have it back.

“Who are you?” I shouted, my voice a hoarse croak. A serrated cackle in my head and then silence.

In a sudden moment of frustration I tore at the chain with my teeth, gagging on the rusty taste. It didn’t budge. I was alone in the middle of the desert with a bullet in my shoulder.

You stupid, weak child.
The voice hammered the ache above my left ear
. Get up. Get up and find help. Save yourself. Save me!

“Get up,” I whispered. I could do this. I had to.

All I really wanted was to sleep.
No.
I wrenched my eyes open. If I slept now there was a good chance I wouldn’t wake up
.

More for something to do than an overwhelming curiosity over my condition, I gingerly touched the moist fabric of my right shoulder. A jagged hole just below my clavicle oozed blood across my chest and shoulder. The entire sleeve of my uniform clung to my skin with sticky, hot blood. If I were to guess, the bullet was still somewhere inside. But as long as I got medical attention in the very near future, I wouldn’t die. I lifted my head with a groan, trying to examine the injury, but the strain of using my neck muscles pulled at the wound. Darkness edged into my vision.

I couldn’t die. Not here. Not all alone. Not without answers.

“Dad,” I whispered.

Your father is not here. No one is here. No one will save you. They’ll all abandon you in the end. There’s only you and me. Get up and save us.

Some trembling breaths held the darkness at bay. The voice was right. Well, right and wrong. I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I’d gotten myself into this mess. I could get myself out of it.

First things first. Stop the bleeding. Easier said than done. If I could take off my camouflage top I could use it as a bandage. Of course, that meant pulling it off over the wound. The thought made me sick. What else did I have? My pants? Forget it. I felt the bulges of each of my pockets using my left hand. The search yielded my cap and the brown army handkerchief I used to wipe the sweat from my face. I held my breath and rested the folded cap over the injury. I then worked the handkerchief under my armpit. With every ounce of determination and willpower I possessed, I looped the ends over my shoulder and tied it, using my teeth to pull it tight.

I rolled onto my side, gagging and coughing as my body tried to expel the pain through my mouth. When I felt like I would not be dying within the next few minutes, I blew out a breath and swallowed. The bloodied chain slipped from my fingers, where I promptly forgot all about it.

Tears burned my eyes.

Now get up!

Yes, get up. I could do that. I didn’t have to save myself. I just needed to get up. As long as I could move, I wasn’t dead.
Get up
! I pushed myself onto one elbow, drew my knees under me, and held my injured arm close to my side. The weight of something hung down my back. A quick flip through my memory reminded me that it was the rifle. That was good. A rifle and a single round. I was armed against the commander or Justet’s aliens as long as my injury, or the desert, didn’t kill me first. I pulled the shoulder strap gently over my head so as not to brush against my makeshift bandage and gazed at my surroundings.

To the left everything was flat desert, broken only by subtle hills. In the distance to the right, dry mountains shouldered dark storm clouds. An aggressive breeze flapped my uniform against my body.

Left or right? According to the sun, left would be south, either taking me toward the Mexican border or Fort Huachuca. The right at least gave a hint of civilization. Electrical towers lined a narrow dirt road, their wires scalloping off toward a substation somewhere. One of the towers standing on a hill looked different from the rest, lopsided with blocky obstructions surrounding it. Something Justet had said niggled at the back of my mind. When he’d spouted about their plan to get the alien’s portal, he’d mentioned that they were using an electrical tower as either a power supply or something else.

What would I find when I got there? Aliens? Rethans? Dad?

Keeping the tower in sight, I used the rifle to push myself to my feet. Blood throbbed through the wound. The fingers of my right hand were numb. The sharp edges of the rocks and the individual blades of desert grass fuzzed together into a mesh of color. I used every ounce of concentration to get a lungful of air all the way down the bottom of my lungs. I knew I was still standing simply because I hadn’t fallen, but I couldn’t feel anything but shivery cloudiness.

Each step was a greater challenge than the previous one. The assistance of the rifle became a burden. I wasn’t sure when I discovered that it was no longer in my hand. My vision grew hazy, but always I kept the electrical tower on the hill in my line of sight.

Caz
1 year pre-RAGE

Vin’s office in the DC Council building was an extension of everything that drove Caz nuts. The elegant architecture and immaculate décor, with nothing was out of place. Caz stood in the outer office, staring at the blank doorway. She heard Vin’s voice on the other side, engaged in the rise and fall of an argument.

It had been months since Caz had been to the office. There was no reason for her to show up. Vin didn’t have time for her at home. Why would he have time for her at work?

It didn’t matter. She didn’t have time for him either.

Today’s visit, however, had a purpose that was everything to do with the pretty little thing sitting at the outer desk. Her silvery, light-blue uniform specified her as the young marshal assigned to Vin, responsible for everything from the councilor’s paperwork to enforcing the Two Laws when Vin required it. Caz simply knew her from the four other times she’d seen her—spied on her really. A dark surge of loathing filled her stomach.

“New here,” Caz checked the name on the desk, “Deputy Veella?”

It was good to finally have a name for her target. Deputy Veella stood upon seeing her, surprise on her narrow face. She slapped her hand to the doorframe, applying a charge to the doorway of Vin’s inner office. A web of electricity leapt across the doorframe, cutting through the voices with a zap. The web was more to control sound than actually keep anyone out. There was too much
etiquette
floating around to ever warrant the need for protection.

Caz followed the girl with her eyes.

“Yes.” Deputy Veella turned to her. “Sort of. I’ve been here a few months, actually.” The girl’s face had been a mask of pleasant neutrality. Now her lips tightened, blunting her surprise. “You can call me Zell. And you must be Mrs. Paliyo.”

They stared at each other, a cold surge of energy passing between them as intense as the quiet zapping of the web. What had Vin said about Caz that would make this girl hate her already?

“Ms. Fisk, actually.” Caz repressed the wholesome urge to rip this pretty girl’s skin from her face. Instead she smiled sweetly. “But, yes, Vin’s wife. Had to keep our dear councilor’s name separate from that of the
mutineers
didn’t we?”

The girl gave a tiny squeak at the shameful slur, her eyes widening. Caz sat down on the corner of the desk, leaving the girl with a choice: stay awkwardly near the door, or sit back at her desk with Caz uncomfortably close.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Caz stood and giggled apologetically into her hand. “This is your desk. Please, please. Sit. I’ll take that chair.”

The girl frowned, keeping her eyes on Caz but not moving.

“Do you know how long Vin’s going to be?” Caz settled in a chair across the room.

She’d met the girl, sized her up, and discovered why Vin would risk her displeasure—again. She tried to feel grateful that he’d chosen to put his efforts into infidelity, rather than the dangerous track he’d been heading down with the Liberated Rage Movement. Of course he’d no longer have his prestigious job if he got too deeply involved, especially now that the idiotic faction had staged a riot that had destroyed a RAGE portal, just so they could “rescue” a few condemned Rethans. That a marshal had lost his life during the incident destroyed any hope of the movement ever gaining the support of the common citizen.

But apparently in Vin’s eyes it was better to destroy your spouse than your career.

She glared at the web covering the entrance to his office. She could deal with his perky little mistress later.

“He won’t be long.” Zell reclaimed her desk. “He’s in with his esteemed father, the commandant, but the commandant has a meeting in a few minutes. They’ll be out soon.”

“Thank you.” Caz placed her hands in her lap. She curled her fingers together, forcing them into stillness. A young male marshal entered the office. He placed papers in front of Zell and they chatted pleasantly while Caz stared at the web covering the door, straining to make out the argument. Nothing. Time ticked by. The crackling voices from the other room intensified, and Caz was able to pick out the word “annihilation.” Or maybe that was just the word she heard everywhere. She absently drew a half circle on her knee with her finger and then tapped the spot where the center should be. The Rethan symbol for annihilation.

“Mrs. Pa—I mean Ms. Fisk?” Zell startled her.

The marshal had left, and they were alone again.

Caz turned to the girl, her eyebrows high. A smile played on her lips. “Please, call me Caz.”

“Caz. Um, right.” Zell pushed some hair out of her eyes. “Councilor Paliyo needs to leave shortly after this meeting. I can only give you a few minutes with him.”

“
Give
me a few minutes?” Caz smirked.

“Well, a meeting concerning munitions is not on the schedule—”

Caz stood abruptly, causing Zell to lean back in her seat. Her eyes widened in alarm.

“I understand. Believe me. There’s such a stigma attached to being a mutineer. But you know, people aren’t always what they seem.” She arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Zell opened her mouth, but before she could respond the net of voltage covering the doorway brightened, and Commandant Paliyo stepped through. He brushed shivering strands of electricity from his shoulders before catching sight of Caz. He halted.

“Cazandra.” Deep-seated hatred lay in the cold acknowledgement.

Caz returned the gaze. The feeling was mutual. “Looks like you could use a charge of serenity,
Commandant
.”

Zell leapt from her seat and rushed over to close the door’s circuit. The web vanished. Vin stood in the doorway, a younger, thinner, and more handsome version of his father. Beside him another figure slunk out. Vin’s younger brother, Ricks, clutched a pile of devices most likely belonging to his esteemed father. The commandant wrenched his gaze away from Caz to glare at his son.

“This is nonnegotiable, Vincent. Do it!” Commandant Paliyo turned and exited the outer office, trailing crackling threads of electricity from his robes.

Vin watched his father leave. Ricks went to follow, his shoulders hunched. He was usually hunched for some reason that no amount of serenity could penetrate. Poor lad had fallen through the utopian cracks.

“Hey, Ricks,” Caz said cheerily.

He jumped, as though a million amps had shot up his spine. The load in his arms fell to the floor and clattered in every direction. Caz gave him a wide smile, loathing him with the same amount of passion that she loved Vin.

He didn’t answer but knelt to gather his scattered items. Caz folded her arms, preparared to goad him a few more times. Vin stepped through the door, inadvertently saving his anode-kissing brother.

“Caz, what in Gauss’s law are you doing here?” Vin looked flustered and aggravated. Not himself.

“Can we talk?” Caz kept her voice neutral.

Vin harrumphed noncommittally and turned to Zell. “I have to leave in ten minutes. I’m sending the information to your monitor. Get the specs in order.” Vin kicked an IFOD closer to his brother. “Get it together, Ricks.” He turned without another word and disappeared into his office.

Zell smiled at Vin’s back, glanced at Caz, and then dropped to her knees to help Ricks. Caz followed Vin into his office and set a charge to the door. The web brightened the room. Vin hunched over his desk, meticulously packing a silver case.

“Where’s his honor, Esteemed-Unto-Himself, sending you this time?” Caz asked.

“Ather.”

She grabbed Vin’s arm and yanked him around. Zell, the new deputy. Their romantic dinners on the shore. The sweet way they’d leaned together. The complete disregard for Caz and her claim on her husband. All of that was forgotten.

“The hell he is,” Caz snarled.

They glared into each other’s eyes with an intensity only possible those who have shared a life.

“I don’t have time for this.” Vin pried her fingers from his arm and turned back to his case.

“Make time.”

Vin answered into his desk. “There’s been some damage to the dimensional fabric. That’s all. Ather’s as safe as any lower dimension.”

“Are you serious?” Caz wanted to shout, but the last thing they needed were the marshals in here. She lowered her voice. “They’re already under level thirteen surveillance and now you’re telling me they have dimensional tears? They’re as good as dead.”

“My father feels there’s a diplomatic solution.”

“Diplomatic solution my ass!”

Vin slammed the case shut with a growl. He pressed his palms to his desk, shoulders high.

In an angry sweep he cleared the top of his desk. Com drives, INFODs decorative dishes, lamps, lighters, and even his silver case clinked, clattered, and crackled against the walls and floor. He turned on her, his eyes sparking.

“This is my job, Caz! The commandant orders me to save a dimension and that’s what I do! And guess what, sweetheart, I’m damn good at it!”

“Damn good at abandoning your family every chance you get!” Caz fed off of his anger, turning it back on him. “And for what? For some scrawny quean with lips like a coaxial cable?”

Shock jolted through his face. This wasn’t the first time one of Vin’s indiscretions was discovered. Just the first time Vin had gone to extreme lengths to hide it, or reacted badly when faced with the accusation. Caz narrowed her eyes. This wasn’t the way they played the game. There was something more to his deception this time.

“Don’t talk to me about abandonment.” Vin jabbed his finger at her. “What do you do every single day? Abandon Manny? Hide out in your lab?”

“You want me in the lab! You told me so yourself. ‘Get the weapon done.’ ‘Is it done yet, Caz?’ ‘When will that weapon be done?’” Caz felt as if her heart were going to burst from her chest. It was usually about this point their personal silentiary marshal was called in to pry them apart and dose them with serenity.

“I can’t do this right now.” Vin turned away from her and knelt. He brushed aside the scattered debris to retrieve the case he’d packed. He set it back on his desk, opened it, and checked the tossed contents.

He was really leaving again. Caz could deal with the infidelity. She could deal with the lies and even the distance growing between them every day. What she couldn’t deal with was losing the other player in the game. She exhaled her animosity and softened her voice.

“Don’t go, Vin,” Caz said. He turned and leaned against his desk. “What makes you think Ather isn’t going to end up like the other six?”

Vin scrubbed his hands across his face in uncharacteristic indecision. Then he looked Caz in the eyes.

“If there’s a diplomatic solution, I’ll find it.”

Of course he would. He was Vin. Nothing was impossible to him. He was so assured, so confident. So
perfect
. And yet she could feel the tension in him, telling her that something was wrong. This was something bigger than an affair. Something that would keep them apart. She raised her hand, hesitated, and then brushed a lock of his hair back into place.

With a half sigh, half growl, Vin rolled his eyes, grabbed her shoulders, and pressed his lips roughly to hers. She wrapped her arms around him and set her teeth to his bottom lip, tasting the metal of his mouth. Caz pulled away first.

“Caz.” He rested his forehead against hers, caressing the lobe of her ear between his finger and thumb. “I’m asking you, no, pleading with you. Finish that weapon, whatever it takes.”

He released her, slammed the case shut, and locked it with a charge. In one movement he swung the case from his desk and disappeared through the crackling web.

Finish the weapon? Caz pressed her hands against her head until an ache started in her temples. No, “take care of our son?” No, “I’ll be back before you know it?” Not even an, “I love you.” It was, “finish that weapon whatever it takes.”

Caz slapped her hand to the doorframe, absorbing the energy of the web. She paused in the doorway. Vin’s shoe vanished around the corner. Only then did she realize she wasn’t alone with Zell.

Xander stooped in the center of the room, holding Manny’s hand. The five-year-old’s fingers were dwarfed in his uncle’s hand. Zell crouched before them, her uniform pulled tight against her scrawny ass, an adoring smile stretched across her insipid face. As she spoke to the boy in sticky tones, Xander reached up and touched Zell’s face.

Caz’s stomach dropped, adding weight to the load already there. How could she have missed this? They were too familiar with each other. Not familiar—familial.

She felt apart. Already abandoned by Vin, and now by the one person she never thought possible.

Only Manny saw her standing there. Did she still have the dregs of anger on her face? It didn’t seem to matter to her son, because he pushed past his uncle and raced to her. She caught him under his arms and squeezed him to her. He giggled in her ear, rubbing his chubby cheek against hers.

She didn’t deserve his love, and her guilt nearly overpowered her affection for this little creature. She squeezed him tighter. It would be all right. He would never abandon her. Not like Vin. Not like Xander. The liars.