Incineration (The Incubation Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

I head for the stairs with Fiere close behind. We clatter down them to find Idris, Wyck, Rhedyn and a cluster of other Defiers on the main deck.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

Silently, Idris points east.

I look and see the cloud of darkness taking up the sky. I know immediately: locust swarm. It’s still some distance away, but the hum of millions of wings reaches us. I savor the greening leaves on the trees, the hopeful grass sprouting along the bluff; once the locusts pass, the green will all be gone. The noise grows louder—they’re only half a mile away now. Time to go below decks if we don’t want to be smothered by them. Before I can move, a woman pounds up the stairs from the lower deck, holding out a radio, her face white.

She extends it out to Idris. “Sir, the sentries—”

Ghastly screams issue from the device.

“What the hell—?” Idris snatches the radio from her and twists a dial. “Point Alpha, come in.”

There’s a gasping noise, a moan, and nothing more. The sound of the locusts drowns everything. The Defiers shift uneasily. Suddenly, I know. The welts on my neck and hand the time I got caught in a swarm at the Kube, and Dr. Ronan’s hypothesizing about the locusts adapting; similar wounds when I came to in the prison, wounds I put down to the firefight at the brothel and manhandling by the soldiers; the half-understood comments from the guards at the prison—

“Downstairs now!” I scream, shoving Fiere and a young man I don’t know toward the staircase. “Everyone downstairs. Close all the windows and hatches.”

Idris starts to object, sees the fear and determination in my face, and seconds my order. “Go!”

They’re almost here. I can make out individual locusts in the undulating cloud approaching the riverboat. Windows slap shut below me. An insect plops onto the deck. Then another. They fall like heavy rain drops. It’s almost hypnotic.

“Ev, come on!” Wyck grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs. We trip and fall the last couple of steps, landing in a heap. Hands reach out to drag us inside. The doors slam and an iron bar clunks down. Idris details someone to check each of the rooms to make sure windows are closed. When they’ve headed off, he comes to me.

“What’s this about, Jax?”

“The locusts.” I pause. “They’re carnivorous.”

Disbelief flashes across his face. “There’s no such thing as a carnivorous grasshopper.”

“There is now. They’ve adapted to eat flesh. Maybe not all of them—yet—but enough.” The sentries’ screams echo in my head.

The main body of the swarm has reached us now and the old ship’s timbers creak and groan with the weight of the insects as they thump against it. Some of them land. With wooden shutters closed over the windows and all the doors secured, it’s a gloomy dusk in the gathering area where we’re all huddled. With the ship shut up, an odor of stale beer becomes noticeable. It has probably soaked into the floor boards, lakes of it spilled during the course of thousands of party cruises. A yelp from down the hall startles us and Rhedyn emerges from one of the bunk rooms.

“A couple got in. One bit me,” she says in a shocked tone.  She’s examining a red spot on her upper arm when Idris's hand flashes out and tangles in her hair.  She jerks back instinctively.

He squeezes his fist tightly and opens it to show the mashed remains of a locust. Rhedyn looks a bit green about the gills.  “The sentries,” she breathes. “It was Henley and Shintaro.”

I wonder if I’m the only one who notices her use of past tense.

Idris sets a few of the Defiers to tasks—busy work, I think, to take their mind off the locusts and the fate of their comrades.  He descends to the lowest level and I’m sure he’s in the communications room, alerting other Defiance cells to this new threat.  Soon, I imagine, the word will spread across all of Amerada. The locusts have long been the force that made it impossible to reestablish crop production on a large scale, but now . . . I try to get my mind around the implications. They’re staggering. Livestock, wild animals, humans—all will be locust prey.  The lack of biodiversity will have consequences I can’t begin to imagine.  We’ll have to spend manpower staging locust sentries in every occupied city or town, everyone will need a shelter close at hand they can seal up. The locusts will disrupt work in factories and any outdoor work will render the workers vulnerable. I can’t imagine how outlaws and people living off the land will cope. In the end, unless we find a way to stop them, the locusts will decimate all food sources. They’ll die off then, of course, but that will be much too late for us.

An hour later, Wyck’s touch on my shoulder brings me out of my thoughts. “I think they’re gone,” he says.

Cocking my head, I listen. I don’t hear the overpowering whirr of locust wings anymore, or the
plunk, plunk
of insect bodies hitting the boat. Somehow, everyone has come together in the dining area again. Idris strides forward, unbars the doors, and pushes them outward. Light dances in. Feeling like I’m emerging from the ark after the rains flooded the earth, I join the cluster of Defiers returning to the deck. Idris is first, cautiously poking his head up. He waves the rest of us forward and we climb up.

The camouflage netting hangs in tatters, ripped apart by the locusts plowing through it, beating it ragged with their wings. Here and there, a locust is trapped in the netting which shivers with their struggles. Every shred of green is gone, as I knew it would be. The landscape is shades of brown—mud, dun, ochre—enlivened only by the unnatural blue of the river cutting through it, and the occasional glint of chartreuse kudzu which the locusts won’t touch because the leaves release a mild acid when bitten. The sky is darker in the northwest and I know I’m seeing the back end of the swarm.

Idris says, “Red, organize some troops to kill those”—he points his chin toward the locusts in the nets—“and hang new camo netting. We can’t be exposed like this. Alexander, Wyck, Jax—you’re with me.”

He leads us to the old boathouse a hundred yards away where the ACVs are hidden and maintained.  I know we’re going to the sentry hide. We get into the only six-seater, which I think is optimistic. I know Idris wants Alexander along because he’s a doctor, but I don’t think there’ll be anything he can do. Idris and Wyck get in the front seats and I ride in the middle row with Alexander. His profile is stern, his thoughts inward.

The ride is too short. Idris sets the vehicle down beneath the hide. Getting out, he calls, “Henley! Shintaro, report.”

Silence. Idris looks at each of us; I’ve never seen him so unsure. He swallows hard, sets his jaw, and heads for the ladder nailed to the tree’s trunk. I hesitate, and then begin to climb after him. He shouldn’t have to face this alone.

Wyck stops Alexander from climbing. “Don’t waste your strength. If there’s anything you can do, they’ll let you know.”

Emerging onto the platform, I find a scene much gorier than I expected. The cloying coppery odor of blood makes me gag. I had anticipated that the locusts would have stripped the bodies to the bone, but they’re partially intact. My scientific mind automatically searches for possible hypotheses to account for this and I guess it means only a small percentage of the locusts are carnivorous. That percentage will increase with every breeding cycle, I know, since being omnivorous is an adaptation that will increase species survivability.

My foot makes a
thwuck
ing sound as I step forward, the congealing blood holding it to the platform. Shintaro is lying atop Henley, as if he tried to shield his companion from the danger. The locusts have gnawed through most of the soft tissue on his face and neck, and the white of bone gleams balefully. Blood stains blotch all other parts of his body. He died from blood loss and shock, I suspect. I’m stooping for a closer look at the wounds when the jumpsuit over his abdomen suddenly bulges and ripples. Idris and I jump back.

It takes mere seconds for me to realize the movements must be locusts trapped under the clothing. Idris and I exchange sheepish glances. He bends and rolls Shintaro’s body off Henley and feels for a pulse on the intact side of Henley’s neck. He stares up sightlessly from empty eye sockets. Vomit rises in the back of my throat, but I keep it down.

“They’re dead,” he calls down, voice tight. “Nothing we can do for them now. We’ll send a crew to retrieve the bodies.” Gesturing for me to go first, he follows me down the ladder.

Something in my face or demeanor reveals the horror of the scene because Wyck asks, “That bad?”

I dip my chin a fraction. Putting an arm around my shoulders, he guides me back to the ACV. Alexander and Idris exchange a few words and then join us. Alexander reaches for my hand as we glide back to the ship. His hand is bony and chilly, but I draw comfort from it on the short journey. The Defiers are waiting for us at the top of the gangway. I thread my way through them and descend one level to my bunk. I don’t need to be there when Idris breaks the news that two of their comrades are dead, consumed by locusts. I have decisions to make.

Chapter Thirteen

After dinner, a subdued meal with little conversation, I follow Idris from the dining room. “Can we talk?”

He narrows his eyes at me, but nods. We head up to the pilot’s cabin. The wind has come up and is whipping the partially installed strips of camouflage netting Rhedyn’s team has been putting up all afternoon. The sun is setting without much fanfare and the river has become a dark gleam flowing past. It’s not really cold, but I cross my arms over my chest.

“What is it, Jax?” Idris asks, propping himself against the instrument panel.

“I’m leaving.”

Idris considers me for a long moment, perhaps wondering if he heard correctly. “No.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. I don’t belong here. I’m not an insurgent, I’m a bio-chemist. I already knew that, but today showed me what I need to be doing. I need to be in a lab, working to eradicate the damn locusts. I can help with that. This”—I gesture to take in the ship, the Defiance, the fighting—“this  . . .” I peter out, unable to verbalize the reasons I don’t belong here. “I’m going to the Ministry of Science and Food Production to offer them my help. They might shoot me on sight—I’m a fugitive, after all—or they might toss me back in prison, but I’ve got to try.”

“I can’t let you go. It’s too big a risk.” Idris stares at me stonily. “I told you when you first got here that no one leaves.”

I keep my calm. I knew he might react like this and I’m prepared. “I won’t betray you. In fact, if I can, I’ll gather intelligence for you.” It’s the only carrot I have to offer. Sitting on my hammock, planning this, I knew I’d need to offer Idris something to have a prayer of getting him to let me go. This was repugnant, but it was all I could come up with.

His brow quirks up. “You’ll spy for the Defiance?”

The word is ugly.  “I’m not going to run around eavesdropping at people’s doors or ransacking their computers, but—”

“You’ve already got experience with that, haven’t you?”

I can’t tell if he thinks he’s being funny or if he’s serious. “If I come across something that I think you need to know, I’ll get the information to you.”

“What if you’re tortured again?”

“I know what to expect. I’ll do better.”

He shakes his head. “Not good enough.” He gives me his profile as he stares out into the darkness, thinking. Finally, he turns back, expression grave. “I need two guarantees.”

I’m elated that he’s giving in so easily. I was half-afraid he’d slit my throat on the spot. “Name them.”

“First, Wyck stays. He’s my hostage. He doesn’t need to know it, but if I ever get a hint, the slightest idea, that you’ve given us up, he dies. As far as he needs to know, the situation hasn’t changed. He’ll plan and go on missions as normal, interact with the others like usual. This is just between you and me.”

“That’s not fair! Wyck’s not—”

“Non-negotiable.”

I chew on his ultimatum. I hate it, but I don’t see that I have a choice. I reason that since I’m not planning to betray the Defiance, Wyck is not in any danger. Well, no more than usual. “What else?”

“You let me implant a suicide micro-capsule in your cheek. It’s a nerve agent—very quick. You swear to me that if you’re caught, if the Prags get you in an interrogation cell again, you’ll end it. You give me your word.”

“You’d trust me?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?” He sounds testy, as if trusting me is against his better judgment.

This promise is easier than the one about Wyck because I can’t contemplate the thought of an interrogation session without trembling. “Agreed. I swear.”

“Someone will meet you in Atlanta, be your contact to funnel intelligence back to me.”

I swallow hard and nod.

Idris steps forward, closing the gap between us. He puts his hands on my upper arms, gripping lightly. “I’ll say this for you, Jax—you’re not short on courage.” He sounds reluctantly admiring. Before I can guess what he’s planning, he bends his head and kisses me on the lips, hard and brief. I don’t hate it.

He releases me abruptly and strides to the door. “Don’t get yourself killed. I almost think I’d miss you.”

Then he’s gone and I’m alone in the cabin. A colony of bats swoosh by, hunting insects over the water, and I murmur, “Why couldn’t you have been here a few hours ago and eaten a million locusts?”

They don’t answer. I leave the cabin and linger at the rail for a moment, letting the wind sift my hair. Then, I head below.

It takes mere minutes to fold my one change of clothes and tuck them into a military-issue knapsack.  I’ve tucked a couple of vegeprote bars in, too, and some water. Packing like this reminds me of leaving the Kube. I sit on the edge of the hammock, swaying gently back and forth. Hopefully, this journey will not be so long or perilous. I didn’t think to discuss it with Idris, but surely he can spare one of the Defiers and an ACV to deliver me to the Atlanta outskirts. I can make my way from there.

There’s a knock on my door. I open it to find Wyck standing there. His shoulders are hunched in slightly, his chin tucked. His gaze goes past me to the knapsack.

“You’re leaving.”

I invite him in with a gesture, leaving the door cracked. “Yes.”

“I knew it when you came down from the hide. I could see it in your face.”

His perceptivity startles me. “I didn’t even know it then. I only decided this evening.”

“You’re going back to the Kube, aren’t you, to work on locusts with Dr. Ronan?” He stands by one of the bed supports, twiddling with a loose hammock fiber.

“No, I’m going to Atlanta. To the MSFP. I’m going to offer to help. Minister Alden once said she’d give me a job, remember? During the Assembly?”

“Atlanta! You’re a fugitive. You can’t just stroll up the steps of the Ministry and say, ‘Hi, I’m Everly Jax, escaped murderer. I’m here to help with the locust problem. Can you please direct me to the nearest laboratory?”

His voice is almost savage, and I eye him warily. “That’s not what I’m planning to do.”

“Oh, you have a plan?”

“Of course I have a plan. Why are you being like this?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed! Either that, or thrown in a prison cell again. It was torture for me, Ev, when they had you before. I knew what they must be doing to you, but I didn’t
know
. I imagined your suffering, but there was nothing I could do to help. At least, not until we got word about you being transported to the RESCO. I wondered if you were still
you
, or if they’d hurt you so badly or done a memory wipe, that you were gone, like Fiere.”

His intensity makes me uncomfortable. “Fiere’s not gone. In fact, she’s—”

“I don’t give a damn about Fiere,” he shouts. “I care about
you
, I love
you
, Everly. Don’t go.”

I hate myself for causing him so much distress. I put a hand on his arm. “I have to, Wyck. Can’t you see that? The locusts . . . they have to be stopped. I don’t pretend to know how—yet—but I’ve got ideas I can test in a lab, years of experience working on this.”

“You’re seventeen. You think you can come up with something that scientists with twice your training and experience haven’t thought of?” He gives a harsh laugh. “That’s some kind of egotistical, don’t you think?”

I know he’s hurt and worried about me, so I hold onto my temper. “I don’t think so. I might have something to offer that might become a small part of the solution. If there’s any chance at all that I can contribute, I have to try.”

Some of the anger drains out of his face. A new light gleams in his green eyes. “I’ll come with you. We can—”

“You can’t.”

He jerks back like I’ve slapped him. “You don’t want me to come?”

“It’s not that.” I search desperately for words that will discourage him from coming, yet not hurt him or reveal what Idris and I discussed. Impossible. “I can’t put you at risk, too. If they shoot me on sight because I’m a fugitive, well, I can live with that. Or not, I guess.”

He doesn’t smile at my morbid humor.

“But if you got hurt because of me, if the IPF captured you or killed you, I could never forgive myself. Besides”—I reach out again and touch his cheek—“you belong here, with the Defiance. You believe in what they’re doing, and they need you. You’d have nowhere to live in Atlanta, nothing to do. You’d hate it.”

He turns his head so my hand slides off his cheek. “We’re never going to travel west together, are we? We’re never going to go to an outpost, make a new life away from the Prags, all this. It was all a lie.” The bitterness in his voice bites like chicory.

“A dream. It will happen, Wyck. Have faith. In me. In us.” I’m blinking fast to keep the welling tears from falling. Do I believe what I’m saying? I want to.

“Make love with me, Ev. Now. So I’ll have that to remember, at least.”

“What about Cas?”

He knows what I’m really asking, but he says only, “Cas is dead.”

He draws me into his arms and kisses me. Somehow, he seems resolute, rather than impassioned. His hands explore my body, one working its way between us to cup my breast and the other pulling my hips closer as he grinds against me. I return his kisses and rake my hands through his hair, but instead of rising passion and longing, I feel melancholy swelling within me. I don’t know what’s wrong—I love Wyck, I want to share this with him. I try to force a passion I don’t feel and our kisses become fierce, almost painful, but then Wyck draws away.

“Not like this.” He shakes his head. “You’re not . . . we’re not . . . Not like this.” He leans down to kiss my cheek gently. “Good luck, Ev.”

Stepping around me, he slides through the gap and closes the door behind him with a quiet
click
. I stand still, listening to his footsteps fade until I can’t hear them anymore.