The Rift Uprising, page 27
We take our positions in Foxhole Six today. If there is serious action, we will be a part of it. Omega Team is taking point. I haven’t seen Audrey (thank God), and I’m not sure if Levi is working today. That makes me think: Should I tell Levi? He could have sold me out to ARC about getting into the Village, but my money is that Audrey’s cooperation in return for shift work at The Rift site is how Applebaum found out. Levi is an asshole, straight up, but he is an excellent Citadel. He’s a brilliant tactician and a natural leader, not to mention that no other Citadel can beat him in a fight, except for maybe Henry. I’m just not certain we can trust him. Considering what he did to his ex-girlfriend, he would likely be on our side, so there is that.
Still, he has that whole total-jerk thing going on.
We had all agreed that talking about what Ezra and I have uncovered would not be smart with so many ears around. Instead, we sit silently in the foxhole. The trench is uncomfortable and cold. When it starts to rain, each of us pushes our backs farther into the mud, trying to get some cover from the small ledge above our heads. I close my eyes. This is another part of my job I hate. The superhuman strength is great and all. I love healing fast, and by the end of the day Boone and Violet will appreciate it, too, probably when the marks on their faces are gone. But this? This mundane waiting outside in the pouring rain? I’d be happy to walk away from this.
Suddenly, I feel the air change around us. It crackles and hums. I already have goose bumps from the cold, but I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stiffen. I get that same sense, that pulling ache in my belly. The Rift is about to open. Omega Team confirms my instincts just a few short seconds later. We wait until it reaches Stage 4, but we don’t have to wait long. Instantly, I hear a great booming crash and the trees about two hundred feet behind us explode. Bark and dirt rain down on us in the hole.
It’s the Karekins.
My teammates and I look at one another. We had talked about this last night, and it’s as if the gods heard us. I need to get to a Karekin and question him alive, and I need my three teammates to help me—and now we have a chance.
We leap out of the foxhole. Right away I know that something is different. Thirty Karekins flank what looks to be a tank, and even more Karekins follow behind it. This species has always been deadly, with sophisticated weapons and armor, but the fact that they manage to drive a vehicle through The Rift tells me that something has changed on their part. The tank starts firing, and a fiery red laser pulse cuts down the Citadels that have jumped from the Nests.
Damn. They are going to need all four of us in this fight. But there’s something much bigger going on than this battle, and the Karekins’ tank is definitely part of that. My team is holding back, probably thinking the same thing. I nod to let them know our plan is still on. We might be putting some of our fellow Citadels’ lives at risk by stepping away from the combat, but we could be saving everybody’s life if I can corner a Karekin and get some information.
Through the smoke and chaos I see Levi. He’s cutting down the Karekins as if they were nothing more than sheets strung up on a laundry line. I watch as he shoots one squarely between the eyes and then kicks another so hard into a tree that the trunk actually snaps with the force of it. There is such precision in his combat that he makes it look effortless. Then, as if he knows somehow that I’m watching, he turns his head and looks at me. He looks puzzled: Why aren’t I fighting?
Shit.
The four of us pick the enemy soldier who is closest to the edge of the forest. He is by no means on his own, but there are at least ten feet between him and another Karekin. The tank continues to blast and our troops start firing back. There are turrets in the Nests for this very reason and despite the misery of a foxhole, I’m beyond grateful we weren’t assigned to one today. Vi might be the best shot with a rifle, but for some reason, I’m the most accurate with the heavier artillery. I would have had to stay behind.
We all lunge for the single Karekin. He goes to pull out his weapon, but we are close enough that Boone can shoot him in the hand so that his gun drops. Henry and I get behind the Karekin. I give him a running kick to the kidney, which pushes him forward a foot or two. Boone and Vi are the bait. He doesn’t have his gun, but he’s pissed that Boone shot him. He starts to pursue them, his giant strides covering more ground than ours can, but it doesn’t matter because we are way faster. I pray that Levi doesn’t follow us. I manage a quick look and I don’t see him.
Thank God.
So far, this is working. Henry and I are right behind him so he can’t run back, not that he wants to by the look of fury on his face as he chases Boone and Violet. The Karekin’s blood, a red so deep it almost looks purple, spills out on the needles and brush below. I don’t let the amount of it fool me. This species is tough: A gunshot wound is barely more than a scrape to them unless it’s to a vital organ.
The Karekin reaches out for Boone and swats him deftly in the head. Boone goes down for just a moment, rolling on the ground and then bouncing up again. We are farther away from the action now, but not far enough. Henry races forward, running at full speed, and pushes the giant forward with all his strength. The Karekin goes flying past Boone and Violet, at least ten feet. He gets up again quickly, but not fast enough, and Vi lands another swift kick to his back. He staggers forward. We have to keep him thinking that we want to fight. He won’t follow us if he thinks we are just herding him away from the rest of his unit. Does he know anything about us? Because if he truly knows what we are capable of, he can’t possibly think that he can best all four of us together. It could be that he does know, but his temper and his emotions are stopping him from thinking clearly. Maybe none of it matters at all. Maybe he knew he was going to die anyway and figured he’d just take as many of us with him as he could.
The Karekin is on his knees with only Boone in front of him now. He lunges forward and grabs Boone’s ankle. It would be easy for Boone to simply kick out with his other leg and land one good one to the Karekin’s face. Instead, Boone lets the soldier pull him down, feigning weakness, allowing the Karekin to believe there’s a chance. The Karekin pulls out a knife from his utility belt and leaps on top of Boone. Violet jumps forward and yanks the enemy’s hand back. Then she takes her knee and plants it squarely on the Karekin’s elbow between her own two hands. The Karekin is on his knees and forced to drop his knife. She may have broken his arm. Boone takes off running again and the Karekin, enraged, throws off Violet, gets up, and follows. Finally, I think we are far enough away. I signal to the rest of my team to hold up and disable the mics.
When we all stop, he screams. It is a primal, throaty roar. He must realize that he’s surrounded, that he’s been stupid and let his anger get the best of him. I hold my hands out and make my posture less rigid.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” I say in his own language. “We just want to talk.”
The huge being narrows his amber eyes at me. “Get my words out of your mouth.” His accent is a lot different than the one I heard in the MP3 files. The nuances are hard to catch.
“I don’t mean to offend you. I apologize. I learned your language, but I had to steal it from the people in charge here. They don’t want us to communicate. Why do you think that is?”
The Karekin remains unmoving. He says nothing and he keeps his body taut.
“We fight your kind. We kill your kind, but we aren’t the enemy. We were taken as children and the ones in command changed us; they turned us into soldiers. I want to stop this. I want to close the . . . big green thing.”
There is no Karekin word for Rift. I don’t know if anything I am saying is getting through to him. Still, I am closer to him than I have ever been to another one of his race that I’m not in the process of killing. Usually everything happens so fast on the field and when you’re fighting for your life, it’s difficult to observe all the little things. For the first time I notice a small black device in his ear. He sees that I’ve seen it and immediately reaches for his head. He’s fast, but I’m faster. I grab his hand and the others grab the rest of him. He goes down. Henry grabs one arm, Violet grabs the other. Boone restrains his legs, but he is flailing wildly, trying to get us off. I quickly reach into his ear and pull out the tech he’s got in there. It’s definitely a communication device. I hold it up to my own ear, and hear a faint buzz and possibly a voice, though it sounds distorted and like it’s underwater. It’s too faint to make out what anyone is saying.
“What is this?” I ask, holding it up. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t think you want to die, so tell me something useful! Can you talk to your army through this?”
Suddenly, the Karekin stops moving. His mouth transforms into a maniacal smile. He begins to laugh. “I am a loyal servant. I am loyal. You will learn obedience in time.”
I blanch, distracted, which in turn distracts Violet. The Karekin sees his opening. He breaks his good arm free in a flash and grabs the knife strapped to my thigh. Before I can make another move, he drags the knife swiftly across his throat. Deep crimson blood arcs in the air. The Karekin has severed his artery; he will bleed out in a matter of moments. His violent suicide has stunned us all and we stand there watching as his life drains away.
“What did he say, Ryn?” Boone asks as he crouches down to get a better look at the Karekin.
“He said he was a loyal servant. He told me that we would all learn to be obedient and loyal.” I take the knife from the Karekin’s hands and wipe it off on the hard ground below.
“Oh, good,” Boone says dramatically. “I thought he was going to say something scary. Fuuuck.” He swears in a long whisper that ends in a flourish of annoyance.
“Loyal to who?” Vi asks solemnly, looking squarely at the Karekin’s mutilated body.
I shake my head and back away. “I don’t know. But whoever it is, they’re scarier than slicing your own throat open, so yeah, no answers, only more questions.” I begin to walk away. I hope the other Citadels have contained the Karekins near The Rift.
I don’t feel like fighting anymore.
CHAPTER 22
I am staring out the window from my kitchen sink. I have washed my hands twice already and the air is thick with the scent of lemons and bleach from scouring the table. It’s almost dark. In this weather, the sun doesn’t so much fade as slam shut like a door. One minute it’s light, and the next the light is gone, erased from the sky, a blanket smothering the heavens. I wish we could have timed this better. I’d have liked to do this in the day, but lately time is becoming more and more aggressive, turning against our little band with hundreds of counter moves. Pretty soon it will be the enemy outright. I can’t stop it. I can’t even slow it down. I don’t stand a chance against it.
It won’t be long until the rest of the team arrives. Boone and Henry are on their way from home, and Violet has gone to rob her father. That’s how she said it, anyhow; she’s clearly still not comfortable with what she needs to do. At this point, though, comfort isn’t really our priority. God knows I would have loved to get some more alone time in with Ezra, but I know that from here on out, there is safety in numbers. I go upstairs and tell Ezra what happened with the Karekin. He doesn’t have any more insight than I do. I give him the earpiece that I managed to retrieve. Right away he notices a small button down toward the bottom. When I suggest he push it, he immediately says no.
“This is an advanced race. I doubt they need to use something as basic as an On/Off button to turn this thing on. By the sounds of it, he was willing to die brutally rather than talk. I wouldn’t be surprised if the earpiece had a self-destruct option that kills not only the signal but also the person wearing it. I’ll try to take it apart while you guys do . . . your own thing.”
I lean down and kiss Ezra on the mouth. He tastes like peanut butter. I don’t think I will ever get tired of kissing this boy. “Cool, well, yeah, you mess around with the potentially highly explosive device up here and I’ll go and perform some brain surgery downstairs on my friends.”
“Have fun, hope you win,” Ezra says with a little click of his tongue while pointing his thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun.
I walk back downstairs to wait. I go to the sink to wash my hands yet again. I feel the skin tighten around my knuckles when I pat them on a paper towel. I tell myself that I can’t touch anything else because I don’t want to scrub them a fourth time. Dry skin I can handle; cracked skin will distract me from doing what needs to be done. I hear the doorbell. Immediately I know something is off. The team would have just knocked or let themselves in. No one rings the bell. I know my parents aren’t expecting a package. They have already given me the flimsiest of excuses to check in way more often than they need to (like making sure the sprinklers have really been disabled for the season and did Mom return that shirt to Nordstrom or is it still on her closet shelf?). A delivery would have been big news.
I cautiously walk to the door. There’s no time to call up to Ezra and tell him to stay put without whoever’s outside hearing me yell—I can only assume he understands that a doorbell is not a good time to come downstairs. I push down on the latch and the door swings open.
Christopher Seelye is standing there.
The breath is knocked out of my lungs as if someone has punched me in the stomach. What is he doing here? Seelye is one of the most, if not the most, powerful people on this Earth and he’s standing at my door, casual as anything with a grin that is impossible to read.
This is very, very bad.
Our eyes lock, and in those brief seconds I imagine pulling him inside, grabbing hold of him, and twisting his head the wrong way round till his neck breaks. I consider hitting him on the most vulnerable part of his skull with the fireplace poker. I think about slicing his throat with a kitchen knife. I know physically I am capable of doing any and all of these things, but I also know that while I may be a killer, I am not a murderer. I may think I’m a monster sometimes, but I am not.
Unless Seelye tries something stupid—and then all bets are off. I have no qualms about defending myself.
“Hi, Ryn,” he says in a tone slick enough to be an oil spill.
“Hello,” I respond, but I do not budge. I don’t open the door any wider. He may be smiling, but I’m not.
“Can I come in?” Seelye asks, with just the barest hint of sarcasm. As if I’m not being polite, as if somehow I’m the one intruding and he’s indulging my teenage rudeness by not being more welcoming. Of course, I don’t want him anywhere near here. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t even want him in the same state. But if I slam that door shut, I will no longer be playing the game. I reconcile myself to the fact that I am an expert liar and Seelye doesn’t stand a chance no matter how clever he thinks he is.
“All right,” I concede, and once the door is open, he waltzes inside with the kind of smug sense of entitlement I would usually associate with royalty. He’s tall and slender, with the sort of frame that makes me think he has to work to put on weight. Seelye makes himself right at home and sits on one of the chairs in our living room while unzipping what looks to be a very expensive jacket. He’s wearing jeans and a navy sweater that looks soft enough to be cashmere. Seelye is not unattractive in the face, but he’s still fairly repulsive.
I reluctantly take a seat across from him. I cross my legs and lean back, forcing my muscles to relax, to pull away from my bones. I don’t say anything; I am waiting to hear whatever bullshit reason he has for being here. Seelye doesn’t say anything, either; he just looks at me with narrowed hazel eyes. I work hard to keep my breathing even. Ezra is upstairs and the boys are due any minute.
Finally, he crooks his head to one side and says, “You’re not going to ask why I’m here?”
I fight the urge to look at the white grandfather clock against the wall that really did belong to my grandfather in Sweden. I don’t have time for this, but it’s imperative that Seelye believe I have all the time in the world.
“No,” I say as if bored.
“Aren’t much of a conversationalist, are you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I must have missed that day in basic training.”
Seelye lets out a loud, arrogant-sounding laugh. I don’t crack a smile. I just continue to stare at him. His laughter stops abruptly, unnaturally. “Where are your parents, Ryn?” It should be a question, but the way he’s asked it sounds more like a statement, like he knows exactly where they are.
“Not here,” I answer back, careful not to answer too quickly. I steal a glance at the clock. Any minute now Boone and Henry are going to walk through that door and God only knows how they are going to react to Seelye’s presence here.
“Well, I can wait for them.” Now it’s his turn to lean all the way back in the chair.
I clear my throat. I don’t like having to disclose this. “They’re out of town.”
“So you’re alone,” Seelye responds slowly.
“Why do you care where my parents are? What do you want them for?” I sit up a little straighter now.
“Well, I did tell you that I was going to be taking a more active role, nurturing that raw talent of yours. I wanted to tell them how special I think you are, how well you’re doing. And to give them the heads-up that we might be putting you in charge of some special projects and that you might be away from home for extended periods of time. It’s the burden of leadership, Ryn. Sacrifice. For them and you.” Seelye looks relaxed, but there is something undeniably predatory about the man. Did he really come here to explain to my parents that I might be gone for a while? Or is he just warning me that ARC can take me away whenever they want? Both, probably, the former as justification for the latter.
A lot of Citadels love Seelye. I’ve seen them watch him doe-eyed and breathless—even the guys—during Seelye’s speeches. He’s never fooled me, though. I’ve always suspected that he has Hollywood screenwriters on the company payroll. His words never ring completely true or heartfelt, no matter how hard he tries to sell them. He’s like those slimy Evangelical preachers on TV who go on and on about Jesus but then make millions of dollars off little old ladies who live on cat food. I need to remember that now. He’s just a man—a powerful one, to be sure—but a man all the same.
