Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (65 page)

Narrowing her eyes with the faintest glimmer of mirth, Catalina said, “Tens, it is.”

“As you wish. Try to keep up!”

Rolling up beside him with a ten-pound weight in each hand, Catalina took in a deep breath, then began her curls. The moment she started, her leg hurt—affected by muscles that ran from the top of her body to the bottom. She had to bite her lip down to keep from yelping. But the more she did it—the more she got used to it—the less things seemed to hurt. Maybe it was the release of endorphins. Maybe she was just learning her limits. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Something deeper. Something more than a desire to simply entertain boredom. Maybe she wanted to best the man who’d just laid down the challenge—good-naturedly, of course. Maybe she wanted to show herself that she could. Maybe she was wondering how it would feel to actually envision a future in which she could walk again on her own two feet. To be “Hellcat” again.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t through yet.

*
      
*
      
*

That night

It was the quietest Tiffany had seen the medical bay all day. As she slipped through the door and into the darkened room, she cast a brief glance at the night nurse, who after an initial look of surprise, offered Tiffany an ever-so-slight smile that almost felt welcome. Tiffany returned it before her focus shifted to the medical bay’s many inhabitants.

Updates about the condition of those in the medical bay had been few and far between, understandably so. The medical staff at
Northern Forge
was dealing with a far greater number of injured than was typical at the forge, and offering updates that were of no practical benefit to anyone was simply something Gavriil and his nurses did not have time to do. Tiffany understood, even if it left her wanting. And so the Valley Girl decided to take a chance and slip into the medical bay on her own accord to check on the status of the wounded from
Hami Station
. It felt like the kind thing to do.

Of no surprise to her, every single bed-ridden operative was fast asleep, presumably recovering from the various procedures and surgeries they’d had immediately after arriving. Despite the various tubes that were in them, all of which seemed to be IV tubes or the equivalent, they
looked
like people who were sleeping normally—with the exception of the one the Fourteenth called “Max,” whom Tiffany had not formally met. She took the relative normality before her as a good thing. Everyone who’d made it back to
Northern Forge
seemed stable. Little blessings.

The sole exception to this was Natalie, who’d apparently been awoken by the hall light that’d cut into the room upon Tiffany’s arrival—though the former captain from
Cairo
offered little more than a sleepy squint before laying her head down again. Padding quietly across the room toward the nurse, Tiffany whispered, “Is everyone gonna be okay?”

The nurse smiled, then said in her thick, Russian accent. “Everyone will be okay. Are you in their unit?”

For a moment, Tiffany didn’t answer the question, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. Finally, she nodded her head. “Yeah, I am.”

“It is nice of you to visit them.”

“How is, umm…how is Boris?”

Craning her neck to look across the room, where Boris was laid up with his left shoulder in a hanging sling, the nurse answered, “His shoulder is very hurt. He is—” She bit her lip as she appeared to find the right words to say.

“He’s what?”

The nurse offered an apologetic frown. “It is not my place to say. Doctor Shubin does not like us to give long-term prognosis.”

Placing her hand at the edge of the nurse’s desk, Tiffany said quietly, “I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise. Please, tell me something.”

At long last and with a sigh, the nurse answered the question. “He is lucky. Though hurt bad, he was hit on the outside of the shoulder,” she pointed to her own shoulder to help visualize it, “right here. If it had gone a little more in or down, maybe few inches, then we would have very different story.”

“So he’s gonna be fine, then?”

The nurse winced. “I do not want to say that. As I said, he is hurt very bad. There was some nerve damage, which may affect his hand. There are neurological deficits that come with such things.”

Angling her head as if she didn’t understand, Tiffany asked, “Neurological deficits?”

“Using his shoulder, closing his hand. Using his hand at all.” The nurse’s frown deepened somewhat. “These are things that he may face.”

“I thought you said he was lucky…”

Raising an indicative eyebrow, the nurse answered, “It is better to face such things than to die, is it not?” Allowing her gaze to drift to the injured at large, she went on. “They are all fortunate to be alive. The bullet that struck Mister Jurgen, the one shot in his thigh, came within one half inch of damaging his femoral artery. He also experienced nerve damage. Mister Lilan’s injury is similar to Boris’s, but perhaps not quite as severe.” She then motioned to William. “And the big one, he is most fortunate. He was wearing thick armor which prevented the bullet from going deep enough to hit any vital organs. Though his midsection was penetrated, had he been in anything less sturdy, it could have been significantly worse.” Offering a faint smile that barely classified as reassuring, she said, “These men are all alive because of their armor—but even with it, these injuries are bad. The armor that the Nightmen use is much, much stronger than EDEN armor. That their armor was damaged so is a testament to what they faced.” Her eyes again drifted to William. “He will make a full recovery—of that, I feel…confident, though please do not repeat this. As for the other three?” Shrugging uncertainly, she said, “Time will tell. I would not make such a guarantee for them.”

Tiffany’s own gaze trailed briefly to the floor as she looked in the wounded’s general direction, lifting them moments later to focus on each man, individually. The one she stopped at was Boris. “Thank you,” she said to the nurse, glancing back briefly to offer a smile that she tried her utmost to make look sincere, despite its grim subtleties. “What was your name?”

The nurse smiled warmly in return. “Inna.”

“Thank you, Inna.” Tiffany turned back to the operatives. “You said they were all sedated?” Inna nodded. “Is it okay if I go up to them?”

“Absolutely. They are quite out. You will not disturb them.”

Nodding her head, Tiffany stepped away from the desk, quietly making her way across the room and toward Boris. Her gaze scrutinized Lilan, David, and William as she passed them on her way to the technician, giving each man a look of concern and well-wishing before finally reaching her destination. Crouching down at Boris’s beside, she looked at the moppy-haired Russian’s face.

Tiffany did not know Boris particularly well. The whole while she was at
Novosibirsk
in the care of the Fourteenth, Boris was off with Scott and company in
Cairo
. What little she knew of him she knew mostly from Travis. She knew enough to know they were inseparable.

Despite the fact that Boris’s injury was to his shoulder, his face had not been spared a shadow of ill. Everyone in the medical bay looked that way. Tiffany wondered how she must have looked after her flight from the Great Dismal Swamp. Maybe the Fourteenth at
Novosibirsk
saw the same thing reflected on her that she saw in Boris now.

Touching Boris on his uninjured shoulder, the blonde leaned in close to his head and whispered, “I’m so sorry about your friend, Boris. He was my friend, too.” As soon as she made the statement, her lashes flickered with guilt. Her friendship with Travis couldn’t compare to Boris’s, just like it couldn’t compare to Catalina’s friendship with Mark Peters. It was like comparing a minute to a century. Swallowing, she looked at him again. “I’m gonna fix that ship, I promise. When you get out of here, I want you to help me.” She offered his good shoulder a squeeze. “You’re gonna get through this. I’ll be here to help.”

Boris made no indication that he was hearing anything—not that she’d expected or even desired it. But Tiffany hoped, even if on some deep, subconscious level, that he could hear her. It would have made the effort feel so much more worthwhile.

Withdrawing her hand, Tiffany quietly rose to her feet. She looked in the direction of Inna to offer her a parting smile, only to see that Inna’s focus was entirely on whatever was atop her desk. And so, with no one else to address, she stepped back from Boris’s bed, turned around, and began to make her way to the door.

“Tiffany?”

Natalie’s voice called out to Tiffany just as she was reaching out to open the door. She stopped and turned around. Natalie was standing against the glass, eyes tired, but nonetheless focused on the pilot. Without the need for another prompt, Tiffany approached the outer glass of the cell.

As ill as the injured looked, Natalie looked equally as bothered. She looked ill for a different reason. She looked lost. As soon as Tiffany was across the glass from her, Natalie addressed her once more. “You weren’t with the Fourteenth. Before
Cairo
.”

Though not phrased as a question, Tiffany answered it just the same. “Yeah.”

“Do you…” Cutting her own words off with silence, Natalie tiredly reworded them. “Why do you trust them?”

Tiffany required no effort of thought to answer. “Because they’re good.” Seeing the internal conflict on Natalie’s face, Tiffany went on. “I would be dead if not for the Fourteenth. They…Travis…helped me make it to
Novosibirsk
alive. And I know I don’t know the others as well—the ones you met in
Cairo
—but the ones I trust, from
Novosibirsk
, trust their captain. Remington.”

As soon as Scott’s name was mentioned, the ill on Natalie’s face grew darker.

“You have every reason to not trust them,” Tiffany said. “After what happened to you and your unit, no one would blame you. I know I totally wouldn’t.” Her hazel eyes drifted downward for a moment before she looked up again. “But they aren’t terrorists. They’re just the unluckiest people in the world.”

Making a quasi-irritated face, Natalie asked rhetorically, “Then what exactly does that make me?”

“That makes you lucky.”

Natalie looked at her strangely. “How does that make me lucky?”

“Because they put you in a position to make a difference.”

At that remark, Natalie’s expression changed. She looked confounded.

“What we went through brought us here,” said Tiffany. “And I’d rather go through hell to find the truth than live comfortably in a lie.” Briefly, she looked down. “I don’t know you a whole lot, ma’am, but I know you musta been hot stuff to get where you were in
Cairo
. You musta really impressed a lot of people. So if you decided one day that you wanted to try trusting these guys, which I know is a whole lot after all you’ve been through…I just want you to know that I’d back you up.”

“Trusting them,” Natalie said, pressing her palms hard against her eyes, “would be the hardest thing I’ve ever asked myself to do.” Releasing a heavy sigh, she lowered her hands and looked at Tiffany with fatigue. “But I’m considering it. In the face of everything I’ve seen, with you guys being alive, and with…with every testimony I’ve heard from everyone
not
named Scott Remington or Esther Brooking…I’m considering it.”

Ever so slightly, a weak smile appeared at the edge of Tiffany’s lips.

“Would you be willing to do something for me?” Natalie asked. “I mean, tonight. Right now.”

Tiffany nodded.

Drawing in a breath as if she were about to dive off a cliff, Natalie looked at Tiffany through the glass and said, “I think I might be ready to give trusting a shot.”

Tuesday, March 20
^th
, 0012 NE

2257 hours

Norilsk, Russia

WHAT A DAY
. As Scott lay down on his bed, arms folded behind his head and staring at the bottom of the bunk above him, the entirety of the day’s events replayed through his mind. Lying there by himself in his room under the dim illumination of an old desk lamp, things felt almost surreal. In a strange way, it felt like his first day at Michigan, being a freshman in a new school and not knowing what the future had in store. Like hitting a massive reset button on life.

We lost two comrades today—one old, one new. And here I am, alone.
Even in his own mind, the statement registered as vague. But the loneliness, regardless of its primary cause, was real. He was alone in his room, alone in life. Alone in every sense of the word. A part of him felt that if EDEN smashed through his door right then and there, he’d surrender without giving a fight. He was just flat-out tired.

This was all part of the danger of nighttime reflection. Night brought out the darkest. The worst. He was ready for it all to just end.

Scott missed Svetlana terribly. In the midst of the literal chaos around him—both at
Northern Forge
and in the battlefields of Krasnoyarsk and
Hami Station
—she had taken a backseat to the need to survive. It served little purpose to think of love and relationships in the middle of a gunfight. But in the stillness, the thoughts were there.

I should have told her that I loved her. What was I thinking to not have? Have I lost her forever, now?
As premature as the thoughts may have seemed on the outside, with the span of time that Svetlana had been missing, there was reason to be concerned when Iosif Antipov didn’t know where she was. Svetlana was important. She was the leverage over him. She was as high priority a target as a snake like Antipov could have wanted. Yet, he’d lost her. How in the world was
Scott
supposed to find her?

That he could care for someone who wasn’t named Nicole so deeply was telling not only of the way Scott had changed, but of all he’d been through since his decision to leave college for
Philadelphia
. It had been a faith move, made in a time of his life when he had far more faith than he did now. Was he just young and stupid then? Or was that how he was now? Could that eager-eyed kid out of Lincoln have had things right? If so, then he’d fallen quite a ways. Yet he couldn’t help but believe that, in some strange, twisted way that could only come out of hurt, he was wiser in his faith now than he was then. Back then, God was in control, and everything was destined to be great. Except things hadn’t been great. Things had been tragic beyond belief. So what was the lesson there?