Epic: Book 03 - Hero (50 page)

“
Just with you! Don’t tell your wife.”

Smiling faintly, David waited for her to get close. “I used to enjoy waking up early,” he remarked. “I’m trying to get back into it.”

“
You’ve picked a lovely morning to start. At least it’s not cold,” she said sarcastically as they trod through the snow. “If it’s not bucketing down, it’s Baltic. Not that I mind being outside.”

“
A fan of miserable weather?”

“
No, it’s not that. Svetlana stunk up the room with her disgusting mustard sandwich. I was about to throw up.”

The older man chuckled. “Yeah, those Russians and food. What I wouldn’t give for a New York strip.”

Esther grinned broadly.

“
So what brings you out here?” he asked.

She hesitated before asking, “Do you hate Scott?”

David fell quiet and the tranquil look on his face melted away. He sighed and looked away. “Esther, it’s not that.”

She faced him. “I was with him yesterday, from the beginning to the end of that mission. For the first time since I’ve been here, I saw a glimpse of the man everyone talked about. The only Scott I’ve known has been the angry one. But yesterday, he wasn’t like that.”

David sighed inaudibly.

“
He was so heroic and brave. Everything he did was so…so
gifted
. I saw it, first-hand.” She frowned. “I also saw him almost lose it in the end. He almost killed two surrendering Bakma. I was lucky to stop him, and that’s my point. We can stop him from doing those things. We can change him. You can change him more than anyone else.”

David still made no reply.

“
I know you have sons. It must’ve been hard to watch Scott unravel—wasn’t he almost like a son to you?” She stopped walking and stood in the snow. “I know it’s not easy, but please, David. Please forgive him.”

His green eyes stayed fixed on the snow, and he didn’t respond at first. He just slid his gloved hands into his pockets. “I don’t hate Scott. It’s just…”

“
It’s just that he murdered an innocent young man?”

“…
yeah.”

Neither spoke for some time. When David did answer, it was almost like a new conversation. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but after he changed, the first thought in my head was, ‘I raised him better than that.’”

She let him continue.

“
I don’t know, Esther. They say time heals everything.”

“
Then isn’t it time?” She was staring at him with stern understanding, as if her words were meant to end the exchange. At long last, he nodded his head. Her lips slowly curved up.

David tried not to smile back. “What is it with you? You know what to say.”

“
Of course I do. I’m a woman and a scout. I can get what I want.”

“
So do you want Scott?”

Esther’s expression went flat.

“
I thought that was it.” He briefly glanced away. “Let me give you a little advice, Esther. It’s fair, since you gave some to me.”

When she didn’t reply, he went on.

“
Don’t go down that road. An infatuation, sure, that’s fine, but don’t fall for him, yet. He’s still got a long way to go.”

This time it was Esther who stared into the distance.

David placed his hand on the back of her neck, then gave her a squeeze. “I’m proud of you. Not that my approval means much.”

She just stared ahead at the snow-covered expanse. The morning sun had risen now, and the fog was lifting away. At last, she sighed and conceded, “Maybe a little.”

He smiled. “I’ll take what I can get.”

The two resumed their walk across the grounds, though only a few words were spoken after that. Esther was the first one to walk away, leaving David with a girlish kiss on the cheek. She made her way to the barracks. David remained by himself in the fresh morning sun for another full hour, without human or comm interruption. And that was fine with him.

* * *

Scott walked alone to the infirmary. It had taken him longer than usual to dress and leave his room. The burns on his arms, despite being bandaged, made wearing his uniform impossible; instead, he’d donned a loose gray T-shirt. He knew how awful he looked, and if he were to somehow forget, the looks on the faces of those who passed him in the halls served as reminders. But he didn’t care how he looked—he didn’t care about himself in the least.

The most recent update he’d received about Jayden was the most positive yet. The Texan’s right eye had healed to the point where an eye patch was no longer needed, though one still remained over his vacant left socket. Doctors were certain the right eye would fully recover. The rest of his body was healing well, though he’d still be in casts for several weeks. Nonetheless, the prognosis was good—at least, for a semi-normal life back home.

When Scott walked into Jayden’s room, the Texan’s good eye lit up. His face, though still badly damaged, looked much better than the last time Scott had seen it. He looked like himself again, if not a battered version. He would be scarred for the rest of his life, but not to the extent where he would look disfigured. He actually looked good.

“
Hey Jay,” Scott said as he approached the bed.

“
Hey man,” Jayden’s good eye followed Scott’s movement. He frowned when he looked at Scott’s face. “What happened? Did someone beat you up?”

Scott almost laughed. “Something like that.” He guessed he must have been the first to visit Jayden that day. Had anyone else, the Texan probably would have known what had happened. “How are you feeling?”

“
I feel great, man! I see real good.”

It was impossible not to grin at Jayden’s optimism. Not once had the sniper complained or wallowed in self-pity during his stay in the infirmary. He’d had his weak moments, and he’d broken down in front of Scott, but his will had never failed. Scott wondered how many people would have such strength. “I got jealous of your one eye,” Scott said. “Thought I’d screw mine up, too. I hear Russian women love the Cyclops look.”

Jayden laughed. “I kinda like this eye patch they got me wearin’. It makes me look like a pirate.” His content look remained for a moment, then faded somewhat. “Have you heard from Varya?”

Scott looked at him strangely. “She hasn’t been here?”

“
I haven’t seen her in days, man. Almost a week.”

Scott was stunned. Of all the people who should have been visiting the fallen sniper, Varvara should have been chief. That she hadn’t been there was inconceivable.

“
She still talks about me, right?”

Scott stared blankly at the Texan, though inside, his heart was torn. “Yeah, of course.” It was a natural answer, but it was also a lie. Scott had never heard her talk about Jayden, but then again, Scott was rarely in Room 14 to hear.

“
Next time you see her, tell her I love her.”

Where are you, Varya? Why aren’t you here to hear this yourself?
Despite his irritation, he defended the absent medic. “She’s got a lot to deal with right now. We’ve had some rough times in the group.” His tone softened. “She’ll get back here as soon as she can, but I’ll give her the message.”

“
Thanks, man.”

Scott knew he’d have to make a special trip to Room 14 to deliver that message. The last time he’d been there, it had been to discuss the open officer’s slot in the wake of Clarke’s death. He had a feeling that talking to the unit as a whole was inevitable. With everything that had gone on in their last mission, some things would have to be addressed. Oleg’s treachery was at the top of the list.

Suddenly he remembered something.
Dostoevsky tried to talk Max and me out of promoting Oleg. He kept trying to push Viktor instead.
The hair stood up on his arms.
What if Oleg was a threat to him, too? We thought Dostoevsky was trying to fill the ranks with Nightmen when he recommended Viktor. What if he was trying to protect us from Oleg?
He could barely believe he was entertaining that thought, but what if it were true?

“
Scott?”

Snapping out of his reverie, Scott refocused on Jayden.

“
You all right?”

He wasn’t sure how he should answer, so he went with the truth. “We went on a mission yesterday. Something happened. Becan found out that Oleg was part of the eidola.”

Jayden’s good eye grew wide.

“
He’s out of the unit. For all I know, so is Dostoevsky.” He was surprised when Jayden didn’t smile at that. “It might just be Max and me.” If Dostoevsky was gone, did that make Scott the unit’s captain? It seemed too far-fetched to consider. “Someone needs to talk to the unit.”

“
Why don’t
you
do it?”

The Texan made it sound to simple—so blatantly clear.

“
Do it, man. They’d love to hear from you.”

Scott wasn’t sure what he could offer to the unit. Off the battlefield, he’d been nonexistent; he’d grown accustomed to a disconnected life. Before he could think on it further, Jayden spoke again.

“
Do you see things differently now?”

Differently? It wasn’t a question he’d expected. Deep questions from the Texan were rare. Did he see things differently? How could he not? So much had transpired over so few months. The death of Nicole, becoming a fulcrum, distancing from his friends. And now this dim glimmer of hope on the horizon. The barrage of changes had never ceased, from directions he could never anticipate. “I feel like I can’t see things coming until they hit me in the face.”

Jayden’s face fell flat. “Are you
serious
?”

That was the best way he could describe it. “I haven’t reacted to adversity in the wisest of ways. But it’s like everywhere I turn, I get blindsided. I feel like I’m finally starting to learn, but…” his words trailed away. “When Nicole died, I thought life couldn’t get any worse. Now I’m a fulcrum, the unit’s a wreck, and it all falls on me. I think I’m finally at the point where I’m willing to accept that, but is it too late to change?”

Jayden didn’t say a thing. He simply stared as Scott continued to speak.

“
You say to just go talk to the unit, but is it really that simple? If I had handled everything better, maybe so. But I handled it in the worst possible ways. But I guess I can try. Maybe on some level I actually want to. So, do I see things differently?” He shook his head. “I guess maybe I do.”

Scott wondered if he was making sense. Everything sounded right in his mind, but he wondered if Jayden could relate to it all. Maybe the Texan was right. Maybe it was just time to move on.

When he looked up at Jayden, he saw a comrade at a loss for words. The Texan simply looked confused. Scott sighed. “If that answers your question at all.”

“
I meant with one eye, man.”

Scott shook his head as if coming out of a trance.
“What?”

“
I meant, do you see things differently with one eye?”

“
Please tell me you’re joking.”

“
No, man, I’m serious,” Jayden started to laugh. “But all that other stuff was pretty cool, too.”

“
Oh my God.” He fought to find the right words. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“
You were just goin’ on, man! What was I supposed to do?”

Scott covered his face with his hands, even forgetting for a moment that both were burned. The laughter came out—laughter of sheer disbelief. The more he thought about what he’d just said, the heavier the heaves came. “Well,” Scott barely managed the words, “I guess I see pretty good.” It wasn’t just the hardest Scott had laughed in months, it was the hardest he’d laughed in what felt like years. His stomach actually hurt.

“
Dude,” Jayden said, “when you said you couldn’t see things until they hit you in the face, I was like, ‘oh crap!’ You gotta tell this to the gang!”

Scott still needed to talk to the “gang” about Oleg, too. Except he looked forward to that now—for reasons that had nothing to do with the eidola. He just wanted to see his friends—to remember what it felt like to be human. “I’m sorry, Jay.”

Jayden was still chuckling. “Sorry for what?”

“
For letting it get this bad.”

The Texan fell quiet.

One moment of laughter couldn’t solve all his problems. Nicole was still dead. Her killer was still on the loose—as were many others. Scott was still ranked among them. All those battles still faced him. Outside of a brief prayer about Jayden, Scott hadn’t talked openly to God. He still wasn’t sure he was ready.
There were scars buried deep in his heart—months of trust to regain.

“
Just go make it right,” said Jayden.

Those words echoed through Scott’s soul.
Go make it right.
Maybe it really was that easy.
I need to go talk to the unit. I need to talk to them about Oleg and Dostoevsky—I need to talk to them about myself.

To tell them I’m sorry.

He wasn’t caught up in remorse. On the inside, he was still angry. Anger was something he feared would always be with him—the Nightmen had unlocked it, and now it was free. But maybe, just maybe, his anger could be controlled. Maybe it could be used for something other than revenge.

He realized right then not just what he was, but
who
he was. He was one of the few Nightmen, if not the only one, who could bridge both worlds. Good and evil, freedom and vice, friendship and tyranny. He understood the Nightmen—the Dostoevskys and the Strakhovs—and the depth of their violence. He understood the guilt they carried in their souls, whether they admitted it or not. He’d made the mistake of not only succumbing to them, but becoming one of them.