Jump Zone: Cleo Falls (3 page)

“Scar,” she blurted. “It’s a scar.”

He canted his head, staring openly at the garish slash mark. Most people had the courtesy not to gawk. “Some animal claw at you?”

She flashed him a look that instantly killed his curiosity.

He rose abruptly and walked away. “Go ahead, get dressed. I won’t look.”

A little late for that.

As soon as he started rummaging through his backpack, she pulled the leather halter over her head and tightened the laces that criss-crossed her back, bringing the ends around to the front to tie. Her fingers were still stiff and tingly, making the process a bit of a challenge.

“So what happened?” she asked, pretending the situation wasn’t weirdly uncomfortable. “How did you happen to be at the falls the moment I needed you?”

“Just one of those crazy things, you know?” he laughed.

“If the story’s that funny, I definitely want to know the details.” Death generally wasn’t a laughing matter.

He didn’t reply. Cleo wondered if he’d even heard her. He seemed distracted by something in his backpack. She was about to repeat the questions when he spoke.

“I’m not sure you do.”

“Oh, I do. Right down to the last giggle.”

“Fine. Just remember, you asked.”

Silence thickened as she waited for him to begin. A beam of sun cut through the trees and caught his hair, turning it to gold as he raked it with his fingers. “I’d just finished making camp and went to the river to clean up before dinner.” He paused, cleared his throat. “I uh…I was taking a leak in the river when I thought I heard a scream. I looked up and saw a dark shape fall over the falls. It took me a second to realize it was a body. It was fair dark, so if you hadn’t screamed when you did, I would have completely missed the show.”

That didn’t explain his nervous laughter. “Tell me again about the funny part.”

“I uh… I jumped in as-is,” he said. “Without…you know…doing up my armor.”

“I’m not seeing the humor.”

“Yeah, well,” he mumbled, “I reckon it’s guy humor. I have a few friends back home who’re going to love it.”

Cleo rolled her eyes and wrestled the unyielding hide over her sore legs. It would take a few hours of wear and movement to soften and stretch back to a comfortable shape.

There was an unmendable tear from the knee down on the right side that matched the bandage on her leg, but closer inspection of her injuries would have to wait—she wanted to dress as quickly as possible in case he got bored sorting through his things. She tugged the laces that ran up the outside length of each leg, loosening them as quickly as her fingers could fly. She lay back on the air cushion—a lightweight bag of nothing—shifted her weight onto her good leg, and hauled her trousers up over her hips.

“Ow!” A quick sharp poke had her wondering if a bee hadn’t got into her pants.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…I think so,” she said, rubbing the sore spot on her right butt cheek. She craned her neck to see over her shoulder but could see nothing; no bee, no burr, and from what she could feel with her fingers, no scab, no cut, nothing to indicate the origin of the pain. “I think maybe I bruised my backside coming over the falls. Or some nasty bug bit me in my sleep.”

She lay back, exhausted from the effort, leaving the side laces on her pants loose for the moment. She’d worry about tightening them up once she regained her stamina. “Then what happened?”

“Excuse me?”

“After you jumped in. What happened next?”

“I had to dive down a couple of times before I found you—you were pretty limp by then.  I dragged you out and started CPR.”

Cleo turned her head to the side and watched him zip up the various pockets on his pack.

“And at what point did you put everything back in place?”

“Oh, that?” he laughed. “I don’t recall. I reckon during one of the dives, otherwise my pants would’ve fallen off.”

“Good to know,” she said, not bothering to hide the smile in her voice. She closed her eyes, a wave of exhaustion making her feel drowsy and light-headed.

The Taiga, vast and great, was ninety percent unpopulated, so the chances that anyone would be within a hundred miles of her at any point in time, especially when she needed help, must have been divine intervention. In hindsight, his story was rather amusing. Such a boy-thing, peeing in a river, probably seeing how far he could splash—

Don’t trust outsiders.

She fought against her heavy lids and caught him watching her with a calculated expression. He replaced it with friendly openness before she could fully blink away the haze.

“You can go back to sleep if you want. I won’t leave you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she replied, sitting up, the leather straining against her hips and abdomen. “I don’t understand how I survived the fall. How did I
not
get smashed to bits?  The pool at the bottom has more rocks than water. Explain how my bones are still intact.”

“Don’t ask me, darlin’,” he said with a shake of his head. “I thought I’d be pulling up a bloody corpse. Even questioned my own sanity for bothering to try, especially in the dark. I couldn’t see shit. When I got you ashore, you looked pretty intact, so I decided to see what you tasted like.”

“Tasted me! What’s that supposed to mean?” She may have sounded indignant, but for the love of all things fishy, she was shocked at the images his choice of wording invoked. She could feel a blush rush up her chest.

“Whoa now. I only meant that I gave you mouth-to-mouth, banged on your chest and tried out those life-saving techniques I learned in Ranger Boys.” Wolfish eyes raked her body. “But if you want me to be literal, I don’t reckon dead girls have much of a taste.”

Cleo turned her flushed cheeks away and tried to focus on her lower leg. “Thanks. Thanks for doing that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his smirk.

She should assess her wound, figure out what kind of first aid she’d need, but as her hands worked to undo the sloppy, blood-encrusted bandage, the only thought in her head was,
he has nice hair
.

She heard his feet scrape the ground as he came over. The smirk was gone as he crouched beside her. “I did what I could, but I was too wet and cold to do much more than make sure you didn’t bleed to death.”

Cleo unwound the strip of material, exposing a six-inch gash. It wasn’t critically deep, but she would have benefited from a few stitches. The tender, swollen skin had jagged, torn edges.
Lovely.
Another attractive scar to add to her collection.

Had to have been caused by hitting a rock. Dark purple flesh surrounded the wound, a bruise so sensitive, her own prodding caused her to hiss with pain. A thin trickle of blood oozed through the encrusted lesion. Feeling a tad wobbly, she straightened her spine and placed her palms on the comforting firmness of the ground.

Blood loss. Had to be. Because a little scratch like this wasn’t enough to make her queasy.

He bent down next to her, invading her space, so close, she could smell him. “You okay?”

“Sure.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve had worse.”

He leaned over her shin, scrutinizing the gash while she studied the profile of his squared jaw. “Two inches toward the front and whatever you hit would have snapped your shin like a twig.”

Just like that, the world began to spin at the same rate as her stomach.

“Zhang hell, not again.” She felt his arm go around her shoulder. Warm, strong, supporting. “Hang on, Cleo. Deep breaths.”

Lacking the strength to pull away, she sagged against him. “I… I…” Her mouth suddenly filled with saliva. She swallowed and willed herself not to retch. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

No, I’m not.
“I will be. Just give me a sec.”

“You want a drink?” He lowered her gently back down into a prone position. “I’ll be right back.”

Cleo closed her eyes until her head steadied, embarrassed by her weakness.

Think! Clear the mind, regulate the heart rate, and think.

She had to get away. Had to continue her mission.
Yes—concentrate on the goal.
She couldn’t go very far on that leg without risking infection. She had to stay put for a day or two.

But Jaegar might not have a couple more days!
Think, think, think…

It was so hard to focus with a head that refused to stay attached. It floated like a spectral above her, floating, refusing to stay in the moment.

Calm, focus on breathing, remember the training. I am a warrior, trained to fight, to defend, trained to lead, trained to…

It came to her.

Tobacco.

Three

C
leo Rush was
not
what he expected.

Libra was told she was a savage, like all the people who inhabited the remote northern wilds of Old Canada. Technically, they were Upper Ameradans, but everyone in Lower A knew they were a few DNA strands short of civilized and didn’t like the association.

Her dossier described her as a motherless girl who would fight to survive and to kill if she were threatened. He half-expected pointed teeth, a spear, and excess body hair.

They were wrong.

He was told she’d be carrying weapons and to expect resistance. He was told to get her while she was alone, drug her, bag her, and transport her back to Gomeda. He was told she was dangerous.

They were wrong.

He didn’t know it was Cleo Rush when he pulled her limp body from the water, but armed with the physical description that would ensure her identity—the distinguishable birthmark on her cheek—it wasn’t hard to figure out. The thrashing and shouting in her sleep confirmed it, especially when she called her brother, repeatedly, by name.

They gave him a cover story, which he’d memorized in case of capture and questioning, but they were skeptical about his ability to make it sound convincing. Though that was before the last-minute change in his target.

Either way, they needn’t have worried.

If he was anything, he was a great liar. Always had been. His life depended on it. He would have lied, bluffed, and fibbed his way into her world if that’s what it took. But this—her literally falling out of the sky at his feet—this was so much better. Luck or fate, one of them was on his side. How else could it be explained?

Instead of the wild animal he’d anticipated, Cleo was an injured, frightened, and unarmed woman, with heart-stopping, double-take beauty. He couldn’t stop himself from staring. When she was cold, puking, and blue in the face, not so much… But by the light of day,
wow
.

Bringing her back to life was no picnic, but four billion cashpoints and a get-out-of-jail-free card was pretty good incentive. He’d done dirtier jobs for far less.

“Spade-shaped hairy leaves around a spiky formation with yellow flowers,” he murmured, reciting the items she’d requested as he headed out of the small clearing where he’d made a camp.

Armed with a mesh pouch for collecting her grocery list, he also surreptitiously tucked his DEL-48, special edition direct energy pulse laser, into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back, in case he met a real wild animal. If there was one memorable fact that stuck out in his training, it was that the Taiga had a problem with misplaced polar grizzlies with a taste for human flesh. While the DEL wouldn’t kill anything much over two hundred pounds, it would stun the zhang-hell out of whatever he hit long enough to make a clean escape.

“And chamomile,” she called after him, interrupting his thoughts. “Don’t forget the chamomile.”

She might as well have been asking for moondust. He was so out of his league in this place.
Spade-shaped hairy leaves and chamomile, feathery green, low to the ground, spade shaped feathery leaves—zhang!
“Let me find the hairy spades before you clutter my head with more green things,” he said with a quick glance back. She was sitting up in those barely-fastened pants, sipping a cup of water.

Aside from the pink puckered scar that marred her cheek, her skin was a delicious shade of bronzed honey. Didn’t see much of anything past ghostly pale complexions in Gomeda.

She looked tired, a little worn out from her ordeal, but that was a good sign as far as he was concerned. He fervently hoped it wasn’t an act, that the wound was as serious as it looked and she wasn’t sending him on a wild goose chase so she could flee. Then he’d have to rely on the tracker, and turning on his satcom was a risky move in the Taiga.

He’d been careful to do nothing to make her distrust him. In fact, he’d purposely been reckless, leaving his blade behind when he went for water earlier in the day—she hadn’t touched it—and just now, he left behind his pack, unguarded, hanging on a tree in plain sight. He counted on her rustling through it while he was gone. The important stuff was well hidden a good distance away. She wouldn’t find anything but some basic hiking equipment—rain shield, food packets, satcom.

Zhang hell!
That was a careless mistake. Though without his biorhythm, she couldn’t turn it on.

One thing he learned from his stint at the penal colony was the fine art of poker. More specifically, simple observation, since it helped to figure out if someone was bluffing. Cleo’s tell was the chunk of black rock that hung around her neck. When she became unsettled, she played with it. If she
did
go through his stuff, Libra expected she’d be clutching it pretty good when he returned.

He walked through the forest, keeping the river within hearing range so he wouldn’t get lost. Despite his crash course in wilderness survival, which he didn’t pay as much attention to as he probably should have, this was new to him—the terrain, the climate, the entire forest experience.

Home couldn’t be more opposite to this vast and unending landscape that made him feel dizzy and inconsequential. In Gomeda, the vast sprawling city he called home, he couldn’t take two steps without tripping over someone. Out here, there was nothing but trees and rocks, rocks and trees, and more zhanging trees. It made him appreciate the zillion-to-one chance that he and Cleo could show up at the same waterfall on the same evening. Almost too bizarre to wrap his head around.

At one point during the endless night of staring at Cleo, it occurred to him it that it might be a trap of the joke’s-on-me variety. Nah. Achan couldn’t be
that
cruel. The old man busted him out of hard-labor camp. If he wanted him good and truly punished for stealing those medical supplies out from under his rich, wrinkled ass, gramps would have left him there for the duration of his sentence.

Libra looked down at the raw skin on his palms, imagining what they would look like with nine more years of handling toxic waste. Nah, this was a much better gig.

How did these people survive without buildings and buzz trains and…civilization? Survival amongst the eleven million people of Gomeda was an every-day challenge, but all you really needed was a bad-ass attitude, a good knowledge of the rules, and enough coin to break them. Simple. And he had two out of the three.

This mission would give him the third, ensuring his survival and his freedom. That had been the deal-maker; sweet freedom, because money alone, even
that
much, couldn’t motivate him enough to work for a bastard like Achan Cade.

When it was over, he’d live comfortably, something he hadn’t known for a long time. There’d be no hunger, violence, or depravity. He could continue to do what he was passionate about, but in a smarter, more creative way. He could distribute the wealth of Gomeda as far as the slums of New Chicago and have the resources to cover his hide.

He smiled at the thought of delivering Cleo in a tidy little package, days earlier than anyone expected. He could taste freedom on his tongue now, could taste it in his mouth even as he’d pressed his lips to hers and tried to revive her.

He’d saved her.

Now Cleo Rush would save him.