The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time (11 page)

“What the hell are you doing in here, soldier?” the Sergeant bellowed. Then his eyes took it all in--her, Michael’s knife and the Uzi, which was now pointed squarely at his belly.

“We’re leaving now,” Michael said, locking eyes with the Sergeant.

The man hadn’t risen to be Top Sergeant by being a coward.

“Over my dead body,” the Sergeant responded, as he tensed to attack.

A vision of him dragging Sara by her hair and backhanding her--of blood, burns and bruises on her body, flashed across Michael’s mind.

“A pleasure,” Michael snarled, his finger already tightening around the trigger.

“No! Please!” Sara cried, freezing both men in place.

Michael gave her a puzzled glance as she stepped past him and, without coming between the Sergeant and Michael’s Uzi, kicked Sarge’s balls so hard that his eyes rolled up and he dropped like a stunned ox.

“I owe this bastard more than I can pay,” she said, her voice trembling with the force of her hatred. “He did things to me...,” she choked, faltered then steadied, “I may never recover from.” Her voice had gone cold and machine-like. She bent over him, her body hiding what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, glancing at the door. “But you’ll be all right if we get out of here fast.” The urgency in his voice meant nothing to her.

“I mean now! We don’t have time for games,” he demanded.

The sound of gunfire was increasing outside. The enemy was recovering from their surprise. Michael risked a quick peek out of the tent in time to see No-Ears and company being mowed down as they charged the camp.

“There,” she sighed, as she straightened up. Only then Michael saw she had picked up his knife and there was fresh blood dripping from the tip. She smiled down at the Sergeant, a smile Michael hoped he’d never see aimed at him and said, “Feel better now?”

Michael could see the look of horror growing in the man’s eyes. He started to say something, or from his expression perhaps he started to scream something, but she jammed an old sock deep into his mouth to gag him, then turned to Michael and said, “Let’s go.”

“You want to leave him alive?”

“Oh dear God, yes!” she replied with fervor.

Michael stripped the man’s pistol and holster from his strangely unresisting form and as he was handing them to her, he understood.

“You paralyzed him,” he said with a touch of awe in his voice.

“From the neck down,” she answered, adding, “I’m a surgeon.”

The sounds of gunfire were lessening. The enemy was recovering from their surprise alright, but they would still be on edge--spelled trigger-happy. Cautiously, Michael and Sara slipped from the tent, into the woods and through the trees, taking great care to avoid any soldiers who were still blundering around the forest.

Leading her around a large hill toward a gold-tinted aspen grove where he’d left the horses, Michael’s thoughts kept returning to the mystery of what she knew that could launch such an extensive manhunt. No-Ears had revealed they were but one small group of many sent to look for her and the old man. He helped her across a small creek. Her grim, tight-faced expression told better than words of the toll this pace was taking on her tortured body. Yet she didn’t complain. She endured.

He wanted to ease up, to spare her at least some of the pain she was experiencing, but he couldn’t. Every second counted. It was full light now and if the enemy wasn’t already searching for them they would be soon. The mounted patrol the enemy had sent out earlier would probably be back any minute.

The two of them entered the aspen and were almost to the horses when Michael heard a slight clunk. That wasn’t the sound of a horse’s hoof hitting a rock or a tree root. He stopped so fast Sara almost ran into him, then he gestured for her to stay there while he checked it out.

Seconds later he parted the leaves to peer at the horses and saw Jim hog-tying an elderly man. Jim stood up and without turning around said, “Hey, Michael. Getting noisy in your old age?”

Michael snorted and stepped into the clearing. “Who’s your guest?”

Jim pointed to the small white-haired figure and said, “Michael, meet Raoul Garcia. I found him sneaking around our horses just now. He thinks I’m one of the bad guys.”

“Obviously a perceptive man,” Michael said. “I’ve got his daughter,” he added, making an erroneous assumption. “Maybe she can convince him we’re on the same side.”

Jim’s hand on his shoulder stopped Michael as he turned to go. “I don’t know that we are, man,” he whispered, “He had this.”

In the palm of Jim’s hand lay a small black pill.

“A cyanide capsule?” Michael shuddered. He hadn’t seen anything like it since the war. He shook his head and disappeared into the trees, reserving judgment until he’d had a talk with the Garcias.

Chapter 10: The Secret

All day, while clouds built and the sky darkened, the four rode hard, putting many miles between themselves and the King’s men. Up Castle Creek they galloped, pushing their horses over the rocky pass and down into the Taylor River drainage, following the river toward Cottonwood Pass. Michael rode point, scouting the trail, his mind overflowing with unanswered questions. Why was the King so interested in these two? What did they know that was so important? And foremost, was it wise, or even safe, to bring them into the Freeholds? Hell of a time for second thoughts.

Sara had been reeling in the saddle for several hours but she stuck it out. Her courage and toughness added to the respect Michael had for her.

Questions danced through Jim’s mind as well, stirring confused emotions. He wanted to believe that Sara and Raoul were good people caught in a bad situation and his gut told him they were decent--but that jet black capsule said spooks and Jim didn’t trust spooks. Neither did Michael.

Jim shook his head, pulled off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his free hand. Like a stubborn dog chasing its tail, his mind was going in circles about Sara. He plopped his hat back on and shifted in the saddle, seeking comfort that just wasn’t there, making an effort to shove all thoughts of her out of his mind. But as their horses wound along the game trail, his eyes were continually drawn to her.

Thunder growled, accompanying empty stomachs. They had missed breakfast and weren’t stopping for lunch. They pushed on.

Finally, when lightning danced on nearby peaks and the clouds opened up, pelting the four with the soft hail mountain people call graupel, Michael relented. In the waning light, he led them away from the river, bearing east from the marshy flats that marked the remains of the Pothole Reservoirs until he found an old mine shaft that went back far enough into the mountain to shelter them from the storm and allow them to have a fire without being detected. They were exhausted.

Jim helped Sara down from her horse, amazed at the electricity that passed between them when he touched her. Bruised and beat-up as she was, disheveled being entirely too kind a word, she actually fussed with her hair a moment before realizing the futility of the gesture. She smiled up at him, shrugged and said, “I’m glad I don’t have a mirror.”

Jim offered her his jacket against the evening chill and said, “You look just fine,” with a touch of wonder in his voice.

As he draped the jacket over her shoulders and met her soft look with one of his own, he stood taller and everybody there knew that whether she needed one or not she had gained a protector. Jim had decided to go with his gut feeling.

Michael shook his head as he gathered kindling to start a fire. Chemistry! It was hard for him to believe this was the same woman who, just a few hours ago, enjoyed slicing a man’s spinal cord. His lips twitched in a fleeting grin. He’d have to remind Jim not to annoy her.

Then his hand brushed against the lump the suicide pill formed in his pocket and his smile vanished. For his friend’s sake, he wanted to trust Raoul and Sara. His own instincts, dating from when he had first seen Sara, told him they were alright...if it wasn’t for that damn pill!

He finished laying the small fire and sparked it off with a magnesium fire starter. He knelt and gently blew the spark to flame, feeding it slowly until it grew to a decent cook fire. Going over to his horse, he stroked the animal’s neck, silently apologizing for having to leave it saddled. No telling how sudden they might have to leave. He reached into his saddle bags and pulled out a vacuum sealed bag of dehydrated mixed vegetables, some beef jerky, a pot for water and the small bag of coffee he’d salvaged from the enemy patrol.

Food first, questions later, he thought. He walked to the mouth of the mine, but there were no answers there, only darkness and wind and rain.

He held the pot under a rivulet until it filled with water then headed back into the mine. The thought that he was going to taste some honest-to-God coffee was almost pleasant enough to overcome the dread building within him. He trudged reluctantly along, ignoring the rustling and squeaks of bats overhead, feeling like a kid walking alone in a cemetery at night--spooked and uncertain.

*

“Sara.” Michael paused for a sip of coffee, then met her gaze across the fire. There was no right way to begin. “Why were they torturing you?” He saw her stiffen and winced inwardly. Subtle, Michael, always subtle.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a worried glance at Raoul. “It seems to be their style.”

“Normally,” he admitted with a nod, “but not this time. This time they wanted information.” His voice was slightly harder now that she had attempted an evasion.

“How do you know?” Jim placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

With a sigh, Michael reached into his pocket. He grasped the deadly pill between his thumb and forefinger, his flesh crawling like he was picking up a live spider. He held it up into the light of the fire. Flames reflected off the oily black surface and the shadows beyond their tiny circle of light seemed darker, as if hiding something evil. When Michael spoke again, his voice was so soft the others had to lean forward to catch his words.

“I was in the last war.” Nightmare images of mutilated bodies flashed through his mind. He pulled the pill back and stared hard at it. “A friend of mine in military intelligence told me about these--not a pretty way to die. He also told me about the people who carry them.”

Their silence was deeper than the darkness. Michael let it grow.

“Ahem,” Raoul broke the silence speaking hesitantly, his voice strained. “I’m sorry. I know the two of you risked your lives to help us, but we just can’t...” His voice faded as he struggled to find the right words.

“Why not?” Michael demanded.

“Because it’s too terrible...too...” Shaking his head he looked to Sara for support, but she was staring fearfully out into the darkness, lost in memories better left behind.

Michael sent a glance at Jim that said, jump in any time, then switched tacks. “Look, Raoul, everyone here survived The Dying Time. Nothing can be worse than that.”

Raoul gave Michael a pitying look, full of suffering and sorrow. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Something can.” Tears trailed down his cheeks. He bowed his head.

“What?” Michael insisted. Dammit, he hated this. Part of him wanted to reach out to the old man and part of him was getting angry.

“Stop it!” Sara leaned over and put her arms around Raoul, sheltering him. “Please,” she looked at Michael, her eyes full of tears. “Years ago, his wife,” her voice caught, “my grandmother, was tortured to death to get him to reveal what he knows and he told them nothing.” Her eyes blazed. “You saw what they did to me and I revealed nothing.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak but her glare stopped him. “That hideous pill you’re holding was to insure we didn’t give anything away. Don’t you see? We don’t want...we can’t...,” she collapsed against Raoul, sobbing, her tears mingling with his.

Jim reached out to comfort her.

“Look, you have to...,” Michael began, but Jim interrupted him.

“C’mon man, back off.”

Startled, Michael turned his angry stare on his friend. “What the hell do you mean, back off! What these two know is so important the King has sent hundreds of men out looking for them. Back off? The Haleys are dead. God knows how many others are dead. All because of what’s in their heads.”

“And they’re willing to die, man,” Jim pointed at the black death in Michael’s hand, “die a particularly nasty death to keep their secret. What more can you ask?”

The Garcias had gone quiet while the two friends argued. Untended, the fire was dying down, the shadows closing in. Michael ran the fingers of his free hand through his graying hair. He took a deep breath and let it out slow.

“Trust, Jim, trust. We’re taking these people home and I damn well mean to know how much trouble they’re bringing with them before we do.”

“If what Daniel Windwalker said was true, we’ve already got more trouble than we can handle,” Jim argued. “So what’s a little more compared to the skills they’ll bring to the Freeholds?” Sara and Raoul exchanged a quick glance at the mention of the Freeholds.

Michael mulled Jim’s argument over briefly. Sara was a surgeon and Raoul was a scientist. Maybe Jim was right. His hand closed on the pill. No! Not until this was resolved. And suddenly he knew what to do.

He pulled out his .357 saying, “We can’t risk taking them home.” Sara and Raoul froze. “And we can’t leave them running loose for the King to find.” He cocked the pistol.

“Now come on, man! Michael?” Jim couldn’t believe this. Raoul’s shoulders slumped. Sara wiped tears from hollow eyes.

Reversing the gun, Michael handed it across the fire to a startled Raoul. “You’re both willing to die to preserve your secret,” Michael said, his head coming up. “And I’d rather die than endanger the Freeholds.”

A few glowing embers were all that was left of the fire. Darkness threatened to swallow them. Raoul’s hand trembled.

“Trust is a two-way street,” Michael said. He shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “But since we helped you out of a jam, I’d sure like to know why we’re entitled to know less than the men hunting you.”

Raoul stared at the pistol in his hand like it was a viper, but Michael’s words hit home.

“Umm...I see. Well...impeccable logic.” He blinked, nodding to himself. “Yes, you’re right.” He un-cocked the pistol and handed it back to Michael with a shudder.

“I can tell you this much,” Raoul began in a shaky voice. “The Dying Time was just the beginning. In about eight years, the Earth will be hit by the other half of Havoc and we’ll all have to go through yet another Dying Time. How many of us do you think could endure that?”

Jim and Michael sat frozen, stunned expressions growing horrified. All they had suffered. All they had accomplished. It was unthinkable to live through such an experience again.

Raoul continued. “We have one chance, one hope and that hope is all that has kept Sara and I going these past years. We are the only ones who know of a weapon so terrible, so destructive, so...” He faltered as distress overwhelmed him, staring into the dull, red-orange embers of their fire. He shook his head, freeing his mind from haunting visions and resumed talking, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, “It’s our only hope. But the King didn’t believe us and with the world in its current state there could be no defense against it...no defense...” His plea faded into silence and the blackness that now enveloped them all.

Michael leaned forward and stirred the dying embers, adding fresh kindling and blowing the fire gently back to life. Bright yellow flames pushed the darkness back, exposing the black pill Michael had placed on the ground while tending the fire.

“Too much power,” Sara breathed. “When the King learned about The Weapon he wanted to use it to enslave the world. But it can only be fired a limited number of times and each shot needlessly expended is one less chance we’ll all have when…” She shrugged helplessly, unable to voice the horror and shook her head slowly before continuing. “Grandpa and I have been on the run ever since--twelve years!” Pointing to the pill she added, “But we’ve both sworn to kill ourselves rather than reveal where The Weapon is, or how to control it. And if I wasn’t asleep when they came that’s what I would have done.”

“That was my fault,” Raoul’s voice was choked with emotion. “I should never have left you alone.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained, “and the moon was bright so I climbed the mountain to look for a better trail. By the time I saw them they had my Sara. I followed them for two days, hoping for a chance to free her...or kill her.” Raoul hid his wrinkled face in his hands as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Jim caught Michael’s eyes and nodded.

Slowly, Michael picked up a fist-sized rock and raised it high above his head. He hated the glistening black pill and the secrecy and deceit it stood for. He slammed the rock violently downward, pulverizing the sinister capsule.

“You’re done running,” he said. “Welcome to the United Freeholds.”

*

Aurora Two

“Henri, do you copy?” Mary Adams asked from cockpit of Aurora Two. The space plane was docked on the far side of Iota from Henri’s Aurora One.

“I read you five by five,” Henri replied. He was outside in an extravehicular mobility unit (EMU) jetting from point to point to anchor his Aurora to the city block-sized hunk of rock that was Iota.

“Pauolo wants to know how much longer?” Pauolo Guzman-Garcia, their machinist and inventive genius was anchoring Aurora Two on the opposite side of Iota. Properly balanced thrust was necessary to move it into orbit around the moon.

“Tell our little boy we’ll get there when we get there,” Elena Montoya chimed in. She was a lunar geologist, crewing for Henri in Aurora One. She’d come on this mission after Pauolo mentioned her expertise might be needed to help find the best anchor points on Iota, so the Auroras could move the rock.

“I’m a lunar geologist,” she’d protested, thinking Iota is a piece of Earth, and it was--a big chunk of black and white, zebra striped, banded gneiss ejected by The Impact.