The Other Side (22 page)

For
episode two of
Kissing Humans
, we return to Tatankaville for a flight to roast a supply convoy.

Two of Bakul's riders are already suiting up when we arrive at the arena. Hawk's got a Mohawk, and Hook's got a hook where his left hand used to be. They're running scout duty for the mission. They don't look happy about it, but in the time I've been here, I've never seen them look happy about anything.

I don my body armor, helmet, goggles—

“Keep your goggles and mask off until you need them, Twenty-Five,” Evelyn huffs. “They need to know who they're seeing.”

Who are they seeing? “I liked her more when she was Talker One,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” James mumbles. I glance over. He's staring into his locker. I lean back, see that he's looking at the mirror affixed to the back wall. Like mine, it has
You
written in black marker across its top. A family portrait that must be several years old is taped to the bottom of the mirror.

“You all right?”

“Always.” He closes his locker, puts on his helmet, decorated to the brim with dragon-jet stickers.

“Let's fly!” Evelyn says.

T-Clef kisses Joto on the cheek. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“Stupid is in the brain of the stupid.”

She laughs. “You're so stupid.”

“Yeah, but I'm your stupid,” he says, kisses her, then dashes off.

“Kick some ass out there,” T-Clef says, way too excited, and gives me a hug. “And please watch him. Evie's a great rider, but she can be a bit crazy, and since he's supposed to be videoing you, he won't be as focused as he should be, and—”

I squeeze her tighter. “We'll make sure he's okay.”

“If Evie happens to”—Grizzly B makes a slashing gesture across his throat—“in the process . . . well, accidents do happen.”

“The thought hadn't crossed my mind.”

“What would your CENSIR say?”

We laugh.

On the other side of the wall, we split into our flight teams. The dragons are glowing an eager shade of deadly today. Praxus still greets James and me with a grudging growl, though he does allow us to mount him with far less petulance than normal.

“How you feeling, Callahan?” James asks from the gunner's seat.

“Fine, Everett. You?”

“Fine.” The built-in pivot mechanism that links the gun to his seat allows him to swivel around a hundred-eighty degrees. He turns all the way to his right, looks sideways at me. “Don't do anything crazy, okay?”

I'm not sure what he means by that, what he ever means anymore, so I ignore him.

“Let's roar and roll,” Evelyn says via the CENSIR radio.

The hatch in the ceiling opens, and we launch. Minutes later, we're out of the mountain. Clouds line the sky like feathered speed bumps. The midday sun shines a dark shade of orange through my goggles. In the distance overhead, I spot the green glow of Bakul.

Praxus snarls, and his heat picks up. Erlik's flying right at us in a vertical ascent. Evelyn's at the helm, head pressed to Erlik's neck, blond hair streaming out from her helmet,
machine gun strapped to her back. She's a goddamn modern-day Valkyrie.

Praxus whirls toward them, belching smoke from his nostrils. Erlik doesn't slow.

“Hold him still, Twenty-Five,” Evelyn says. “And take off those goggles. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Praxus brightens. I can almost feel the fire filling his throat. Sweat trickles into my eyes.

“He's not the enemy.”

They are all enemies, human.

“Get him under control, Twenty-Five.”

Erlik's almost on us. His lips pull back, his eyes narrow. He tucks his legs beneath him and accelerates.

“He's not the enemy today.”

You are wrong.
Praxus opens his mouth, but no fire comes out. He roars.
Turn it on!

Erlik swoops around us in a tight spiral. Praxus lashes out with a tail strike that jolts me hard in the saddle, but Erlik's swerved out of range, snarling or laughing at us, or maybe both.

“Get him under control, Twenty-Five. And take off those goggles!”

“Any suggestions back there?” I ask.

“I've been talking to him. He's not talking back,” James says. “Praxus is not a pack dragon.”

I snort. “Are any of them?”

Erlik wheels around for another pass.

“Get Praxus on the level, Twenty-Five. We need a good clean shot of you and James flying smooth. Like you actually know what you're doing.”

“If she's so damn gifted with Greens, why doesn't she tell him?” I mutter.

“Because Praxus wouldn't connect with her,” James says. His words give me a camera-worthy smile and an idea.

Praxus, Erlik is a slave. Look at him take orders from those humans. He must fly close so that they can film our magnificence. He is not a worthy enemy. He is not worthy of our attention.

Praxus doesn't answer, but his glow dims and his body cools to something south of sauna. He levels out and soars into an assured glide. Erlik makes two passes around us, comes in close a few times, Joto staring at us through it all. Praxus ignores them.

I pat him on the neck.
Good job.
He tosses his head back and smashes it into my nose. Blood pours out. As his laughter echoes through my head, I think of Baby. How she did the same thing. How she was so mad at me. How she felt so alone.

I shove her from my thoughts, wipe the blood from my nose with my cape.

“Are you okay?” James asks.

“Fine.”

We continue on in silence at a steady glide interrupted by an occasional wing flap. It's horribly peaceful.

A minute later, maybe ten, Hook comes on over the CENSIR radio. “We got twenty birds coming in at three o'clock. Flying low. Intercept on our position in under a minute. Orders?”

“Engage. Fire's active,” Evelyn says. “Twenty-Five, stay back this time.”

Erlik bolts forward.

I put on my goggles and activate binocular mode. Even at ten times magnification, the dragon jets aren't much more than black blips against the blue sky. For a few seconds, I hear nothing but the rush of wind. Then I hear nothing but the wrath of dragons.

Wings pumping, Praxus accelerates to full speed. His fuming bellows are echoed twice over by Erlik and Bakul.
Death comes.

“Twenty-Five, stay back,” Evelyn says.

I consider her order for about half a second. To gain Oren's trust, I must erase the doubts in his mind he surely has about me.

I must be Green. I must always be Green.

Praxus, the slave's rider wants us to remain here.

They want the glory of flame for themselves.

“Back off, Twenty-Five.”

“Radio on. Feel free to tell Praxus that yourself, Number One. Radio off.”

“James, please get your dragon under control since Twenty-Five is unable.” Evelyn sounds positively frosty.

“He's not listening to me,” James says as Praxus overtakes Erlik.

“I'm gonna berserk you, you stupid whore,” Evelyn mutters. I'm not sure she meant for me to hear that, but either way, she doesn't open my link to Praxus.

“When you're talking to Praxus, call out your instructions aloud so I can hear,” James says. “Keep your head low. Keep your body tight. The DJ pilots are trained to aim for the riders. Don't be a hero, okay?”

I glance over my shoulder. He's got both hands around the machine gun, attention focused on the enemy. A fusillade of missiles races toward Bakul as half the planes veer out of formation and come at us.

Within seconds, we're in the middle of a firefight. We swoop and swerve and twirl through flak clouds, sometimes chasing, sometimes being chased. Missiles shriek, bullets purr, dragons roar. Cerulean flames roll across the sky. Explosions detonate everywhere.

I point out targets and pursuers to Praxus. James does,
too. His shouted instructions sound miles away. Everything does.

I manage to squeeze off a few rounds with my railshot while James blasts away on the machine gun. I imagine it makes for good video, but Praxus is the only one with any accuracy.

And then it's over. Couldn't have lasted more than five minutes. Twenty columns of smoke rise from the earth, distant funeral pyres that are already dwindling. Bakul has a few holes in his wings and Erlik's got a couple of broken talons, but that's it.

The dragons drop to the earth to feast on charred pilots. Knowing that they'll check the feed from my vid lens later, perhaps want to use some of it, I make myself watch. Thankfully it's quick work and we're back in the air in a matter of minutes.

We fly north. The clouds swell, the sky closes. Snow starts to fall. We put on our oxygen masks and rise above the storm. We turn west, deeper into the evac territories. Hook, Hawk, and Bakul patrol our perimeter in wide circles, eliminating a couple of drones along the way.

The sun's dipping into the clouds when the gray fluff beneath Bakul mushrooms with colors. Orange, yellow, red. Muted, but distinct. The reverberant bass of rapid-fire explosions follows close behind. The sky blackens with smoke.

I switch on my infrared, look down, and increase magnification. Artillery dots the mountains on either side of a twisty road. A convoy of a dozen or so transport trucks wends its way west. All-Blacks are jumping out of the back of a few, taking up defensive positions.

“Move in for the attack run,” Evelyn says. “Take out the dragon defense systems first, then—”

“Hawk's been hit! Shit! Shit, shit—” Hook's words turn to a choked gurgle. Bakul swings his head around wildly. Panicking. Without his riders, he can't see the A-Bs or their weaponry.

Bullet tracers slice the sky around him. He wobbles into the clouds, blood streaming from his flank. A missile slams into him. When the explosion clears, he's gone.

“They've got more firepower than we anticipated,” James says. “We should fall back.”

“Only cowards retreat,” Evelyn says. “We are dominant. Or did you forget that?”

“I didn't—” James begins, then stops. A moment later, he's firing his machine gun and shouting epithets at the artillery.

The thunder of war intensifies. Praxus tightens his wings and flips onto his side to make himself as small a target as possible. Which isn't small at all. And his constant loud-ass roaring might as well be a sign that says
SHOOT ME
!

When I explain this to him, he roars louder. James joins in.

The artillery fire comes our way. Praxus attacks at full flame.

“Radio on. Open my link with Praxus, Evelyn,” I say.

“James is enough.”

I'm half certain she wants to get us killed. “But—”

“Stop arguing. Follow orders. Take out the west ridge. Think you can handle that?”

“Radio off. Bitch!”

Evelyn, Joto, and Erlik dive down and make a strafing run on the near side of the pass. We sweep across the road on our edge. As explosions rock us from side to side, I shout out targets. Praxus's fire melts artillery into useless goo in a matter of seconds.

James blasts away nonstop, at soldiers, vehicles, anything in his line of sight. Linked to Praxus, his accuracy is near impeccable. He laughs and curses with every takedown. “Drink that wild air, motherfu—”

The world detonates. A hellish heat swarms us from behind. We somersault forward. Praxus's roars become screams. Then we're twirling sideways, downward. We tumble out of the flak. I lose breakfast into the blur.

Praxus rights himself. His left wing's got a massive hole in it. He flaps it at full speed but struggles to maintain altitude.
Glow dimming, growls mixing with groans, he veers into a gap between the mountains and settles on an outcropping that affords us a concealed view of the pass. Scorched trucks, artillery fragments, and charred bodies are strewn everywhere. I hear artillery and gunfire in the distance, but I think we're safe.

I remember to breathe. “Okay back there?”

“Outstanding. Let's take it to these bastards,” James says. He grabs a missile from the quiver attached to the saddle and slips it into a rocket launcher mounted on the other side. He lifts it and aims down the road, at a truck swerving its way through the carnage.

“James, no!”

He fires. The truck explodes into the air, crashes down, and tips over onto its side. A couple of All-Blacks crawl out the back.

“For Mark and Steven and Grynax . . .” James grabs the machine gun and doesn't stop firing until he's out of bullets, shouting names the entire time, some dragon, some human.

The artillery explosions dwindle to silence over the next few minutes; the gunfire ceases. I hear a couple of screams here and there, some women crying, but I'm pretty sure that's my imagination.

“Where are you, Twenty-Five?” Evelyn asks.

“Radio on. Praxus is injured. Got shot in the wing.”

“Can he fly?”

I ask him.

He looks over his shoulder and snorts smoke at me.

“Yes, he can fly. Probably not too far . . .”

“He doesn't need to fly you too far. It's showtime.”

“Payback,” James says, singsongy.

We glide from our hiding spot. Evelyn, Joto, and Erlik hover a few dozen feet above the carnage that litters the road. The Green's got a couple of bodies clutched in his talons. I notice one of them squirming.

His screams are real. And then they're crushed.

As the dragon shoves the soldier into his mouth, Evelyn points down the road. “We let a couple of the trucks make it through. The next artillery entrenchment isn't for a few miles. Stay low. And don't open fire until I tell you. Understand, Twenty-Five?”

I grit my teeth. “Yes, ma'am. But you might want to take James off the hook. He's a bit rabid.”

“He's been disconnected for a while. He's got attachment issues,” Evelyn says, clearly annoyed. “Follow on our left flank.”