The Other Side (23 page)

Erlik eats the other soldier, spins around, and flies off.

I will not follow that slave,
Praxus says when I relay the plans.

There is a feast on the other end.

There is a feast here.

He drops to the ground, sniffs the air, swipes wildly in front of him. His talons slice open the canopy of a crashed transport truck. Two All-Blacks lie slumped against the sidewall. I don't look away, but can't help flinching at the crunch of teeth through bone.

“You wanted this, Melissa,” James says, almost spitting my name. “You can't be weak. You'll get us all killed.”

I flip him off over my shoulder.
We don't have time for this, Praxus. There is a better feast ahead.

Then go get it yourself, human.

“Where are you, Twenty-Five?”

Praxus, the slave's rider thinks you can't keep up with the slave. I'm inclined to agree.

That does it. He launches himself, bellowing away. His balance is off, so we wobble some, but he makes sure we don't fall behind. Via the magnification of my goggles, I see Joto give me a thumbs-up. He turns over his shoulder and leans toward Evelyn.

“Get Praxus quiet, Twenty-Five. We want this to look good.”

Praxus balks at my request until I remind him that the fear scent on the humans will be much greater if we surprise them.

We swerve around a bend, and the two transport trucks
come into view. The pass narrows. Praxus pulls in his wings a few feet so they don't scrape the sides. The trucks putter up a switchback and disappear from sight.

“Approach from behind on their level,” Evelyn says. “Get up close. Keep it quiet. And quiet your glow.”

Erlik banks up.

We continue to fly low. Snow melts in our wake. Praxus heeds my reminders for silence and dimness, though as we round the switchback, his glow starts pulsing. Like a heartbeat. It accelerates, brightens. Evelyn chides me. I tell Praxus to calm down. He listens for about a second, then he's pulsing again.

Their flesh is ripe.
He quivers, does that purring thing Greens do.

The trucks struggle up the incline. Erlik hovers fifty or so feet above them. Chest angled up, wings flapping a slow beat, he flies backward at their lethargic pace.

Tell the slave's rider to turn on my fire, human,
Praxus says as we close within flaming distance.

Evelyn wants us closer. “Gotta to see the flames in their eyes,” she says. Those are our orders. Close enough for video from James's and my vid lenses to capture the terror on the faces of the soldiers before we kill them.

Murder them.

I must be Green. For Allie.

I remind Praxus that their flesh will be riper the more afraid they are. He happily glides into position over the rear truck.

“Now!” Evelyn says.

Praxus drops from the sky with a furious roar, talons extended. He digs into the canvas ceiling and peels it off. Two dozen soldiers sit packed together on benches that line either side. Out of the corner of my vision, I see James aim his machine gun at them, his body coiled with rage. The soldiers raise their hands in surrender.

They're all young, their faces more suited for prom tuxedos than dragon camos. I close my eyes and try very hard not to think of Sam.

Their flesh is ripe!

Praxus's glow goes blinding behind my eyelids.

“Open your eyes, Twenty-Five. Your fire's active. Kill them!”

“They'd do the same to us, Melissa,” James growls behind me, again spewing my name as if it's a curse.

I open my eyes. And all I can see is Sam.

No! These are not warriors, Praxus.

They are all warriors.
The heat swells in his throat.

These are children!

They are all warriors.

They are not even fighting back!

“Hurry up, Twenty-Five.”

They are not worthy of your fire!

No, but they shall taste it anyway.
He opens his mouth. Flames curl forth.

This is slave's work!

Praxus roars at me, then at Erlik, and veers off, his azure fire blasting into the mountainside.

“What are you doing?!” Evelyn says. Then: “You deserve this, Twenty-Five.”

She says something else, but it is irrelevant. The sweet stench of terror fills us. The sounds of it, too. The coward warriors weep and whisper pleas for their pitiful lives to their pitiful God.

We whirl back around. The urine scent intensifies. Pathetic. They are not worthy. But their flesh is ripe. We land in front of them. One stands on trembling feet and raises a trembling gun at us.

We purse our lips together and shoot a dagger of hell into his chest. He ignites. The others scream. We press a finger to our lips. They hush. We snatch the melting one and eat him in front of his craven brethren.

A couple jump out and run for the embankment. We crush one in our claw, send the other one flying with our tail. The rest sit there, quivering or paralyzed. They are fully ripe now. We brighten.

“How many must die before you leave us alone?” James shouts behind us.

“Finish them, Twenty-Five,” Evelyn says.

Twenty-Five? No, we are Praxus. We are alpha. We will enjoy our meal without the words of slaves infesting us. We shout our annoyance at them. “We will do this our way!”

As the slaves roar back at us, we grab the nearest coward warrior and pull him close so that we can see him. He wets himself. His brimming eyes go wide, his body slack. The last vestiges of adolescence slip from his face and he is naked in front of us, a baby.

Powerless, defenseless.

He is not worthy.

No, he does not deserve this.

This is wrong.

This is wrong!

Praxus drops the All-Black and recoils with a doleful wail.

As he lifts off, a flash of movement catches my eye. On the ridge above, a soldier aims his rocket launcher at Erlik. I squeeze off two quick bursts from my railshot. The second catches the A-B in the shoulder, knocks him backward. The rocket launcher fires its missile skyward; the soldier liquefies.

I vomit, Praxus dims.

What did you do, human? What did you do to me?

It's the first time I've ever heard a Green unsure of itself.

No, not unsure.

Scared.

The crackle of dragon fire echoes through my CENSIR radio. I glance back. Both the trucks are in flames. Too far away to see the faces of the dying, but I always see the faces.

Reds
celebrate their dead with stories of the departed's feats, followed by a ritual burning.

Greens eat theirs.

Well, Erlik does.

Praxus is too depressed to eat, I think. After dumping James and me, he wobbled his way up to the peak that overlooks the valley where we found Bakul's remains. He hunkers there, his glow a low smolder. Sometimes he lifts his head to the heavens and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and I imagine him a wolf who's lost his howl.

“You're jacking us up good, sister,” Joto says, his words barely audible over the sounds of rending flesh and crunching bone. He sits on a nearby boulder, machine gun laid on his lap, jaw clenched, Erlik's green glow cast across half his
face. He glances at me and shakes his head.

A couple minutes later, he's looking at me again. Staring. Harder. Angrier. I pretend not to notice, wonder if he'll snap before James and Evelyn return from their search for Hawk. He grunts and turns away.

He does this a few more times, and then I guess he can't hold it in anymore. “T-Clef told me if I put a bullet in your head, she'd never forgive me, but sister, you are a disease that needs curing.”

I look back to Praxus, suspect he's thinking the same thing.

“Aren't you gonna say something?” Joto says.

“What do you want me to say?” I squint at him. His grip has tightened on the gun. “You want me to apologize?”

“You killed Klyv. Bakul's dead because of you. And what about . . . ?” He points the machine gun at Hook's broken body, which lies beside me.

“If it's easier to blame me—”

He aims the gun at me. “It's your fault.”

“If you say so.”

He hops off his boulder and presses the barrel to my temple, jams my head sideways. “How many dragons have you killed?”

“Dozens at least. One of every color.”

“You think this is funny?” He jams harder. With my
hands bound behind me with tie wraps, I can't keep my balance. I tip over onto Hook. His body's still warm. The faint aroma of roses still clings to him.

“Will killing me make you feel better?”

“Maybe.”

I close my eyes. “Then what's stopping you?”

“We got orders.” He pokes me with the gun barrel. “But what if I was to say you tried to run? Can't let danger bait like you get away.”

“You'd only be doing your job.” I roll onto my stomach. “You'll want to make sure to hit me in the back so your story holds up.”

I hear him retreat a couple steps. “Why are you so damn calm?”

“How many dragons have you killed, Joto?”

“What? None. Why would I do that?”

I open my eyes. “How many humans?”

He taps the stickers on his helmet. “Jets count?”

They all count. “How many have you looked in the eye, right in the moment before they die?”

“What do you mean?”

“You've killed people, but have you seen anybody die? Because those are the things that stick with you. You don't need any memories of me haunting you, so if you're going to put me down, I'll try to make it easy for you.”

“Fuck you. You're not better than me. Who the—”

“Marion, we need your help!” Evelyn calls from somewhere beyond Erlik.

He pokes me with his gun. “Don't move, or I will kill you. Close up, too.”

I've managed to right myself by the time James, Evelyn, and Joto return with Hawk's mangled body. They dump him beside Hook. Evelyn retrieves binoculars from her pack and climbs the boulder. James slumps against it, legs pulled into his chest, head resting on one shoulder. Looks like he's mumbling to himself . . .

No. Singing. To Praxus, I assume.

Joto nudges me with his machine gun. “You moved.”

“Shoot me.”

He laughs. “Nah. Too easy.” He pulls a strip of beef jerky from his bandanna, chews on it. He offers me half.

I ignore him.

“Anything?” James asks Evelyn.

She shakes her head.

“What's taking them so long?” Joto says. He checks his watch. “The extraction team was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Maybe they ran into trouble,” Evelyn says. She doesn't sound worried.

“You tried contacting them?” James says.

“We're out of radio range.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Our orders are for a communication blackout.”

“That'll do us a whole lot of good if we get a squadron of DJs on us.” Joto sneers at me. “We only got one good dragon left.”

“We already let them know our status,” Evelyn says. “I'm not risking a talker intercept because you're getting brittle. Take Erlik and head for checkpoint alpha. You, too, James.”

James looks up. “Erlik and I aren't linked.”

“Since when's that stopped you? We can merge you now, if you want.”

He shakes his head. “You're not thinking straight, Evelyn.”

“You don't trust me, bro?” Joto says.

“It has nothing to do with that.”

Joto laughs. “What would your CENSIR say?”

James clamps his jaw.

Evelyn smirks. “Don't worry, James. I won't hurt her.”

“I don't give a damn what you do to her, Evelyn. Praxus needs me,” he says. I bite the inside of my lip. How can his words still hurt?

“Sing to them both, for all I care,” Evelyn says. “Get going.”

Erlik, glow soft, belly bloated, lifts lazily into the air, Joto at the helm, James in the gunner's seat. Evelyn cranks a lamp
and places it on the boulder.

“You have to leave, Twenty-Five,” she says.

I snort. “It's kind out of my hands at the moment.”

“Haven't you already caused enough damage?” Did her voice crack?

“Klyv wasn't my fault. Neither was Praxus. You did this, Evelyn.”

“Them?” She lifts her head, shuts her eyes. She doesn't talk for a while. Her words come out soft, pained. “You know, he was doing okay until . . .” She exhales. “He was finally getting over what he thought he'd done to you.” She hardens, glares at me. “What did he ever see in you?”

Now I get it. Why she was in Dillingham and James wasn't. Oren must have decided James's feelings for me might interfere with the operation. Feelings for me? Real?

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. I look at Praxus, broken up there on the mountain. I blew my chance. I've lost Allie.I've lost myself. But at least I can make Evelyn suffer some for it.

“James is very important to me, Evelyn.”

“But you're not like him. You're not like us!”

“You know what they say about opposites,” I say. I adopt my most sisterly expression. “You need to let go, Evelyn. Georgetown, that was just an act. Surely you've realized that by—”

She draws a knife from her belt.

“Evelyn, wait . . .” I expect somebody to shock her into submission, but whoever's monitoring our CENSIRs doesn't stop her. Maybe nobody is. Maybe we're out of range.

She stalks toward me. “You're gonna get him killed.”

I scooch backward. “Evelyn . . .”

“It's not fair, Twenty-Five. Three years . . .”

“What are you talking about?” I run into rock. The knife trembles in her hands as her eyes glaze over. Is this some side effect of withdrawal from her link to her dragon? T-Clef told me everybody reacts differently.

“Three years.” She stares off into space. I press my back into the mountain, push my hands against the ground, and struggle into a standing position. She looks back at me, unfocused, right hand tightening around her knife. “I was there three years.”

Georgetown. “It's gonna be okay,” I say, because I don't know what else to say. She's off her chain and about to strangle me with it.

“It's not okay. I did everything they wanted! Everything.”

She's almost within kicking distance.

“You can't have him, Twenty-Five.”

I plant with my left leg and throw an unbalanced roundhouse at her. But she's quicker than I remember from Georgetown. She blocks it, sidekicks me in the gut. The
air rushes from me. She whirls me around and shoves me against the mountain. I donkey kick at her. She slams her heel into my Achilles, and I buckle.

She twines her legs between mine, jams her forearm into my neck. I hear the rustle of her jacket as she lifts the knife.

“Evelyn, wait—”

The tie wrap breaks, and suddenly I'm free. I spin around. She's standing there, glaring at me. She has her cell phone out. She taps it. My CENSIR loosens. “Hit me.”

I gape at her.

“You're gonna hit me, then you're gonna escape. Come on now, give me your best shot. You know you want to.”

I want to dance on her grave, but not like this. “You're crazy.”

“Get out of here. Call one of your Red friends.”

I consider it. Run, hide, wait, and hope? No. But there is another option. “I'll go, but first I need you to tell me where Allie is.”

She taps her phone. My CENSIR tightens. She grins, and evil Evelyn, Talker One from Georgetown, is back. “Radio on. We are a go for beta protocol, sir.”

Praxus looses a mournful wail. Three green stars emerge from behind the shadow of a distant mountain. The extraction team. They were waiting for her signal. She set me up.

I charge her. She shocks me. I stumble, grab a rock. I lift it to throw at her and get a sharper shock. I let the rock fall from my hand, let myself fall hard onto my knees. I crawl toward her with exaggerated ricketyness.

“Pathetic,” she says.

I spring into her midsection. The phone flies from her hand. I drive her into the boulder. Her head smashes against it. I punch her in the stomach. She doubles over. I uppercut her. She staggers. I throw her to the ground, get on top of her, wrap my hands around her throat.

She chokes and coughs and gasps. I think she's trying to say something. I squeeze harder. Her eyes go big and desperate; her irises shade a bright green. The heat swells behind me; dragon wind buffets me. I glance back in time to see a massive black claw coming toward me. It yanks me off Evelyn, swallows me in darkness.