Torrent (Cosmic Forces Book 1) (2 page)

A
t zero four
hundred the team was getting into the transport vehicle. A combination airplane and helicopter, the transport was CRBE’s latest in technological advances, and a prototype. Throttle was the first one who had been trained on it.

After they’d settled in, Control switched the overhead light off. “Get some rest, ladies.” His tone was sarcastic, but not unfriendly. “We’ll do a briefing on the mission in five hours.”

He flicked the light off, and the only thing Torrent could see was Throttle’s profile in front of the instrument panel that glowed green, white, and red.

A
sharp elbow
jerked Torrent out of a sitting catnap. He glanced at Vector, the elbow’s owner.

“Time,” Vector whispered.

Torrent nodded and looked around.

Out the window, he saw Houston in the distance. Gray. Desolate. Surrounded by a cinderblock-and-barbed-wire wall that was several dozen feet tall. Outside the wall, greenery boasted what the city must have been once, long ago.

The inside of the city, especially to the east, had been blackened by oil pipeline fires, set by Texas’ enemies to stop resources for the war from going out and to cripple Texas’ economy. It lent a gloomy darkness to the atmosphere.

Inside the wall, he could see the remnants of buildings, blackened and scarred. Torrent shook his head at the vision, and brought his gaze back inside the vehicle.

The rest of the team was being roused. Control flicked another light on and took a file out of a battered leather attaché case. He shuffled through the papers, took one out, not much larger than a man’s palm, and handed it to Torrent.

Torrent looked at the picture. A kid. Brown hair, brown eyes, big smile on a light brown face. He looked at the background in the photo. Rubble, concrete pieces. Then he turned to Control. “The package is a kid?”

Vector peeked over Torrent’s shoulder. “No shit. A kid? What are we now? Kid snatchers?”

“We follow orders.” Control’s tone was terse, his jaw clenched, almost as if something about this bothered him. “What we agreed to when we were given the money and these bodies—this second chance—was complete, unquestioning allegiance. Any more questions?”

Torrent glanced at his best friend. Vector shook his head. “No. No questions at all.”

Throttle called out, “Control, we got company.”

Torrent tried to listen in to what Throttle was telling Control. He couldn’t hear anything over the transport’s noise and the others’ laughter and conversation.

The transport jerked, and a crashing sound made the team shut up and freeze.

Control turned back to face the team. “We’re going down. Privateers hit us. Strap in.”

Vector rolled his eyes, as if to say,
Now what?
Torrent shrugged and buckled in.

“Take them bastards out. Fucking privateers.” Control ground the words out. “Just because the Leaguers work with them and support their bullshit doesn’t mean we have to.”

“With pleasure,” Throttle said.

Torrent caught Throttle’s wicked grin reflected in the windshield.

One pull on a red trigger, a flash, a quick explosion, and the privateers were no more.

“Back to your regularly scheduled programming, folks.” Throttle pulled back on the wheel, turning the nose up.

“What’s the situation? Can we carry on?” Control asked Throttle.

“I can get us there. You’ll need to call in for another transport, though. And hold on. May be a rough landing.”

C
osmic Forces were in a grove
, the team and their transport hidden by the thicket of trees.

Torrent shouldered his backpack, and Control slapped him on the arm. “Vector’s going to escort you to the wall, and provide you with backup until you scale it—just in case. You got it? You good to go?”

“Good to go.” Torrent nodded. He didn’t like the idea of fetching a kid. What about the kid’s parents? There was something about this that didn’t sit well. What bothered him just as much was that he had thought CRBE had implanted in him an interface that would take these emotions away, and yet, they were here. Should he tell Control how he felt about it? Should he have these feelings? His job was not to ask why. He wondered if Control wasn’t having similar thoughts, from the way his jaw was working, the muscles clenching and releasing repeatedly.

Torrent and Vector started toward the east, boots making little sound. In the pitch dark, only the team could see them, what with their enhanced vision, yet another bonus of the interface that gave them enhanced hearing, vision, smell, reflexes, and strength.

The two best friends began their trek. Houston was their target.

Torrent’s enhanced memory pulled facts from the files Control had shown him. A city barricaded behind a wall taller than twenty feet, in some areas forty feet. A city patrolled legally by Leaguers, and semi-legally by privateers, but they were under the acquiescent eye of the Leaguers. Privateers did the Leaguers’ dirty work and they collected handsomely.

Why would the government allow a group to behave outside the law the way the privateers did, terrorizing the locals?

He didn’t realize he’d sighed out loud until Vector said, “Yeah, it bothers me too.”

“What’s that?”

“The kid.”

Torrent didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to say what he was thinking about that. “Houston’s a mess.”

“All of the Texas cities are,” Vector agreed.

“Steep price.” Torrent was referring to the Texans’ penalties for attempting secession.

“Steep doesn’t begin to cover it. Poor bastards. League of States put barriers in place, though. Texas won’t get a chance to try that again. They got them locked down tight.”

Torrent exhaled. “I want to get this mission over with as quick as possible.”

“And get back to Delta Lambda Four. I have plans for the blonde with legs up to her neck,” Vector announced.

Torrent’s mind went back to the pictures of Houston, most of the buildings in shambles, the people bussed to work in mass transport vehicles that had no windows so they couldn’t find the location of the factories. The payment was in tokens so they couldn’t build cash to fund any activities outside of their city—like paying for smugglers to get them out. Each Texas city had its own marked tokens. Houston’s tokens couldn’t appear in Dallas without arousing suspicion.

Torrent shook his head. What kind of a life was that? They had to carry Scancom identification cards and couldn’t leave the city without permission. The interesting thing about the Scancoms, they were barcoded, but had no pictures. Why no pictures? Was the League of States unwilling to invest the funds in technology that supported picture identification cards? He shrugged. All he cared was that he could possibly turn that to his advantage. The gates to the city were under the Leaguers’ guard, and the outside perimeter was patrolled—scavenged—by the privateers.

Damned privateers. He scanned the area, his night vision seeking out anything out of place. Any humans out here would only be privateers. They said the city’s walls were impenetrable; going in or out without proper authorization was a feat. Word was that with the exception of the privateers’ vehicles, with their electronic gate openers, no one else ever received authorization to come or go.

Cosmic Forces had no authorization. They were to covertly bring out the package and bring it to Chicago.

What was in Chicago? Who wanted the kid?

“Hey. I’ll see you later.” Vector clapped Torrent on the back, the closest thing to a hug that the typically stoic Vector would give.

“Yes. Later.”

“By the way, you’re bleeding.” Vector looked down at the ground pointedly.

“It’s not a biggie. I’ll take care of it. A little nick from the crash. Loose metal.”

“Right. Stanch the flow. You don’t want to leave a trail.”

Torrent wondered why he couldn’t feel the blood seeping out. He hoped the new interface was programmed correctly. He’d have to keep an eye on it.

H
ouston
. A once thriving metropolis. Now… a dystopian mess, concrete crumbling, bullet-riddled, the victim of explosives. Exposed electrical wires were rendered useless in many parts of the city.

Torrent traveled the city streets with purpose, avoiding the searchlight piercing the darkness, looking for curfew breakers. The searchlight’s course was not random. With the help of his interface, he had the pattern memorized by the end of the second rotation, and it was easy to avoid.

Torrent’s purpose was to find the address that held the package, then he could set up the best point from which to conduct his surveillance and reconnaissance.

After that he’d lie low and determine the best method to pursue.

He wished he’d asked Control why they’d picked him. Why was he the right one to get the package and bring it back?

He found the address without issue, even with the city in shambles. Even with concrete rubble, steel and brick rubble, even with all of this, it was easy to see the metropolis that Houston had once been.

He shook his head. Shame. All this. Gone.

Not his problem. He needed to keep moving.

What the hell?

He froze. What was this about? Thirty individuals. Almost all looked like teenagers. One adult, female, leading the way in the dark. And she was doing it mostly by feel or memory, it seemed. If he hadn’t had enhanced night vision and hearing, he’d never have known they were there.

The woman moved with the assured stealth of a cat in the middle of the night. Her body was full, definitely in the bloom of her womanhood, and very different from the super slim, extremely buxom cyborg ladies of Delta Lambda Four. She had curves, her outfit clinging to hips and ass. Suddenly he enjoyed his night vision and the benefits of it. Outside of missions, he’d never had much use for it. Not this kind of use, he mused.

What were they doing out here, endangering their lives, risking being caught?

They were heading his way. He leapt into a large crevice and held his breath so that he wouldn’t give himself away.

The woman stopped right in front of his hiding place, mere feet away. She turned her head in his direction, pausing for a second. She was stunning. Caramel skin with dark eyes and full lips. His interface memorized that face in no time. His mind and heart… he couldn’t speak to what they did. Were they not a part of the interface?

She turned her head. “Keep moving,” she told the teenagers. At a distance, he followed them. One or two at a time, she dropped the kids off and was handed something by the adults at the doors. He zoomed in on what she was handed.

Tokens. Currency of Texas cities. She was being paid. For what?

After all the kids had been dropped off, she entered a building.

Torrent did a scan of the map on his interface. Same building as the package. He looked up at the high-rise. More than forty stories tall. How many of those were empty? he wondered.

Time to find a spot to monitor the comings and goings in and out of the building. He looked at the building across the street. Hopefully he could find a vacant space.

T
orrent set
up the radio and unpacked a few rations. He didn’t need much. The interface provided him with a means to burn fewer calories and need less sustenance than the average human.

He’d found the perfect little spot to watch the building from: a corner office with a floor that was missing. He’d had to walk across steel beams and swing from thick electrical cording to get to this niche, but it was ideal. He had a great view of the front door of the building that the package and that caramel-skinned beauty both occupied.

If he only knew what floor the package was on.

And what floor the raven-haired beauty was on.

Yeah, he couldn’t forget about that stealthy, sneaking, curvy hottie.

A
lyssa set
Gillie down in the chair. She pushed the little teacup with a soft-boiled egg in it closer to him. She’d cracked and peeled just enough of a hole in the top to dip toast strips.

“Here’s how my father taught me to dip them.” She poised one strip, ready to dunk.

A knock interrupted her.

Knocks on the door when everyone was at work were rare. And alarming. It couldn’t be anything good.

“Hide,” she told him. “Hide, and do not come out until I tell you. Do you understand me, Guillermo Cantu?” Her voice was a low hiss. “And whisper or just nod. No, just nod. Do not talk.” She placed her fingers over his lips.

“Yes, Mommy Lyssa.”

She shook her head. “No.” Her voice was a vehement whisper. “Do not talk.”

Her nephew nodded. His wayward curls, hair that was long enough to belong on a girl, bobbed with the nod. His brown eyes were wide with fear, solemn and far more mature than a three-year-old’s eyes should have to be.

Her heart felt heavy for her young nephew. She’d have to talk to him about calling her Mommy. She didn’t want to take her sister’s place as his mother.

There was another knock at the door. Louder, more insistent.

Was it soldiers from the League of States? Could it be privateers? She wished she had a peephole, or a window she could look out of to see who it was. Fear petrified her muscles, making it so she couldn’t move.

She indicated the closet for Gillie to run and hide. The little one took off on chubby legs, looking back once to smile at her, seeking approval. She nodded, smiled back, and made ‘hurry up’ motions with her hands.

He plowed into a pile of clothing on the closet floor, burying himself deep under the articles they didn’t have hangers to hang up.

Alyssa pulled the closet door shut behind him, saying “Coming,” as she closed it so that if it squeaked, her voice would hide the sound.

She approached the door on shaky legs, nervous, not knowing what was on the other side. With an equally shaky hand she turned the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

She was greeted by brilliant blue eyes, short blond hair, an extremely muscular physique, and a mouth with perfect full lips set in a ‘no nonsense’ flat line.

The blond head nodded a greeting. “I’m looking for Melissa Cantu.” He forged straight to business. No time for niceties, this one.

He couldn’t be a privateer. A part of Alyssa refused to believe that anyone who looked this wholesome and handsome would succumb to being one of the privateers who preyed on her people and created more havoc and mayhem than the Leaguers’ soldiers. He wasn’t wearing the red shirt of the privateers.

Maybe he was a Leaguer soldier. But he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He was in grubby denim pants paired with a khaki work shirt that looked like he’d been rolling around in the dirt. His face had a few cuts and scrapes that seemed new. She lowered her gaze to his forearms, bared by rolled-up sleeves.

“Ma’am?” The stranger’s voice was gruff.

She wondered if he was new to the city. Had there been an influx of out-of-towners to Houston? She was pretty sure she’d have heard if there had been. Unless he had no kids. She was only kept apprised of families that had kids. She glanced at his hand to check for a wedding band. No jewelry at all. Did that mean…

She shushed herself mentally. She had no business checking a man out. She had enough to do with raising Gillie now that Melissa was gone.

The stranger cleared his throat, waiting for her reply.

“There is no one here by that name. How do you know Melissa?”

“She did live here, then?”

“She used to. She’s dead now.” The brutality with which Alyssa delivered the news was for his sake as well as her own. She kept reminding herself as brutally as she could to keep at bay the hope that repeatedly tried to spring to life.

T
orrent looked
at the woman in front of him.
Her
. The woman from the dark. The woman who’d been escorting the kids. He’d been watching the building and she hadn’t come out all day yesterday, or last night.

Full figure, nice curves. Loose, dark curls framed a heart-shaped face with equally dark eyes that took up a lot of space in a face that tiny.

It had been a long time since Torrent had seen a fully, 100% real woman this close up, in the flesh. He studied her as if she were a foreign entity.

Her lip had quivered the tiniest bit when she said that Melissa Cantu was dead. And she bore a strong resemblance to the picture of Melissa Cantu. His mind was confused
. What happened to Melissa Cantu?
“She’s dead? What about Guillermo Cantu?”

The woman’s already large eyes widened, coffee bean circles in a sea of white.

“I have no idea who that is.” The woman’s lower lip trembled. As if realizing that, she bit down on it.

A quiver of a sensation ran through Torrent. Unrecognizable, foreign. If he had to admit to it, under strict orders, he’d tell the truth and confess that it made a pleasant feeling flow through him, somewhere in the area of his abdomen. No, more like further south, since he was being honest.

The petite brunette studied him calmly, but her calm was betrayed by the white-knuckled grip her fingers had on the door.

“I have no idea who that is,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” She turned from the door slowly, as if she was carrying a burden larger than herself.

“Your name, ma’am?”

She whirled around, suddenly a dervish of energy. “I don’t have to tell you shit. “You’re not a Leaguer.”

She used the derogatory word for soldiers of the League of States. He understood her sentiment and knew that it was prevalent among all the cities in Texas that had been subjected to martial law.

“And you’re not a privateer, either.” She announced that as if it made her impervious to anything else he might be. Clearly she hadn’t been made aware of Cosmic Forces. Of course she wouldn’t be; they operated undercover. Even the rumors about his teammates were rare. But they weren’t non-existent, so Cosmic Forces still had to be careful.

She glared at him, then slammed the door in his face.

Torrent jumped backward to avoid having his nose broken. He was surprised he’d managed to quell his instinctive reaction and let his training step in. But he had. He’d exhibited immense self-control, and knew it was because of the Cosmic Forces additions to his body and mind.

A
lyssa brought
Gillie out of his hiding place. He ran into her arms.

“Did he say Mommy Melissa’s name?”

Sadness seeped into Alyssa’s heart. She missed her twin with such a ferocity it burned.

“Who was that man?” Gillie asked, plugging his thumb into his mouth.

Alyssa took it out gently and pulled him into her arms, picking him up. Heavy little bugger. “I don’t know who that was.” She chewed on her lip while patting his back gently—a gesture to comfort herself more than him. “Let’s let it be our secret.”

“No telling Omar or Auntie B’linda or Auntie Sonya?”

“Nope. No telling.”

“Not even Unca Jesse?” He pouted. Jesse was by far his very favorite.

“Not even him. Not yet. Let’s make it a surprise.” Or not. She needed to figure out what was going on first. Jesse would probably go off half-cocked and kill someone. Then what? There was no way she’d want to have Omar as the only one there protecting them. He worried her. Two weeks ago she’d looked out of the window as he was leaving, and was certain she saw him get into a privateer vehicle. Any vehicle not labeled as a Leaguer vehicle was definitely a privateer vehicle. There was nothing else it could be, what with the ban on fuels and vehicles.

When Alyssa had asked Omar about it, he’d looked to the side, his expression shifty, then scoffed at her, telling her she was seeing things.

Alyssa had let the subject drop… but she had not forgotten it.

No. The last thing they needed was for something to happen to Jesse, leaving them in Omar’s care.

“Mommy Lyssa,” Gillie called to her.

“No. I told you. I’m Auntie Lyssa. You only have one mommy.”

Tears filled her eyes. She hugged him close and paced the room, wondering what she was going to do about the stranger.

That’s when she saw them: crimson drops on the floor, right in front of the door, exactly where the stranger had stood.

Blood.

From what? Why? Where?