Tracked (24 page)

I'm frozen, standing at the edge of the cliff.

“Move out, let's go.” Hank tugs at my shoulder. “Clean-up crew will be on our tails. Let's go.”

I killed my rig. I'm dead to my crew. My skull is pounding and I can't get a grip on the shakes rippling through me. When my knees buckle, I nearly drop.

Bear puts an arm around me and drags me back on my feet. He's about to lift me over his shoulder when I finally snap out of it and break into a run, following Hank back into the woods. Once we're sheltered behind the sloping tree line, Hank hands me a new headset, so we can communicate on the go.

“Keep moving.” Hank leads the way, hiking down the mountainside at a furious pace. “Watch your step. Don't want to break your legs on the way down. Two more miles.”

Bear catches up. He stays close, watching out for me every step of the way. My legs are too short; I can't keep up with their pace and I know I'm just slowing them down. I'm rusting useless anywhere besides behind the wheel.

We run until my lungs scream and wheeze. I trip on a rock and tumble forward, slashing my jaw against the tip of an evergreen branch. Bear catches me before I face-plant. When I reach to wipe the blood away, the red smears my hands like diabolical finger paint.

Hank tosses me a scrap of black fabric. I press it against my jaw until the cut stops oozing.

“Did Hal and Mary get out?” I ask.

“James made sure they got on the transport. They'll be hours ahead of us. Probably halfway there by now.”

“What about James?”

Hank shrugs. “His vac was still on standby when I left. Said he wanted to stay and keep Benroyal occupied and off our scent for as long as he could. Don't worry. James is smart. He knows when to stay, and when to cut and run.”

Hank takes off again before I can gasp out any more questions. We don't stop moving until we reach a thick knot of trees at the base of a hollow. Hank rushes ahead and starts prying at the tangled limbs.

Wait. The branches aren't haphazard, they're woven together, a clever screen to hide our getaway vehicle. It's a tank. We're climbing inside a rusting anti-vac tank. Inside this giant black beetle, it's dim and hot; there's barely room to breathe or stretch our legs. I lean against one of the low walls and slide to the floor. Hank flips three switches and a bank of screens blinks to life.

“Where did this come from?” I ask him.

“Cyanese Army,” he says, swiping icons on a touch panel. “Love their hardware. Corporates make everything complicated, but Cyanese weapons? Totally idiot-proof. Everything's lock and load, point and shoot, start and go.”

Idiot-proof or not, I don't know how to drive this monster, but Hank certainly seems to know what he's doing. He climbs into the turret seat and two seconds later, we're off, lurching toward a narrow road at the far end of the hollow.

With arms folded around my knees, I try to relax. We've got miles to go and we're not home free yet, by any means. There's a vac waiting to fly us to the rendezvous, but we can't jump on until we're much farther away from the course.

I glance at Bear. Now that we're eye to eye, sharing the same cramped airspace, it feels like the wall has risen between us again. I suppose it's easier to talk when you don't have to look someone in the eye.

I stare at the blinking panel just over Bear's shoulder. The screen bathes him in red light. “I wish I hadn't ruined your life,” I say.

“Me too.”

His voice isn't much more than a murmur and I can't tell if he's joking or not. He moves from his spot against the opposite wall of the tank. At first, I think it's just to get farther away from me, but then he wedges himself beside me. We're shoulder to shoulder, pressed in on both sides by equipment and compartments. I open my mouth, but Bear cuts me off before I can get a word out. “Don't,” he says.

I read his silence.

Don't speak.

Don't explain.

Don't tell me you're sorry.

Don't hurt me anymore.

I want to lay my head against his shoulder and tell him how much I still care, but I can't. Bear needs time to heal and space to forgive. And I'm going to give it to him.

I lean back and close my eyes.

I'm relieved when we make it all the way down the mountain. At the narrow break in the trees, I'd half expected a squadron of IP to be waiting for us, ready to arrest us all. Instead, we climb on an unassuming vac and head for the rendezvous. We soar, flying high over the mountains heading west.

In the passenger hold, three hours crawl by, and I'm anxious to land. I know the plan. Hank's drilled it into our heads well enough. We'll touch down at an old rebel base. Cash and his allies will be waiting, and we'll all have to
pull together to get everyone evacuated. If we move
to a stronghold farther west, near Manjor, it will be easier to get more support from the Cyanese. More importantly, we'll be farther from Benroyal's soldiers, who stay close to the Gap. The distance will give us the chance to plan a real coup, a revolution that will put Cash on his father's throne. And I'll have the chance to help my own planet. I won't rest until Benroyal's black sap empire is burned to ash.

Finally, the vac begins to descend.

“How far?” I ask Hank.

“Almost there,” he says, tapping the bolt-rimmed window beside his seat. “Take a look.”

I lean over him to catch a glimpse of the landscape below, but see nothing but forests and mountains and land-bridged valleys.

We sink, and suddenly, we're dangerously close to one of those land-bridges, a massive, low outcropping. I exhale when we clear it, dipping into its shadow. Near the end of our descent, I finally see what Hank's talking about. Far below us, underneath the shelter of the rock, there's an enormous man-made wall, gated and half shrouded by flowering vines and lichen and the leaves of hundred-year-old trees.

It's perfect. Shielded by ragged stone and practically undetectable from the air. We fall and I see the bell tower jutting above the gates. This place is ancient. No way did a few rebels build this. “Where did this come from?”

“Used to be a sanctuary,” Hank explains. “A secret refuge for Biseran monks, but it hasn't been holy ground for a hundred years. Whole complex belongs to Grace Yamada. Her family bought it years ago. Lucky for us, it's a pretty good hideout.”

We land and the vac powers down.

I hear voices and shouts as we climb out. Here, ours isn't the only vehicle that's ready for flight. Two Cyanese fighters flank a trio of transport vacs. There are dozens of people, moving cargo, rushing across the courtyard, prepping to leave.

When Cash said we'd meet a “few friends,” I didn't actually think he meant a small army. And James wasn't kidding when he said the Cyanese were aiding the rebels. From the looks of it, these guys are more than well-equipped. It's a motley crew here—mostly Biseran, but there's a handful of Castrans like Hank and me, and even a couple Cyanese. Most of them are dressed in fatigues or some kind of makeshift uniform.

Modern structures, concrete barracks, have been added to the yard, but the ancient bones of this place still stand. A few women and children mill closer to a much older building, a crude stone temple-like structure on the far end of the courtyard.

“Who are they?” I ask Hank.

“Special Intelligence. See that four-year-old?” he mocks, jerking his chin toward one of the younger brats, a wide-eyed boy who stumbles forward when he sees us. “One of our best operatives.”

It's a lame joke, but I smile anyway.

“Daddy!” The little guy rushes Hank, who pulls him up into a fierce hug.

How many times have I looked at him, working his post at the Spire, watching all our backs, and never stopped to consider he might have his own worries? I guess everyone here has someone they're fighting to protect. For too long, I was best at saving my own skin. Not today. Not anymore.

From a distance, a woman waves at Hank. “Excuse me,” he says to me. “Meet me back at the vac in ten minutes? Moving out soon.”

I nod. After he leaves us standing in the yard, I turn and glance in every direction. Which of course is a mistake. All the movement makes my head hurt worse than ever before. Where are the Larssens?

Where is Cash?

I turn to Bear. “We should find your parents. Make sure they made it all right.”

I stop when fuzzy static buzzes in my ears. I'm still wearing my headset. When I hear the snatches of communication, I think it's just evacuation chatter.

Razor, this is Gold Lion. Asset tracked, we are inbound.

Confirmed, this is Razor.

The screech of their voices is too loud. I can't figure out how to turn the volume on my headset down, so I pull it off, letting it curl around the back of my neck.

“Are you all right?” Bear asks.

“It's too noisy. My head's hurting worse.”

In the distance, the sound of laughter rises above the bustle in the courtyard. I turn and spy a couple kids running circles around a tall, black-haired soldier.

One look and I'm weightless. It's Cash. He doesn't see me yet, and it's still too far to shout.

Repeat, eyes on, target is designated.

More chatter. The voices are not coming from my headset. “Can you hear that?” I ask Bear.

He shakes his head, looking confused.

My palms slam against my ears, but I still hear the static and coded exchange.

Roger, target acquired, strike package is en route. ETA to fireworks is thirty seconds.

The wind shifts and a warm gust blasts through my hair, cutting through the cool breeze. My brain is going to explode; I can't turn off the crackle and fuzz in my skull.

The distant roll of thunder in the sky.

No. Not thunder. It's the roar of airborne engines.

Gold Lion. Inbound. Strike package. Target.

Nonono
 . . . this isn't rebel evac chatter, this is military squawk, IP communication before an attack. Why can't anyone else hear it?

“Bear!” I shout. “It's . . . it's . . . Find Hank . . . Hal and Mary . . . anyone . . . tell them it's an ambush!”

Bear blinks for a second, but when I point to the sky, I sense he hears the far-off rumble of incoming aircraft too. “Go!” I beg him. “Please!”

Bear runs for the transport vacs.

I wheel back toward the bell tower. Cash and the kids are still so far away, a hundred yards outside my reach. I bolt, screaming all the way. “CASH! GET THEM OUT. TAKE COVER. IT'S AN ATTACK!”

Cash looks up and sees me. I don't know if he can make out my words, but he turns and starts moving people toward the transport, urging them to move faster.

As I run, I shout at every passing soldier. “AIRSTRIKE. INCOMING!” They are wired, ready to relay my message. Springing into action, they load weapons, lock into defensive positions, and move their families into the waiting vacs. One of them quickly takes off.

But my warning has come too late. I'm so small and I can't make my body move fast enough. I pass a makeshift gun deck; a rebel gunner locks a magma cannon into place. Behind me, Bear shouts, “Phee! You're going the wrong way! Go back to the vacs!”

I look up and see the swarm. Three of Benroyal's black IP fighters. A giant artillery vac. A squad of jet-packed blitz birds ready to rain down fire. We have all been betrayed. How did they know? How did they find us?

BOOM.

An explosion rocks the ground and I fall to my knees. I look up—the bell tower is completely gone. The handful of women and children still in the courtyard panic, stampeding to the transports. I huddle under the gun deck and claw at my ears to shut out the screaming roar, but it's no use, the ringing's even worse inside my head. Where is Cash?

Bear catches up, ducking under the deck ladder. “Phee, I found my folks. Their vac's taking off. Come on!”

He grips my shoulder, but I shake him off, stumbling onto my feet and squinting into the ragged smoke. Cash scoops up a pair of little ones; he's jogging toward us.

BOOM. BOOM.

More blasts in all directions. On the walls, defending soldiers spray the sky with fire. Two rebel fighters ascend, ready to fend the IP off. A score of our own jet-packed guns sprint off and jump, rocketing into the fray.

Cash reaches the gun deck and closes in on us. “Bear,” he says. “Help me. Get these kids on a transport. I've got to go back and get the rest.”

Then he looks at me. “Go with him. Get onto one of those vacs.”

“I'm staying with you!” I shout over the flaming roar. “I'm not leaving you out here to get killed!”

“We don't have time for this,” he says. “Let's go. Now.”

He's right. If we stay and argue, we'll get picked off by enemy blitz birds or artillery fire. Cash passes the children off to Bear. They tremble and cry, burying their faces into his broad shoulders. As soon as Bear hustles off with them, Cash takes me by the arm and drags me back toward the transports.