Ballistic: Icarus Series, Book Two Page 17

  “Did I mention how much I dislike this plan?” Eli asked his brows knitted into a tight W across his forehead as he stared down at his bike.

  “Yeah, only about a thousand times,” Falisha grunted as she and Jake wrestled the tandem bike past him and out onto the battered street. “Dude, we get it.”

  “Do you?” Eli asked throwing his hands up.

  “It’s…fine,” Jake huffed, straining under the awkward weight of the bicycle.

  “But, it’s not fine,” Eli said. “We are riding into a death-trap, you guys. It’s dark, the roads are torn up, and these bikes are crappy, at best. This is far too risky.”

  “We fastened the flashlights to the front of all the bikes, which will help. Plus, Liv is going to lead the way,” Zander said. He knelt to double-check the bolts that attached the buggy to the Mongoose. “We’ll be okay, Eli.”

  “But we don’t even have helmets or anything, and—what if one of us gets a flat tire and crashes? If someone got hurt, that would only slow us down more, right? No. We can’t afford injuries.” Eli stepped back nervously his gaze shifting from one person to the next. “Maybe it’s best if we just walk and save ourselves the trouble. Right?”

  “Sorry, but you are on your own with this one, Doc.” Ty shook his head and swung his leg over his bike.

  “Even if we end up leaving these crap-heaps on the side of the road five miles into the trip, it’ll be worth it,” Riley said. “Every minute we ride is another ten we won’t have to walk.”

  “Look around you, man.” Falisha straddled the front seat on the tandem bike and wrestled her long, black hair into a ponytail. “I’m pretty sure bicycle safety is the least of our worries, right now.”

  “We really need to get moving.” Jake stared up at the churning sky and cringed. “We’ve wasted too much time, already.”

  “But what if—?” Eli pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “But nothing,” I said cutting him off. “Just because this wasn’t your idea, doesn’t mean it isn’t the best we have. Now, mount up and stop whining, so we can get the hell out of here.”

  Ty rode in a circle around us, his bike clicking and rattling as he adjusted the tension on the gears. Even though his seat was as high as it would go, his knees came dangerously close to bashing the handlebars with each rotation. Riley, who had been forced to use the curb to boost herself onto the seat, would likely be riding tiptoes the whole way.

  “Ready?” Zander slid onto the Mongoose and smiled back at Christa, who, despite being less than thrilled about her travel accommodations, had managed to settle in.

  “Whatever,” she slumped, glaring at Bella in the seat at her side.

  “Alright,” I said smiling at him as I released the kickstand and swung my leg over the seat of my ugly red bike. “Let’s ride.”

  “No,” Eli took a step back his jaw clenched.

  “What?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I can’t.” He shook his head and took another step back.

  “We don’t have time for this, Eli,” I sighed. “Just get on the stupid bike so we can go.”

  “No.” Eli took another step back and crossed his arms. “You are all welcome to roll about on your wheeled death-traps, but I’m walking. We’ll see who gets to Rockford in one piece.”

  “What is the matter with you?” I asked rolling over to him.

  “Liv,” Riley rolled after me scrambling awkwardly across the pavement. “Go easy.”

  “Christ,” I said taking a deep breath and lowering my voice. The strange ache in my chest was getting stronger, and it was becoming difficult to focus on anything else. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being a jerk, but we really don’t have time to screw around. In case you hadn’t noticed, the weather is not exactly cooperating, and I’m pretty sure we are not alone out here, so we really need to get going.”

  “I know, Liv,” Eli said staring at the ground, his thumbs hooked in the straps of his backpack. “I just can’t.”

  “Eli,” I ground out doing my best not to wring his neck. “Riding is the safest option. Would you please just trust me, for once, and get on the stupid bike?”

  “No, Liv,” Eli shook his head. “I can’t ride this thing all the way to Rockford.”

  “Ugh,” I shrieked as the last of my patience evaporated. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because I don’t know how, okay?” Eli bit back and threw his hands in the air.

  Chapter 18

  Risk and Reward

  (Lucas)

  “What’s up with the sky, man?” Bo was standing in the windowsill, his palms against the glass as he stared out from between the metal bars. “The clouds are all green and angry-looking, but the sky is still orange. That doesn’t seem normal.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Layla said as she folded and refolded their allotted stack of gray scrubs. “Now, get down from there before someone sees you.”

  “Who cares if they see? Is it against the law to look out the window, now?” Bo slid down from the sill and landed softly on the balls of his feet. “What are they going to do, Layla, lock me up? Oh, wait. They already did that, didn’t they?”

  “Bo.” Layla hugged the gray fabric to her chest and tilted her head with a scowl. “Now is not the time for one of your outbursts.”

  “Whatever,” Bo rolled his eyes and plopped down onto his bunk. “This place sucks.”

  Bo flung his back flat against the thin mattress and laid his head across the lumpy pillow he’d placed against the wall. The wire-thin support frame creaked as he thrashed about in an attempt to get comfortable. Eventually, he gave up, and sat back up, sinking into his elbows. Lucas cleared his throat and tapped the tracker bracelet on his wrist.

  Bo looked up at the clock that was imprisoned on the wall above their section of the bunkroom. They’d spent all night taking notes, and preparing themselves. Lucas had even drawn a map of their escape route for each of them on tiny scraps of paper. His was crumpled inside of his sock, waiting for the right time.

  As anxious as the two of them were to move forward with their plan, they knew they needed to stick to the timeline. The guards rotated in and out every two hours. They had another fifteen minutes before the next shift change. That was just enough time to lay the groundwork for what was sure to be an award-winning performance on Lucas’s part.

  The boys’ eyes met, and Lucas nodded. It was go time.

  “This is so stupid,” Bo groaned as he chucked his pillow across the room. It collided with the freshly folded pile of clothing over which Layla had been obsessing. The garments toppled to the floor in a heap, drawing the attention of the man and woman in the neighboring bunk.

  “Bo-nwa,” Layla hissed looking over her shoulder toward the door. “That’s enough.”

  While Layla busied herself gathering the muddy gray fabric from the floor and back up onto her cot, Lucas readied himself. He held his arms tightly around his chest, breathing in and out as quickly and quietly as he could until a fine mist of sweat gleamed at his temple. Once he was confident that he had begun to look sickly, he coughed signaling Bo.

  “It’s really warm in here,” Lucas said tugging at the neckline of his shirt as he sauntered away from his cot. “Is anybody else hot?”

  “Go and stand by the fan and cool off,” Layla gestured absently as she, once again, folded the stack of Government Issue gray.

  A decrepit old box fan sat on a metal chair near the window, teetering back and forth as the blades spun unevenly in its cracked plastic facing. One of the soldiers had brought it in the day before expecting accolades that never came. The fan barely cooled the few feet that surrounded it, let alone a massive room packed uncomfortably full with warm bodies.

  “O—okay,” Lucas stuttered wiping his brow in an exaggerated gesture. He hoped Layla would look his way.

  “You don’t look so good, bro,” Bo said, urging him on.

  Lucas braced his hands on the window’s edge, took a deep
breath, and held it. He stared out the window at the ominous-looking sky. There had been a crazy storm the night before but the brunt of it never quite reached them though the lightning strikes that shattered the sky could clearly be seen from the barred window near their bunk.

  “You okay, Luke?” Bo said a bit louder than necessary.

  Lucas slumped dramatically against the windowsill, waiting for his lungs to start burning. He had used this trick a few times to get out of gym class. Usually, all he had to do was hold his breath for a minute to get his blood rushing. He could easily mimic an asthma attack. For some reason, it wasn’t working this time.

  “Lucas?” Layla finally set the clothing down and stepped cautiously to his side. “Lucas, look at me.”

  He squeezed his throat muscles tight and let out a raspy breath. When he looked up, he made sure she could see the fear he had manufactured. Layla’s eyes went wide and whatever remained of her mothering instincts kicked in.

  “Sit down,” she screeched dragging him to the nearest cot. “Where is your inhaler, Lucas?”

  “They…” Lucas gasped, laying it on thick. “They…took it.”

  “No, no.” Layla stood sharply running her fingers through her limp blond hair. “Okay. All right. Umm…we just need to get you to the infirmary. They’ll have medicine there. Come on, then. Let’s go.”

  “No…I can’t,” Lucas, said holding his chest. “I’m—I’m scared.”

  “Nonsense,” she said grabbing him by his shoulders and helping him back to his feet. Lucas wobbled a bit in place for good measure. He grabbed onto the bed frame as if it was all that held him up. “Quickly, put your shoes on. We need to go now before it gets bad, Lucas. Bo, watch your sister while I take Lucas to the infirmary.”

  “Sure,” Bo said glancing over at Jazz who was still sound asleep. “No problem.”

  Lucas slid into the pathetic slippers he had been issued and fell into step at his foster mother’s side. He shuffled his feet heavily as she dragged him away. Heads turned toward them, eying the two of them cautiously as they spanned the length of the dormitory.

  Despite their uncomfortably close proximity, the refugees at Camp Seco rarely interacted with one another. The last thing any of them wanted was to incur the wrath of one of the guards. Punishment was dealt out swiftly, severely, and at the sole discretion (or whim) of the nearest soldier. The fading green bruises around Lucas’s eye were a constant reminder to stay below the radar. That was the exact opposite of what he was about to do.

  Lucas looked back over his shoulder and bit his lip nervously. Once he crossed the threshold, there would be no turning back. Bo met his gaze with cold determination and nodded curtly. They were really going to do this.

  Lucas clenched his fists and stepped out into the corridor just ahead of Layla. The two soldiers that had been stationed there moved forward to intercept them. Each slid their sidearm free of its holster. The younger of the two, a dark haired man with a thready scar over his eye, pressed a gloved hand to Lucas’s chest.

  “Where do you think you are going?” He glared at them and tightened the grip he had on his weapon. “You do not have travel clearance for another twenty-five minutes. All grays are to remain in their living quarters until morning meal.”

  “I need to get him to the med wing,” Layla whimpered, lowering her eyes. “Please, he can’t breathe.”

  Both men looked down at Lucas as if the boy had a bomb strapped to his chest. They took a step back, their black, gloved hands instinctively pressing their masks tightly to their faces. The scarred man wiped his glove down the front of his uniform and slid aside issuing Layla and Lucas a wide breadth.

  “Straight there, and straight back,” he said. Despite the menacing set to his green eyes, the tremble in his voice betrayed him. “No detours. Understand?”

  “Of course,” Layla muttered keeping her eyes down as she led Lucas away.

  It was strictly forbidden for refugees to wander the halls here at Camp Seco, so their presence was attracting a lot of attention. Blank stares followed them from behind plate glass windows and through guarded doorways. It didn’t matter what happened going forward; Lucas knew the other refugees would not get involved. Like Layla, they had already given up.

  Many of the soldiers had made their way into the corridor and were chatting back and forth as they prepared for the changing of the guards. If Lucas did this right, all of those eyes would soon be on him.

  “Quickly, now,” Layla muttered.

  She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and yanked him to the right side of the hall to avoid being trampled. Four men with broad shoulders stomped past carrying large wooden crates marked hard bread and vegetarian mix. Two armed guards flanked them on high alert as if the battered souls trapped here would mount some kind of attack.

  Layla squeezed his shoulder and spoke again. Lucas saw her lips move but couldn’t make out what she was saying over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. He nodded, assuming that was an appropriate response. Sweat poured down his face. It stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Adrenaline burned a path through his body as Layla ushered Lucas into the large plastic-lined tunnel that connected the refugee building to the med wing.

  He shouldn’t be this nervous. All Lucas had to do was create a disturbance near the tunnel; a diversion meant to draw most of the guards away from the other side of the building.

  Bo would be on his way to the command center now, intent on using his shoplifting skills to obtain the spare radio hidden beneath the reception desk. His mission was far more dangerous, especially if Lucas should fail. His chest tightened at the thought. He couldn’t fail his brother. He wouldn’t.

  “He needs to see the doctor,” Layla said when the two of them reached the clinic door. The two guards that stood there looked unimpressed.

  “Clinic is closed,” one of the men muttered through his mask. Both men shifted until they completely blocked the door. “Come back later.”

  “Please, sir. He’s having an asthma attack,” Layla said. Her voice sounded panicked, but the worry didn’t quite touch her eyes. Lucas breathed harder, hoping the extra effort would sell his performance. “If we could just get his inhaler—.”

  A loud crash echoed from inside the clinic, followed by an agonized howl. A woman’s shouting and muffled grunts mixed with the sound of metal clanking against the hard floor. Something big and black slammed hard against the frosted glass window. It stilled then slid down to the floor leaving a murky trail of blackish-red sludge in its wake.

  Layla stood there frozen, her eyes glued to the stain on the other side of the window. Her grip was so tight it was starting to hurt. Lucas peeled her fingers away from his shoulder and took a step forward, his eyes trained on the door to the clinic.

  “Like I said,” the first guard, a large man with red hair, cleared his throat and lowered his weapon from his shoulder. “Clinic is closed.”

  Lucas took another step forward, inching toward the door. The tall guard tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in challenge. There was a moment, a solitary chance to back down, to walk away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The pull was far too strong. Whoever was behind that door needed him.

  And just like that, it was decided.

  Lucas gasped and clutched at his throat, stumbling to the side. Layla rushed toward him, but he subtly dodged her grasp and fell forward toward the guards. The first twisted to the side as if Lucas were on fire. The second grabbed him by the arm, the warm latex squeaking against Lucas’ sweaty skin.

  “I can’t let you in there,” the man said, looking over his shoulder at the streaks on the glass.

  “Ehhhhh,” Lucas wheezed his eyes wide with forced terror as he raked frantically at the man’s sleeve.

  “Goddamn it,” the guard muttered, and he knew he had him.

  Lucas rolled his eyes back in his head, let his legs go limp, and dropped to the ground. As he’d hoped, the guard caught Lucas just before his head made impact
with the hard vinyl floor. A door slammed down the hallway, Layla shrieked, and chaos exploded all around him.

  Chapter 19

  Fight or Flight

  “How much farther?” Ty grunted. A large vein at his temple pulsed with each turn of the pedals. Eli had finally started getting the hang of pedaling a few miles back, but by then Ty was already on the verge of falling over.

  “Truck Stop,” Zander said between breaths.

  The gas station’s tall, red pavilion was less than a quarter mile ahead. It was the closest thing to shade we had seen in hours. The promise of relief was enough to give me a second wind. I leaned into the handlebars, desperate to shrink the distance.

  “Slow…down,” Riley heaved, narrowly missing a twisted fender lying in the middle of the road.

  “Almost there,” I said, standing against the pedals. “Come on, Ry.”

  What I didn’t say was that I felt like I was dying. The pressure at the base of my skull was nearly unbearable and that my eyes were burning. I didn’t tell her that my skin felt as though it had been dried and stretched tight over my bone or that my canteen had run dry about ten miles back.

  Stopping would have been pointless, anyway. The vultures had left nothing behind. The vehicles on either side of the highway were already picked clean. Their doors and trunks were left open like the eyes of the dead. At first, my gaze shifted between the road ahead and the faded out interiors of the hulking metal shells we passed along the way. It didn’t take long to realize that the vehicles had nothing to offer but the stench of decay.

  Nearly every home, barn, and business in a twenty-mile radius lay burned beyond recognition. The charred, skeletal remains of what had once been a massive wood, cowered against the churning sky. Without a breeze to feed them, the flames surrendered their hold on the landscape leaving behind a heavy curtain of black soot. It clung to your skin and made everything feel heavy and dry.