Chapter Twenty-Three
He’d come to his decision. Standing there and staring at her as she’d thrashed in obvious pain, Jackson had made up his mind.
This was wrong. Even if Ki could help them vanquish the Tarkan threat forever, this was not how it should be done.
It was as if everyone around him had been turned into sheep. No one was thinking, no one was questioning, they were just following their orders with no heed to where they would lead them and all of Ashka.
Well Jackson had thought it through. Over the past several weeks of his virtual incarceration on Avictus, he’d done nothing but think.
It was time for action.
He was in his room. He’d been moved from that tiny cell with that single rickety chair. Now he had a bed and view of the lighthouse outside.
He stared at it slicing through the dark night as he loosened his top shirt button. Grabbing at his sleeves, he rolled them up his arms securely.
He didn’t like what he was about to do, but he had little choice. If he remained here and did nothing, he’d be complicit in the destruction he knew was coming.
Max’s anger at Ki’s death had not been faked. The Zeneethians would be an inconceivable enemy.
Taking a step back, he finally turned from the view, his footfall hollow and light.
He inhaled slowly and deliberately, then opened the door. It grated open, the noise sending tingles of anticipation down his spine.
He was no longer guarded, but as he walked casually down the corridor a passing soldier paused to ask where he was headed. He lied and said to the kitchen for a snack.
When Jackson was past the man, he turned and waited, listening keenly to the soldier’s footsteps echoing through the corridor.
He had to time this perfectly.
He reached the stairs. With a sick stomach he looked down them, appreciating how high they were.
Waiting for the soldier to make his sweep down the hall and return, Jackson took a step down.
He deliberately misplaced it, his heel slipping against the worn and smooth stone. His leg jerked out from underneath him and he fell, body slamming into the stairs as he rolled down them.
He tried to keep his descent controlled, kept his arms tucked in, and his head stretched out so his skull wouldn’t bash against the steps. When he reached the bottom, he let out a deliberate and loud cry.
The soldier came running. “Sir, are you alright?”
“Damn it,” Jackson spat bitterly, “I think I’ve broken something.”
Twisting around in faked agony, he waited for the soldier to rush to his side. The kid was young, and with one look at Jackson wiped his brow and swore. “I’ll get you to sick bay. Hold on, I’ll find help.”
Jackson lay exactly where he was as he waited. Though he was certainly bruised and would have a hobble for a while, he’d been careful not to break anything.
They didn’t need to know that though. All they needed to do was take him to sickbay. He’d do the rest from there.
Soon the soldier returned with another man, and between the two of them they helped Jackson across the other side of the building and all the way up to sickbay.
When he arrived in the door, a nurse rushed to his aid, obvious empathy rumpling her brow. Though Jackson had once been treated as a traitor, his story was no longer questioned.
“Here, take him to a bed. How did this happen?” the nurse ushered the soldiers towards an empty cot.
“Fell down the stairs,” Jackson coughed heartily, wincing as he did.
“I saw it. It’s a miracle you didn’t crack your head open,” the young soldier laughed in relief.
“I guess I’m just tired. I’ve been working on that weapon non-stop. We need to find out its secrets as soon as we can,” Jackson kept an affable, believable tone as he lied.
The nurse’s smile warmed. “All of Ashka will remember your story, Jackson Walker. What you’ve done for your country will not be forgotten.”
No, it wouldn’t, and the thought of it sickened him. He had to move on though.
“Thank you,” he smiled, making it as charming as he could. “But... not to be rude, can you move me over to a different bed?”
The nurse looked confused. “Sorry?”
He nodded past her at the closed blue curtains. Ki was behind them. He was barely three meters away. Though two guards stood either side of them, that was all the security there was.
“I can’t say I like being this close to her. I had to put up with the spy for two days under Paladin Mountain – I think that was long enough,” Jackson gave a harsh chuckle.
Both the soldiers joined in.
“Of course, I’ll just prepare another bed and get the doctor,” the nurse moved off.
“How the hell did you put up with the smell, sir?” the young soldier asked behind him. “Tarkans stink, especially this one.”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t.”
They laughed. It was not remotely funny, but they still chortled at it.
He’d once done the same. As a soldier he and his comrades had taken every opportunity to belittle and put down the Tarkans. Every joke insulting them was worth a round of laughs, no matter how lame.
Now it made him nauseas.
Running his lips over his teeth, he glanced at the two men guarding Ki. They’d joined in the joke, now they were standing with kinked smiles, glancing around casually as they loosened their grips on their rifles.
Jackson turned from them, nonchalantly surveying the rest of the room. Including the two soldiers who had brought him in, there were five guards in total. They were all armed. One even had a grenade tucked in his belt.
Jackson had been counting on that. The Major had deployed a soldier from the Falcon Regiment to sickbay, in fact he’d ordered that one member of the Regiment be present at all times. They were elite troops, some of the best in the whole Ashkan army.
The Falcon soldier was standing by the doorway. He hadn’t laughed at Jackson’s joke. He hadn’t shifted his gaze off Ki’s curtains.
Jackson stood, limping as he did. “Don’t mind me, boys, I can’t stand the smell,” he nodded at Ki’s curtains and proceeded to hobble forward.
“Hey, let us give you a hand,” the young soldier stepped toward him immediately.
“I’m counting on it,” Jackson waited until the guy grabbed his elbow. Then he acted. He shoved back into him, slammed his foot onto the cot, and kicked it forward. Yanking his elbow free, he rolled over the cot and dropped to the ground.
Flipping up, he kicked back into the bed, forcing it into the two surprised soldiers behind him. Rolling to the side, he got up just as the Falcon guard launched towards him.
Jackson saw the flash of a knife. Doubling back, he pulled the sheet from the cot beside him in a smooth, slick move.
Jumping to the side as the Falcon guard slashed at him, Jackson whipped the sheet around, fanned it forward, and threw it over the man.
It was an unconventional move, but it bought him a second. He fell to his knees and lashed out with is foot, collecting the stumbling man behind his knees. He buckled forward just as Jackson rolled back.
The two soldiers guarding Ki had snapped in behind him.
“Stop,” they shouted.
He whirled around, still on his knees, and kicked again at the cot. It slid forward, bumping into them. Launching up, he groped at the small table to his left, swinging it around wildly as the Falcon soldier finally pulled the sheet from his face. It collected the man’s hand, but he suddenly surged forward, slamming into it and forcing Jackson back.
The other soldiers were all getting to their feet. Jackson could hear them.
He didn’t have long.
The Falcon guard screamed in anger, his lips pulling back hard against his teeth. Jackson still held the table, and the guard still pushed it back into him. Stepping to the side, just as he could hear guns being raised behind him, he let go of the table.
The Falcon guard stumbl
ed forward. Jackson moved in. Dropping down, he groped at the man’s side. Just as he fell past, desperation pulsating through him, he grabbed it.
The grenade. Jackson snatched it from the man’s belt.
Rolling, he got to his feet and pulled the pin free.
“Stop, drop the grenade, get to your knees,” one soldier screamed at him.
They all had their guns pointed right at his chest, their faces plastered with fear. Even the Falcon guard was back on his feet, gun in one hand, a knife in the other.
“Really? You want me to drop this?” Jackson half opened his hand, revealing the pin and the grenade. “By all means.” He loosened his grip, the grenade sliding down his hand.
The soldiers all jolted.
Jackson tightened his grip, bringing his arms wide as he stood back. Heart full and wild, he kept his gaze locked on the Falcon guard. The man did not move. None of them did.
Jackson had them hostage here. If he dropped the grenade, they would all die. Shooting him was out of the question.
He moved to the side, heading for Ki’s curtains. “You all might want to step back. I can be clumsy sometimes.”
The nurses and doctors in the room pushed themselves up against the walls, all eyes on Jackson.
He made it to the curtain. Without turning his back on the soldiers, he opened it with his free hand. “Ki,” he called over his shoulder, “Ki?”
“... Jackson?”
Relief washed over him as he heard her call his name.
“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here,” he kept a firm grip on the grenade, holding it high for everyone to see.
“I’m tied down,” Ki answered.
He swore. Exhaling through clenched teeth, he tugged her curtains, yanking them off the rails and throwing them to the side. Backing up, he finally banged up against her bed. She moved her arm against him.
“Alright, anyone try anything, and we’re all going to hell,” he half opened his hand again. “Everyone, move over to the other wall,” Jackson pointed to the opposite side of the room. When the soldiers moved sluggishly, he let go of the grenade for a second.
They ran.
He could see them now. Working quickly, glancing down at her straps only when he had to, Jackson somehow managed to get her free while still holding onto the grenade.
He could already hear the alarm sounding through the rest of the building. It set his teeth on edge and sent a quick, horrid spike of anticipation through his back and gut.
There was no going back now.
He could hear footsteps reverberating down the hall, headed towards them.
When she was finally free, she pushed herself up, her large eyes quivering. “God, Jackson—”
“No time,” his voice was tight. “Get up and head towards the window.”
“What?” she stared at him.
“Just do it.” He moved around, facing the door as several soldiers pushed their way in, guns at the ready. He held the grenade high. “I’ll blow her up if you come a step closer.”
They stopped.
He shifted back, staring at them warily. “Ki, you at the window? Open it.”
“What—”
“Just do it. Climb outside.”
“Jackson, we’re eight stories up.”
“Ki,” he walked backwards, attention swinging between the soldiers at the door and the ones near the wall.
He heard the window grate open. Immediately he felt a harsh, frozen wind buffet against him.
There was always a storm buffeting Avictus Island, and tonight was no different. He could hear the roar of the waves outside, relentlessly smashing against the wall that kept the building safe.
“Take it slow,” Jackson warned her. “There should be a ledge—”
“Found it,” she said, voice muffled by the wild wind.
Jackson gulped, forcing down the lump that had formed in his throat. He shifted back.
He banged up against the open window, the pane of glass bumping into him as it was buffeted by the wind.
It was now or never. With one last look at the Falcon soldier, Jackson climbed backwards out of the window with a live grenade held in one hand.
He struggled to find his footing, boots slipping in the rain. Then a hand grabbed his leg, guiding it down.
Ki.
He looked across at her. She was standing on the slim lip of rock that ran around the outside of the building, holding onto a dip into the bricks behind her for dear life. Her cheeks were pale, her already wet hair whipping around her in the gale.
She was the most welcome sight he’d ever seen.
But he could not relax yet.
The lights that usually shone from the various turrets of the building suddenly shifted, searching them out. They shone against the side of the building, darting this way and that as their operators tried to pin Ki and Jackson down.
“Move. Keep close to the wall. In several meters it opens out onto a ledge. You can climb up onto a flat section of roof,” he shifted his back into the wall, pushing into it to gain as much purchase as the wet stone would allow.
The wind bit into him, tugging at his clothes, roaring in his ears. It was not enough to dampen out the sound of frantic shouts from the sickbay behind them though.
“Move,” he encouraged again, voice a gasp.
Together they made it to the roof. Though Jackson almost slipped several times, he managed to hold onto the grenade.
Ki scrabbled ahead of him, pulling herself up onto the flat section of stone and leaning out to offer him a hand.
He grabbed it thankfully.
The rain pounded against them, coming down in drenching, penetrating sheets. Rivulets splashed over his face and neck, his eyes barely managing to see through the onslaught.
Wiping at his face, he stared around him. There was only one way onto this section of roof – the way they’d just come. That’s why he’d picked it.
Jackson had been planning this for weeks. He’d scouted out the whole compound. He’d planned this perfectly.
Ki stood, wrapping her arms around her thin hospital gown. Staring around her wildly, she began to shake. “We’re trapped, there’s no way down.”
He shook his head.
Jackson pushed his hand into his pocket and grabbed the small box he’d stashed there.
He brought it out slowly, almost reverently, and handed it to her.
This was a risk, a huge, but unavoidable one. He had no idea if it would work, but it was their only hope.
She took it from him carefully, her bare hands snow white. “What is it?”
“The dust from the Zeneethian gun. I removed it from the barrel. No one knew what I was doing. They all thought it was just wear and tear, just muck in the chamber,” he laughed bitterly. “I was in no mood to tell them anything different.”
Her pale fingers closed tightly around the box. “What am I meant to do with it?” she whispered.
He choked. “Use it. Make us fly.”
“Jackson, it’s not enough,” her voice was small and quiet, barely making it over the wind. “It takes a device as big as my palm to lift—”
“A whole scout cruiser,” he interrupted. “Just try. Try to make it lift us. Please. There’s no other way. Ki, just try.”
She nodded.
Carefully she opened the box, shielding it from the wind and rain with one shaking hand.
A blue glow erupted forth as soon as the lid was pulled back.
Staring up at him, tears welling in her eyes, she emptied the box into her palm. Then she closed her eyes and she squeezed her hand shut.
Nothing happened.
Jackson heard shouts from below. He doubled his grip on the live grenade, though his heart began to sink.
Seconds ticked by.
The lights from the turrets below still searched for them.
It was over. If they could not float away, they would not escape this island.
Just as Jackson’s heart gave up, someth
ing pushed out of Ki’s closed fingers.
Light. Moving like water, it glowed like blue fire.
Jackson pushed close to her. She brought her hand forward, grabbing his.
They locked fingers.
She began to float.
That familiar, intoxicating light feeling filled him.
It pulled him off his feet.
Together they began to lift into the air. The wind still roared around them, pushing into their bodies, but it could not pull them down.
Jackson waited until they were at least twenty meters from the roof, then he dropped the grenade. Bringing both arms up and around her, he flinched as it exploded far below.
The light of the blast rippled out, but the shockwave could not touch them as they continued to drift up into the clouds.
They were out of the hornet’s nest, but they were by no means safe. The storm still raged around them.
What would happen next would be the riskiest part of his plan. They were free, but unless they got lucky, they would either run out of oxygen as they floated into space, or splash into the unrelenting ocean below.
He was risking everything on his outdated knowledge of trade winds.
“Ki, we need to get above the clouds,” he shouted into her ear.
She nodded against him.
With the wind raging against them and rain lashing in every direction, he waited.
They continued to float up.
This would be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Or maybe it wouldn’t be. Falling to earth would be easy. Fighting the Zeneethians would not.