The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3)

  But the course I’ve set and the ship’s forward momentum are enough to thrust most of the Manta through the narrow gap of the shield doors which slam shut, blocking out the Eels’ firepower, but also crushing the back of the ship.

  Ocean bursts through the cabin. I hit the pilot seat’s eject button, joining Dahlia as we’re spit out of the wreckage and tumble through the turbulent water until we surface in the hangar bay.

  “You did…good…Fifth Tier,” Dahlia says. We cling to each other, breathless.

  Hands are waiting to pull us up and out. Corin and Cage.

  All around us, emergency sirens blare and Jeptha’s voice booms throughout the complex on the intercom system. “Attention. Base One is under attack. Repeat. Base One is under attack. All personnel report to battle stations. This is not a drill.”

  The whole station rocks and vibrates as the bombardment commences against its shields. Personnel scramble every which way.

  Cage grabs my arm. “Time to suit up and get to our flight squad—”

  I wrench myself free. “You all go on ahead. There’s something I need to do first.”

  Then I’m pushing past them, ignoring their questioning shouts, heading in the exact opposite direction of the fighter bays, through a maze of corridors, down a flight of stairs several levels, until I’m standing at the entrance to the holding cells.

  With the entire base in a state of chaos, there’s no sentry on duty. Good. That’ll make what I have to do much easier.

  I hurry inside the cell block. There’s one thing I need before going through with this insanity. Rummaging through an equipment locker I find it in seconds.

  A gleaming silver neuro-stim collar, complete with the small rectangular remote activator.

  Dashing to the cell that holds Digory, I activate the door’s release and it swooshes open.

  He’s standing there calmly, almost bored, staring with those tireless eyes.

  “Took you long enough,” he says.

  “It was all a set-up, wasn’t it?”

  “If we are to make the rendezvous for the exchange, we should get going.”

  More explosions rock the base, sending deep vibrations that rocket through my core.

  I storm into the cell stopping just short of him. Wrapping the collar around his neck, I squeeze it shut until it locks into place. This close, I can almost feel a wave of cold radiating from him. “You sent out a signal to the Thorn Republic. That’s how they found us. Hundreds are going to die. Perhaps more.”

  “We needed a diversion. Besides. It is for the best. This insurrection is a virus that needs to be contained if any peace is ever to be achieved. We cannot sacrifice the greater good for selfish reasons. We have evolved.”

  To hear those words coming from Digory fills me with regret and disgust—especially because, in some perverse way, the part about the greater good and being selfless ring true.

  I grip my pulsator and place the barrel of cold steel against his temple.

  “I should kill you right now.” My voice barely registers.

  His blank eyes remain fixed on mine. “Maybe you should.”

  “Spark. Why aren’t you with the rest of your squad?”

  I turn to face Rios. He’s accompanied by Devlin and a burly escort. He looks as if he could skewer me with his eyes.

  My eyes flit to Digory then back again. “I wanted to make sure the prisoner wasn’t going to escape.”

  Rio’s anger coils into a smug grin. “So you’ve finally come to your senses. You realize this thing has to die.”

  “And you realize that killing him won’t bring back your son, Sir. Rafé’s never coming back.”

  His smile is engulfed by fury. “Tycho could have saved my boy, but he chose not to. He’s got to answer for that.”

  I shake my head. “He’s beyond emotion now. Killing him won’t have any effect.”

  He considers this for a moment. “You’re probably right. But maybe the key to breaking him is to destroy someone he once cared so deeply about. Isn’t that right, Devlin?”

  The words take a moment to sink in. Instinctively, I lower the gun from Digory’s head.

  Devlin shoots me a look. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him appear to be unsure. He turns back to Rios. “Theoretically, it’s possible that the shock—”

  “Let’s test that theory,” Rios says. “I’m sorry, Spark. It’s not personal. But by trying to free this prisoner you’ve committed an act of treason. Shoot him, Devlin.”

  Devlin’s gaze swerves in my direction, then to Rios’s, then back to me again. “Sir, we need to evacuate the base before—”

  “Do it, Devlin. That’s an order.”

  I exchange a look with Digory, who has been observing the entire scene with the clinical detachment of a scientist studying a new strain of virus. But there’s a momentary flicker in those eyes, a faint ray of sunlight trying to filter through the turbulent gray. Maybe it’s a trick of the light or just my nerves. But at this point it’s a gamble with nothing to lose.

  Click.

  The sound of Devlin cocking his gun snaps me back to attention.

  He aims his weapon at me, and I brace myself to spring into action.

  But he shakes his head and lowers his gun. “I- I can’t do it, Sir. Spark is one of us. He’s done nothing wrong.”

  Rios holds out his hand. “You’ve disobeyed a direct order. That’s treason. Surrender your weapon.”

  Devlin hands over the gun, relief registering on his face.

  Rios’s expression is one of extreme disappointment and regret. “Guess if I want something done right, there’s only one person I can rely on.”

  He fires, hitting Devlin in the chest. The impact sends him crashing into the wall and in that split-second of confusion, I whirl and unlock Digory’s manacles, just as Rios opens fire on us.

  It’s over in seconds. Once free, Digory leaps into the fray, pummeling Rios’s bodyguard until he’s writhing in a fetal position in the corner, and then relieving him of his weapon.

  Before Rios can fire again, I roll across the floor and my boot snaps up, kicking him in the gut. But he’s a seasoned soldier, and despite the pain, is on me in a flash, the two of us punching and tearing at each other as we grapple for the gun.

  Then we’re locked in a death clutch, each of our hands wrapped around each other’s throat. I don’t want to kill him, even after he tried to murder me. I know what deep loss feels like…

  “He…killed…my son…” Rios’s slobbers out the words, drool running from the corners of his lips.

  “He’s already…paid…the price…” Before I can fade, I sink my teeth into his wrist. The moment his grip weakens, I rip myself free of his hold and punch him hard enough to send him careening into Devlin’s prone body, lying in a growing dark pool.

  “Attention,” a voice echoes through the base’s com system. “The installation has been compromised. Proceed to evacuation areas stat. Repeat. Proceed to evacuation areas stat.”

  I can’t bring myself to look into Digory’s eyes. “Looks like your people have crashed this party. The further you’re away from the resistance, the less chance there is they’ll be able to use you to track our forces to the rendezvous point. Time for us to get the hell out of here.”

  SIX

  We rush into the chaos that’s engulfed the base. Bodies litter the corridors, awash in the continual lightning of strobing emergency beacons. Many of the walls are cracked and scorched by enemy blasts. The stench of blood and flames stings my eyes, disorienting me as we dodge through the haze of destruction. Dashing through the flight crew’s quarters, I twist open a mangled locker and rip out some weapons and two flight suits, tossing one to Digory. “Keep your helmet on.” Not that anyone’s going to be paying too much attention to us.

  In seconds we’re both suited up and bolting for the hangar.

  The bay’s filled with smoke from the crisscrossing blasts. Thorn Republic agents are engaged in a firefight with my
fellow resistance members, who are struggling to protect a large transport vehicle loading the last of the base’s personnel onboard for evac.

  “Damn it,” I curse under my breath. We duck behind a cargo container for cover against the ricocheting onslaught. My people are outnumbered, and I don’t have time to give them any back-up—not that it’d make much difference.

  And to make things worse, my stomach sinks when I recognize two figures caught in this increasingly one-sided cross-fire.

  Arrah and Dru. They’re giving it their best shot, but they’re vastly outnumbered. Their defensive posture is quickly becoming a last stand.

  “I should be with them.”

  Digory grips my arm. “No time. We must go.”

  He nods toward the far corner of the bay where several Mantas still remain. Our ticket out of this hell.

  There’s a click behind us, and we whirl.

  Two Thorn agents, weapons drawn, aim and fire.

  Everything happens in a blur. I brace for the impact, but Digory shoves me to the ground with superhuman speed and takes the full brunt of the blast. Instead of toppling over, he lunges at the first agent, snaps his neck, and uses the deceased’s weapon to gun down his shocked comrade.

  Wasting no time, I grab the downed agent’s grenade and lob it at the bulkhead directly above the strike team that’s got Arrah and the others pinned. The blast almost blows my eardrums out as the ceiling above the enemy collapses on top of them, burying most in a flaming mound of screams and rubble.

  I stumble over to Digory. He staggers toward me. I wince at the sight of the scorched wounds on his side and leg, oozing dark tissue. Even with his regenerative abilities, it’s going to take the nanotech quite some time to regrow, and that’s something we don’t have much of.

  “We will recover,” he says in that monotone. But he collapses against me. Swinging his arm around my neck, I haul him to his feet and half-carry, half-drag him through the debris toward the remaining Mantas.

  Looks like my little trick with the grenade worked. The surviving resistance personnel are scrambling aboard the transport vessel, its engines revving for take-off.

  After making sure everyone’s inside, Arrah and Dru are the last two to board. Just before the hatch seals, they spot us. With Digory’s head slumped, I hope they don’t realize who I’m carrying.

  “Lucian, come on!” Arrah calls, waving me over.

  But I shake my head and continue to heave Digory toward the Mantas.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Dru shouts.

  Another explosion rocks the far end of the hangar. A swarm of Thorn agents filters through the gap. Reinforcements.

  Arrah and I make eye contact one last time, and in that moment, I can see a mixture of shock and understanding dawning in her eyes. Dru pulls her aboard and the hatch seals.

  Reaching the first Manta, I drag Digory inside and strap him into the co-pilot’s chair before hopping into my own seat. My fingers fly over the controls, gunning the engine. The Manta soars out of the hangar directly behind Arrah, Dru, and their transport ship, barely missing a blast from the invading army.

  The gray sky’s filled with Mantas, Squawkers, and Vultures, zipping around like angry insects intent on stinging each other to death. The flotsam and jetsam of debris from the compromised base bobs on the ocean’s surface, slick with oil and the blood of countless bodies. I try not to think that most of them belong to people I know and care about.

  At least it looks like most of the resistance forces have escaped during the evac.

  The last remaining Mantas surround Arrah’s transport vehicle, zooming toward the resistance rendezvous point. But with so many enemy ships in the air, it’s going to be too close.

  I switch on the radio and static crackles through the cabin. “— is Manta 3. Setting coordinates for rendezvous.”

  It’s Cage. He’s not out of the woods either.

  Beside me, Digory shifts in his seat, his eyes wide open. “We are locked onto Thorn Republic radio frequency coming from the bridge of that Eel class command vessel. They are preparing to fire on the remaining transports. We will be destroyed in the blast radius unless we flee to coordinates—”

  “No. Prep the escape pod.”

  I may be abandoning my friends, but I can’t accept a front row seat to their deaths.

  As I check my gauges, Digory shambles to the small emergency escape craft. I reset coordinates to my new destination.

  A collision course with the command center bridge on the Eel.

  I toggle the com switch. “Manta 3. I’ve bought you some extra time. Get everyone to safety.”

  The speakers crackle. “Lucian?” Cage asks. “That you, Mate?”

  In reply, I hit the cut-off switch and join Digory in the pod.

  “This is a mistake,” he says.

  I sigh. “What’s one more to add to the list?” Taking a last look out the cockpit, I see it fill with the Eel’s bridge. Then I seal the pod, strap in, and hit the Purge switch.

  The g-force plasters me against my seat. Outside the pod’s windows, the Eel’s bridge erupts in a fireball as the last of the resistance transports whiz by it into the infinite sky, leaving me to wonder when, or if, I’ll ever see my friends again, as we crash back into the ocean’s depths.

  SEVEN

  We spend the next couple of days drifting through the darkness of the sea, with only the occasional ray of light filtering through from the surface to cut through the gloom. With Thorn Republic forces possibly still hovering in the area, I thought it best to shut down all of the pod’s systems except for life support, using the craft’s limited supply of fuel to propel us in short, measured spurts toward land.

  We had a couple of close calls when a few enemy craft entered our zone, but we managed to seek camouflage in some reef formations until they’d passed. That last time was over twenty-four hours ago, and there hasn’t been another sign of pursuit since.

  The pod’s cramped, with barely enough room for the two of us. Without the coolant engaged, it’s hot and humid, the air stale. Even though we’ve both shucked our flight suits and are only wearing tanks and shorts, my body’s glistening with dampness. But Digory hasn’t even broken a sweat.

  Most of our time’s spent in silence. Digory has entered some kind of hibernation repair mode, I guess. He sits rigidly; blank, unblinking eyes transfixed on the small porthole. Were it not for soft, unsettling sounds of his skin knitting back together, I’d swear he was dead.

  Part of me thinks it would be better if he really was. At least if he were actually dead, I could deal with the pain, mourn, maybe go on.

  But having him so close, staring at him and knowing I’ve lost him forever is agonizing, a festering wound that’ll never heal.

  “We are not dead,” he says at one point, startling me.

  Then we sit in silence again, for endless hours.

  The next day, I’m forced to propel the pod to the surface when the oxygen supply finally runs out. We bob on the sea, and I brace myself for the worst as I spring the hatch. But the ocean is mercifully empty, and I can’t get enough of the cool, fresh air and early morning light streaming through. “No sign of the enemy.”

  Digory’s awoken from his hibernation, clearly not as relieved as I am. The areas where he suffered wounds look perfectly seamless now. Only slight, pinkish patches remain, like a light sunburn. I’m sure they’ll fade soon, too.

  “Morning,” I mutter.

  He ignores the greeting and instead joins me at the hatch. When he propels half his body out of the opening to get a better look, his bare skin rubs against mine and the alien coldness once again jolts me with how different everything is now.

  “There is land up ahead.” He points. “Close enough to swim to. We should get a move on to make up for lost time.”

  Though his tone is emotionless, I can’t help get the sense that his words are reprimanding me for choosing to crash our ride into the Eel rather than flee without trying to hel
p my friends.

  Screw him.

  In a few minutes, we’ve packed the survival kits and our suits and strapped them to our bodies. I hit a few switches to flood the pod, so it’ll sink and erase any evidence of our presence. We both dive into the choppy sea and swim toward shore.

  By the time I make it to the beach, I’m winded from the pummeling of the rough seas, despite being a pretty decent swimmer. Digory’s already standing on the shoreline, legs spread, arms crossed, staring at me, almost bored-looking.

  “We suppose you will need a rest period before we can continue,” he says.

  I spit salty sea water at his bare feet. “Hazards of still being human, I guess.”

  I know what’s happened to him isn’t his fault. But I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m angry.

  And this pain deep inside me just won’t go away.

  Unstrapping the supplies clinging to my body, I collapse in the damp sand and tear open a ration pack. Chewing the tasteless brittle bar, I force myself to swallow before taking a few gulps of water from the canteen.

  I offer him some and he takes it, sitting down to face me, just staring as if I’m a newly discovered species.

  “What are you?” I finally ask. There’s no malice intended in my question. More like frustration and desperation.

  He finally drops his stare and says nothing, just continues to chew his ration bar.

  But I can’t let it go. “Digory Tycho. Do you still have all his—your—memories?”

  When he looks up at me again, I’m surprised to see a hint of confusion and uncertainty in his face. “We think so. Yes. Like dreams mostly. Sometimes they are very clear. Most of them are about you. Possibly. But the more we try to recall them, they fade away. We do not really try much anymore. It is counterproductive to our orders.” He stares right through me. “But we still hear the screams.”

  I lean in closer. “Screams? You mean during the Trials? Or when they were holding you for torture and experimentation at Infiernos?”

  He shakes his head. “Those dreams, like the ones about you, feel different. Fresh. The screams…they are something else. A glitch from a very long time ago. In time we will learn how to eradicate every trace of them. Purge them from our collective. Just like we are discovering how to do with the fragments involving you.”