Bound to Ashes (The Altered Sequence Book 1) (14 page)

Men approach. Rustling and grunting behind me— they’ve grabbed the others. When a human reaches to grab my arm and heft me up, he hesitates when he sees my face. My eyes, specifically.

“Whoa,” he blurts stupidly, staring.

The one charged with getting Ashton to his feet has to back up and let Ashton do his thing— he has to brace against the ground and maneuver his feet under him carefully to stand. As he rises, slowly, the man takes the smallest step backwards. But that gun is as steady as ever. One of the men raises two fingers to his ear and says, “Sir, we have some... individuals, here... I’ll send you a visual.”

How he ‘sent a visual’ is beyond me, but after a moment of looking down and muttering affirmatives here and there, he finally says, “Yes sir, we’ll bring them in.”

A shocked exclamation from behind us— we look to see one of the men on the ground limp as a ragdoll. A few of the other guys rush over. They completely abandoned their posts just to see what happened...? They might outgun us, but maybe that’s all we have to worry about.

I can almost laugh at myself. Yeah, that’s all. Just dozens of military-issue rifles pointed at us.

“What happened to him?” The man who grabbed me initially demands.

Another more bewildered man holding a gun at James shudders and says, “I dunno, man, he just collapsed.”

“Get him back to the jeep, we need to keep moving,” the man orders, pointing violently at the nearest Humvee.

“It’s not a jeep,” Ashton says, and by the way the men jump they weren’t expecting it. “It’s an M1114 Humvee.” Dammit, Ash, this is no time for that....

The man stares at Ashton as if what he’d said was gibberish. Then Jules reaches out and touches the guy on the face and he crumples before he can even react.

“Shit!” The closest man raises his shaking gun but James bats it aside and decks the guy in the nose, sending him reeling.

“Down 75th,” Alessandra cries, swiping her gun from the pavement and firing round after round. It’s sensory overload. A guy comes at me and I elbow him through the face mask of his helmet, shattering it and cracking something else. Ashton darts off and Jules is dropping the guys around her like flies. She swings around, moving alongside them as they try to aim, slides their sleeve up, and it’s all over. But after the second wave of men trying to restrain her, her steps are jagged and she’s panting. It should take much more than that to wear us out. It never occurred to me that her ability would drain her so much.

Cain is in his element. Pull back on the pin, fire, guy down. Pull back, fire, down. He takes out more than any of us. One of the Humvees stands open and empty except for the bodies draped and bleeding around its base.

“Go!” Alessandra cries, firing again, but her shriek interrupts her—one of them has her arms behind her back—

“Dammit—” I skid to a halt, no, don’t hesitate— Alessandra’s on the ground, her face grinding into the pavement.

Pavement. Hard and rocky and biting into my skin when I hit it full force. I crane my neck over and up but where is she...?

“
Hey
!”

“Someone go get her!”

I try to flip over but the knee grinding into my spine prevents it. So I push up. The guy pinning me down stumbles backward. But his buddy rushing at me with a nightstick was ready. He swings.

“Dev! Come on, jeez,
wake up
!”

An electric shock crawls down my spine and shoots lighter fluid into my brain. I sit bolt upright and
ow
, my head....

“Hey,” Jules says, smiling. “About time! You look pretty good for a guy who took a nightstick to the face.”

I glare at her and rub my temple. It’s only slightly raised, but I guess even that much was enough to knock me cold.

Jules wipes a cut on her cheek, leaving a crusted smear of bronze. But she has that adventurous sheen in her eyes that nothing can erase. I can’t help but feel more at ease. If Jules hasn’t resorted to seriousness, you know things aren’t
that
bad.

“Well,” Jules says, “I hope you’re hungry.”

I glance around and, dammit Jules, we’re in a kitchen. Everything’s made of brushed steel and there are piles of disgusting pots and pans everywhere. The room’s divided by several isles of stove tops and counters and scummy lakes of grease. The only light comes from the right side. Cold, cloudy light passes through a metal grate barring the entire opening, even past the service counter with the cash registers. A lot of the light is blocked by a massive pile of crates and storage containers on the other side. A forklift parked behind the stuff makes it all the more impassable. Ashton stands with his forehead leaning against the metal grate, defeated. His tail curls back and forth slightly.

Getting to my feet is a shaky challenge, but I manage. My head’s pounding worse than when Alessandra tranquilized me.

Speaking of which....

I look around and find Peregrine and Vinder slumped in the corner. Peregrine looks conscious, but sleeping, and on her dark skin are smears of blood and a dark bruise forming over her eye. Vinder’s out cold, leaning on Peregrine’s shoulder.

More than anything I want to sleep. For any amount of time would be amazing, but forever would be best. I close my eyes and rub the sore spot on my temple.

“Soooo,” Jules says, cracking her knuckles. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m good to go.”

“Gate’s too strong,” Ashton says, not even turning around. “I tried.”

I walk over and look outside. It’s hard to tell what time of day it is, everything is grey and wet outside. The only buildings past the concrete overhang above us are shining skyscrapers, though, so we must be high up....

Ashton jumps, startled, and says, “You’re awake!” He must have been really lost in thought.

“Yeah, but I kind of wish I wasn’t,” I groan.

Ashton responds with a long exhale and rests his head on the grate again. “Guess I should catch you up.”

“That’d be nice.”

“Basically, when they knocked out you and Jules and the humans, it was just me and Cain left and we had no choice but to submit. ‘They,’ meaning this group of humans, they live here in this stadium.”

That explains the height. And the random kitchen. I think the term is, ‘Concessions’?

“They have fields growing in the middle and they’ve built dwellings on the seats and the outside... corkscrew part....” he continues, making swirling motions with his hand, furrowing his brow because he doesn’t know the right word. “Anyway. I overheard what they were talking about over their radio. They’re deciding how to process us.”

The word ‘process’ makes my heart sink. “I... don’t like the sound of that.”

“And we lost that element of surprise. They know how Jules works, now.”

“Yeah. They got a guy wearing gloves and under-armor and man, he was showing
no
skin,” Jules elaborates, chopping the air with angry gestures.

Ashton quirks his eyebrow at her and says, “Yeah, and you passed out.”

She slumps out of her fighting stance and gives Ashton a look, but he’s moved on. He turns back to the gate.

“I’ve tried breaking this gate
several
times, but it’s....” he makes an aggravated sound and grips the gate. Only Ashton would use ‘several’ in conversation, even when pissed off.

“Wasting your energy,” a voice says flatly from deep in the kitchen. We turn around. Cain sits cross-legged on a counter on the far wall, leaned up against it. His voice has a weird tinny quality from the metal vent above his head. He looks at us as half-lidded and apathetic as ever. But he picks at his fingernails as if his hands don’t know what to do if they’re not clutching that rifle.

“It’s not a waste,” Ashton says hotly. “We need to get out. Or we wait for them to come back and decide we’re not worth keeping.”

“So they kill us then. Or they kill us a week from now. Or a month.”

Ashton just wrinkles his nose at Cain and gives the grate another experimental shake. The net of chains won’t budge.

“Wonder why they didn’t stick James or Alessandra with us,” Jules says.

“Who cares,” Cain says.

“Well,” she says, “considering she’s the only one who knows where we’re going, I’d say finding her is pretty importa—”

“There probably isn’t even a dome,” Cain says, hands working and picking at each other. “Just another one of these. Humans are all the same.”

The argument rises in my throat before I can stop it. “Aless didn’t hold us at gunpoint or....”

“Yeah,” Cain says, swinging his legs off the counter and hitting the tiled floor. “But she tranqued you. Like an
animal
.”

“That was different.” But after I say it, I don’t know if it’s true.

He looks at me like I’m being dense and rubs the side of his arm. “They’re all the goddamn same.” He turns away to skulk in the opposite corner. I can barely hear him say, “Tch,
Aless
....”

Even Jules doesn’t know what to say and goes back to sit against the wall, resting her chin on her folded arms.

Cain’s words leave a bad taste in my mouth. I mean, I guess there’s a possibility these humans are the same, like he says. Alessandra and the others... is what they did like blackmail? I guess we could have said no, we don’t want to be involved, leave us alone.... This is way different. These ones held us at gunpoint and treated us exactly like how I thought humans would. Like something to be controlled, something unpredictable. Alessandra treats us like equals. But my mind’s dark corner whispers,
she could be lying. She could just be leading you to this so-called paradise to capture you like these humans did. Enslave you and your friends. And it’ll be all your fault.

I’m left sitting against the chain grate, watching Ashton stare listlessly at the outside, wondering if he’s thinking the same thing I am.

[Michael]

Man, this ‘routine’ stop sure is turning into a straight-up shitstorm.

‘Just go out there and stop them,’ he said. ‘Easy, it’s just more stragglers.’ Yeah right. Of course we had to get the ones that are apparently really good at killing people. Seriously, though, who
are
these people? And with the supersoldiers, too, I didn’t think those were even around anymore... but I should have known. I remember as a kid seeing them on TV, hearing about them. Stronger, mutated or whatever, to be ‘perfect soldiers’. But if they were so perfect, how did we catch them so easy?

Well, whatever, at least they’re contained. And I’m stationed as far away from them as possible in the season ticket holder seats. Too bad it’s to guard one of them. I hate this guy already.

He sits back on the bleachers facing the old bar like he’s on vacation. His arms might be tied behind him but he just sits there. If I was the one tied up on some bleachers with an armed guard watching me, man, I’d be freaking out at least a little.

I could have sworn he was one of the soldiers at first, but someone noticed the ear thing. Like
elf
ears or something. We figured he was the leader, or at least one of them, though. Supersoldier or not, he’s gonna answer Etcher’s questions.

Something about this whole thing just doesn’t smell right to me, though....

Don’t let yourself get caught off guard. Focus.
You
have the gun, and the body armor, and he’s tied up and squinting a little from a black eye. And the soldiers... well, no way they’re getting out. And if they give up as easily as they did at the roundabout, we have nothing to worry about.

Then why am I sweating so hard?

The guy cranes his neck forward and rolls it back and forth, groaning a little. “So are we gonna play 20 Questions or not?” He looks at me like I’m keeping him from an appointment.

I make like I’m gonna bash his face in with my rifle, which I consider, and say, “Shut up.” I want to say something... intimidating... But that’s all that comes out. I hope he can’t tell.

He just leans back and rolls his shoulders a little.

Why does it feel like I’m the captive, here?

The door bangs open and in walks Etcher. His salt and pepper hair is still wet from outside and says, “Good, you’re finally conscious,” like, ‘what took you.’ He never was one to beat around the bush I guess....

“No thanks to you,” the guy says.

“Shut up, you’ll talk when I say,” Etcher says. He pulls up a metal chair. He sits in it backwards and faces the guy.

Thankfully the guy keeps his smarmy mouth shut and just looks at Etcher like he’s waiting to have this over with.

Etcher says, “What’s your name?”

“It’s James.”

“Okay, James, now maybe you’d like to tell me just where the hell you and four supersoldiers are headed to.”

James rolls his eyes—damn, does he have a death wish?—and says, “Well we
were
just passing through, sir, but wouldn’t you know it, something hung us up—”

“Answer the question.” It’s hard to ignore Etcher when he sounds like that.