Bound to Ashes (The Altered Sequence Book 1) (8 page)

Ashton listens in silence and nods slightly. “Okay.”

“That’s it, ‘okay’?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Alright.”

I wonder if it’s possible to completely convince yourself of something just by saying it aloud. The more you say it, the more you believe it.
But maybe it’s just not real enough yet for me to see it’s a trap.

“Hey, so,” Alessandra glances over her shoulder at us. “Is this the place?”

Our attentions snap to the bridge, a red and rusted metal lattice over the dry riverbed. “That’s it,” I call to her. I jog ahead, Ashton at my heels at barely a fast walk. I pass Alessandra and tell her, “Stay here.” I am only one-hundred-percent certain about a few things in life. One of them is that Cain shoots first and asks questions later.

We approach the bridge and immediately someone scrambles up the dusty dirt banks and stands angrily in front of us. Jules reaches out and jabs me in the shoulder before I can get a word in.

“Hey, ow, Jules....”

“Don’t ‘ow, Jules’ me! We were worried sick, Dev! Or at least I was, can’t speak for Scruffy, but damn! I oughta give you a brain aneurism!” She’s in my face and jabbing two fingers at my forehead to illustrate her point.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say.

Cain climbs up the bank after her a bit more gracefully and doesn’t say anything for a moment. A purplish green bruise spreads across his cheek and a cut scabs on his forehead. Dried blood still sticks to his short blond hair. Then, “Who’s that.” I shouldn’t have expected any sympathy from him. I’ve never heard his voice so low and loathing. He looks naked without his rifle, which somehow makes him seem more dangerous. Unpredictable.

Jules leans over and stares straight at Alessandra: a small shape standing alone in the bright desert. Jules looks at her, looks at us, back to Alessandra, and says, “What the hell is going on? Is that a....”

“It’s a long story.”

Alessandra has enough sense to walk a few yards in front of us like before. Have to give her credit for that.

The walk to the human base takes about a half day if we don’t stop for the night. I have a feeling she’ll need to stop, though. She’s been walking slower and slower as the sky gets darker. I hope she doesn’t suggest we stop. I can’t stomach the thought of anything... happening. Every time she opens her mouth is another opportunity for something to go wrong. Cain is particularly harder to predict. That glare he wears is set in stone. And I’ve seen him whip out his rifle (which Ashton grudgingly gave back), aim, and pull the trigger in less than two seconds flat. Guess I’m pretty jumpy.

“Hey,” Alessandra calls over her shoulder, stopping. “Should we make camp...?”

Dammit.

My friends all glance at me, and all at once I hate them for leaving the decision up to me. There’s a price to pay for playing shepherd, I guess. Alessandra looks hopeful.

“...Sure.”
 

Breaking camp means making a fire. I stare down at the pile of planks and dead branches, getting lost in the shadows and shapes.

Jules makes a ‘brr’ sound and says, “Getting kind of chilly out here, isn’t it,” to no one in particular.

Fine. I snatch up a branch, narrow my eyes at Jules (who returns the favor) and turn around. I figured out that if I light a branch away from the fire, it’s less nerve-wracking. It’s just... smaller. I spit a little fuel on the branch and the fire grabs on and claws greedily at it, like a starving animal. A slight miscalculation— the fuel drips onto my hand. I turn and jam it under the pile of kindling, sit down, and flick the fuel off myself into the fire.

As I sit down, Alessandra says from the other side of the fire, “Um, Dev?”

Everyone looks at her like they forgot she was here. “What?” I snap.

“You’ve got, um....” she touches her chin, staring me in the face.

I reach up and my fingers come away fiery. I flick the remaining bits of fire away.

Alessandra stares relentlessly at me.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry,” she says quickly, but she doesn’t look away. She curls her legs in tighter and looks like a shadow, observing us from outside the circle.

“And that’s why Dev can’t grow a beard,” Jules announces with a grin I want to snatch right off her face.

The cold is already noticeable. The dusty ground doesn’t hold its warmth very long. Our fire is the only light around for miles. It’s a good thing we built it up between two huge houses, or else I’d worry about being seen. But then again, by whom? I still feel like I shouldn’t let my guard down. This world is full of hidden things.

Everyone else has pulled out food while I’ve been spacing out. Except Alessandra, who’s probably too nervous to eat. The way she glances between us... do we scare her? The thought makes me lose my appetite. Before today, it wouldn’t have fazed me. I’d have been happy to scare as many humans as it took for them to leave us alone. But Alessandra is different. Somehow, I have to get everyone to not want to kill her. Or at least not care one way or the other what happens to her. One tiny step at a time....

“Who’s taking first shift?” Cain asks flatly, hucking the empty can down the alley. It clanks and echoes and the sound dissipates in the thick air.

“I will.” I can tell sleep is far away for me, anyway.

“I’ll get second,” Jules says, yawning. “I could use a nap, anyway.”

As everyone leans against the houses, Alessandra is the last to settle. She keeps glancing between everyone, but purposefully avoiding looking at me.

Maybe this whole thing was a horrible idea.

Two hours after my watch shift should have ended, Jules stirs. She rolls over and shoves a stray strand of hair out of her face. She mumbles, “You’re still up?”

“Yup.”

“I swear,” she says, pushing on the ground and sitting upright. She doesn’t need to finish her sentence, I know what she means. ‘I swear, you’re the most screwed up person.’ ‘I swear, how can you even function?’

“Want some help?” She asks.

“No. I’ll be fine. And your sleep always feels... weird.”

“But you need it. I know how much you
don’t
sleep. It’s not healthy.” Regular Jules is annoying at times, but serious-Jules is even worse.

I exhale through my nose and say, “Fine. But try to make it light, okay? No freaky dreams.”

“That isn’t up to me,” she says, smiling. “Now chill.”

I lean against the house behind me and Jules reaches out with two fingers. As soon as they touch my forehead, I wince, and sleep threatens me like a thick blanket. Smothering.

[Jules]

The reticular activating system is a weird place. Kind of right above the brainstem, where it meets the fleshy bits of the brain, but not too far down. Too far down and it’s dreamland for life. It’s always kind of weird, mucking around in brains, and there’s always a risk of making the target a vegetable. But I can never tell Dev. Not with all the times I’ve had to be a forceful lullaby.

A memory bludgeons its way in, and I wince. It’s not mine. Has something to do with a big orange target, and an intercom, and wow, my chest hurts all of a sudden.... Jeez, Dev. How can you stand being in that brain all the time?

His tired eyes are shut hard and his sleeping face doesn’t look peaceful, but at least he’s sleeping. The nights where he sleeps are always the best, as long as there aren’t any nightmares.

Sometimes I feel bad for not having nightmares like he does. Like I’m not getting my fair share. Considering all the shit I’ve done, I should be glad I don’t get them. Thanks for blocking all that out, brain. I appreciate it. The waking memories are enough.

“Hey,” a voice says.

I jump, but damn, it’s just the human. I am
so
not used to hearing another female voice. It almost doesn’t sound real. I’ve been surrounded by testosterone too long.

She’s awake, sitting straight-backed and alert. Kind of gives me the creeps.

“Shouldn’t you be, you know, sleeping? Humans sleep, right?”

“What did you do, just then?” She asks, gesturing to Dev.

I narrow my eyes. Thanks for ignoring my question. “I put him to sleep. Not like a dog, but, well you know.”

She smiles and says, “Does he need that a lot?”

“Oh you have no idea. You know how some animals sleep all winter? Yeah, well, Dev’s like the opposite.”

“I bet it’s hard, though,” she says. “I mean... you guys haven’t really had it easy.”

Oh, how nice of her to consider us. I should show her the .45 bullet exit wound in my gut. “That’s one word for it.”

“How do you do it, anyway?”

“Do what?
Live
?”

“No, I mean, your ability.”

“Oh,” I say, flexing my hands. “One of life’s mysteries.”

She furrows her brow and sniffs a little, leaning back. Guess that’s not enough for her. If she was smart she’d think twice about being rude to us. Maybe she thinks we’ll bond or something because we’re both
girls
. So if she wants to know, I’ll tell her.

“I was initially designed to be an undercover agent specifically utilized for luring and disabling major figures of the other side. You know. Assassin-prostitute style. One touch and they’re brain-dead. Or their lungs and heart paralyzed. Never got into the line of duty, but I’ve killed more people than I can count in training. They started calling me Death Row.”

Her eyes hover on me defiantly. She’s not scared of me. If she’s got guts enough to kill Heydrich that makes sense. But she’s a pretty
smart
human, because she knows to keep her mouth shut. She looks away, finally. When she’s not talking or looking at me I can pretend she’s not even here.

What the hell is Dev thinking?

The sleeping jerk finally looks less conflicted about sleep and has finally accepted it. But he won’t look so content if this plan goes wrong. I trust his instincts usually... but we’ll see where it takes us this time.

It’s not like we have anything else going on.

I stare out the alley and down the empty desert and try not to think about nervous systems and Cad Tech. But it’s hard not to think about those assholes. Our creators, our captives, our shadows that won’t ever leave. I just wanna say good riddance, but oh no. Some memories are too hardwired for even me to forget.

The Alessandra human is finally looking like she might be asleep. Letting her guard down. Careless, or trusting? Or just plain stupid. I laugh silently. Who’s worse, the stupid one, or the freaks that follow?

We’ll just have to see what happens.

7
• broken bread

[James]

“Nervous?”

I stop drumming my fingers on my crossed arms and look over at Peregrine, who’s looking smug. It doesn’t suit her.

“No.”

“You
look
nervous,” she says as she leans back in her chair. She’s always trying to be some kind of armchair psychologist. Oh, you
look
nervous. Bite me. Soon Aless will be here (God, I hope she’ll be here soon) and we can get this shit over with.

This is another one of those post-normal-life moments. Sitting on the roof of a multibillion dollar company headquarters, watching for someone on the horizon. I never used to climb buildings. That kind of shit used to be weird. First it was climbing cars and buildings, rifling through supermarkets, now apparently it’s killing people. That’s why I joined the navy; you get shoved on a boat and fix things, you never get shipped to where the action is.

Just44 look at us now.

“She’s taking too long.”

“She’ll be back in no time,” Peregrine says.

“Based on what?” She’s always talking about shit she doesn’t know like it’s fact. Alessandra went alone, barely armed, with limited resources. But that’s just the beginning. I’m more worried about the... things that she’s meeting with. They’d rather see her dead than anything. The one she caught, the grey one, with those
eyes
, he looked ready to blow up at any second. I know an unstable person when I see them. Alessandra has always been too trusting.

“Alessandra is a few things,” Peregrine says. Damn, it’s like she reads my mind sometimes. She counts on her fingers, “One, she’s young and fit as a horse. Two, crazy as all getout. Three, she never gives up, even when she probably should. So, like a batshit crazy mare.”

So what does that say about the one dating the crazy mare? If I said it aloud, she’d kill me. “Fine,” I say just to get her to stop. She’ll have to forgive me if I still think this plan is going to end in violent, catastrophic failure.

“I don’t blame you, but try to have a little more faith. Or at least optimism. It’s good for you. Maybe ease up those frown-lines of yours.”

“Optimism is idealism.”

For a while, there’s only the sound of the wind whipping past us and the occasional click of Peregrine’s rifle settling as she shifts positions. The horizon doesn’t change, either. Every wild shift in the heat ripples or dark shape of a mirage I think is her— it never is.

“I read a really good article back when the Internet still existed,” Peregrine says out of nowhere. Like most of the stuff she says. “About someone who was in the middle of a freak explosion or bombing or something. And she said something that I really like— we’re all really good at one thing: not dying. Like, ‘if you’re reading this right now, chances are you’re not dead, therefore good at not dying.’”

“So?”

“What I’m getting at is some people are
better
at not dying.” She smiles confidently. “And Alessandra is one of those people.”

Peregrine deliberately looks over important details that don’t sit right with her. Fucking idealist. “Okay, but remember what Vinder said? About the one in the white room?” Still can’t believe Vinder volunteered to be the first to go in there. The stupid kid has guts where it counts, I guess.

“Specifically, what? The metal skin, the eyes...?”

“I was going for ‘breathing fire’, actually.”

She laughs softly. She reaches back and slips a hair tie off her wrist and works on re-tying her thick mane of black, corded hair. “Yeah, I remember that. He wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Still hasn’t.” If he runs his mouth around the supersoldiers like he does around us, we won’t have to listen to it anymore, at least.

“Remember what else he said, though?” She says.

“What.”

“The supersoldier looked
scared
,” Peregrine says, putting annoying emphasis on it. Wow, what an amazing discovery, Peregrine, he was scared? Good job. “They’re as vulnerable as we are.”

“Yeah, vulnerable. Hopped up on genetic modifications and sprinting for miles after being shot.”

“You know what I mean, James.” There’s that condescending motherly tone Peregrine has perfected.

“You can’t tell me you’re not even slightly worried about this whole thing. Teaming up with them.”

“I mean,” she says, reconsidering, but still not yielding, “sort of. We’ll see what happens when they get here.”

“If they get here.”

“When.” Stubborn jerk.

It’s hard to remember that Peregrine used to be an engineer. Or at least the closest any of us got to being an engineer— an intern. So no wonder she’s all buddy-buddy with Alessandra. Not many people nowadays have friends from before the virus. They say that the human brain has limits to how much it can process, and I’m thankful. Trying to personalize every death the virus brought would make anyone go crazy.

It strikes me all of a sudden that our whole community is nothing but underqualified staff. Software testers working the mushroom garden. Interns and heiresses running a multibillion-dollar government funded underground ecosystem. Navy dropouts playing commander. I’m amazed we’ve lasted this long. Maybe Alessandra’s ‘really-good-at-not-dying’ is rubbing off on us. The thought makes me smile and shake my head.

“What?” Peregrine says.

“Nothing.”

“Heard anything from the walkie lately?”

I roll my eyes. She’d have heard it, too. I unclip the long-range walkie talkie from my belt and it’s as quiet as ever. “She probably hasn’t been using it.” It’s the same walkie I pulled off the body of one of Heydrich’s men, after I tossed their bodies in an alley. Vultures gotta eat, too. The walkie still feels weirdly sinister in my hands, though, like it has a secret, or resents its new owner.

Then it spits out some white noise and a voice says, “Osprey Nest, this is Fledgeling, do you read me?”

If I weren’t so surprised I would have laughed. Peregrine gets to her walkie first and says with a grin, “Aless, this is Pere, I don’t think we need to use code-names anymore, over.”

“Hey Pere, can’t be too careful. I’m on my way back. Should be back to Nest in oh-four— um— whatever, like, an hour or so. Over.”

“Why haven’t you said anything before?” I say into the walkie.

“James, that you? Haven’t got a chance to so far. I’m on a bathroom break right now, it’s the only chance I have. Sorry. See you soon.”

“Wait, Aless!” But it’s too late, she probably turned it off by now. “Dammit.”

“See, I told you she’s fine,” Peregrine says. “An hour or so!”

If she’s on her way so soon... wait a second. “Does everyone else know they’re coming?”

“Um,” Peregrine says. “Yes?”

“
Great
,” I say. It’s going to be a long day. The atheist in me knows this plan is destined for failure, but the part of me that wants God to listen hopes otherwise.

“You have to have heard about them before, though. Articles about CadTech and the whole controversy, right?”

“Duh,” Peregrine says, lazily looking into the distance and absently fiddling with the strap on her rifle.

“And you’re not
worried
about it?”

She thinks for a second, scratches her ear, and says, “I trust Alessandra, let’s put it that way.” She glares at me and adds, “Don’t gimme that look. We’ll be fine. We have them outnumbered ten to one.”

“Like that’ll stop them from going berserk.”

“Dude, they’re not going to go
berserk
—”

“I’m just saying, it’s happened before. That one that actually escaped once, remember? Downtown? Ran around Jackson Street, freaking out, he killed something like four people.”

“Yeah, but you have to think,” Peregrine says, leaning forward. “That’s like expecting an escaped zoo tiger to act like a house cat. He was probably scared out of his wits.”

“So then how are
these
going to react? They’ve had eight years to develop a nice hatred for us. Thanks to Heydrich.”

“Quit worrying about that guy. You of all people.”

I still remember how difficult it was to put the needle in his neck. Guy was tough as rock. I shudder. I force images of the needle out of my mind.

“And look,” Peregrine continues, and I’m gonna hate what comes out of her mouth next. “Really sorry you’re all paranoid about this, but if Alessandra can single-handedly plan and execute a mutiny against Heydrich, then I think she can handle this.”

Arguing with Peregrine about anything is usually pointless, so I just fold my arms and lean back in the folding chair. I can’t stop thinking about that supersoldier that escaped, though. I must’ve been twenty-two at the time, because I remember sharing a bunk with some other guys who just wouldn’t stop talking about the damn thing. Kept on saying the supersoldiers would replace us. Why join the army when you can just
grow
soldiers? Save the actual people and send the lab-made ones overseas to die. Oh, maybe because they cost eighteen billion dollars to make, dumbass. We’re pretty fuckin’ cheap compared to that. And they all laughed while I just imagined some monster tearing apart innocent people.

I hope Peregrine is as right as she thinks she is.

“Wake up, stupid, look!” Peregrine’s elbow jabbing on my arm wakes me up. I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off.

“What?! Jeez....”

“Look!” She points ahead.

I stand up and go to the edge of the roof. I cup the binoculars to my eyes. “Well I’ll be damned.”

It takes a second to focus, but there’s a group of figures heading this way. I count five altogether. One of them is
huge
— or I guess just tall, but damn. I recognize the one from the white room, too, and others that look relatively normal from here. But it’s so distorted from the heat. Alessandra is leading them, walking in front, not even looking behind her. I laugh. She’s
safe
.

“I told myself I’d never tell anyone, ‘I told you so’, but I think I’m going to make an exception today,” Peregrine says.

I can’t believe it. This is actually happening. “Let’s go prep everyone. It’s gonna be a madhouse.”

[Dev]

“We’re about a half-hour out, guys,” Alessandra calls behind her.

Again, she forgets we can hear better than she can. That walkie talkie conversation must have been full volume. It shouldn’t surprise me that she brought one with her.

“We know.”

Her stride catches for a moment, but she continues.

“So how many humans are there total?” Cain asks me. His hands haven’t left the rifle since we woke up this morning. Always ready to fire, always the good marksman.

“I think she said 50.”

“That’s too many,” Cain says, as if that’s the end of it.

“Too many for what?”

He looks at me with those burning blue eyes and says, “To take on, if we have to.”

“That won’t happen. So just... relax.”

“How do you know?” Jules says, not because she’s siding with Cain, but probably just to create interesting conversation.

“Well I don’t know for
sure
....”

“We’re acting on blind faith,” Ashton says. “It’s no different than the rest of our lives.”

Good point. Nothing has ever been certain. The revolt against CadTech—unplanned. Fleeing from the only world we knew—definitely improvised. We didn’t know if we could survive without the CadTech personnel, but we knew if we stayed, we’d be killed. Overhearing guards talk, they said ‘preemptive damage control’ over and over, and what else could that mean? And why should this be any different? We can’t survive out here anymore, so we’re making the most logical choice for survival.

...Right?

Then Cain strides forward to catch up with Alessandra and the knot in my gut tightens. I join them, if only just to be there in case Cain does anything crazy.