Daybreak (20 page)
“Three minutes till the tail truck drives up,” she barked. “Go now. Finish this!”
She met Zhara and Miranda at the rear of the truck. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but the early gunfire had muddled their precision. With rain pelting down, they each grabbed corners of the filthy flaps. Miranda leveled her semiautomatic. On a silent count of three, they hauled back the tarp.
But Miranda didn’t fire. Her plain features went slack. Pen realized why when she looked inside.
The truck was empty.
And in the distance, far sooner than she’d expected, came another pair of headlights.
TWENTY
“Something’s wrong,” Bethany whispered.
The lion agreed. There should be young on the ground, with the rest ready to fight. Instead they looked unsettled. Then one female rallied. She gave orders for the others to hide, leaving the first truck abandoned in the middle of the road.
Good plan
. Like leaving a carcass for curious animals to examine. Exactly what these humans did.
. Like leaving a carcass for curious animals to examine. Exactly what these humans did.
Through the downpour, his ears pricked up at the sound of cursing as doors slammed. Men with guns crept around, but maybe they believed the threat was over—that the enemy had hit and run. Weapons hung from their hands as they performed a halfhearted search.
One of them said, “O’Malley will have our asses if we lose this truck. Smith, you take over the driving.”
“At least it worked,” Smith replied. “They went for the decoy instead of the—”
But before he could finish the sentence, he hit the ground on a flash of silver magic. His Tru half recognized that color as Pen’s distinct shimmer. Only the magic was stronger, more violent. While the other guards stared into the sheets of rain, two shots rang out. Pen’s team broke from cover to finish the job. The lion’s muscles bunched, ready to protect her.
He could see, however, by her competent performance that she didn’t need a bodyguard. The woman fought with both weapons and magic. Who could stand against her? The big cat rumbled in his throat, mane fluffed with pride.
The fight took no time at all. Bethany signaled for her team to emerge from the bushes, while Pen gave orders about siphoning gas. There was no use for such huge trucks on the island, and no way to get them there. The Children’s Mission didn’t need them either. Instead they would sit as a warning to O’Malley until they fell to pieces in the road.
“Change now,” Bethany ordered, placing his clothes on his back.
As one, the girls turned to give him the illusion of privacy. The lion grumbled as it went, disappointed that it hadn’t chased, clawed, or mauled anything.
Tru scrambled into his clothes as the girls pushed forward. Slaves clambered from the back of the second truck. Most were thin and weak, and over half of them were children. The tall woman from the island, Zhara, moved among the adults offering reassurance. She explained about the camp and offered invitations to join up.
“You can come with us now,” she said. “Or you can make your own way. From this day on, you’re free.”
Most recognized that they had no hope of staying that way without help and a safe place to recover, so they went with her. Bethany took the same role with the kids. A few stayed with parents who had been in the truck, but the majority clustered around the six girls. Many were crying but quietly, as if they’d learned that noisy tears didn’t earn comfort. Only punishment.
Pen had yet to notice him. She was talking to a bald man who used his hands as much as his mouth when he spoke. But as if she sensed Tru’s presence, she turned. Rain sluiced down her face, her skin luminous. Not moonlight—not on such a night. She always looked that way, even at high noon. She shone with magic and the pure enthusiasm of a successful operation.
Before he knew he meant to move, Tru wove through the press of bodies.
So many prisoners.
His anger at General O’Malley swelled to intolerable proportions. Now that he’d seen the thin, grimy faces of the children wedged like sardines in the back of a truck, he
had
to fight. Even if he hadn’t felt this incomprehensible pull toward Pen, he couldn’t walk away. He had two compelling reasons to stay.
So many prisoners.
His anger at General O’Malley swelled to intolerable proportions. Now that he’d seen the thin, grimy faces of the children wedged like sardines in the back of a truck, he
had
to fight. Even if he hadn’t felt this incomprehensible pull toward Pen, he couldn’t walk away. He had two compelling reasons to stay.
As he strode toward the witch, Penelope Sheehan, he felt no fear. At some point during the long weeks of brooding and digging post-holes, he’d said goodbye to the past. He could start again.
We’re never going to the plains,
the lion thought. But the complaint held no bite. The animal, too, found it revolting that cubs should be treated this way, instead of being taught to hunt and fed fresh meat.
the lion thought. But the complaint held no bite. The animal, too, found it revolting that cubs should be treated this way, instead of being taught to hunt and fed fresh meat.
Pen met him halfway. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”
“I had something to do.”
“What’s that?” Her deep blue eyes were wary.
Without asking permission, he kissed her. This wasn’t the time for words. He’d find his poetry later.
“Cut the lights,” the bald man said.
The road went dark and the engines died as Pen’s crew followed her orders, stealing gas and stripping valuable parts.
Bethany stepped lightly to Tru’s side, her eyes inquiring. “Are you going back to the mission with us?”
“Do you need me to?”
“We’ve only done this a hundred times, Tru. It’s best we get these little ones home, though, before they really start wailing.”
“They always do,” Gretchen muttered. “Once they realize we won’t beat them for it.”
He arched a brow. “You girls have been . . . enlightening.”
The scouts couldn’t retreat as silently as they’d arrived, not with so many charges in tow. But it was amazing how quickly the rain swallowed them. Before long, only he and Pen remained amid a swirl of activity. He couldn’t make out her expression, whether she was happy to see him or just surprised.
“Would you like me to come back?” he asked. “No deals. Just yes or no.”
“Yes.” Her answer came with flattering quickness. But maybe she only craved his company because he saw her as a real person. Because he challenged her and made her think, instead of bowing at her feet.
Well, if that was all she needed from him or all she wanted, he’d deal with it. With or without Pen, this was a worthy fight. And sure, it was laughable to cast himself in the role of hero, but if he could keep a few more kids from the backs of trucks like these, then it was worth stepping up.
“Orders?” The bald man came up to Pen once the work concluded.
“Reynard, yes,” she said, giving him her attention. “Nice work. But who fired first?”
“Jack. His machine gun jammed and went off once he got it unstuck.”
“But we recovered. Good.” She let out a sigh that Tru heard as relief. “Now we’ll return to the island with our new charges.”
Zhara came to stand beside Tru. “What about him?”
“
He
can speak for himself,” Tru said.
He
can speak for himself,” Tru said.
Dark eyes assessed him and found him wanting. “I’m sure.”
Pen slicked wet hair off her forehead and tugged her cloak into place. The glow of her confidence was . . . intoxicating. “He’ll be joining us.”
“After he left you?” Zhara shook her head in disapproval.
“I was helping at the mission.” That wasn’t the reason Tru had gone, but Zhara didn’t need to know that.
“Oh?”
Tru presented callused hands. “I’ve been digging for two weeks.”
Hearing that softened Zhara’s expression. “That was kind. I may have misjudged both of you.”
Inwardly, he bristled. Had the woman been giving Pen a hard time? He opened his mouth to tear her a new asshole, but Pen put her hand on his arm. The pleasure of her touch ran through him until tense muscles eased. The lion wanted to rub his face all over her legs, but Tru decided it wouldn’t be appropriate. He restrained the urge. Just.
“Let’s move out,” Pen said.
The others followed her off the road and quite a long distance to the beach. It was almost sunrise when Tru glimpsed two sailboats rocking out on the rain-chopped waves.
We’re in for a hell of a storm.
He shaded his eyes, trying to judge whether the crafts would hold all of them.
We’re in for a hell of a storm.
He shaded his eyes, trying to judge whether the crafts would hold all of them.
“I think we can manage.” Zhara was studying the boats, too. “But it will take a long time if we row everyone out. Can all of you swim?”
The prisoners were tired and starved, but they all nodded. They were willing to work for their own liberty; Tru couldn’t object to that. He eyed the thunderclouds and sheets of rain that dimmed the dawn. Although the gales had subsided, a turbulent sea could be disastrous. Yet they couldn’t stand on the beach all day, and the Children’s Mission was hours in the other direction.
Pen did a head count. “Sound off by ones and twos. Then divide up. The rowboats each have enough room for the six smallest and weakest. Decide among yourselves.” Once the group had split up, she pointed to the bald man. “Reynard will captain the first boat, with Miranda as his second. Make sure you have everyone when you climb aboard, and then signal me. We’ll come after you.”
Zhara tossed her an inquiring look.
“It seems best not to have all the bodies floundering in the water at once,” Pen said. “If somebody runs into trouble, it will be harder to spot.”
“Good thinking.”
“Jack will captain the second boat with Zhara.”
The first group swam out without mishap and prepared their craft for the journey. Tru didn’t relish the ocean, but he’d do what he could to keep these people safe. One of the freed captives was a young woman with a kid around six or seven. Perhaps some pervert would have bought the pair for unspeakable purposes. He clenched his fists and tried not to think about all the kids they hadn’t saved. Yet.
No way she could make the swim while carrying her son. And the rowboats had already departed.
“I’ll take him,” he said quietly. “He can ride on my back.”
“Mama?”
“I’ll be right there with you,” she said, touching her son’s cheek with heartbreaking tenderness.
Pen touched his arm. “Are you a strong enough swimmer to do this?”
“I wouldn’t have volunteered if I wasn’t.”
Tru knelt so the boy could piggyback, then waded into the water. With a child in his care, he couldn’t manage long, quick strokes. Instead he dog-paddled, riding the waves whenever possible. Neither fast nor elegant, he cut the distance to his assigned ship as best he could. The others quickly outpaced him. He just wanted to get the boy back to his mother in one piece, without saddling the kid with a crippling fear of the water.
By the time Tru arrived, the others had already climbed a rope ladder to the deck. Except Pen. She treaded water beside the boat. Her presence warmed him. Maybe she wasn’t even waiting for Tru. Her care might be for the boy, or as simple as “no man left behind
.
”
.
”
“You made it!” the boy’s mother called.
Excited, the kid let go of Tru’s neck and kneed into his back, pushing upright. Not a smart move.
A wave smashed Tru at just the wrong time, slamming him into the hull. His head went sick and spotty. He managed to shove the boy onto the rope ladder before being dragged under. The current spun him, and then he was under the fucking boat, so dizzy he couldn’t remember which way led to light and air. Salt water pushed into his nose and throat, burning, choking.
Someone grabbed him by the arm. He had sense enough not to fight. Pen pulled him to the surface, where he spat and tried to clear his head. Her skin shone silver amid dark waves. When he rubbed a hand across his face, his fingers were slicked red with blood. Not quite a broken nose, but it hurt like hell.
“Let’s get on board” was all she said.
But her eyes said a hundred other things—relief, determination, and even more he didn’t dare assume—and he said it all back.
TWENTY-ONE
Sky blended with ocean. Pen scrabbled at the boat tossed on the waves. Rough streaks of distant lightning illuminated the panicked faces of its passengers, but only for brief seconds. The bright imprint lingered on her retinas even when the dark returned.
The ladder was slippery despite the rough rope. She tugged her weight out of the water, dragging hard against the pull of the sea. Her cloak hung around her neck like an anchor. Another jagged strike lit the sky in a flash of white. Looking up, she estimated another two meters of rope left to climb. Tru needed her to move. He was treading water just to her left, probably in need of medical attention.
A face hovered over the side of the boat. The shadows and sleeting rain obscured the man’s features. But the glint of pale metal was unmistakable. She couldn’t discern whether he held a knife or gun, only a quick warning of malice.
I’m going to die.
The living world slipped away with a quickflash bang. And then she was back in the water. She didn’t hit with a splash—simply wound up there.
Teleported. I could be anywhere. How far . . . ?
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