Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (63 page)

Tiffany shook her head and looked away. “I need to talk to Boris. He and Travis were really close.”

“Tiff…”

“
What
, Cat?”

Frowning, Catalina said, “I think you just need to worry about yourself, right now. You’re worried about everyone else. These aren’t even your people.”

Tiffany looked at Catalina in disbelief. Slowly, her eyes narrowed. “My
people
? What in the hell do you mean by that?”

“Come on, Tiff, you know what I mean.”

“Back at
Richmond
, you were all crazy about being in Remington’s old unit, and now here you are, in his unit
now
, able to help
his
comrades, and you don’t even care.”

Catalina eyed Tiffany flatly. “I’m competitive. You know that. Remington was a challenge bar.”

“The Fourteenth is more than a challenge bar to me.” Tiffany’s eyes reddened. “They became my friends, as much as Charlie Squad. I saw these guys living together, I lived
with
them. They’re just like us.”

“You’re totally misunderstanding what I’m saying.”

Pushing up from her bed, Tiffany stepped past her friend as Catalina wheeled around in her wheelchair to keep pace. “I’m gonna fix that ship, and I’m gonna help the Fourteenth. They need a pilot, and I am one.”

Making a loud
ugh
sound, Catalina said, “Do you even care that Donald’s dead at all?”

With her back still to Catalina, Tiffany froze. Slowly, she pivoted back around.

“I’m sorry,” Catalina said quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”

“How dare you…”

Wheeling forward, Catalina reached out for her blond counterpart again. But Tiffany pulled her hand back. “Tiff, come on, you know I didn’t—”

“I was Donald’s friend, all right?” Tears shimmered again, though this time they were of anger. “Yes, I care that he’s dead! Did you really just ask me that?”

“Tiff…”

Tiffany pointed to herself. “I just spent
days
handcuffed to a man who saved my life, and now that man is dead. I’m sorry, I’m a little
affected
right now!” Her voice grew louder with every word.

“Okay,” said Catalina, “I think we both need some time to chill. Things are crazy, we’re both stressed.”

“You don’t even
know
what stress is! Did you lose your dad? Did you just jump out of a
freaking
plane?”

Jaw setting, Catalina looked away.

“My life is a
hell
!”

The Canadian erupted.
“Everything isn’t about you!”

At the comment, Tiffany blinked as if caught off guard. When her friend’s words finally sunk in, her expression fell heavy.

“This is
not
our team!” said Catalina, eyes shimmering as she pointed toward the far wall as if indicating something very distant. “We left our team in the Great Dismal Swamp. I’m talking about Major Tacker, and Frank, and Leslie, and Mark.” At the mention of Mark Peters’ name, her voice broke. Through trembling lips, she said, “Do you think you’re the only one dealing with loss? You lost someone you’ve known for a couple days. I lost…” Catalina made a fist, placing it against her mouth as if trying to hold herself back. Her unfinished words hung in the air.

“Cat…”

“I lost someone who meant a hell of a lot more to me than Travis could ever have meant to you.”

Tiffany closed her eyes and lowered her head.

“Not once have you asked me how I was doing in all this, how I was dealing with things. It’s been the
Tiffany Feathers Show
. And now I have to sit here in a wheelchair because I may never walk again, listening to you talk about how awful things are for
you
?”

“Cat, I—”

Catalina pointed at the door.
“Go!”
The volume of her voice made Tiffany jump. “Go fix your damn ship. I’ll just hang out here in my stress-free life.” Rolling back in her wheelchair, Catalina turned away.

Kneeling down on the floor, Tiffany covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it.”

“Just go.”

For several seconds, Tiffany stayed crouched on the floor, hands slid over her mouth as she stared at Catalina from behind—though the Canadian never made an effort to look back. Tears still shimmering, Tiffany said weakly, “I’m having a hard time right now. I’m sorry. I love you.” Looking down as her expression twisted, Tiffany waved her hand in front of her face, as if to stave the tears away. Standing up silently and without words, she hurried for the door.

“I love you, too,” Catalina said quietly.

Tiffany paused at the precipice of the door, her hand on the knob just as she was about to pull. Glancing back, she saw that Catalina’s head was still facing the other direction. But her awareness was felt. Tiffany said no more words as she pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall, closing it behind her with a quiet
click
.

She walked away alone.

*
      
*
      
*

Tom King stared down at the massive body bag before him. Though Tom’s dark eyes were glazed and reddened, his tears had long ceased falling, replaced by a silence that was as solemn as it was declarative. The soldier was angry. Angry at EDEN for betraying them. Angry for his cousin’s death. Donald deserved more than this. They all did.

The Alien War had never been of interest to Tom, despite the obvious ramifications that it held for humanity. And though he’d enlisted with EDEN years earlier, spending two entire years feigning things such as obedience and dedication, his military career was one more intended to keep him out of trouble and provide him with some sort of path than to actually
serve
. It was also not his idea, but his grandmother’s—and one did not, at all costs, go against
g-maw
. The law had been laid down, and the next thing Tom knew, he was donning a flashy silver and blue armor with “King” etched into its nameplate. Life could have been worse.

Tom knew he was selfish. From his perspective, there was only one person he’d ever met who was worth serving. Himself. He knew, to an extent, that he was a fake. To have made it this far, playing the right role for the right people was a necessary part of the game. But the game had always been just that—a game. Until now.

Unlike the others around him who’d found themselves in the predicament of
Northern Forge
, Tom wasn’t concerned with what his family would think when word of Falcon Platoon’s aligning with the Fourteenth broke out. At worst, they’d shrug their shoulders and swap quips about how they weren’t surprised that he’d landed into trouble, or how they’d seen it coming a mile away. At best, they might find it in some deep, dark corner of their heart to care to the faintest degree. But Tom didn’t care. Not about them, or what they thought, or how this affected them. Tom cared about Tom—and this had affected Tom deeply.

“Hey, man!”

Looking behind him, Tom watched as Javon approached, trotting through the hangar to where the young soldier stood.

“What you doin’?” Javon asked. “Been lookin’ all over for ya.”

There was no need to answer, and Tom didn’t. He simply returned his gaze to the body bag. Walking to Tom’s side, Javon went on.

“Hey—look at me, man.”

“I don’t want to look at you.”

Javon made a
tsch
sound. “Yeah, you do. Turn your head.” Tom complied reluctantly. “You know we gonna get ’em, right?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Tom said, “It ain’t gonna bring him back.”

“I ain’t said it was gonna bring no one back. But it’ll seal the deal wit’ you.”

“They shot him, man.” Tom shook his head in a manner that made it seem like he’d only barely accepted the words. “They shot him in the veckin’ face.” The fact that EDEN had shot Donald in return for Donald’s firing on them first was of no significance, at least not to Tom. A wrong was a wrong, regardless of the action that’d prompted it. “Man, what I’m supposed to do? You know he kept me straight.”

Looking down at the shorter soldier beside him, Javon paused for a moment, then said, “So keep yourself straight. Don’t you see what this is all about?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“We at war.” As the words sunk in and Tom’s lips pressed tighter together, Javon went on. “These boys we rollin’ with now, the Fourteenth…they got this all figured out.”

Tom shot Javon a stupid look. “Man, what you gonna learn from the Fourteenth? You ain’t seen what they got goin’ on? They in a worse place than us.”

“Hey,” said Javon, putting his hand on Tom’s shoulder and pivoting the soldier to face him. “We in this together, now. It’s you, and me, and them. Ain’t no one else left from the crew.” He punched Tom in that same shoulder. “We the pain, baby. Now it’s time to bring it.” The slender, afro-haired soldier nodded with assurance. “I get this Remington cat. He’s tryin’ to bring it all to the light. That’s what we gotta do.”

“Man, so what if we bring it to the light?” Tom asked. “It ain’t gonna bring Don back. It ain’t gonna bring Knight back, or Mott back.”

Javon only shook his head. “I ain’t said it would. But it’ll give their deaths meaning—and that means somethin’. But I’mma need you, King.” He held out his fist. “I got you?”

For several seconds, Tom offered no response. He simply stared down at the body bag, as he had for so long before Javon walked into the hangar.

“C’mon, T, don’t leave me hangin’.”

Looking almost resigned, Tom hit Javon’s fist with a lazy one of his own. “You got me.”

“Look at me.”

“Why I always gotta be lookin’ at you?”

With a voice that was completely focused, Javon said, “It’s time to be men.”

Turning his head ever so slowly, Tom looked his friend in the eyes. After a moment of stillness, the shorter soldier nodded his head. “All right.”

“Training begins now,” Javon said, taking a step backward as his departure began. “Let’s bring ’em somethin’.” Pivoting around, Javon made his way toward the double doors and out of the hangar.

For a final time, Tom turned his eyes upon the bag containing Donald Bell. With his reddened eyes gone and his emotions poured out, he had nothing left to give his cousin other than purpose to his death. Purpose to his name. Sucking in a long, steady breath through his nostrils, Tom placed his hand against the bottom of the bag, where the demolitionist’s foot could be felt beneath it. “I love you, cuz.”

That was the extent of Tom’s eulogy for his fallen. There were no prayers, no spoken reflections, no vows of vengeance. Just a parting expression of love. Donald would be the only one receiving Tom’s love for a long time. Taking a step back, Tom broke his gaze away from the body bag and focused on the double doors through which that Javon had just disappeared. Without looking back, Tom followed the same path.

*
      
*
      
*

Out.

That was the only place Catalina wanted to be. Out. From the moment Falcon Platoon had been shot down over the Great Dismal Swamp, the girl her teammates called “Hellcat” had been a girl confined—literally and figuratively. The loss of function in her left leg, when combined with the time spent in a prison cell in Krasnoyarsk, then the medical bay at
Northern Forge
, had given the Canadian rocker the worst case of cabin fever she’d ever felt. The sudden need for beds in the medical bay for those injured at
Hami Station
had been somewhat of a blessing, tragedy of the dead and injured aside. It meant that Catalina, regardless of the progress of her recovery, was forced out of the medical bay by necessity. As far as Gavriil was concerned, Catalina had a wheelchair and a plaster cast. She was good to roll away.

And roll, she would.

Despite the outward severity of her conversation with Tiffany, their spat wasn’t something that was hanging heavily on her mind. She and Tiffany had gotten into heated arguments before—such was life with a roommate, as they’d been at
Philadelphia
Academy. That this brief one had been among their most cutting was a testament only to the high-pressure situation they’d suddenly been thrust into. She and her bestie would be fine.

And so out Catalina went, not in search of Tiffany or anyone else in particular, but simply to roam the base that she’d been living in for several days but had yet to explore to any real degree. It was nice to get out and about, even if it wasn’t on two legs. She was already in terrific shape, handicap aside, so pushing the wheelchair along was something she quickly became accustomed to. As long as her extended leg stayed out of harm’s way, she could speed right along.

Her exploration began on Level-3, the heart of
Northern Forge
, with its auditorium, conference room, cafeteria, and lounge—among other small rooms sprinkled here and there. It was fascinating, but busy, and she quickly found herself more an obstacle for others to dodge than a carefree, free-wheeling explorer. She didn’t linger there, quickly opting to take the elevator down to Level-2, base storage. It was there, somewhere in the middle of the grid-like labyrinth of storage rooms, that Catalina became lost.

For as simple a layout as Level-2 was, with rooms clearly identifiable as for armor, weaponry, general storage, and other things, it was surprisingly difficult to gather one’s bearings after several turns had been made. With no clear signs pointing to the elevator, Catalina found herself on several occasions passing one of the same rooms she’d seen, with no idea how she’d looped back around to it. Too embarrassed to ask for directions—and not entirely sure she’d be able to decipher the Russian answers, anyway—she opted to wander until she found the right way to go. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

It also didn’t help that Level-2 was deceptively large. It seemed much larger than Level-3, which, despite its variety of rooms, was pretty straightforward. And so the Canadian rocker wheeled on, half-exploratory, half-panicked, keeping her eyes peeled for both new things and the elevator, which she intended to make a beeline for when she found it.