Epic: Book 03 - Hero (23 page)

“
Stay as long as your obligations permit. Find out all that you can.
Novosibirsk
is a threat we can’t afford.”

“
As you wish.”

“
That’s all for now.”

Blake acknowledged and the view screen went blank.

For several moments, Archer simply sat there, his arms folded as he stared at the blank screen. Eventually, his gaze moved to the conch lamps that provided the room’s dim illumination. “Carol June, you sour little witch. Come to the light.”

13

Wednesday, November 9
^th
, 0011 NE

1342 hours

That same day

Scott rarely visited the infirmary—for any reason. A certain uncomfortable feeling accompanied him whenever he was forced to make the trip—one unmatched by anyplace else. He recalled his own time there after his first mission in Siberia with the Fourteenth. He knew how confining it felt to be restricted to a bed. It was like being in a prison cell.

Two days had passed since he’d attempted to visit Jayden. This was the day they’d instructed him to return. Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen the Texan since Krasnoyarsk, he had received several updates through Svetlana. Those were the only times when he and her had talked.

According to Svetlana, the surgeon had awakened Jayden from his multi-day slumber, sadly, alone. Jayden learned of his condition not through the gentle words of Varvara or any other friend, but from the man who’d removed his left eye.

He had broken bones over his body. In a strange twist of fate, however, none of the breaks were major. Considering the fall he’d taken, it was a sheer miracle. Had he no other problems, a full recovery could have been expected in a matter of months. But unfortunately, broken bones were the least of his concerns.

His face had been torn apart by his visor. A local cosmetic surgeon had come to base specifically to stitch him up. Supposedly, this was Jayden’s first day without his face wrapped up in bandages. Though Scott hadn’t yet seen him, according to Svetlana the surgeon had done very well. But the truth could not be denied: he’d never look the same again.

Then there was his vision.

Scott had specifically asked Svetlana to refrain from describing the gritty details. Scott had overcome his initial queasiness when it came to blood and grown accustomed to seeing gruesome things on the battlefield, but the fact that it was Jayden made the subject taboo. Scott wanted the gist of things and nothing more.

Jayden’s right eye, after all, had fared unexpectedly well. It was being treated with antibiotics and something Svetlana called a
cycloplegic
to reduce inflammation. He’d need to wear an eye patch for a few days, but the outlook was optimistic after that. At that point, the members of the Fourteenth would take any degree of optimism they could get.

That was all Scott knew when he walked into the infirmary. He was aware of the fact that, no matter how prepared he was to see Jayden for the first time, reality was liable to shock him. What he saw when he entered the room made him cringe. The Texan looked like a mummy. His entire body, save his face, was wrapped in plaster casting. He was thoroughly immobilized.

His face looked like a swollen patchwork quilt—a labyrinth of stitches and puffy, discolored skin. Both his right eye and vacant left socket were covered with patches, leaving him effectively blind as he was. Had Scott not known it was Jayden beforehand, he’d have never recognized him upon entering the room.

Walking to the edge of Jayden’s bed, Scott placed a hand on the sniper’s cast arm. As softly as he had ever spoken, Scott said, “Hey, Jay.” For the life of him, he had no idea how to sound confident or even professional.

What Scott saw next almost broke him. In the midst of his wretched condition, Jayden smiled. He smiled at the sound of Scott’s voice. Scott was moved nearly to tears.

“
Hey, man,” Jayden said quietly. His voice was barely audible, but it held a faint trace of enthusiasm.

Scott wasn’t sure if Jayden had made a deliberate attempt to whisper or if that was the extent to which the Texan could speak. He thought it best not to ask. Instead, he blurted, “How do you feel?” He regretted the question the moment he asked it. What a stupid thing to ask.

“
Good, man.”

Good. Of all the miserable ways Jayden could have answered, he’d said
good
. Scott couldn’t help it—he bit his fist as his eyes started to well.
I pale next to someone like this. If I’d gone through life with an attitude like his, I wouldn’t be a fulcrum.

He swallowed his emotions before they could become audible; he didn’t want Jayden to hear him break down. “You had a lot of company?” He couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

“
Clarke came earlier,” Jayden mumbled, slurring his words slightly. “And Svetlana and Esther. Becan, too.”

Scott caught the omission of Varvara. Surely she must have visited him by now. If an injured Becan could make his way over, surely Jayden’s girlfriend must have come, too. The Texan had probably still been unconscious at the time.

“
What’s Varya doing?” Jayden asked.

He didn’t know how to answer. “She’s been busy with everything going on. It’s been pretty crazy.” It was an absolutely meaningless answer, and a lie. He had no idea what Varvara was doing. But whatever it was, it apparently hadn’t been with her boyfriend—at least not when he was conscious.
You better have visited him, Varvara.

“
Man,” Jayden said, “I’m so glad you came. What’s been goin’ on?”

“
Heh,” Scott said without answering immediately. So much had happened. He wasn’t sure where to begin. “William and Derrick are moving to the unit.”

“
Yeah, Clarke told me. I think that’s great.”

The simplest of conversations, but it made Jayden happy. Scott honestly felt good about that. He decided to leave out the details of William and Derrick’s addition, which was the execution of Ulrich. The Texan may have already known anyway.

“
I think I’m gonna be able to fight again,” Jayden said. “The doctors told me there’s a chance.”

Scott’s good feeling quickly turned to rot. Jayden would be able to
fight
again? That wasn’t what he’d heard at all. “Just take it easy. Worry about getting better first.”

“
I’m serious, man. I really think I can do it. I’ve been asking a lot of questions.”

Scott waited for the out-of-place statement to be furthered, but it never was. So Scott prodded on. “What kind of questions?”

Jayden never answered Scott’s inquiry. Instead, he repeated his earlier statement. “Svetlana came. Man, it was so good to see her. Clarke and Esther came, too.”

Scott knew it right then. The Texan wasn’t in his right mind—there was no telling what he imagined the doctors had told him. He was probably drugged up. “They did, huh?”

“
Yeah. Svetlana said I was gonna get better.”

Scott tried to sound well-intentioned. “I guess that means you’ll get better. She knows her stuff.” He felt sick with disgust.

“
Yeah.” Jayden stared without eyes at the ceiling, but his grin never left. “I’m gonna get better.”

You just told me that, Jay.
It became increasingly difficult for Scott to maintain his smile—until he realized his friend couldn’t see anyway.

“
I’m gonna get better,” Jayden said again. But this time it was different. The look on the sniper’s face drooped slowly. His body started to tremble.

Suddenly Scott understood the Texan’s repetition. He wasn’t speaking out of his mind. He was speaking in denial.

Finally Jayden broke down. His patchwork face froze in open-mouthed anguish. He began to moan—a low-pitched whine.

Oh no…

Scott leapt to his friend’s side. He placed his hand on the Texan’s arm. “Jay! Hey man, it’s all right. It’s gonna be all right.”

Saliva dripped from the corner of Jayden’s mouth. His words poured out like liquor. “I didn’t see him. I didn’t see him,” he repeated. His slurred accent broke more with each word. “I don’t even remember…”

He was talking about the mission. He was talking about the Bakma that had hit him.

“
I’m sorry I got hit.”

Tears streamed down Scott’s face, but he tried to sound strong. “We’re going to get you out of here. Just give it time.” He understood now the role of false hope. Jayden was desperate for any hope at all.

The Texan’s expression was still frozen in pain. “I don’t wanna go home…”

Scott lowered his head, closing his eyes. This wasn’t fair.

“
Please let me stay. Please, I’m gonna get better. Please let me stay.”

Scott had no idea how to respond. He couldn’t even speak.

Jayden violently cleared his throat with a guttural grunt. “I’m gonna get better.” He words were stocked with forced intensity.

“
I know. I know.” As Scott spoke, he was praying in his heart—for the first time in months.
Don’t let him go out this way, God. I deserved what happened to me. Jayden didn’t deserve this.
It was the first time he’d prayed since he’d become a Nightman. He couldn’t think of a better time to restart.

The emotions Jayden conveyed from his immobile position in his bed were so intense they were palpable. He seemed desperately determined, lost to everyone but himself. The Texan drew in a breath—made heavier by his prior outburst of emotion—then swallowed hard. He breathed out slow, regular breaths. He seemed finished with his efforts at speaking.

Realizing Jayden’s silence meant he was giving Scott permission to leave, Scott reached down and touched his friend’s hand. It was a brotherly instinct. He didn’t know what else to do.

Rising from his stooped position over the bed, Scott took a step back. He offered Jayden no parting words. He simply patted the Texan on the leg and turned to leave. That was all Jayden needed to feel.

As Scott exited the infirmary, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a while—something he’d grown accustomed to lacking. It was a measure of camaraderie. Barely a measure at all—but it was there.

Nothing else needed to be done—no other pressing duty needed to be filled. At the end of one of the longest two-day stretches of his life, that suited Scott fine.

* * *

Several hours later

Esther’s footsteps tapped rhythmically on the infirmary’s tile floor. Her brown ponytail, glistening with the sheen of fresh, melting snow, bounced on her back as she surveyed the rooms. In her hand was a sealed envelope.

Bad weather had not relented all week, and a meter of snow had collected on the outskirts of the base. Maintenance crews were kept busy clearing the sidewalks, and the airstrip was under constant care. The pristine cover of virgin snowfall had long since vanished. The grounds were muddy and messy. Esther, like her comrades, had grown used to feeling chilled and uncomfortable most of the time.

As she rounded the corner into Becan’s room and approached his bed, she waved the sealed envelope at him. “At least
someone
apparently loves you. Though I can’t fathom why.”

Becan looked miserable in his thin, standard-issue hospital gown. Outside of a few small scabs on his face—scabs that would fade away with time—there was nothing outwardly wrong with the way he looked. The gown covered his half-charred chest.

The moment the Irishman saw the envelope, he lurched upright and snatched it from her grasp, wincing at the pain of the sudden motion. The movement was too quick for Esther. She watched as Becan stowed it away. “For a moment I thought I was getting a kiss,” she said saucily.

“
Ara be whist.”

“
Is that Irish for ‘I’ll take a rain check?’”

“
That, or ‘shut the hell up.’”

The scout placed her hands on her hips. “Who writes you without a return address?”

“
Tha’s none o’ your business, now, is it?”

“
Do I get a bloody thanks?”

“
Thanks.”

“
You’re welcome, twit.”

Becan said nothing.

Esther approached the chair by his bed. She sat and crossed her legs, leaning her head his direction. “So, who is it?”

“
Who is who?”

“
The letter!”

Becan responded with a bland look of his own. “I just told yeh it was none o’ your business. You’re actin’ all jealous.”

“
My apologies. It’s just that I’m so wildly attracted to you. It must be your ridiculous charm.”

“
Guess it must.”

She glared at him. “You know, I’ve come to visit you every single day since you went and got pasted. Not to mention I saved your silly life. You could at least show me a granule of appreciation.”

“
Wha’ do yeh want? Yeh want me to polish your nails? Yeh want a complimentary massage? I already said thanks.”

Esther tightened her lips.

“
Righ’. I’m sorry.”

“
I deserve better. Do you think I’ve nothing better to do than be your sodding postwoman?”

Becan threw his hands up helplessly. “I’m sorry, Esty, wha’ else can I say? It’s been a flatulent week if yeh haven’t already noticed.”