Jump Zone: Cleo Falls (20 page)

She was done with Libra Cade. She would go with these people to Gomeda, sign whatever they wanted her to, find Jaegar and leave. She pivoted with the intention of getting on that damn boat and away from the
outsider
.

His grip locked on her upper arm and he spun her back around.

“Well he
did
, Cleo, so get used to it. I don’t know what lies you were told—”

“Shut up,
shut up!
” If only her hands were free to cover her ears. Instead, she gripped the warm stone that hung against her chest while her heart pounding angrily beneath against her breastbone. “You don’t know what happened! You weren’t there!”

“I know exactly what happened! The story is family lore. And worse, I saw the pain on my mother’s face when my grandfather broke the news. She crumpled to the floor like a heap of rags. I see the scene replayed in my head every time I look at her. And she’s still a crumpled heap of rags!” His breath was coming as fast and hard as hers, but his tone became eerily quiet. “I was only four, Cleo, but I remember wishing I had magic powers so I could lift her back up and fix everything. But I couldn’t.” His voice cracked. “My father was gone and I had to take care of her and Libby, but I didn’t know how.”

Without easing the grip on her arm, he leaned in close. “And how can you even
defend
that bastard after the way he’s treated you? How can you say he’s not a murderer when he won’t even look in your eyes?”

“I know what my father is, I’ve no illusions. But
he
didn’t kill you father. The soldiers did.”

Libra’s eyes squinted. “Do you know what you’re saying? Those soldiers work for my grandfather. Do you understand what you’re implying?” He tightened his hold on her bicep.

“The guards
raped
her! Raped her and beat her because she tried to defend Doc Bee while my gram went to get help, to find my father, because he wasn’t even there.” Cleo tried to rub her face into her shoulder to dry the wet tracks down her cheeks. “She was pregnant with me at the time. Do you understand, you ignorant son of a bitch?” She swung her head to the side and thrust her jaw out so he’d get a good look at the evidence. “And when he got there, he had to cut me out of her stomach because
she was dead.
”

The damn holding back her rage crumbled as tears coursed down her cheek.

Libra dropped his hand and took a step back, his face devoid of any emotion.

“Don’t you believe me?” Her voice hitched. “Don’t you?”

He flicked his eyes toward the boat, to Trevayne, who stood on the deck holding up a dark shape, with a green light glowing inside.

“Look at me, damn you!” She got his attention by pounding her fists against his chest. “You have to believe it because that is how it happened. That’s the truth.”

His face remained passive and unflinching. He glanced at her, then back at Trevayne.

“Damn you!” she screeched, pummelling him. “Look at me, urbanite.
Tell me you believe me!”

He nodded at Trevayne and her world went black.

Thirty-One

T
he boat was a long, narrow metal tube resembling a half-sunk submarine. Solar inductors rimmed the perimeter, giving the vessel stability and power. By day, they were too hot to stand near, but at night, they acted as a deck. The hold was divided into three sections—Trevayne would be in the wheel house up front and no doubt the goon squad would land in the day quarters, which took up the largest section in the middle, so Libra took unconscious Cleo to the engine room at the back. He made a nest from a pile of tarps and ropes and laid her unconscious form in the middle. He placed the slightly soiled feather pillow, into which he’d slipped the throwing knife, under her head.

With mechanical indifference, he undressed her, numbing his mind to what she felt like, what she looked like in the dim light. After re-bandaging the wound on her leg and treating the cut on her cheek with first-aid ointment he found onboard, he dressed her in the new outfit.

He felt shitty about signaling Trevayne to activate the implant again, especially having to witness the satisfied glint in the asshole’s eye as he pressed the button, but it was the only way Libra was going to get Cleo onto the boat. And the only way he could get through this.

If only she hadn’t become hysterical. But he couldn’t risk her wrist bindings coming off while she pummelled him with her fists. Trevayne would have retied them himself, and she’d have no hope of wiggling free, or having blood circulate into her fingers.

Nor could he bear her accusations or the hatred in her eyes.

Her story was wrong. Had to be. And her impressions of his grandfather were way off. Achan could be a hardass, a manipulative bugger with single-minded purpose, but he wasn’t a monster. He would never sanction the heinous act of violence she described. The old man would buy his way out of a situation before he got his hands dirty. That wasn’t his style at all.

But it bothered him that
she
believed the Taiga fairy-tale they made up to appease the little girl who’d lost her mother, conveniently casting Achan Cade as the big bad wolf.

Libra tried to dredge up some animosity towards her, some contempt. He reminded himself she lied about her status, her purpose, anything to cause him enough annoyance to replace the ache of losing her trust.  Nothing came. He still saw a beautiful, smart, vulnerable girl whom he’d wronged.

Libra scrubbed his hands over his face. He felt ripped in two, poisoned, and possessed.

He leaned over her to tuck a note into the pocket of her buckskin coat but couldn’t resist touching her, just once more. He pushed back the silken strand of hair that had fallen over the side of her face, surprised by the jolt he felt when he came in contact with the warmth of her cheek. He let his hand linger, smoothing her scarred cheekbone with his thumb, wishing he could erase the mark she loathed. Not the visible scar—that was part of her, part of her unique beauty—but the emotional damage beneath.

Zhang-damn, he ached for her. He ached for the baby whose passage into life was marred by tragedy and for the self-conscious little girl who craved the love of her father. He ached for the woman whose conscience drove her to please the men in her life—men that were indisputably unworthy of her. Himself most of all.

Libra drew in a ragged breath as he tried to memorize her face, burn her image into his brain so he’d never forget. Not that he ever would.

It pained him to leave her here, in Trevayne’s hands, but he had no choice. Their fight and her subsequent nerve-coma meant he had to alter his plans at the last minute. And Libra had no intention of breaking his promise to find her brother and get both of them out of the city. He just wouldn’t be directly involved, but he knew just the man for the job. From this point on, he’d oversee but not be seen.  It would be unbearable, for both of them.

Libra boosted himself out of the hold and made his way to the deck. The boat slid through the water at an amazing speed. His knees wobbled, and he couldn’t seem to get his bearings in the dark. Which way was shore? Which way was home? He’d never before felt so…directionless.

Chilly spray from a wave hit the side of his face, stinging his skin with its toxic content, but that didn’t stop him from leaning over the thin rail. The motion of the boat as it skimmed through the Dead Lake made his head spin and his stomach burn. Or maybe he got an ulcer from eating snake. He gagged, wishing he could throw up, get the whole sick mess out of his system.

There are some felonious talents you pick up as a rebellious teen that serve you well into adult life. Lifting Trevayne’s satcom had risks, but Libra had a knack for picking pockets and breaking lock codes, and a singular determination to play by his own rules. Frick and Frack’s, respectively, were even easier to steal since they clipped them to their belts. He didn’t know if their coms could override the implant controls on his own device, the way Trevayne’s could, but he couldn’t chance it.

The first stage of his plan was to make sure Cleo stayed unconscious for the journey. It was better for everyone that she not awaken. As long as she remained quiet, Trevayne would leave her be. After programming her implant, he slipped two of the stolen coms over the starboard rail, holding on to his own and Trevayne’s. He had calls to make.

The first was to his team. Those guys knew how to deal with a call to action and didn’t waste time asking a lot of stupid questions. Libra issued them a brief directive and they were ready to go.

The second communication proved more difficult, but it had to be done.

“It’s me,” Libra said.

“This is quite a surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from—” Achan paused a moment before resuming in a cool tone. “What happened? Did she get away?”

“No. She’s here.”

“Good. How long until you get her to me?”

“Tomorrow, if the weather holds.”

“Don’t bring her here until after curfew.”

Of course.  Achan wouldn’t want a triber to be seen walking into the head office of DynaCade. Libra stifled an urge to scream. “I just wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten your part of the bargain.”

“You’re a free man. The records are purged.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I was referring to—”

“The money? Libra, my boy, you surprise me,” Achan chuckled. “You always pretended you didn’t like my wealth.”

Libra gritted his teeth. “Don’t.”

“You’ll find that I’m a man of my word. I’m transferring the money into your account as we speak.” Libra linked to his bank and felt the slightest release of tension upon seeing the balance rise. He coded in a password to initiate a sequence of transactions that would move all his money into a dozen fake accounts that would take Achan’s accountants a decade to trace, just in case they had any notion of fouling the deal.

“I see it. Thanks. But that’s not what I’m talking about,” Libra said. “You told me this was a simple business deal.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Mining rights. That’s all you want? She signs them over and you let her go?”

“Flowery details, son. No need to concern yourself.”

“But I do. What did you find up there that you suddenly need access to?”

“I don’t have time for this now. Come and see me when you get back. We’ll talk.”

“Now. Or I don’t bring her to you.”

“Have you forgotten why you were sent to the colony? What motivated you to do what you did?”

“People needed those medical supplies to survive.”

“And you care about those retched beings over in New Chicago?”

“Of course I do. They deserve to live, to have basic human rights.”

“So you justified stealing from one to aid a few.” By ‘one’, he meant himself. It was a Dynacade warehouse they’d sacked.

“I justified it because you greedy bastards put a price on basic human rights. You charge exorbitant prices for basic medicines and drug therapies; things that would help them survive! But you deny them access and—”

“You and I are no different, boy,” Achan said, cutting off his rant. “You think it’s okay to steal from those who have and give it to those who don’t. Well, the Taiga has the resources to give us the power we need to help those very same people. No more rolling blackouts, no more shutting down factories. More supplies, lower costs, we could not only provide more jobs, but give them the ability to pay for the things you’ve been stealing for them.”

Libra blew out his breath. Achan’s twisted logic offended his honor code. Right now he needed some distance, needed to think, to either justify or rectify everything he’d been a part of. “Listen, I need you to promise me you won’t lay a hand on her or I don’t bring her in.”

Abrupt silence made Libra think the old man had hung up.

“So it’s true then,” he replied. “Trevayne intimated that you had a little thing for the girl, but I didn’t believe him. Honestly, Libra, how could you sully yourself with such a creature?”

Libra felt his blood heat but refused to play into Achan’s mind games. All through his early childhood, his grandfather considered it a sport to press his hot buttons and watch him implode. Said it would help him handle adversity. Then he’d throw some comment to his mother about not raising him right. Asshole.

“Just give me your word, Achan. Give me your word that you won’t harm her, that you’ll let her go once she’s signed.”

“This is a simple business transaction, my boy. She will sign and leave. I shall be the perfect host, as always.”

Libra disconnected, barely able to stop himself from crushing the satcom in his hand. He’d need it later. He reached deep into his pocket and extracted the tin flask. Right now, he had some friends to m
ake. Then would come the performance of his lifetime.

Thirty-Two

M
uch like she had in the clearing by the river, Cleo awoke fully alert, but with a crick in her neck and a pain in her side from slouching against a hard, vibrating surface.

As she straightened up, three things became immediately apparent: She wasn’t in the Taiga, she was wearing a different set of clothes, and Libra wasn’t with them. She sensed his absence like she sensed a gathering storm. She wasn’t sure which one of the three caused a bubble of panic to rise in her chest, maybe all three, but the inability to fill her air with lungs was the only thing that stopped her from screaming.

Frick chose that moment to turn around in the seat in front of her. He took one look at her and his forehead creased. “Hey,” he shouted. She felt her eyes bug as she struggled to breathe, tried to move her hands to her throat, but they remained numb in her lap. He reached across the seat, grabbed her upper arms, and rammed her into the back of her seat
,
jolting her from respiratory paralysis.

Oxygen rushed into her lungs and she coughed until her throat hurt.

“You’ll be okay,” Trevayne said, his tone passive. “Just a side effect.”

Side effect of what?

Her head dropped sideways against a dusty windowpane as her breathing returned to normal. How the hell did they keep dropping her like that? Her tongue was thick and dry from thirst, but she didn’t dare ask Trevayne for a sip from his canteen. She’d die before she put her lips where his had been.

Where’s Libra?

Tinted windows, coupled with the thick cloud cover, made it impossible for her to tell the time of day. They knocked her out just before full darkness, but when? Last night? The day before? Days ago? Without the sun or the forest sounds, she was completely disoriented.

The utilitarian transport vehicle travelled along an arid, barren corridor, bumping over ruts and jostling the occupants. An unfamiliar-scented breeze trickled into the cabin via the air vents in the low ceiling, and helped to dispel the musky scent of her three companions.

The vehicle’s interior was a wide, rectangular box, with plastiform seats—two per side of a narrow aisle, four rows in total. Trevayne was directly across from her in the back row, with a Frack two rows in front of him. The other buzzcut sat directly in front of her, and next to him was the only visible exit. The operator was concealed behind a dark partition that blocked her view of whatever lay directly in front of them. Presumably Gomeda. Escape, as far as she could see, was impossible.

This isn’t how she wanted it to be. She wanted to enter Gomeda on her own terms, not trussed up and presented on Trevayne’s arm like a prize doe.

Low buildings cropped up on the horizon, along with the odd wall and heap of rubbish, and she could see distant fields of the wind turbines that Libra had mentioned, though none appeared to be turning.

Hover board traffic increased and impatient operators zipped around them, weaving on and off the corridor. One rider, in particular, caught her eye. With his shoulder-length dreadlocks and shearling vest, he bore resemblance to a character from the Wild Boys comic books. Taiga kids considered the graphic novels, about a band of troublemakers ever questing for the elusive Ghost Warrior, mandatory literature.

Wondering if the others noticed him, she feigned a stretch and glanced around. Trevayne was looking out the opposite window, Frack was playing with his bootlace, and Frick was snoring.

She pressed her forehead to the glass for a better look. The Wild Boy coasted at the same speed as their vehicle, as if wanting to be noticed. He canted his head in her direction before shooting forward, but she saw what she needed to. A few of his dreads were encased in silver-pointed charms, just like the leader of the Wild Boys! A seed of hope germinated in her belly.

Jaegar! It could only be her brother’s doing. He was sending her a sign to let her know everything would be okay. He must have found out she was captured and sent someone only she would recognize, to assure her that everything would be alright.

Whomever the hover rider was, his presence changed the game, gave her hope, renewed her spirit. She just had to wait patiently for a signal, some cue, a call to action that only she would understand.

Another sight kept her transfixed on the world outside her dusty window. She watched as the faint glow on the horizon grew in intensity. Finally, as the sky darkened behind it, the brilliantly lit skyline of Gomeda came into focus. And it was beautiful. Radiant, beckoning, it unleashed a sense of excitement. No wonder her people came here and never returned. She wrapped her fingers around her stone pendant and craned her neck for a better view.

She felt a slight vibration in her cheek a yoctosecond before shutters clanged down, completely obliterating her view. Foggy interior lights flickered on, bathing everyone in sickly yellow.

“What’s happening?”

“Security. Can’t go through the New Chicago with the windows exposed.”

“For how long?” she asked, feeling the space close in around her. Thankfully, the ceiling vents remained opened.

“Until we open them,” he sneered. “Are you impatient to see Mr. Cade?”

Screw you,
she wanted to shout.

Jaegar was going to kick this jerk’s ass.

“Speaking of the Cades,” he said. “You haven’t asked about your boyfriend? How come?”

“I don’t give a badger’s ass about the Cades. Any of them.”

“Good. It won’t bother you then.”

There was something in Trevayne’s manner that compelled her ask. Not that she cared. “What won’t bother me?”

“That he’s dead.”

Cleo stared at Trevayne, the lipless gash of a mouth curling up in the corners.

No. Libra isn’t dead. He is not dead.
Trevayne was goading her. He wouldn’t be so cavalier if it were true. Would he? Libra probably took off, mission accomplished. Probably didn’t even get on the boat.

“You’re lying.”

One of the buzzcuts chuckled in a knowing, smug way that made her want to drive her foot into the back of his head.

“Your lover boy got himself dead drunk and fell overboard back in the Dead Lakes,” Trevayne said. “We didn’t stick around to watch the flesh melt off him.”

Libra. Dead.

A slash of pain, quick and deep, like a blade under her ribs, snuck up on her before her brain snapped to the obvious conclusion—the bear grease, of course! He planned it, that zhang-loving bastard. She’d given him the method, he took the opportunity.

Coward.

Just wait until she got out of this mess, she’d hunt him down and flay him.

Not dead…

She hated that she felt relieved. It would be easier if he had died. She’d never see him again, never be tracked by his silver-blue stare. Her cheeks grew hot at the thought of him dressing her in the new outfit. He had stripped her of his clothes like he stripped himself right out of her life. He had removed his very existence, and she had nothing of him left but memories that were too unbearable to recall.

But the disgusting, self-injuring truth was that she didn’t want to forget Libra, and she was scared that if she pushed those moments too far away, his image would disappear forever.

Cleo shivered and sunk deeper into the fur-trimmed coat. She tried to swallow but couldn’t manage to dislodge the lump in her throat. She felt as helpless and desperate as she did when the river took her, shook her, and dragged her to her death. What kind of fall would she face at the end of this journey?

He was dead, in a sense. Dead to her. He’d served his purpose, got her to Gomeda. She could do the rest alone.

She bit the corner of her lip and blinked to erase the sting in her eyes. Crying didn’t stop pain; this she knew first-hand. Crying just made you look weak and vulnerable and this warrior, third-class, was neither weak nor vulnerable.

Just…
alone.

Libra crouched next to the towering needle that protruded from the roof of the Energy Collective Headquarters. Even without the satellite control spire, the ECH was the tallest building in Gomeda, a carefully considered optic when they designed the city. It was also no accident it grew adjacent to the DynaCade compound. The two buildings were conveniently joined by a sky tunnel so that the president of one could traverse the sky tunnel and become the CEO of the other without getting the soles of his shoes dirty.

The Restoration Party Headquarters were some miles away, straddling the inner and outer ring so that the thousands of government employees didn’t clog the gates into the sanctum at the beginning and end of each workday.

But here, at the core of energy-hungry Gomeda, this is where the real power was. And his grandfather controlled it all.

From his loft above the city, he was able to track the army transport vehicle from the moment it passed into the inner prefecture. Libra’s palm grew warm from holding the flat black disk he’d reclaimed from Trevayne, watching the green indicator light move toward him and wondering if the colonel even realized it was gone. He held it tightly, a tenuous link to Cleo.

Libra touched the auto-focus on his binocs and tracked Trevayne’s group as they escorted Cleo across the rooftop concourse of DynaCade and to the drop plates that would lead them to Achan’s personal suites.

She looked good and didn’t appear drowsy or drugged. The last twenty hours had practically killed him, not knowing.

She was in Achan’s hands now. Safe. The old man would coax her with his politician’s charm, she’d sign the papers, have a nice dinner, and be escorted out in the morning. Knowing his opportunistic grandfather, there’d be a photo op with handshakes and a smiling representative from the UWC to ratify the deal.

He rubbed his face into the crook of his arm. He’d need another hot shower or three to wash the stink off him before he liberated Jaegar from the dorms of the Ministry of Opportunity. That would be easy. He knew a girl who knew a girl. One or two calls, a promise of contraband… It could wait a few more hours.

It shouldn’t be this hard to walk away. Cleo was nothing more than an assignment. Mission complete. He had his freedom, he had his cashpoints and he should be feeling like the king of the zhang-damn world.

But he didn’t. He felt as greasy and rank as the bear grease still oozing from his pores. He rubbed his sternum to ease the pressure deep in his chest and looked out over the city, so different from the peaceful vista atop Raccoon Ridge. The night was still and quiet, everything but Gomeda’s inner rings bathed in a consuming darkness. The curfew patrols would soon be out, ensuring the safety of the inner prefecture and not giving a damn about the rest of it. Status quo.

He strode to the edge of the rooftop and leapt over the side onto the deck below. Over the buildings, one by one, he jumped, rolled, crawled, and ran, moving as fast as his unpractised limbs allowed. But he couldn’t leap fast enough or far enough to escape Cleo’s tinkling laugher, her stunning beauty, or her singular uniqueness. He couldn’t outrun the poison of their last exchange.

But God, he tried. He ran until his sweat and grease mingled to sting his eyes. He limped the rest of the way to his old home, to Glory Cade, hoping to find her sober.  Only his mother could clear up some nagging thoughts he’d had regarding his father’s work in the Taiga, and maybe give him the perspective he needed to get over Cleo Rush and the mess she’s made of his heart.