The Tide: Breakwater (Tide Series Book 2) (33 page)

He couldn’t fail them now.

Using up every bit of strength, every bit of hope and perseverance he had left, he coiled his legs and then shot up, away from the falling Goliath and into the air, no safety cable to help him, nothing beneath his feet. This was his last chance.

He stretched his gloved fingers out in a desperate attempt to grab the chopper. He watched, almost as if in slow motion, as gravity pulled back. He wasn’t going to make it. This was it.

His fingers grabbed nothing but empty air.

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N
avid threw himself at the gray-haired professor. They skidded across the roof together, tumbling in a mass of flailing limbs. The ax slipped from James’s grip.

James hit Navid with a left hook, and his head snapped sideways.

“You think I didn’t notice what was going on with her?” James kicked Navid in the ribs.

Navid’s vision went red, then black. He gasped for air and recoiled when James’s foot connected with his side again.

“You think I’d let her turn?”

A foot in the head left Navid’s teeth chattering. He could taste blood, and pain radiated through his skull.

“No way, kid.”

Another blow to his stomach. Nausea and pain welled up in him. Navid heaved and vomited in response.

“You and the girl can both go straight to hell as far as I’m concerned.”

No more kicks. No more blows. Footsteps moving away from him. Navid shook his head, trying to get rid of the dizziness and his muddled vision. The footsteps returned. Through the blur, he could make out James. There was something in his right hand. He lugged it over his head.

“No way,” James repeated. “No way am I sharing my supplies with you.”

Navid rolled away. The air whooshed by his head, and the ax smashed down inches from his body. Struggling against his disorientation, he stood. He spread his arms out to stabilize himself and blinked rapidly to clear the mixture of sweat and blood trickling into his eyes.

Abby lay beyond James. She remained unmoving, pale and sick. James hadn’t gotten to her yet. The man charged and let out a primal scream. Navid ducked, braced himself, and tackled James. The bottom of the ax handle crashed against the back of his skull as James brought it down.

Tears of pain welled in Navid’s eyes, and he fought the unyielding urge to let go. But he didn’t relent. He pushed the man over and kneed him in the groin. Once again the ax clattered to the side.

“You bastard!” Navid yelled. “You bastard!”

He kneed James again. The professor yelped. Navid pummeled the man, landing blow after blow until blood seeped down James’s face. The man spit crimson saliva from his mouth and suddenly surged upward, head-butting Navid. James stood above Navid and stomped on his hands. Bones crunched when James ground his foot down.

The adrenaline flowing though his vessels wasn’t enough to assuage the intense agony. Navid howled.

“You think that hurts, you little asshole?” James spat out a tooth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wait ’til I feed you to those damn zombies.”

Navid’s vision swam again. His world started to turn black; the pain in his hand was too intense. He glanced at the broken fingers. They twitched when he tried to move them. Useless.

James grabbed Navid’s hand and tightened his grip around the mess of shattered bones and flesh. Navid cried out in anguish. The professor pulled him toward the side of the roof. He kicked Navid’s body against the lip that traced the roof’s perimeter.

Waves of pain washed over Navid, and his stomach twisted. He wanted to die; he wanted to give up. He heard the moans of the crazies below. Could they hear him? Could they see him? Did they know he’d soon be their next meal?

His weight shifted over the edge as James pressed one foot into the side of his body.

“Bye bye, you piece of shit. Won’t be long ’til your little girlfriend joins you.”

His pulse pounded in his ears. His vision turned clear, lucid for a moment. Navid gritted his teeth and jumped up, swinging his good hand at James’s face. His knuckles connected with James’s nose. Intense pain shot up his arm when bone connected against bone, but it was nothing compared to what James had done to his left hand.

James started to recover from the blow. Blood trickled from his nostrils, and his eyes narrowed. He grimaced and bent to tackle Navid.

But Navid was no longer fighting for his own survival. He didn’t care whether he lived or died. He was fighting for Abby. He kicked with his right leg, knocking out James’s shin as the man charged.

The professor fell flat, and Navid brought his foot down against the back of the man’s head. He heard a sickening crunch, the sound of a broken jaw. Still James forced himself up, his face covered in red. The man’s eyes smoldered with a vile intensity, a window straight to the selfish hatred the man harbored.

James tried to say something, but it came out as incomprehensible blubbering through his busted lips and jaw. Navid didn’t care to give the man a second chance at being understood. He shoved with all his might, using both hands, one good, one bad. The back of the man’s legs caught on the lip of the roof where Navid had been dangling moments ago.

The hatred in James’s eyes flickered out, replaced by pure fear as his arms pinwheeled. He tried to right himself, but his efforts were futile. Navid planted a solid kick into James’s abdomen, and the man fell into empty space. His gurgling cries, loud at first, grew faint in his plummet toward the street.

Navid didn’t bother watching the man splatter against the ground. He imagined the remains would be quickly devoured by the crazies, and he thought of no fate the despicable man deserved more.

But now that the fight was over, he had neither time nor interest in wasting a single thought more on James. He cradled his mangled hand and rushed to Abby’s side. He felt a different ache when he looked at the hair matted to her forehead and the pained expression on her face. This aching was as visceral as the agony in his hand, but he knew it wasn’t physical. It was fear, it was injustice; it was knowing that she was affected by whatever agent had turned the people on the streets into crazies.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

His bottom lip quivered, and he tried to mentally keep his pain in check. He brushed Abby’s hair back and pressed his palm against her cheek.

“I love you, Abby. I love you.”

He thought he saw her eyelids flutter. Maybe the corners of her lips had twitched. Maybe they’d parted slightly as she tried to mouth the words back to him.

God, she can’t go like this. Please, don’t let this be it. Please.

“Abby, I’m so sorry.”

He hugged her close to his chest. Her warm skin pressed against him, the heat radiating through his shirt. Her sweat soaked into the fabric and intermingled with his.

The sun beat down on him, and the cries of the crazies echoed from below. He prayed they were satisfied with his offering of James, prayed that they didn’t know he and Abby were stuck up here.

Prayed that Abby wouldn’t become one of them.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want when we get through this,” he said. “We can go to Wyoming, to Tokyo. Maybe to Iceland and watch the Aurora Borealis. Wouldn’t that be beautiful, Abby? Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

He combed his fingers through her damp hair and kissed her forehead.

“I promise I’ll never take you for granted again. I’ll never forget to make time for us.”

Tears blurred his vision. He knew it wasn’t just from the pain.

“We can go to Barbados. What about South Africa? A safari, maybe. I know how you love animals.”

He gently rocked her head. His good hand moved down her arm, caressing her, holding her.

“Abby, can you hear me? I’ll go anywhere you want.” He kissed her forehead again, then her cheek, then her dry lips. But he knew no kiss would save her. He was no prince breathing life back into a fairytale princess.

Her eyelids started to open. He stared into them. Red vessels mottled her sclera, but he thought he saw understanding in her expression.

“Abby.” He forced a smile. It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, smiling when he knew what was going to happen next. “We’ll go wherever you want in the world. Wherever you want.”

She didn’t smile back. Her lips moved like she was trying to say something. No words came out. Her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Navid leaned in close. “What’s that, Abby? I can’t hear you.” He lowered his ear above her mouth. Her warm breath tickled across his skin.

“Home,” she muttered. “I just...I just want to go home, Navid.”

Her eyes shut again. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and hot tears streamed from Navid’s eyes. He held her with his good hand and with his bad hand. He didn’t care. He just wanted to keep her as close and tight as he could. No amount of pain convinced him otherwise.

His bottom lip quivered again, and he sniffled. He couldn’t lose her like this; he couldn’t make it this far with her to watch the life evaporate out of her now.

She shuddered and went still. Then her eyes opened again. He stopped crying, stopped stroking her hair.

“Abby...”

But when her gaze locked with his, when her lips drew back in a snarl, he knew she was no longer Abby. There was no love, no compassion in her stare.

There was only hunger.

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M
iguel didn’t hesitate for a second. He wrapped the rescue cable around his prosthetic hand and forced the artificial fingers to clasp it as tight as mechanically possible. Letting his captain—no, his brother—splatter ignobly on the ground next to the goddamned Skulls was not going to happen. The wind rushed past him, and he leapt out of the chopper.

Wide-eyed, Dom’s fingers still grasped at the air. His body started to descend like the Goliath’s as Miguel swan-dived straight at him. The Hunter met Dom, their bodies colliding, and he wrapped his flesh-and-blood arm around Dom’s waist. Dom threw his arms around Miguel.

The rescue cable grew taut and pulled on Miguel’s prosthetic. He prayed the interface between the mechanized arm and his body would hold. His nerves burned with the strain. Below, the Goliath’s body crashed into the ground.

“Hold on!” Miguel said.

Dom ground his teeth, his face flushed red.

“Get your asses back in here!” Jenna yelled and started the winch.

The cable retracted and pulled them back up to safety. When their feet hit the cabin floor, Dom slumped into a seat. Sweat poured from under his helmet. He held his side with one hand.

“Thanks,” Dom grunted. He opened his mouth as if to say something more then settled on the single word again. “Thanks.”

Miguel unwound the rescue cable from around his prosthetic. The friction between his arm and the cable had torn his fatigues. He shook out his arm. All along the nerves stretching to the neuro-electrical interfaces with the prosthetic, he felt a sensation like needles piercing his muscles. He shook the limb again, hoping to alleviate the painful sensation, and sat next to Dom.

“No need to thank me,” he said between gasping breaths. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done for me, Chief.”

Dom stared hard at him for a moment and then patted his shoulder with one gloved hand. “Doesn’t matter who would’ve done what. You saved my ass.”

“Thank God we’ve got ya back, Captain.” Frank’s voice came over the comm link. “Everyone ready to get the hell out of here?”

Miguel glanced at Andris then at Jenna, Spencer, and Dom. They’d made it. They’d actually made it. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins, but he pressed himself into his seat, urging his body to calm. For now, they were safe; for now, he and the other Hunters were okay.

“Take us home,” Dom said. He spoke into his throat mic. “Bravo, this is Alpha.Sitrep?”

“All Academy ships are clear of the basin,” Renee called back. “No more casualties.”

No more casualties.
Miguel let the words repeat in his head. The unsaid implications rang out loud and clear. Hector had died. Owen had died. Many of the midshipmen had died during the rescue attempt. And how many had died before the Hunters got here? How many other people were trying desperately to fend for their lives out there in a world that had become overrun by monsters practically overnight?

Miguel watched the flotilla of small craft sail for the
Huntress
. The boats left trails of frothy white wakes as they cut through the gleaming waves. He surveyed the ships, full of young midshipmen and frightened civilians, and wondered what would become of them once they made it to Kent Island. The government had abandoned these people, this small but sturdy pocket of resistance. And if everything that Shepherd had told them from Detrick was true, General Kinsey and his cohort weren’t trying to rescue the average joe or his family.

They were in the midst of a tactical retreat. Miguel didn’t know what the general was planning, but the man seemed more concerned about protecting a bunch of fat politicians rather than saving the people who made this country worth protecting.

But what the hell did Miguel know? He was a grunt.

Dom patted Miguel’s prosthetic and broke Miguel’s reverie. “Seriously, I owe you, buddy. I owe you big time. I don’t know how I can thank you enough.”

“Damn it, Chief. You don’t owe me anything.” Miguel thought about the times Dom had saved him, how Dom had given him a second chance to serve when the Army honorably discharged him. Dom had become family. He thought about saying all these things but instead let a wide grin form across his face. “Now, if you want to give me a big fat bonus on my next paycheck, I’ll take it. ‘Bout time for me to afford one of those fancy cigars Thomas is always rolling around.” Miguel put his prosthetic arm behind his head as if he was daydreaming. “Maybe I’ll blow it all at our next port o’ call. Rounds for everyone at the bar, on me.”

“You find an open bar out there, I’ll give you a goddamned bonus like you never dreamed.”

“You got it, Chief.”

***

A
fter the chopper had landed, Dom received an immediate batch of the chelation therapy. Lauren had personally seen to the scrapes and gashes in his chest from the fight with the Goliath. She’d noticed him flinch when she touched his bruised ribs.