Winter's Scars: The Forsaken (Winter's Saga 5) (23 page)

“And what’s that?”

“Take over, of course.”

“Take over?”

“The system.  He isn’t strong enough to rule us all.  That’s why I’m here.  I decide what information goes to whom and when.”

“Is that why you came out now?”

“Gideon
pushed
me forward just now, Naya.  He doesn’t want to know what you were going to tell him.  He can’t handle it—shouldn’t have to.  Like I said, that is my job.”

Meg sighed deeply, “You have to appreciate how difficult this is for me to understand.”

“Your mind isn’t as flexible as ours.”

“That’s not flexibility, Sirus.  That’s shattered.”

“Call it what you want.  It is all we know.”

“Who made you this way?”

“That is not your concern.”

“Okay, then why are you the way you are?”

“Gideon handles the simple day-to-day tasks, and I handle controller’s orders.”

“So your ‘controller’ made you this way?” Meg was rubbing her temples.  “That would be Arkdone?”

“Stop trying to make sense of us.  We just are.”  Sirus caught the waitress on her way past and ordered a soda for himself and Meg.

“Would you mind telling me where we’re going?”

“Kentucky.”

“What’s in Kentucky?”

“Senator Arkdone, of course.”

“What does he want with me?”  Meg’s eyes were wide with a newfound fear of the Senator also known as “controller” to the man (men?) beside her.

“We’ve been through this already, Naya.”

“Humor me.  I
was under duress when we last discussed the subject.”  Meg absently began folding the blue blanket someone had draped over her lap while she was sleeping. 

Sirus took a deep breath and blew it out loudly.  “He wants to help you.”

“What does he want in return?  Nothing is free,” Meg concluded shrewdly.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“Well, get him on the phone.” Meg arched one brow, challenging Sirus.

“I don’t have permission to do that.”

“Then get permission.”

Sirus took a slow deep breath and narrowed his eyes at the determined girl who shouldn’t even be able to hold a coherent conversation after being comatose for the past three and a half months.  She was healing fast.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you. I don’t have permission.”

“Do you always follow orders?”

“Always.”

“Even if they don’t make sense to you?”

“It’s not for me to make sense of anything.”

“Are you sure?”

Sirus squinted suspiciously at Meg as she held out the folded blanket for him.

He frowned briefly before reaching out and taking the bundle.  When he did, their hands brushed.

“You were ordered not to let me touch you, yet…” Meg glanced down at their overlapping hands.

Sirus
flinched and yanked his hand back as though dodging a snake’s fangs.

The blanket fell to the ground.

“Oh, here,” the flight attendant smiled, causing some serious cracks in her spackle-like makeup.  “Let me get that for you.”  She handed them their sodas then leaned down to pick up the blanket.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked innocently.

Meg sat back in her seat, arms crossed, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.

Sirus
watched the girl’s profile for a moment too long before answering, “No, thank you.”

The attendant walked away with a frown planted firmly into her caked-on foundation.  Something was strange about those two, and vaguely familiar about the girl.  She was sure she’d seen her face somewhere before.

“What’s up?” a male attendant asked when he saw his coworker frowning and glancing nervously back down the aisle at the dark-haired girl and her football player companion.

“I swear I’ve seen that girl before,” she nodded toward Meg.

The second attendant peered down the aisle and squinted his eyes.  He really should be wearing his contact lenses, but the dryness of the plane’s cabin wreaked havoc on them.  “Is she a celebrity?”

“I think I saw her on TV…”

“I’ll have to get closer and look.  Have you given them snacks yet?”

“No.”

“I’m on my way.  If she’s been on TV, I’ll remember.  You know I record everything!”

Chapter 45 Maze

“See, all you have to do is keep your body straight.  Your feet should roll heel, toe.  Your knees should land straight above your ankles.  Even your pumping arms need to swing straight ahead.”

Sloan was concentrating on her form as she ran through the rural dirt roads etched into the scenic Egyptian terrain between Cairo and Giza.  The family had left the US and taken quiet refuge in North Africa, but however far they ran,
however much they kept to themselves, they still looked over their shoulders, waiting for the next attack.

Sloan had taken an intense interest in physical performance since the day of the attack in Flagstaff.  Cole knew she must have felt weak and useless, so she was deliberately working hard to develop her skills.  She never wanted to feel that helpless again.  For the past three months, Sloan had jumped right into archery and mixed martial arts.  Now she wanted to learn how to run. 

Cole had changed a lot over the past three months since Meg’s disappearance.  The combination of the events in Kentucky and Arizona seemed to have scared him straight. 

The day Evan insisted the family leave Meg and rush into hiding changed everything.  Evan was a completely different person, sullen and withdrawn.  Margo, still wheelchair bound, seemed to spend all her time with Danny.  Theo found his niche working in the ER of a local hospital where his skilled hands and easygoing nature helped him fit right in. Sloan worked as a researcher in the pathology lab at the same hospital, her sharp mind having picked up the language quickly.  Everybody coped with their exile and the loss of
their own as best they could.

Some better than others.

Cole jogged alongside Sloan, watching her technique and gently correcting anything he saw out of sorts.   Maze was running with them, too.  His silver coat had thinned in the warm, dry desert air.  Matter of fact, much about Maze was thinned and wiry.  He just hadn’t been the same after losing Meg.  He was pining for her.  He demanded to be left outside much of the time so he could sit and sniff the dry breeze.  Sometimes, he’d just sit and howl painfully at the night sky.  Other times, he would whine to be let out of the house, then take off, wandering farther and farther away, always in the same northern direction. 

About two months
earlier, Maze wandered off and didn’t come home all night.  The next morning, everyone had gone looking for him.  No one said it, but they were all terrified of something had happened to Meg’s coydog.  When she came home, she would need him.  He had to be there.

They searched for Maze the entire day.  Finally, around dusk, Theo was driving north on a sand-covered road when he saw him.  Maze had run seventy-two miles from their place just outside Giza to where Theo found him limping along the road leading toward the Mediterranean Sea.  His formally regal head hung low and his tongue was swollen with dehydration.    He whined, barked and howled when Theo tried to get him into the truck.  Theo described a wild look in his eyes as he fought to be left to his journey, but eventually exhaustion made him give up.

No one needed to say it out loud.  They knew Maze had been trying to track Meg’s scent—even across an ocean.  He was so lonely for her.  After he was brought home that day, he was a changed coydog.  They could barely get him to eat.  Instead of playing catch with the boys, he would just lie down, head between his paws.  Periodically, he would whine and lift his nose to the air, desperately searching for Meg’s scent, then huff out of frustration and lay his head back down, dejected. 

Every night he would curl up with the blanket Meg used to have on her bed.  He was always so careful with it, shaping it in a doughnut form with his nose, stepping reverently into the nest, turning three times and curling himself into a ball, his nose buried into the material.  The family would watch him as he performed his ritual every night and worried about him. 

He was losing weight fast.  Theo had taken to buying extra lamb chops and eggs to entice him to eat, and though he was starting to gain some weight back, his personality had changed irreversibly since that day on the highway.  He distanced himself from the humans and metas except to allow the occasional scratch between the ears. 

Eventually, Maze
did allow little Danny near him—to scratch behind his ears and stroke his shedding fur.  He seemed to relax when Danny played with him.  The little boy often used him as a pillow or as a race car track by rolling his cars across his back. 

Danny was everybody’s exception.

Cole forced himself back to thinking of the here and now.  He blinked hard at Maze then looked back at the concentration in Sloan’s face.

“Now you’re thinking about holding your body just right; every step is a concentration.  If you learn the right form from the start, your muscles will memorize the movement so running will be as effortless as breathing, but you have to learn correctly right from the start so you don’t injure yourself or have to unlearn bad habits.
”

Sloan was listening intently.  Always an excellent student, she took in what Cole was telling her and analyzed it based on her prior knowledge.  Everything he was saying made sense to her logical mind.

“You’ve built some endurance with the martial arts, but running requires a whole different level of stamina.”  He glanced down at his runner’s watch.  “We’ve already run one mile, so we need to start slowing and cooling off.  Tomorrow and every day after, we’ll go a little further.  Pretty soon, you’ll be able to run a marathon, no problem.”  He grinned at her, slowing his jog to a fast walk.

“You have a lot more running you want to do, don’t you?” Sloan breathed through her words, her pace slowing to a walk.  She parked her hands on her slender hips until Maze nudged her with his wet muzzle, asking for a rare scratch between the ears.  She smiled down at the
coydog that ran without a leash and obliged his unspoken request.

Cole watched her as she cooled down.  Being a female living in the heavily Muslim culture made her have to make some alterations to what she ordinarily would wear, but that didn’t stop her new curves from filling out her demure clothing.  Her body had changed a lot from what it was three months ago.  Now she was curvy.  Her blond hair was even longer, pulled back in a tight pony at the back of her head.  Her steel-gray eyes were as sharp as ever, matching her older look with a precision only God could create.  Cole forced himself to look away from the fourteen-year-old girl. 

She’s just a kid, Cole.  However stunning or curvy, she’s just a kid.

“Um, yeah, but I’ll go for my run later tonight.  I prefer to run at dusk,” he shrugged, starting back toward the house.  Sloan fell into step beside him.

“Thanks for your help.  I feel really good about learning how to run, conditioning my body physically.”

“Sure, glad to help.  It gives me something to do anyway.”

“I know you had all those plans to go off to college,” Sloan stared straight ahead as she spoke, not wanting her eyes to give away more of her feelings.

“Yeah, well all sorts of plans were blown the hell out of the water after Flagstaff.” Cole kicked a rock so it flew several feet directly in front of him, primed and ready for him to kick again when he got closer.  “What about you?  What were your plans?”

Sloan shrugged her toned shoulders.  She was wearing one of Meg’s old winter running suits.  She was a good five inches shorter than Meg at 5’1”, so the sleeves were shoved up and away from her hands, and she had rolled the waistband once before tightening the pull string so the cuffs didn’t drag. 

“Meg’s suit is a little big on you,” Cole commented.

“I don’t mind.  I kinda like the hand-me-down from her.  I didn’t get to know her for very long, but the more I learn about Meg, the more I admire her.  She was a strong, beautiful girl.”

“Is
!” Cole snapped.

“What?” Sloan turned to look at Cole, surprised by the sudden change in his tone.

“Meg
is
a strong, beautiful girl.  Don’t talk about her in the past tense.”  A scowl parked on Cole’s face as he kicked the rock hard, away from their path.

“Of course,” Sloan stammered, “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”

Cole said nothing, but quickened his pace just enough to show his annoyance at the girl.  That’s when he looked around for Maze.  The coydog was nowhere in sight.

He put his fingers up to his tongue and whistled loud enough to scare some birds from the nearest tree. 

“When was the last time you saw Maze?” Cole asked, worry darting across his eyes.

“When I stopped running, he came up to me.  That was only, what, seven minutes ago?” Sloan was spinning slowly in place peering carefully around them.