Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Only two feet of space separate us. I haven’t been this close to him since before. Close enough to see that he hasn’t shaved today, a shadow of stubble showing. Sweat drips from his chin.
“You would,” he says. “And I don’t blame you. I hate myself more than you ever will.”
The self-loathing in his tone takes me aback. Marcus is steady and certain. He operates on logic, not emotion. I’ve never seen anyone struggle less with tough decisions. He makes them quickly and never second-guesses himself.
“Marcus!” Nova yells.
We look away at the same time, realizing there’s no one left on the beach but us and the bodies of the people who died. And the snake.
It looks like we only lost one person. I think his name is Max. The Tiders lost two. The casualty list could grow because injuries here can be fatal, especially in their camp, where there’s no medicine.
“I’ve got him,” Marcus says, referring to Max.
The Tiders leave their dead to be scavenged by the island’s animals. We bury our people’s bodies. It’s important to hold on to the civilization we still have.
4
“Are we burning this thing down or what? I watched five women get forced onto a transport earlier, off to bear more rotten fruit for the overlords. I joined the cause to fuck shit up, so when’s that part?” - Decoded message from ILF undercover operative Nightingale to ILF handler Hiro Tanaka
Marcus
Ellison’s grim expression as she walks out of her makeshift operating room in the Sub confirms the inevitable. She strips off her rubber gloves, drops them in a tall trash can, and moves toward Nova.
Nova’s just a few feet away from me. She opens her arms to her wife, and Ellison falls against her, a single sob escaping as she presses her face to Nova’s strong shoulder.
“She lost too much blood,” Ellison says softly.
“You did your best, love.” Nova holds her tightly, anchoring her as she gives herself a few seconds to break down.
It’s not her fault. Ellison was an oncology nurse practitioner before. She’s not trained to perform trauma surgery, especially not in a jungle island camp with no trained medical help and only the bare minimum medical supplies.
I’d finished one year of medical school when the world went tits up. I assist Ellison when I can, but it’s not the same as having another doctor or a nurse on hand. McClain was never a practicing physician, and he can’t do much in his current condition anyway.
During the beach fight, a Tider ran a spear through Carlyn, one of our farm workers. It went through her lower back and exited her lower abdomen; there was never really any hope of saving her. She was in agony, and we couldn’t have removed the spear without her bleeding out. But Ellison never quits. The tiniest sliver of hope is all she needs to give something her all.
Clearing her throat, she straightens and takes a step back. When her eyes meet mine, I don’t see our camp’s only qualified medical provider. I see my friend of six years. Ellison’s empathy is her greatest strength and her greatest weakness.
I put a hand on her shoulder and say, “You gave her hope.”
Tears shine in her eyes as she nods. “I’m okay. Ready to go take a look at the newcomers.”
The people we saved on the beach are in our holding cell for now. That usually goes over like a lead balloon—getting them into the cell sometimes takes all the muscle we have, depending on how many people we get.
I get it. I’d fight it, too. But keeping them secure and apart from our people is essential until we can question and assess them.
I grab my radio, on the verge of pushing a button on the side to tell Stella to get a team here to take care of Carlyn’s body, when the radio crackles to life.
“Rook to Ares. Atlas is back in play.”
Relief and aggravation flood my system at the same time. Rook is the radio code name for Stella, the leader of Command Team Two. Ares is my call sign, and Niran’s is Atlas.
He’s back, which means he’s okay. I want to punch the fucker and then hug him.
I press the button on my radio and speak into it. “Ares to Rook. On my way.”
The Tiders don’t have working radios, as far as I know, but I still operate on the safe side by requiring our command teams to communicate in code.
My feet are heavy as I walk into the room where Carlyn’s body is. It’s a wreck, even more blood on the table and floor than there was when I left. I knew she couldn’t be saved, but Ellison wanted to try a blood transfusion. I was going to pull a unit from myself, but she died before I got the supplies together.