Total Eclipse (23 page)

He was asking me to do something that would make a significant sting to the Earth, and then he was asking me to stand still while the Djinn came to destroy me.

There was a name for that: suicide bomber. And me, sitting here next to a plant chock full of plutonium, uranium, and nuclear weapons. I could do the math, and the math divided by zero.

“Lewis,” I said slowly. “You understand what you’re asking me to do?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Believe me, I do understand. But they’re targeting our Warden network, and it’s folding. Once that’s broken, things will get worse again, very fast, and there’ll be nothing we can do to stop it. We’ve got only about another day, Jo, before they destroy every Warden on the planet. After that, it won’t even be a week before humanity is purged down to almost nothing. It’s extinction. This is the best move we have.”

“And better me than you,” I said. “I don’t mean that in a cruel way. The Wardens need a leader, and you’ve got us this far. I understand that you need to go on.” I gulped in an unsteady breath. “I don’t. I get it.”

“Jo . . .” There was so much torment in that one whisper, so much horror and frustration, that I wanted to reach through the phone and hold him, this man who was sending me to my death. “Only somebody of your quality could do this in the first place, and minimize loss of life. You’re my only choice. I wish it was—” His voice failed, broken, and all I heard was harsh, uneven breathing as he tried to get hold of himself again.

I felt a wave of resentment pass over me.
How many times? How many times do I have to be the one who gives?
It was a valid question. I’d worked my ass off for the Wardens, I’d saved them time and time again. Why did it have to be me, again?

One thing about waves: they pass. The emotion peaked, then receded, and in its wake I felt . . . calm. Oddly centered.

“I’ll get them here,” I said. “I’ll hold them here as long as I can. Lewis?”

“Yeah?” His voice was low and husky, choked with what he couldn’t say.

“Make it worth it.”

“No pressure.” There—some of his usual dark humor was back in place, armor against the world. I laughed.

“No pressure,” I assured him, and just before I pressed the END CALL button, I whispered, “I always loved you, just a little bit. Bye.”

I cut the signal before I could hear his response, if he could have managed to make one. I didn’t think David would have objected to me saying that. It was true, and it was the last chance I’d have to make that particular statement count.

Silence. I listened to the wind, which was blowing in from the north, bringing the bitter taste of sand out of Oklahoma. Red dust, filming the horizon. The sun was a fierce, hard ball in the sky, heading west, dropping on its predetermined course without any thought at all for whatever happened here on this complicated little oasis of life. I’d always wondered if other planets had some kind of vast awareness, too; maybe Earth got into neighborhood scraps with Venus and Mars, or yelling matches with big bully Jupiter. Maybe the sun had its own voice, its own life. Maybe the entire
universe
was alive with life, in forms we couldn’t recognize because we were too limited in our sight.

I finished my water, closed my eyes, and thought about God. My mother was a church-going woman, and I had grown up in Sunday school and after-school programs. It hadn’t damaged me, but it hadn’t altogether satisfied me, either. I wanted to know answers, and religion expected me to have faith.

Maybe religion had been right, and the answers were too vast, too complex, and too hard for me to begin to grasp, but that didn’t mean I wanted to stop trying.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please understand who we are, what we’ve achieved. How far we’ve come. How far we have to go. Please tell her to stop. Please listen to your children.”

If God didn’t stop her, I didn’t think the Wardens could, but I had to give them a fighting chance. Even if it meant doing something terrible. Something that I would never do under different circumstances.

I heard the car coming up the road—I’d know that throaty growl anywhere. I stood up, hoisted my pack, and looked around at the barricade.

The fire ants were swarming in a thick, unsettling sheet over the invisible shield, grimly determined to find something soft to kill. I also saw rattlesnakes, and somewhere beyond, a coyote paced, watching me with ravenous eyes. Overhead, birds circled, and as I looked up, a thermal-riding red-tailed hawk spilled air from its wings and began a smooth attack glide, clawed feet ready to slice.

I didn’t want to see him crash into the barrier; it would probably kill him at that speed. Instead, I heated a column of air and he flew right into it, lost control of his glide, and had to swing out and flap to regain altitude. Confused, he climbed again.

If only it was that easy all the time.

The Mustang pulled to a halt on the road, and the Djinn opened the passenger side with a wave of his hand. I took a second to think and ready myself, then dropped the barriers.

I
felt
the anger, then, the furious and baffled rage of the Earth. The ants collapsed in a wave as the barrier fell, and swarmed toward me from all sides. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled power out of the ground and jumped from a standing position to an area outside the swarms, and hit the ground running.

Behind me, I heard the coyote howl, and heard his jaws snap on air.
Damn
, he was close. I could outrun the ants and snakes, but that coyote . . .

His teeth sank into my calf. It felt like I’d been stabbed and squeezed in a vise at the same time, and I yelped and went down as his weight dragged me off balance. He was snarling, teeth locked into muscle, and shook his head to try to cause maximum damage. I reached for Earth power and flung a raw handful at him; it hit him like pepper spray, and he let go with a startled yelp, dancing backward as I lurched to my feet.

Ten more feet to the car.

A rattlesnake struck at me without any noisy warning. He was concealed in the shadow between the black-top and the dirt, and there was no way I could be fast enough to dodge; by the time I spotted his movement, he was already there, sinking his fangs into my arm.
Jesus
, that hurt. I grabbed the snake and pulled him off, flinging him as far as panic would allow, and kicked back at the coyote as he tried another grab for my calf. I got him far enough away that I dove forward, landed belly down on the seat, and scrambled to shut the door behind me.

The coyote got his head and shoulders in the way and lunged, snarling. I smacked him with my fist on the nose, and he backed up, shocked and hurt, just enough for me to get the door shut.

David’s voice was coming out of the radio, but it was just noise right now.

“Go!” I yelled. The Djinn floored it, and we left the angry delegation from
Animal Planet
behind.

I immediately turned my attention to the snakebite, which was going to be much worse than the coyote’s damage to my leg. Neither attack had hit any blood vessels, at least. The snake’s venom hadn’t found its way into my circulatory system yet, but it would soon if I didn’t slow it down—now. I kept the arm down, below heart level. The pain of the bite was bad, but it was definitely going to get worse; the area around the fang marks was already swelling and discoloring in shades of angry red and mottled white. In terms of bite intensity, probably a three or a four. I didn’t think it was quite bad enough to be classed as a five, which would have put my odds way, way down.

I knew enough about snakebites to know that ice wouldn’t work, and neither would the old Western cliché of cutting open the wound and sucking out the poison. What
would
work was antivenin. Which I didn’t have.

Well, the good news was that this bite probably wouldn’t kill me. It would just make me very, very sick. And I could lose the arm. I licked my lips, hoping that there wouldn’t be any major symptoms, such as tingling, just yet. There weren’t. That was a good sign, I thought.

We were closing the distance fast to the perimeter, and I realized that this was, in fact,
perfect.
“David,” I panted, finally settling down enough to put something into words. “Don’t try to hide us. Take me right to the main gate, dump me off, drive away.”

“I can’t do that! Dammit, Jo, stay still. I’m turning the car around and taking you to a hospital.”

“No. You can stabilize me for now, right? I don’t need to be healed. Just do enough to make me functional.”

I was wrong about the lip-tingling. It started, and increased, and it felt like someone was sticking pins in my mouth.
Very
unpleasant. I felt dizzy, too.

The Djinn’s hand flashed out and closed around the arm with the bite, and I screamed at the flash of agony that ripped through the nerves . . . but then it calmed to a dull, fiery ache, and I could breathe again. Tears stung my eyes from the intensity of the discomfort, but the torturous prickling of my lips and mouth receded, and the dizziness steadied. “Keep the swelling,” I panted. “I need proof. Just get me ambulatory.”

“This is insane!”

“No, this is a plan,” I said. “I’m a snakebite victim. They have to take me inside for medical treatment. I need you to take down their external communication systems, so they can’t call out an ambulance. They’ll have antivenin in stock, in a place like this. I’ll be fine.”

I didn’t feel fine, not at all. David didn’t like my brilliant plan, but then again, he didn’t know the extent of it, either. He
really
wouldn’t like the rest of it, and I wasn’t planning on enlightening him. Not yet.

“Once I’m in, you can bring the car in however you can manage it,” I said. “Including blipping it in there. I’ll find you.” I wouldn’t need the car, because of course the plan was that probably I would never leave. But it would be nice to have the option, in case things changed somehow for the better. Not that I had a single hope they would, but you know hope: it springs eternal.

And having David close—even
virtual
David, talking through a radio—would make me feel braver. I hoped I’d get to tell him, before the end, why I was doing this. I hoped I’d get to say good-bye.

“I don’t like this,” David’s voice said, coming now out of the Djinn’s mouth. We were coming up fast on the turnoff to the plant, which was protected by a guardhouse and pretty serious fencing. The compound—I didn’t know what else to call it—stretched on in a sprawl within the fence boundaries. The guardhouse was manned by two men, both armed, and there were more armed men in sight, watching with pointed vigilance as the Mustang coasted to a stop just beyond the guardhouse. Both guards stepped out, hands on their sidearms, watching us with cold, professional intensity.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” David said.

“I’m sure,” I said, and then, impulsively, “I love you, sweetheart.”

I opened the door before he could respond, and bailed out in a heap. It wasn’t hard, with the torn calf and the venom coursing through me. I felt generally pretty wretched.

The Mustang backed up in a shriek of tires, and the passenger-side door slammed shut as he braked, did a perfect sliding turn, and accelerated off down the road in a blur of dust and smoke. That was probably Whitney. David wouldn’t have been as prompt in executing the hell-out-of-Dodge part of the plan.

The guards were shouting, and one of them ducked back into the shack. I heard alarms sounding, and thudding boots. Nobody touched me, so I slowly flipped myself over on my side. My head was pounding, I was too dizzy to sit up, and, with a sudden spasm, I threw up. Mostly the water that I’d been drinking, but disgustingly convincing that I wasn’t faking anything. The swelling on my arm was bad, and getting worse.

They patted me down for explosives, yelled for medical assistance, and finally, one of them leaned down and barked, “Name!”

“Jo,” I whispered. “Joanne Baldwin. Security clearance. Check—check with—military.” I wasn’t lying. Wardens had security clearances. Mine was as good as his, I’d be willing to bet. I hadn’t endured all those questions and poking around in my personal life to fail to cash in my chips now. “Rattlesnake.”

“I can see that,” he said. Some of the ferocity left his voice. “Stay still. Help’s on the way.”

The other man, I was sure, would be running my name back through channels. That was fine. I was fairly sure that nobody would turn away the help of a Warden, even an injured one, at a sensitive installation—not in times like these. Hell, I was
security
.

I felt filthy, doing it, but they were making their own logical assumptions. I wasn’t lying to them, not one bit. I lay there on the pavement, retching helplessly, feeling miserable and in severe pain, but David had done as I asked—I wasn’t getting worse. Not yet, anyway.

There were conversations, hurried and clipped ones, with people who I assumed were higher up in the organization. Phones were used. Pictures were taken. A medical team arrived with a gurney, evaluated me, not surprisingly came up with a diagnosis of snakebite and some kind of animal attack, and loaded me up with a pile of hospital-approved blankets on top.

The gates parted, and I was wheeled inside the compound, past neatly lettered signs that warned of criminal prosecution to the fullest extent of the law for any violations of security protocols. More guards accompanied the medical team. I supposed I would have been handcuffed to the gurney, except for the snakebite, which made that impossible.

The first building we came to was obviously some kind of administration complex—big, blocky, heavily secure. Lots of locks, key cards, biometric scans just to get me into a hallway. A security officer was there, and he clipped a badge on my shirt, neon red, that proclaimed I was a supervised visitor. I didn’t feel like a visitor. I felt like a prisoner. It probably had tracking devices built in, so I could be found and caught in seconds if I managed to totter up off the bed.