Black Onyx Duology Page 15

  He nodded. “The suit. Since I started wearing it a year ago, I’ve seen changes in me. I had a paper cut, and I looked at it before I was gonna stick my finger in my mouth. While I watched, it closed up. Just… poof. Gone.”

  “What is that suit?”

  Before he could respond, someone shouted. Natalie unzipped the tent and looked out.

  “What is it?” Dillon asked.

  Pffft. Natalie’s body collapsed back into the tent. Black burn marks encircled a hole in her forehead.

  “Natalie!” He jumped off the cot and knelt beside her.

  Her eyes had glossed over, and blood was draining out of a larger wound on the back of her head where the round had exited.

  Dillon looked up at the opening of the tent. Men were shouting outside, and he heard more of the pffft sounds. He moved to the door opening and peeked out through the slit without moving the flap.

  Several men in what looked like white military uniforms were going from one tent to another, yanking people out into the cold. Two of them pulled an old man from a red tent, and he tried to fight them off. They shot him in the head.

  Dillon decided to make a run for it. He needed to try to get back to his suit. He had no shoes or shirt, but the wind had died down enough that he could at least breathe. He headed around the medical tent and ran for the trees at the edge of the plateau.

  “There! He’s right there!”

  Dillon pumped harder, wishing he’d had shoes. His feet, frozen and stinging with every step, sank in the soft powder about a foot, and underneath that was uneven ice or jagged rocks that sliced into his soles.

  The pffft noises were all around him, hitting the branches of the trees and causing snow to cascade onto him. Bits of bark flew off and hit his bare chest and back. He glanced back and saw at least twenty men running after him.

  Dillon sprinted with everything he had, hoping to dash down the hill in front of him and lose them in the forest. He heard the crackle of gunfire. Apparently, the men had removed their silencers to get more distance on their shots.

  As he got to the edge of the tree line, he realized there was no hill.

  “Oh shi—”

  He flew off the cliff. The ground—white dotted with boulders—raced toward him. He landed in a snow bank. The breath got knocked out of him, and he took a moment to inhale. Buried at least five feet under the snow, he felt as if he were in a cave. His entire body was shivering so profusely that he couldn’t control his hands enough to flatten them out and push himself up. He got to his elbows and knees.

  I shouldn’t be able to walk after that. He brushed away the thought and poked his head up out of the snow. The men were at the edge of the cliff, scanning the area. One spotted Dillon and raised his rifle.

  Dillon shot to his feet and sprinted for the trees to his left. He ran in a zigzag pattern to make himself a more difficult target. He was still a bit surprised when he actually made it to the first tree without being shot.

  Just a few feet into the forest, he had to stop and lean against a tree. His chest felt as though it had collapsed in on itself. He balled his hands into fists and put them in his armpits in a futile attempt to keep them warm. His suit. It was out there somewhere, and it had to be near a trail.

  “Mr. Mentzer.”

  He turned to a see a short, squat man with a heavy rifle strapped to his back.

  “I-I-I’m afraid…” Dillon said, his teeth chattering again, “y-you have me at a d-d-disadvantage.”

  “Michael Cobin. I’ve been hired to kill you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but I think the cold beat you to it.”

  “Oh, it will kill you eventually. But it takes a little more time. See, what’s going to happen is your body’s going to produce a massive fever. You’re gonna get so hot, you’re gonna rip off them thermals you’re wearin’. That’s why people get found naked in arctic environments. Death has a sense a humor, don’t it?”

  “Yeah. Well, it’s b-been a pleasure, Michael, but if y-you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go farther into the forest before I get naked.”

  “Yeah. ’Bout that… see, I was gonna just put a round through your skull from about a hundred yards. But then I thought, Michael, you’re bored right now. And that ain’t a kill. That’s target practice. A kill is when you do it up close and personal.” He unstrapped the rifle and leaned it against a tree. Cracking his knuckles, he walked toward Dillon.

  “Oh, man,” Dillon groaned. “Seriously? Couldn’t you just shoot me?”

  Michael grinned as he swung his right arm in a haymaker. Dillon ducked and jumped back a few paces. Michael followed up with a front kick that slammed into Dillon’s jaw so hard that he thought he heard his teeth crunch.

  Dillon reeled back, clutching his face until he came against another tree. Michael rushed in like a shark that smelled blood. He hammered a right hook into Dillon’s ribs then a left and another right before aiming an elbow at Dillon’s jaw. Dillon managed to duck, and the blow smashed into the tree, breaking off bits of bark.

  Dillon swung with a right into Michael’s thigh. He thrust his foot into Michal’s groin, causing the man to double over. Dillon tried to sweep the legs out from under Michael and failed. The man’s legs were like tree trunks.

  “Sorry, mate.” Michael grabbed Dillon by the throat. He swung a meaty fist onto the top of Dillon’s head as though he were holding a hammer.

  The blow made Dillon see stars and fall onto his back. Michael raised a foot to stomp on Dillon’s head. But he kicked into Michael’s knee, bending it to the side far enough that Michael toppled over into the snow.

  Dillon, out of breath and freezing to death, saw a glimmer of hope six feet away—the rifle. He scrambled in that direction but felt a vise-like grip on his ankle. Michael pulled him back then rose and stomped on Dillon’s ribs. Michael lifted his boot for another blow. Dillon caught the foot and twisted it around as far as he could. Michael grunted like an injured animal and fell to the ground.

  Dillon again began crawling to the rifle.

  Michael jumped onto his back and put his hands underneath Dillon’s chin. He pulled up, trying to crack his spine, and Dillon screamed.

  “There it is, mate. There’s what I was looking for.” Michael pulled up so forcefully, Dillon thought his spine might break in half.

  Dillon grasped Michael’s index finger and bent it to the side at the knuckle. He felt the snap through the man’s glove. Michael screamed, and Dillon grabbed another finger, the pinky, and did the same.

  Michael jumped up and ripped off the glove to check his hand. “I was gonna make it quick, but now you’re gonna die in pain.”

  Dillon lunged for the rifle. He grasped the cold barrel then flipped the gun to point it at his assailant. He fired without hesitation. The spent casing sizzled in the snow. He fired twice more before Michael fell to his knees.

  “You shot me.”

  “Don’t take it personal,” Dillon said. “I shot a rabbit once, too, and he didn’t piss me off half as much as you.”

  Michael collapsed onto his face with a final groan.

  Dillon moved quickly. He stripped off Michael’s clothing and put it on his own freezing body. Never in his life had the simple act of putting on clothes been so satisfying, especially the boots, which instantly warmed his icy feet.

  He covered his face and head with the scarf, beanie, and goggles then ran back in the direction of the other men. He found them a few yards away. “He’s over there, mates! Over there. Hurry. Hurry!”

  The men scampered past him without even asking why he was running in the opposite direction. Blind devotion could be a good thing.

  Dillon ran up to the cliff he’d fallen from and scanned for a trail. He spotted it on the east side and jogged over there. The suit wasn’t far away. He didn’t know how or why, but he felt it, almost as if it were calling to him.

  22

  Tyler sat in a limo as his construction crew finished another day’s work. That section of
Miami was rundown and inhabited by government-subsidized buildings and liquor stores. Few people noticed the massive construction project over an empty parking lot. They had more important things to worry about.

  Atlantis stood outside the car, wearing a white dress with gold trim. Wherever she went, she was dressed as if going to a ball, perhaps because she’d been without clothes for so long. Or maybe she had an eye toward the modern luxuries in dress. Tyler thought she probably just liked looking fancy. Women were all the same, no matter the era they came from.

  A loud boom echoed through the neighborhood. The foreman had informed him that they just needed one more blast, and they would be through the top layer. He lit a cigar and got out of the limo.

  “It’s ready, Atlantis.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move, just stared into the basketball-court-sized hole in the earth. Then she walked forward and hopped into the hole. She jumped the full twenty feet, but he had to take one of the ladders that’d been set up for the crew.

  Tyler followed her through the tunnel. Electric lanterns hung from the walls provided just enough illumination to see a few feet ahead, but he couldn’t see Atlantis. The walk seemed to take a long time, and Tyler regretted wearing his two-thousand-dollar Italian loafers, which were becoming caked with mud.

  The tunnel widened then opened onto another hole leading deeper into the earth. Atlantis stood at the edge, looking down. He came up behind her. Every cell in his body screamed at him to touch her, to take ahold of her, kiss her, and never let her go. Not a woman in history was as beautiful… or as ruthless. He had come to understand that he valued those two traits more than any others in a mate.

  Tyler looked down. Before them lay an army entombed in transparent coffins. But even from that far up and with only the dim light of a handful of lamps, he knew something was wrong. “They look—”

  “No!” She jumped into the hole.

  Tyler was forced to take another ladder. He walked over to where she stood next to a soldier entombed in the strange material that was like ice but not cold. The man was little more than a skeleton with a few bits of ragged flesh still attached to the frame.

  “No.” Atlantis ran from tomb to tomb.

  They were all dead, every one. She sprinted down an adjacent tunnel so fast that her figure was a blur. By the time Tyler caught up with her, she was running down the other rows of tombs.

  She stopped at one and bent down to flip open the container. The soldier inside gasped then frantically began trying to fight his way out of the tomb.

  “Calm, my servant,” she said. “Calm. Calm…”

  He looked into her eyes and stilled. She lifted him out and set him on his feet. It took a moment for him to get used to his legs.

  “Find your brothers that still live,” she said.

  Atlantis and the soldier continued searching the tombs. Tyler stayed back. She was on edge, and he didn’t want to bother her. She often seemed to show some gratitude toward him, but he wasn’t stupid. She would have no more of an ethical problem with ripping off his head than she would killing an ant.

  It took the two of them over ten minutes to check all the tombs. Tyler counted nine soldiers with Atlantis. The soldiers appeared to be savage memories from the past. Neanderthals, Tyler thought, heavily muscled and with menacing expressions.

  Atlantis nodded at them. “They will suffice for now. And the king?”

  “Who you refer to as the king is called a president. And I’m sorry, Queen. He has denied our request for an in-person meeting.”

  She grinned. “Then we’ll just have to get his attention, won’t we?”

  23

  Dillon followed the trail up the mountain. Feeling had come back to his feet, and he wasn’t shivering, though his face still felt like an icicle. When he turned a corner, he spotted a mound of snow off to the side of the trail. He broke into a jog then dropped to kneel beside the black metallic piece of material sticking out of the snow. He began digging the suit free. Weak and still in pain, he had to stop every few minutes.

  When he finally uncovered most of the Onyx suit, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Parts of it were missing. The chest looked as though it had been clawed apart by some monstrous cat. Half the helmet was gone, and large patches appeared to have been burned.

  The suit was too heavy to move, so he stripped down to his thermals and lay next to it. He focused his mind, and when the suit opened behind him, he scooted inside so it could engulf his body.

  Power flowed through him, but it was only an echo of the previous strength, weak and sporadic. His exposed skin stung in the icy wind.

  Trying to get the same burst of energy he’d had before, he imagined a hose at the top of his head pouring water over him. The water pooled in his belly. Then it would spread to whatever section he wished, and he would explode with power. But the water seemed unable to run along the set paths, and he felt frail.

  He rose off the ground, slowly, ponderously, the effort taking energy out of him in a way it never had. Rising high off the mountain, he angled toward the camp. The men in white were gone, but some climbers remained, bustling about in an attempt to restore order and help the wounded. He whispered a goodbye and thank you to Natalie as he headed in the other direction.

  Just to time it, Dillon had once flown around the earth as quickly as possible. He had gone so fast that the suit had started heating up and cooking him inside it. He slowed enough that he wouldn’t pass out from the heat. The entire trip had taken him less than eight minutes.

  But in the damaged suit, every movement pained him, and the more he forced the suit to gain speed, the more he feared it might give out and cause him to fall from the air.

  Flying at an altitude of no more than five thousand feet, close enough to see the cars on the roads, he seemingly crawled to the Falkland Islands. When he finally did land, after spending more time in the air than he ever had, he felt faint and confused. Lying flat on his back in a small park, he closed his eyes, and sleep took him.

  When Dillon awoke, the sun was setting. He sat up, his head pounding as if he had a horrific hangover coupled with the aftermath of a car accident. His entire body hurt. But he had no choice. He had to get to the city made of ice. Not fully understanding why, he knew he had to get there. Something was there for him. He couldn’t put it into words, but he knew why he had chosen to come there without even consciously thinking about it.

  The Onyx suit was taking him back to its place of origin. It had nearly been destroyed and was going back to what it knew.

  Dillon got out of the suit. Without him being inside, it was almost impossible to move and certainly impossible to open. So he felt there was little risk in just leaving it in the park.

  Barefoot and in thermals, he walked to the nearest street. A café was on the corner, and he went inside and sat at the counter. A waitress came over with a menu.

  “Could I have a glass of water please?” he asked.

  She nodded and brought the water, clearly thinking him homeless and taking pity on him. He moved to a table by the window and gulped the water as if it were the last glassful on the planet. The gray of evening turned to the black of night, and the stars came out of their caves.

  He thought of Natalie after the bullet had torn through her. The life in her eyes disappeared instantly, replaced with a cold detachment. Ice in the eyes. But Natalie’s face wasn’t the one he pictured. He saw Jaime lying dead inside a tent, blood spreading across her chest and soaking her clothes.

  “You okay?” The waitress, a young woman with blue eyes, stood next to his table with a broom in her hand.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for the water.”

  “Are you hungry? We have some donuts left over.”

  “I would love a donut. Thank you.”

  She disappeared into the back and came out with a sandwich, a donut, and a glass of orange juice.

  He shook his head. “I don’t have any money.”

  “It’s okay. It’s on me.”
She put the plates and the glass on the table.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He took a bite of the sandwich. “You would not believe how good something tastes when you think you’re never going to taste it again.”

  “I can imagine.” She began to sweep the floor. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  “Just passing through.”

  “To where?”

  He was too tired to lie. “Antarctica.”

  She grinned. “Really? And are you a great explorer or something?”

  “Something,” he said around a mouthful of donut.

  “Well, be careful. That place is dangerous.”

  “Tell me about it. So does your family own this place?”

  “No, I just work here. I was kinda like you actually.”

  “Like me?”

  “Wandering around. Without a place to be.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, the owner’s this nice older lady. She gave me a job, and I sleep in the back.”

  “You don’t have a British accent. Where are you from?”

  “Kansas originally.”

  “Really? What’s a Kansas girl doing in the Falklands?”

  She paused, not looking him in the eyes. “I just… had to get away. Everyone says you shouldn’t run from stuff, but I don’t think they know how bad some stuff can be.” Pain was written clearly across her face.

  He nodded. “No, they don’t.” After taking the last bite of the donut, he stood up. “What’s your name?”

  “Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca, that food helped more than you know. I promise I’m going to pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  He left and went back to the park. The suit hadn’t been disturbed, and he climbed inside it. Feeling a little bit of renewed energy, he lifted into the night sky.

  24

  Tyler watched in amazement as the soldiers dressed in modern clothing bought from a trendy store at a shopping mall. They looked ridiculous because their features were clearly those of men from a different time. And watching them prance around a shopping mall, gaping in true wonder as if they were in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, felt surreal.