Shield of Winter

Chapter 27

Intelligence and the capacity for independent thought are prerequisites for entry into the squad. An Arrow is a finely honed instrument capable of handling situations beyond the skill set of even the most well-trained black-ops soldier.

First Code of Arrows

IT ONLY TOOK Vasic minutes to ascertain that Eben’s custodial parent, his father, was in a coma. His mother lived in another region and was uninfected, but it made no sense to send the boy to her in his current state—he was much better off with Ivy.

That task complete, he joined the other Arrows in their house-to-house search for further survivors. In view of the risk posed by the infected, many of whom had struck out wildly with their psychic abilities during the fighting, he’d informed the local authorities that no one would be allowed into the homes until the Arrows had cleared the area.

They found a number of dead victims in the first building. At first glance, they all appeared to have killed one another, but he was sure Aden would make the pathologists check for brain aneurysms such as that which had struck down Subject 8-91.

Reporting the locations of the bodies to the local authorities, Vasic and his small team continued inward, each taking a different floor as they entered the next building. The work required meticulous concentration and unremitting alertness. A small number of humans were hunkered down behind locked doors, and Vasic told them to stay there after verifying the fact they were human.

“We have injured,” a young male told him, his voice shaking. “Is it safe to take them out?”

Seeing the extent of one woman’s injuries when the youth opened the door fully, the wounded woman’s hands pressed over her blood-soaked sweatshirt, Vasic said, “I’ll ’port her out. Carry the others out quietly down the corridor and through the stairwell.”

His team also found a scattering of uninfected Psy—people who had just moved into the area, guests from out of town, a university student who’d had to barricade herself in the bathroom when her study partner came after her with a broken glass bottle. As with the humans, Vasic ’ported out the most injured, while human neighbors helped the walking wounded out through cleared exit routes.

It was on the third floor of the final building that Vasic heard something from inside an apartment with an ominously open door. Warning the others to be on standby, he moved quietly down the corridor. The door bore a single bloody handprint, the body of a middle-aged brunette lying just inside—it appeared she’d been bashed over the head with a vase that was now in splinters around her.

A small barren table by the door bore the faint mark of a water ring that told Vasic the vase had been sitting there before it was turned into a weapon.

Vasic checked the victim’s pulse, found her skin cold. Her heart had stopped pumping blood long ago; if he had to guess, he’d say at the start of the outbreak. She’d opened the door to a knock and found herself face-to-face with death. Noting the location of the body to pass on to the local authorities, he checked the other rooms. Bathroom, kitchen, first bedroom, they were all empty.

Looking into the final room, its walls pale yellow with a white trim, he saw a curtain waving in the breeze and disengaged the alert, guessing the fabric must’ve dislodged something from a nearby shelf. He’d just cleared the tall cupboard to the left when he heard wordless murmuring coming from the other side of the room.

There was only one thing there: a crib.

Muscles tensed against the horror he might discover, he crossed the cream-colored carpet . . . to find himself the cynosure of big brown eyes in a round-cheeked face. The baby’s face broke out into a smile at the sight of him. Babbling incoherently, it kicked up its feet, grabbed its toes in tiny hands, then held out its arms.

Vasic had never been around anything this small and weak, but he couldn’t bring himself to simply ’port the child into a waiting ambulance. That would scare her, and the child who’d surely just lost its custodial parent—a parent who had dressed her carefully in soft pink pants and a matching sweater emblazoned with the words “Girls rule” on the front—didn’t need more pain. Her face scrunched up when he didn’t move in fast enough, her lower lip quivering.

“Your Silence is terrible, little one,” he said gently, lifting her from her crib to cradle her against his chest.

One tiny hand, her skin close to the color of fresh-fallen snow, spread open on his combat uniform, her good humor restored now that she was in his arms. He could feel her mind batting curiously against his as her hands patted at his chest—it appeared she’d had no training under the Protocol at all. Her parent or parents had either been bad at teaching her, or they’d read the currents of the Net right and realized their child didn’t have to grow up Silent, or . . .

The abrasion against his mind was faint but familiar.

He was holding an empath.

Picking up the yellow blanket in her crib, he bundled her into it, then accessed property records to identify who paid the rent on this apartment. Cross-checking that against birth records gave him the name of the baby’s mother, the custodial parent. He telepathically requested an updated list of the dead and the infected from the medical team, scanned it as he stepped outside.

The baby’s mother wasn’t on the list, but that meant nothing since not all of the dead had been identified as yet. Ten minutes later, just after an M-Psy confirmed she showed no signs of infection, the child in Vasic’s arms began to burble happily, forgetting the tension that had made her hide her face against his chest during the M-Psy’s examination

Turning carefully, Vasic watched the baby’s face light up at the sight of the crowd behind the barricade. Vasic had already accessed the image of the mother on his gauntlet so he could identify her body. It didn’t take him long to locate the distraught woman—tall, with bone-white skin strained over slashing cheekbones, she’d shoved through the crowd and was attempting to climb over the barricade.

She broke down in tears when she saw him walking toward her.

Placing the baby in her arms, he said, “Your child shows no signs of any trauma.”

Frantically checking her child with gentle hands, the woman shuddered and cuddled her close. “My cousin, Miki?” Her voice shook. “She watches Marchelline while I’m at work.”

“Brunette, small half-moon scar on her right hand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, she’s gone.” It was pure luck the infected who’d attacked Miki hadn’t found the baby—Vasic’s gut roiled at the thought of what might have happened had the child cried out at the wrong instant.

In front of him, the woman’s face almost crumpled again before she got it under control. “W-will you report us?” Terror in the big brown eyes that shouted her familial link to the child she held so protectively.

“No. Silence has fallen.” And he’d just found a third empath, a third survivor.

KALEB had known from the start that Aden wasn’t simply a low-level telepath and field medic, but the kind of power he’d seen from the Arrow today should have been impossible given Aden’s noncardinal status.

“Factoring in that Sunshine Station was site zero,” he said to the other man as they stood out of sight at the end of the affected street in Anchorage, “the majority of the Net is safe from collapse for the present.” The fact the Sunshine collapse and this outbreak had occurred near-simultaneously was a grim coincidence; one hadn’t initiated the other.

“The collapse does give us a timeline of decay,” Aden said.

Yes, and that decay was far more virulent than anyone had guessed. A chunk of the Net had simply crumbled to nothing today, akin to fabric eaten away by insects until it was too fragile to bear any pressure. If they didn’t find a way to ameliorate the damage, cure the infection, Kaleb would have to slice away the infected sections in order to save the pieces he could.

“The infection, however,” Aden said, his eyes on the carnage on the street, “is going active in the victims faster than it’s eroding the Net. Anchorage was clean as of two weeks ago.”

“Most of it still is.” Kaleb had called in reports from his men and women in the area. “This was concentrated on a single street.”

“A subtle thread of infection we didn’t spot and that could have been here for months.” Aden nodded. “Makes it more dangerous than the larger, visible tendrils.”

“We’ll need a rapid response team that can liaise with the local authorities. They’ll end up being first responders if we have multiple outbreaks in a single day.”

“Agreed.” Aden glanced at Kaleb, his dark eyes displaying such acute intelligence that Kaleb couldn’t believe Ming hadn’t regarded the male a threat. “An Arrow unit?”

“No, this has to be a unit that can deal with civilians of all races.” The Arrows terrified most people. “We need a manager skilled at handling people and logistics.”

Kaleb? Sahara’s voice. You realize you have that person working for you?

He’d asked the woman who held his soul to sit in telepathically on this meeting and his earlier discussion with Aden, her insights invaluable when it came to the squad. Silver is too useful to second. His aide had a brilliant mind.

I think she’d enjoy the challenge.

Kaleb considered it. If he gave Silver this position, she’d understand it was one that indicated a deep level of trust. It would also increase her status—not in a way that would pose a threat to him, but that her family would appreciate. It would further cement their loyalty to him.

“Silver Mercant,” he said to Aden. “Can you work with her to ensure Arrows are sent to the most critical incidents?”

“Mercants tend to be efficient, so I don’t foresee a problem.” Aden was silent for a minute, and when he did speak, it was on another topic. “The empaths. They’re being asked to do the impossible—how can a designation that’s been stifled and crushed for over a century hope to save our entire race?”

WHEN Kaleb repeated Aden’s question to Sahara after returning home to Moscow, she frowned. Seated in bed with a datapad on her lap, the world draped in the darkness of very early morning on this side of the world, she was watching him undress. They both needed to catch some sleep. Before her, he would’ve stripped, showered, and slept in silence.

Now hers was the last voice he heard before he closed his eyes.

“The first public defection was an empath,” she reminded him. “Then there’s the fact that there are thousands and thousands of older Es in the Net—no one ever considers how strong they must be to have survived psychic imprisonment for decades.” Setting aside the datapad, she shoved aside the blanket and got out. “I think the empaths are far more resilient and resourceful than anyone knows.”

He let her remove his cuff links, unbutton his shirt. She was dressed only in the T-shirt he’d been wearing earlier. She always did that, always wore him close to her skin when he was apart from her. It was as much a caress as her fingers on him as she pushed off his shirt. “You’ll have to make a statement.”

Shrugging the shirt to the floor, he undid his belt and dropped it on top of the fabric. “I’ll consider it. At this point, I can’t promise a cure—the populace should get used to fear, if only for self-preservation.”

“Silent Voices has already sent out a press release.”

Kaleb ignored her.

Sahara laughed, well aware that was a response. Guilt threatened nearly at once as she remembered the losses of the day, but she refused to succumb to it. The world would never be a perfect place, and she and Kaleb had already spent too many years in the dark. Never would she willfully turn her back on happiness.

Wrapping her arms around his bare chest, she rose on tiptoe to kiss his jaw, his skin a little rough by this time of day. It made her nerve endings flare, the sensation exquisite. Smooth or rough, she loved the line of his jaw, loved too that she was the only woman who ever got to see him stripped of his obsidian control. There were no masks between her and Kaleb.

He pushed one hand into her hair. “Do you feel forced into assisting me with the political situation so I don’t cross ethical lines?”

Startled at the question, she settled back flat on her feet. “No.” He used her as his sounding board, so it wasn’t as if she were ever in the dark about any of his decisions.

“I don’t want to hold you back from exploring the options open to you.” Cardinal eyes locked with her own. “Your intellect is in the highest percentile, meant for study and research.”

“I am studying, remember?”

“Not as much as you could be if you weren’t handling multiple things for me.”

“I enjoy the variety of things I do behind the scenes for you.” Like translating documents he could trust were verbatim to the original and being the contact person with DarkRiver. “But mostly, I just like being with you.” Never did she feel as alive as when she was with Kaleb. He challenged her, loved her, made her think in innovative and exhilarating ways. “Do you mind?”

The stars disappeared to leave his eyes endless black. “Sahara.” His kiss was a branding, a reminder that he would’ve destroyed an entire civilization for her. You could be with me every instant of every day and I would ask for more.

Breaking the kiss to look into his face, she petted his nape with possessive hands. “Come to bed.”

“Le—” He broke off his reply, paused, then said, “I have to handle a business matter—it appears a certain conglomerate has decided to flout my mandate for price stability in the current climate.”

Sahara wished she could growl like the changelings. Throwing up her hands instead, she managed a good approximation of a snarl instead. “Damn it! Idiots.” Economic uncertainty could do as much damage as the infection, not only to the Psy, but to the entire world.

“Yes.” Hands on his hips, Kaleb seemed to be listening to something. “I’ll have to pay the CEO a personal visit. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Wait.” She squeezed his shoulder, the muscle firm under her touch, his skin warm. “You’ve been working nonstop for the past twenty-one hours.” And not only today. “Can you ask one of the squad to handle it?”

Kaleb stared at her. “Arrows don’t normally deal with economic issues.”

“This isn’t an economic issue—this is about scaring the pants off an arrogant CEO who wants to destabilize the economy,” she pointed out, tugging him down with one hand in his hair. “And you need to learn to delegate. Don’t be like Ming and not use the Arrows to their full capacity.”

A pulse along the bond that connected them. Irritation.

Her lips twitched. “Sorry I put you and Ming in the same sentence,” she said with a kiss. “But you know I’m right. This is exactly the type of situation an Arrow could contain so you don’t have to—they’re highly trained operatives capable of subtlety.”

Hands curving around either side of her rib cage, he said, “And in utilizing them in such a fashion, I show the Arrows I value them beyond their ability to kill.”

God, but she loved him, ruthless political mind and all. “Yes,” she agreed. “Words mean nothing after their betrayal at Ming’s hand.” From everything she and Kaleb knew, the former Councilor had attempted to destroy the very foundations of what it meant to be an Arrow.

“Aden says he has the perfect Arrow for the task,” Kaleb responded a minute later. “It’ll be done immediately.”

“Good. Now, come to bed.”