Relapse (Breakers Book 7), Page 2

  "Enhanced interrogation." Anson leaned forward, forearms on his knees. "Look, nobody likes to do it. No one I want working for me, anyway. But we're right on the cusp. The future of humanity is at stake here. In that context, an individual life is meaningless."

  "How's that differ from every other context?"

  "Oh, don't play your nihilism with me. I know you better than that."

  "Okay," Lowell said. "Have you ever tortured someone?"

  "That's not something my position allows me to do. I'm a symbol, Geoff. Of hope. Of the future. If I crack, if I show a speck of dirt or decay of any kind, that symbol is lost. And everything cracks with me." Anson leaned back, splaying his palms. "Do you have any idea how hard that is? I'm a person with feelings. I get angry. I get hurt. I see a young woman and I want to drag her off to bed by her hair."

  "Well, that just about runs the emotional gamut."

  Anson swept his hands together, folding them, and leaned closer. "But I don't. I control my impulses. Before I act or speak, I look at every word and gesture to ensure it's going to uphold the purity of the symbol. Because that's my role. Because that's what it requires of me to rebuild."

  "Yes," Lowell said. "I tortured her. Until there was nothing else to do."

  "And she gave you nothing?" Anson shook his head in wonder. "What a waste. Sounds like she would have made a great member of the team. Shit, man. I know you gave it everything you could, but I'm pretty disappointed right now."

  "Enough to switch tactics? Or should I keep looking for refugees?"

  "I just do not want to drag this thing out. Think about Vietnam. Iraq. That crippled the U.S.'s ability to act elsewhere for years."

  "And an invasion is out of the question."

  "Not out of the question. But I'm loath to do it, Geoff. We barely beat them in San Pedro. This time, you're talking about an amphibious invasion of an island we know almost nothing about."

  "I get it," Lowell said. "We can't get a hand from our intergalactic partners? I thought we had a coalition."

  Anson winced. "They have withdrawn into their ship. I could barely get their help with the attack on San Pedro. They weren't happy about what happened to their tank. The only thing they want to do now is lay low."

  "Why is that?"

  "Irrelevant, Geoff. Here are the facts you have to work with: I want those superstitious barbarians pushed into the sea, and we won't have any help getting it done."

  Lowell got out his faded yellow pack of Juicy Fruit. He hadn't had one since the unauthorized bazaar formerly known as the Dunemarket. As he peeled the foil away from the grayish stick, he paused.

  "You're right," he said. "You are a symbol. A powerful one. I think that's how you take Raina down."

  Anson showed his teeth. "What have you got in mind?"

  "You haven't been out much lately, have you? Laying low. Like our friends in the ship. Don't blame you. But I think it's about time you made a public appearance—one guaranteed to deliver that teenaged moon-worshipper to you."

  2

  She knew many things: how the day expanded with the warming of the weather and contracted with the cold. How the moon lagged behind the circuit of the sun, and how the tide lagged with it, waxing and waning almost but not always twice per day. How the sand was best when the tide receded and the beach was firm and good for running. How the stars crept up to reveal the arrangements they hid behind the earth's rim. Every season, she hoped they would show her something new, but every year, they repeated what they had before.

  Raina knew many things, but she didn't know the one thing she needed most: how to take back her home from the man who had stolen it.

  The sun hung above the lump of the mainland. Morning mist flowed around the brow of the hilly peninsula. Raina sat on the gravelly beach and gazed across the bay separating her from the invaders.

  "It keeps us safe, doesn't it?" She passed the skull from one hand to the other, rolling it like an egg. Karslaw said nothing. They both knew it hadn't kept him safe from her. The bark of a seal echoed over the water. A flock of crested gulls soared above the surface. "You're right. Safety is a trick. It makes you think you have time when the truth is all things not dead are in motion."

  "You only think that—"

  Raina shot to her feet, snapping her sword from its red scabbard. Two feet from its steely tip, Mauser put up his hands. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, but he was smiling.

  "—because you haven't seen Weekend at Bernie's," he finished.

  "If you're going to sneak up on a person, the least you could do is make sense." She slid her sword home with a feathery whisper and bent to pick up Karslaw, whom she'd dropped.

  "Anyone my age would understand. Anyone worth talking to, at least." Mauser watched as she brushed grit from the bleached skull. "What are you doing? Consulting with your corpus-challenged buddy?"

  "In his way, he was the strongest foe I may ever face. I brought him down. Surely I can do the same to Anson."

  "What's the hurry? It's been pretty quiet since we got here, hasn't it?"

  "He's restless like a shark. He'll come for us." Raina returned the skull to her pack and eyed Mauser. "You can help me. You're good at knowing evil."

  He laughed, mouth hanging open as if he smelled something rancid. "You genuinely believe that's a compliment."

  "You understand their weakness. You see them not as they pretend to be, but as they are. That means you know where to sting."

  "Well, when you put it like that, I'm flattered. Why don't you reenact what you did to your bony friend? Liberate the head."

  Raina shook her head. "That won't work."

  "He's got one of those steel necks, does he? Think he'll sell me one?"

  "When I think of him dying, I don't see this ending."

  Mauser made a noncommital sound in his throat. "The moon frowned at you, did it?"

  "You make fun like most people make shit. Yet the moon has guided us this far."

  "Either that, or it's a distant, romantic object onto which we feel comfortable projecting our own wishes and fears."

  Raina smiled. "See? You know how evil is done."

  The late summer morning was already hot and he swabbed sweat from his forehead with an off-white rag. "I also know that strong organization, be it for good or for evil, takes an imperial shitload of energy to maintain. Most people are lazy. If you knock out the guy whipping on the troops, they'll hit the shade and take a siesta."

  Raina clenched her teeth. There was nothing she hated more than knowing a thing to be true but not knowing how to reveal that truth to others.

  She ran her fingernail down the lacquered scabbard. "It won't solve our problem. He's more than a leader. He's a virus that's infected his people with belief. Killing him won't cure them of his lies. We'll need something more."

  "Okay, but can it hurt?"

  "Only Anson. Or us, if we fail." Raina glanced toward the far shores of San Pedro where the rusting cranes loomed over the docks like straight, leafless trees. "Fine then. Tell the scouts we're looking to sever the head."

  "I will," Mauser said. "And I'm going to say it just like that, because it sounds incredibly cool."

  "Why did you come here? Was there something else you needed?"

  "An assault helicopter would be swell, thanks. Along with the training to fly it. Mostly, however, I came to see what you were doing. Too much time alone makes a person weird."

  He winked at her and loped away from the pebbly beach. Raina shucked her shoes and waded into the water. It was cold but felt good.

  So did having come to a decision. Since retreating to Catalina after the battle, she had been so consumed with the details of ensuring her people could feed and defend themselves that she had given little meaningful thought to how they would strike back.

  Waves shushed up the gravel. She peered past the wavelets to spy the fat-headed fish that clung close to shore. Mauser was right: it wasn't good to be alone. To try to swing a forest of blades by yo
urself. Every dog in the pack had its place in the pack. Without the pack, the leader was no more than a stray. An arrow without a bow. Offensive to that which had put it there to lead.

  Yet doubt wormed in her lungs. Anson wasn't Karlsaw; killing him would not end things as killing Karslaw had. As she'd told Mauser, Anson did more than lead his troops: he turned them into believers.

  And if he dropped his sword, Raina feared the man behind him would pick it up without missing a step.

  The water was cold. Forbidding. She steeled herself, flung her belt and sword to the safety of the shore, and strode forward until it was deep enough to dive in.

  * * *

  She had barely stepped inside the walls of the castle in the hills to the west of Avalon when the viceroy of Catalina intercepted her. Tina Young was thin and tall like a marshland bird. She wore rimless glasses, which Raina distrusted, and had been a chief at one of the universities that had spelled its name with block letters, which Raina distrusted more.

  Yet over a year ago, when it had come time to name an administrator of the island, many had vouched for Tina's competence. According to Mauser, before Tina had ascended to the university's inner sanctum, she had been versed in the health of the body and of crops. Good qualities for the viceroy of a quiet, isolated island.

  Then the war had come.

  "Raina," Tina said, bobbing her head the minimum expected. "Been looking all over for you. Got a minute?"

  After her swim, Raina had rinsed off with her water bottle, but the salt in her clothes had chafed her on the walk home and she found herself deeply annoyed. "You may speak."

  Tina's right eye twitched. "The tests are in from Avalon. Our ability to measure these things is admittedly crude, but to be frank, the water quality in town is deplorable."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning that the unexpected influx of residents has caused the levels of contaminants to spike. Including bacteria."

  "Bad water."

  "Not bad water. Bacteria. That makes people sick. In urban centers with poor sanitation, sickness makes for epidemics."

  "I know of sickness," Raina said. "What I don't know is what you intend to do about it."

  Tina pinched her upper lip, gazing past Raina's ear. "We're filtering enough for drinking supplies, but people are using untreated water for bathing, gardens, et cetera. It's only a matter of time before there's an outbreak. My proposal is two-fold: decrease risk of disease by digging a series of public latrines while educating the citizens to use them. And treat the water with basic chemical processes. Ozone would be my preference, but if we can't find any of that, we may be able to get away with low doses of chlorine—particularly if it's not intended for drinking."

  "Make it done."

  "Just like that? There are safety concerns. Not to mention the logistics of acquiring treatment materials. And first and foremost, I'm unclear as to the boundaries of my present authority."

  Raina folded her arms. "We have been over this. You know the needs of this land. What it can provide for us and what it cannot. Bring your judgments to me. If they are sound, I will make them fact."

  "Okay," the woman said, uplifting the second syllable, as if she had plucked the word from a dark hole and wasn't yet certain what it was. "I'll compile the reports. Expect an action plan pronto."

  Tina bobbed her head, smiling tightly, and turned on her heel, walking toward the open doors of the stone house that had been expanded to form the castle's keep.

  Raina glanced about the courtyard, leery of further administrative ambush, then headed inside to change her clothes and scrub off the leftover salt. She was suddenly exhausted. Running San Pedro from the seat of the Dunemarket had not been nearly so difficult. It had been larger, but its growth had taken place over time. Much as the trunk of a tree grows to match the demands of its heaviest boughs, the market's support structure had grown alongside its population.

  Yet Catalina's trunk was spindly. Far too meager to hold up all that had been brought here from the mainland. There were times when it felt like the only thing propping it up was Raina's shoulders.

  Over the next few days, Tina returned with her "action plan." Raina assigned one team to sink the latrines and a second to sail to Seal Beach and travel inland to the university at Fullerton, which she believed would have the materials necessary to treat the water. While she waited for the scouts' reports to come in, she spent hours walking along the beach and planning her strike on Anson.

  By necessity, the assassination would be opportunistic, meaning there was only so much she could figure out in advance. She could at least determine her team, though. She would take Carl, if he was willing, and Henna, whose will was never in doubt. She would go, too, because Anson had lied to her about wishing peace—had set a trap and kidnapped her, intending to kill her and take her spirit for himself.

  She had escaped him. Perhaps that meant it was her destiny to kill him instead. Even if it wasn't, it was her duty. He had claimed too many lives. Someone had to free them from his grip.

  After Carl and Henna, other warriors were more difficult to choose. Mauser would be an asset, yet he was also of value to the governance of Catalina—and, when they retook it, of their homeland. She didn't want to commit him to this task. Then again, given his rutting with the chameleon, Mia, Raina doubted that he would object to being left behind.

  When she tired of the beach, she traveled inland, gazing at the brown bison spotting the green fields. When the time came to move, she thought she would slaughter one in offering.

  Henna returned from scouting. She made her report to Raina and Mauser in the tapestried room where Karslaw had once kept his kingdom.

  "There's been no sight of Anson anywhere." The sides of Henna's head were shaved. She was eighteen or so, about Raina's age, but like most of the young men and women who had joined the banner of the Dunemarket, her eyes were much older. "Logan snuck back into the market—the People of the Stars are still there, but they've let some of our people stay. They confirm Anson has stayed hidden in his fortress of the Heart for weeks. How could such a coward have defeated us?"

  "He's not a coward," Raina said. "He's a hawk. He's foreseen our plan."

  "What an asshole." Mauser cracked his knuckles. "So how about we hit him in the Heart?"

  Henna shook her head. "The Heart has eyes."

  "You mean its little alarm system? Then they will be horrified to witness us stabbing Anson to death."

  Raina went to the wall and unpinned the map they'd drawn of the Heart. It was not good, but it was the best they had. She spread it on the table.

  "The Heart is not like this castle," she said. "It's a town of its own. Unless we know exactly where he is within it, we would have no chance of finding him before his warriors caught us."

  Mauser tilted his head to the side. "Are you suggesting infiltration? Don't look at Mia. They know her tricks."

  "I am suggesting we wait for another opportunity. One that doesn't involve flinging ourselves on the shores of death like a shoal of grunions." She turned to Henna. "Keep up the hunt. Anson is fed by the adoring gaze of his followers. He won't be able to keep himself secluded from them for long."

  Henna left the room, already on her way back to the silent battle for the southern lands. Raina wished she had more like her.

  "When the time comes," Raina said, "you should stay."

  Mauser chuckled. "Let me guess. You're going?"

  "I have to kill him."

  "Because doing so will give you his power. Isn't that right, Highlander?"

  "Because he needs killing, fool. And if I am to die while killing him, you're most fit to replace me." She smiled wryly. "Don't let anyone know that, or I'll get shot in the back. They like you better."

  "That's not true in the slightest," he said. She stared until he rolled his eyes and sat back. "Okay, perhaps they like me better. But they sure respect you more."

  It was the perfect thing for him to say, because it was the only thing that ma
ttered.

  The team returned from the academy of Fullerton bearing sealed jugs of the matter demanded by Tina. Over the next few days, Raina was called in repeatedly to adjudicate maddening debates between Tina and her underlings as to whether it was more dangerous to leave the water untreated, or to "purify" it with crude chemicals that could prove, in the long term, to be as poisonous to the islanders as to the germs they were slaying.

  "This is enough!" Raina said during the middle of one such meeting. "Whichever way, the children of the survivors will be stronger. So choose and be damned."

  She stormed out and crossed the trail from the castle to Avalon to inspect the work on the new latrines, which at least she understood. While she was there, the foreman informed her that some of the residents had complained about having to live near the new digs.

  "If it helps," Raina said, "remind them they won't have to live here for long."

  She left and returned to the palace. There, one of Tina's assistants informed her that their current supplies of grain would only hold out for another ten weeks.

  "Will the seas run out of fish?" Raina said.

  The man glanced side to side. "If anything, I expect the last seven years of human inattention has resulted in a bumper crop."

  "Then let us eat fish."

  She brushed past him. Her patience for such things was thinning. There were lots of people on the island now. Their relocation was the cause of these problems. If there were too many of them and too little food, the obvious solution was to assign them to find more things to eat.

  Was the solution that hard? Why did she have to tend to these details herself? It was a misuse of that which was inside her. She couldn't wait to cast Anson down, return her people to San Pedro, and free herself of these unwanted shackles of command.

  Henna arrived at Raina's chambers in the palace late the next morning. She was sweaty, as if she had run all the way from Avalon.

  "It's Anson," she said, swabbing the sweat from the close-cropped hair on the sides of her head. "He's reopening the Dunemarket."