Everything was about to go down, and yet Sloan felt oddly relaxed. She hadn’t figured out how she was going to spend her fifteen minutes. She hadn’t told Elijah. She hadn’t even seen Jared. Yet, somehow, she felt very unexplainably calm. Maybe it was because, as they all readied to get to the hall, she knew what Romani was going to announce. Maybe not. She supposed it was acceptance or just the inevitable state of becoming resigned to one’s fate. She felt that once it all began, she would just know what to do. She had been trained for war—this was the first battle.
Elijah held her hand as they traveled in the pod—and she let him. Who knew when that would ever happen again; who knew when he would discover her secret and let all his love transform into hate? The pod doors opened up to the corridor outside the training hall. Pools of seniors were slowly trudging into the room, some excitedly talking amongst friends, some apprehensive of the suddenness of this conference—all oblivious to what was about to be said, to what was about to happen.
Sloan easily spotted the Others and pulled Elijah through the throngs of people to where Edward, Jo, Sava and Wesley stood. Michael and Banks were roughhousing. Chase, Joss and Corbin were talking in low voices. It seemed that no one knew how to feel—despite all their elaborate planning, no one knew what to anticipate. But they were ready. They were Stone’s chosen soldiers for a reason.
The remaining students in the corridor slowly made their way in and soon, all that was left was their small group. Edward sighed heavily and pulled a tire iron out from underneath the back of his shirt, tossing it behind the door—for later. “It’s go time,” he said with a smile. They hugged. They patted shoulders. They promised to find one another after. And then slowly, they all began to make their way in. As she began to follow, Elijah pulled her back, wanting a minute alone.
She looked up into his brilliant green eyes, wishing things had been different for them. Wishing he hadn’t loved her the way he did, or that she had been able to love him the way he wanted her to. She wished a lot of things could be different. He squeezed her hand tightly.
“I just wanted to tell you—in case I can’t again—I love you, Sloan.” He stared down at her with longing, with a thousand more thoughts that he didn’t have the time to verbalize. Quickly, though, he added, “And I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry for dragging you from the life you loved to this one.”
She nodded up at him, realizing he had never apologized to her for all of this. She appreciated it—more than she had thought she would. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m sorry too. For . . . everything,” she whispered. It was all she had to offer him now, with so little time to spare. He nodded and turned to enter.
“Elijah,” she called to him. He looked over his shoulder to her.
She gave him a half smile. “I do love you too, you know. I love you in the way I know how to,” she explained.
She hoped he understood. Whether he did or not, she was unsure, but he smiled back at her and led the way into the hall—the room where, once again, her life would be changed forever.
Sloan was wedged between Elijah and Chase, on a stand nearest the exit. As expected, the Order was sitting at their usual panel desk atop a stage. She locked eyes briefly with Stone, but he turned his gaze from her, engaging with Colonel Luke. To Sloan’s interest, the room wasn’t just filled with seniors—lining the perimeter of the room were rows of Academy sentries. She wondered if that was Romani’s call, to ensure order upon making his announcement about early deployment, or Stone’s, who knew that having a good majority of them in one spot would assist with their plans.
Finally, her eyes fell onto Romani, and slowly he stood, drawing out his long stare until the room was perfectly silent. As they stilled beneath his gaze, he smiled. “My senior students, I have called upon you this day to discuss a serious matter. A matter perhaps more serious than any we have previously addressed.”
He walked out from behind the panel desk, nearing the edge of the stage. “Today, we—the Order—call upon you to fulfill your duty. We call upon you to leave behind the classrooms of youth and enter the battlefields of men and women.”
We plan to do just that, Sloan thought wryly. She could feel the students around her begin to shift in their seats, uncertain what their leader was inferring.
“Never before have I seen such a capable group and I cannot ignore the crying pleas from Dei Terra any longer. I will not drag this out in colorful words and anecdotes—for you are not children, but soldiers. It is as simple as this,” he continued, slowly raising his white-gloved hand to his chin.
“Your country needs you.”
The room came alive with whispering speculations and Romani simply smiled on. He had an undeniable gift for riling up them up; his oratory skills made him a master manipulator, as Sloan had learned.
He nodded slowly, his chin bobbing against the back of his hand. “I would never send you to your deaths—I am only content with such plans because I have unwavering faith in each and every one of you, as soldiers . . . as leaders.”
Sloan narrowed her gaze on the man. She imagined strangling him . . . shooting him so he could die like Donny or Kenny. Injecting him, so he could go slowly, like Tandy. Or snapping his neck—so that he could know the horror he had trained her to be capable of.
“The time is now. Everything you have trained for, everything your parents sent you here to achieve—it lies before you, ready for the taking,” he pressed, stirring up the room with delusions of glory.
“Are you ready for deployment? Are you ready to serve?” he asked, his voice rising. Students began to clap, excited, cheering at the false hopes he provided. Sloan could see so clearly how he had once had such a tight hold on her as well. He smiled at them, allowing them to bask in their excitement. And once they quieted, he carried on. “A word from your general, my students.” He quickly stepped aside, allowing Stone to take center stage.
Stone slowly walked out from behind the desk, crossing over the stage to where Romani had just stood. Sloan sat up straighter, certain if he were going to cue them to make their move, it would happen soon. And then, uncharacteristically, Stone clapped Romani on the back. “Well said, Marshal,” he laughed. No one ever touched Romani. The marshal shied away from Stone.
Slowly, the general turned his attention to the room. “Your marshal is right . . . of all whom I have trained, you seniors have been my finest. You all have a unique determination, a fierce loyalty, an independence and a courage . . . a courage I didn’t—couldn’t—have taught you. A courage that grows from within. A courage that is born in the heart.”
His quiet voice and beautiful words carried over them all, and even those who weren’t Others felt humbled—silenced—by the magnitude of his compliment.
“You are indeed ready for war . . .” He began to pace. A man of few words, his drawn-out speech was beginning to markedly irritate Romani.
“Some of you are prepared for more than war. You’re prepared for life, prepared to raise families, to love and truly live . . .” He stopped, glancing into the stands, finding Sloan. She held his familiar gaze.
“You are all prepared to have that which this Academy seeks to take away from you.” At Stone’s words, Romani spun, glaring at his general, sending him a warning stare. And in that moment—Sloan finally understood.
She knew what he was doing and she had no way of stopping it. If she moved, it would spark the movement.
“I’ve watched you all grow up and my only regret is that I couldn’t have been honest with you sooner. I wish I could have done something to save you from this place, to save you from becoming the sort of soldiers they would have us make you,” he continued, his cracking voice drawing on them all.
If there was ever a man who had earned the loyalty of every student in this room, it was General Walt Stone. He had trained them—he had raised them.
Romani stormed over. “I think that is quite enough!”
But Stone spun on him wildly. “I am nearly done, Marshal.” He turned from Romani and once again honed in on Sloan, holding her in his grey eyes, speaking to her and her alone. “You’re going to be just fine, kid. I promise.”
Silent tears trailed down Sloan’s face. Please, no. . .
Stone spun around to face the Order, his gaze falling onto the only one who stood—Colonel Christopher Don Luke. Stone took a large breath, his massive shoulders heaving. “It was you; it was always you.” The colonel clapped a hand over his heart—he was crying.
Sloan craned forward, trying to will Stone into changing his mind. No rebellion was worth this—nothing was worth this. She would live out her life here, she would serve Romani, they all would do anything to stop him from doing this.
But it was too late. Stone spiraled back around. “Senior students of the Academy—you have been fooled! You were all abducted as children, brought here by this man!” he yelled, furiously pointing at Romani.
The Order looked on in shock. A handful of students stood. Romani lunged, feral, at Stone, but their general easily deflected, holding the small man in an arm lock. He continued to yell, as the sentries marched towards the stage . . .
“You have been trained here to fight for the enemy—your families are searching for you! You have a choice! Do not be what we made you—get away!”
Romani fought to break free from Stone. “Guards!”
The sentries circled, storming the stage. In the mess of it all, she could still hear him. “GO! Leave this place now!”
Elijah abruptly stood. “NOW!” And at his cry, all forty-three leaped to their feet, chaos breaking out in the room. Elijah grabbed Sloan, fighting her towards the exit when, despite any plans, she struggled to get to Stone. She wriggled in his arms, forcing herself to turn back, forcing herself to get to Stone somehow. She could see him—in the mess of everything—she could see him. He was on his knees. Romani was yelling. The Order was holding someone back. A gun was trained on his head.
“NO!” Sloan screamed. Elijah whirled her around in his arms, forcing her to look away as the shot rang out.
It took six of the boys to hold the doors shut against their screaming peers, fighting to break out. Edward rammed the discarded tire iron through the handles—temporarily trapping them. It would give the Others just enough time to get to their positions, and by the time the seniors broke free, it would give them enough time to either stay or follow. Elijah spun. “Go, Sloan! Get to my Skyshell as soon as you can!”
She looked around her group. She scanned over the bobbing, running heads of those panicked students who had escaped—she saw him nowhere. And she knew what she had to do. Stone had given his life for the cause—how could she abandon the mission he had died for?
She spun on her heel and took off, running with Chase and Joss, Corbin and Banks in tow. It didn’t take them long to reach the armory and Chase easily brought down the two sentries standing guard as Joss opened the safe room. She followed him in and they each grabbed their assault rifles, ammunition and a spare handgun. She pulled on a thigh holster, locking in the handgun, and shoved as much extra ammunition as she could into her pockets.
“Let’s go!” she yelled at the boys and within an instant, they had taken off, sprinting back down the corridor for the nearest pod. It didn’t take long before they were in the Infirmary. At their sudden entrance, the hospital staff fled—abandoning their tasks at hand in a flurry of fear. The entire Academy now knew something was happening. The five of them ran down the tight corridor, hefting along their weapons, following the mental blueprint Edward had mapped for them.
They ran in a single file up a flight of spiral stairs, let by Chase, who had Edward’s key card. A burst of sunlight blinded Sloan as he pushed open an escape hatch, and just like that, they were on the graveled roof. She trotted over to the edge of the roof and looked down—they had an eagle-eye view from here. She could see the large Odyssey Skyshells, some of them already lowering their back trays to load the children. She could see the guards rushing in from the gate, and to her amazement, they were being resisted by guards and students who hadn’t been Others. Which meant two things—the seniors had escaped the hall and Stone’s final words had truly impacted them.
She knelt to the ground, setting up her rifle, securing her precision scope and mounting it on her quickly assembled tripod. She loaded her rounds, crouched down, found her sight—and took aim. This is for you.
The ivory sentries rushed the hangar and she took a deep breath. She thought of Tandy—and she fired. Pulling the lever, she opened the breech, ramming it forward to reload. They only had a matter of minutes left. She took aim and, seeing Kenny’s face, fired. Reload. She thought of Kevin Young—and fired. She could see Donny—and fired. And finally, she could see Stone—and she fired.
Guard after guard fell, bursts of cherry burgeoning from their white uniforms. It was horrifying . . . and it was necessary. She looked into her scope and scanned the tarmac. She saw Edward, two children in his arms, his medical supplies hauled over his shoulder, sprinting to Jo’s Odyssey. She found Elijah—he was perched on the loading tray, pulling kids up to him from Kristin, on the fifth Odyssey in the line. The children were reluctant, terrified and screaming. She saw Jack get hoisted up and she felt a wave of relief wash through her.
“We need to get out of here!” Corbin yelled from his spot. He was right. The masses of children were being boarded—they didn’t have long to get down there and board themselves. She didn’t have long to find him.
Shots fired out wildly behind them—sentries were trying to get on the roof. Sloan spun over to see Corbin and Banks dealing with the situation. “Definitely time to get moving!” Banks called.
Sloan leaped to her feet, abandoning her assault rifle and pulling out her 9 mm. She leaped over the bodies of the sentries Joss and Corbin had taken down, and ducked into the escape hatch. Chase led the way, navigating them to the unfamiliar service pod Edward had suggested they get to. Sloan, 9 mm in hand, took the high aim, Joss the low.
Sentries appeared on every corner. Sloan fired at will, nearly deafening them all in the small corridor. They rounded the corner—two more appeared. Chase leaped on one—Joss took care of the other. Sloan leaped past them, dialing in the pod code, and as they all fell in, the doors closed around them just in time—a spray of bullets denting the thick metal.
“We need to get going,” Chase reaffirmed. Sloan wiped her brow against her sleeve. She tried to push the image of Stone out of her mind. Had anyone else known that by distraction he had meant self-sacrifice? Had Elijah known?
The pod doors opened and the sound of the mayhem in the garage was an assault on her ears: the cries of children, the gunfire, the heavy whirring turbines. They were behind Donny’s office and slowly, they each crept out into the madness. She kept close to the wall and snuck up to a sleek all-terrain vehicle. She trained her 9 mm over the hood, taking aim on the sentries, and fired. The familiar slick sound of pod doors drew her eyes—the main pod had opened up and a handful of guards poured out. She fired at will.
A rush of heavy return fire had her duck low. She glanced over her shoulder; Chase was perched at the office door, firing. Joss knelt beside him. Banks and Corbin rushed in, appearing at her side. She glanced around at all the chaos—the destruction. Small fires had erupted from engines, a child’s scream ripped through her, the never-ending explosions of gunfire echoed all around, and the droning engines of the Odysseys surrounded them with a muted backdrop.
“I’ve got this. You advance!” Banks yelled, leaping over the hood of the vehicle. Sloan lurched up, watching him, 9 mm in his one hand, hunting blade in his other. She couldn’t help but briefly wonder if he had picked that up in the armory—or taken it off one of the many bodies that had fallen before them today.
“Let’s move!” Chase yelled, running to her side. She bolted forward, keeping her body low against the next row of vehicles. She checked her clip and reloaded. A muffled cry drew her eye up. An angry assault of bullets and Banks had fallen, lifeless, onto the bodies of his victims.
Raising her weapon, she fired at the guards. Bodies mounding—lifeless sentries scattered across the tarmac, many of whom she had killed. Many of the Others. They were many and motionless—lying like fallen leaves. Sloan quickly noted that there were no more children in sight. They had all boarded—and the last remaining were her, Chase, Joss and Corbin.
And Jared.
“Get to the fifth one down—it’s Elijah’s!” she yelled to the boys, and without hesitation they took off. She waited back, scanning the tarmac, slowly stepping out from behind the vehicle. Any calm that she had felt previously had completely dissipated. It was go time. And she didn’t know—
“SLOAN!”
His familiar voice tore through her. She whirled around, until she saw him. He leaped over the piled-up bodies. He had a streak of blood across his head, his shirt was torn, and his eyes were wild. And he ran to her.
“Jared, come on!” she urged, reaching out her hand to him. In an instant he was in front of her.
“What’s going on? What happened—Stone’s dead,” he rambled crazily.
“I know—I will tell you everything, but we have to go!”
She grabbed his hand and lurched him forward onto the tarmac. “Go where—Sloan, this crazy! They’re saying you’re defectors.”
She turned, looking into his big blue eyes. “I will explain later,” she promised, trying to pull him on.
“No—no—we can’t! It’s treason.” He fought her, holding her back.
She spun on him. “Jared—do you trust me?”
This was it. This had been the downfall of their relationship—and after everything, here it was, coming to the forefront at the downfall of their Academy. He looked her over and she could practically see him contemplating an answer.
And finally, he spoke. “Yes.”
She wrenched him forward, running for the Odyssey. They ran across the tarmac and as a sentry appeared in the distance, Sloan felt a sharp tear run through her shoulder. She released Jared’s hand—raised her weapon and fired.
They were so nearly there. She fought against the powerful wind coming off the Odysseys. Twenty paces left. She forced her legs forward—her arm felt on fire. Leaning out of the tray from the Odyssey was Chase, his arm outstretched for her. Ten paces. She stumbled in a slick of oil and blood. Jared hauled her to her feet. Five paces.
Three paces.
Two. And her hand was in Chase’s. With a mighty heave from Jared—she was on the tray. Chase pulled and she scrambled with her legs, finally boarding. She turned around for Jared but he wasn’t there.
“JARED!”
He stumbled into view, fighting a sentry who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. The guard struck at him violently. Sloan reached for weapon—but it was gone. Fallen from her when she slipped.
Elijah was beginning to move the Odyssey forward. “JARED!” she screamed.
Jared spun, landing a roundhouse kick against the sentry. The guard went down and Jared scanned for her—his eyes locking in on hers. Elijah kept the aircraft moving—gaining pace.
Jared ran and with a forceful leap, managed to land heavily against the tray—catching her wrist. His weight was too much; she could feel a burning in her shoulder and a straining in her abdomen—the baby.
“Chase—help me!”
He looked to her and hesitated. “He’s one of them—let him go, Sloan!”
She glared at him before turning her gaze back to Jared. His eyes were panicked as he scrambled to get footing on the metal tray.
“Never!”
Her stomach buckled—her body warning her off the strain.
“Dammit, Chase—I’m pregnant. Now help me!”
She turned her gaze to him and found his shocked stare, his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes wide. And then he moved to her side. He grabbed Jared’s wrist and helped, hauling him on board. Jared fell into her arms, rolling them back.
He sat up slowly as the tray began to close. He pulled her up. She felt dizzy and nauseous. She looked to her shoulder—blood was streaming from her. A gunshot wound. Her hand instinctively fell to her stomach. Her vision began to blur. Jared’s face was all she could see. His voice all she could hear.
“You’re what?”
She closed her eyes. He was on board. They were all on board—leaving this place. She hadn’t left him behind. Which, really, when she thought about it, came as no surprise at all—Sloan Radcliffe had never been able to walk away from Jared Dawson.