Helene Island Geocache #9

I feel like I should leave some advice here, just in case we win. I can’t think of much, except this: put your pants on one leg at a time. I mean this literally. Unless you’re lying down. Then you may as well put them on both legs at once because you have nothing to lose. I hope this helps.

Pax (again).

Twelve sailboats appeared on the horizon shortly before noon, their white sails cutting through the water like a deadly flock of birds.

“How do they even know how to sail a boat?” Oliver asked. “I thought the water would slow them down at least a little.”

Tor shrugged. “Lots of people on the coast know how.”

Even as we watched, one of the boats shuddered and tilted, the sails dipping dangerously close to the water. From this distance, we could make out the figures on board, some scrambling to keep their boats on an even course while others stood silently, waiting for their commands. Ethan, the man responsible for all of this, was on one of those boats. I prayed for a freak lightning storm to send a us miracle and strike him down.

“All right, back to the cliff, everyone. Let’s see how many of them there are and what they’ve brought,” Tor instructed. I was happy to leave this part of our strategy up to him. Guerilla warfare wasn’t anything any of us understood, but Tor’s experience with the syndicate in his former life had given him some insight.

“Lily, you need to come now,” he said as he herded us out of sight. “If Grace is with them, we’ll try to get her out of the way first.”

“She didn’t mean it, any of it. I know what she did… She’s just so young, and she— Please, don’t hurt her. Don’t let them hurt her,” she implored him, seizing the sleeve of his shirt with shaking hands.

Tor put his hand over hers. “We won’t, Lily. I promise. We’ll do whatever we can to keep her safe.”

We retreated and waited for Ethan’s army to land on the shore. We didn’t have to wait long. They disembarked a few meters from the shoreline, ensuring that their boats were secure and primed for their departure. Clearly, they fully expected to win this fight.

The water along the shore churned white as they sloshed through it and onto the pebble beach, dragging a large cache of crates with them.

First ashore were the Saints, Celeste at their head. She’d refined the look she first debuted when she’d helped slaughter the Terrans who’d held Pax and Cindra captive—the braids were more intricate, piled higher, and glinting with shards of silver metal. My own scalp itched just looking at it.

Behind Celeste, Saints pushed back the hoods that had protected them from the salt spray. Like Celeste, they’d painted their faces and clothes with elaborate symbols that looked like computer code, and although they deplored cyborgs, they displayed their own grafted metal with pride.

They carried their weapons—axes, knives, bows, and not a small number of guns—with ease, and the expression on their faces was that of crusaders. These warriors, their voices raised in anticipated triumph, were a far cry from the devout and biddable people we’d known; the loss of their faith had made them savage, with a viciousness unrestrained by duty.

Celeste raised her eyes, searching the island, and I could see the filed teeth of her grin even from my place on the cliff.

I glanced at Oliver, but he was studiously looking the other way. And she was so sweet when you first met her.

Following the Saints was a group of people I didn’t recognize. Many of the faces seemed familiar, like they were someone I’d passed on the street. They must be the people from Goldnesse. Although they too carried weapons, they lacked the gleeful violence of the Saints. Some of them seemed fearful but determined, like children approaching a house rumored to be haunted, their movements exaggerated and voices shrill, even from a distance. Others bore a mercenary-like shrewdness, their manner practiced and calculating and ready for blood.

I can only imagine what Ethan’s been telling them to whip them up. Or maybe they were Terrans before the war.

And finally, behind them, Ethan, looking mad as hell, his blond hair disheveled by his crossing. He strode through the knee-deep water with ferocious purpose, undistracted by the frothing commotion around him. He carried no weapon, but I had no doubt that when the time came, he would be.

Lien’s tiny frame was nowhere to be seen. It was a smart move—if Ethan was killed today, the Cosmists would still have a leader. I allowed a tiny thrill of hope to bloom in my chest. If Ethan was uncertain enough about his success to leave her behind, we may just have a chance.

Trailing Ethan through the water were several of the Cosmists we’d met at the party. I wracked my brain, trying to remember who they were. The man with the slicked-back hair and prominent ears. Cassian. He’d been responsible for much of Tor’s design before Mil and Lexa had parted ways with Ethan and Lien.

The woman next to him took me a bit longer to recognize. Ilse, the one who’d been introduced to me with Stella. Like the other Cosmists, she was dressed in what looked like combat fatigues, her hair pulled back tightly from her sharp face.

Then another man stepped out from behind Ilse.

Ji. Lien’s son. His angular face was neutral, but his dark eyes darted back and forth, as though he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here. He fumbled with his pack, dropping it into the water. Ilse spoke sharply to him and he snatched it out again, his eyes on the ground.

Grace. If Ji’s here, where’s Grace?

She had betrayed her family, and us, for her love of this man. That I could almost understand. But surely she wouldn’t come here willingly to participate in this assault.

I hope they forced her to stay behind. To keep her loyal.

But if that was the case, why bring Ji?

To my dismay, all the groups seemed very organized, splitting themselves up into different duties—some unpacking various crates of weapons while others searched the length of the beach in a strategic formation, scouting for movement.

For us.

“We should attack now, before they get completely organized.” Oliver fidgeted with nervous energy, tearing a leaf off my oak tree and shredding it.

“We promised Ryan and Lily we would wait and see if Grace was with them and give her a chance. Besides, what are we going to do? Throw acorns at them?” Tor slid his crossbow onto his back and adjusted his ammunition belt.

Acorns fell from my hands.

“Is Grace even here?” I asked. “I can’t see her.” Please, don’t be here, Grace.

“We shouldn’t risk it. Why give them a chance? We all know Ethan won’t give up. Stop trying to salve your conscience with one act of mercy.” Oliver had been a special kind of agent, trained to always strike first.

He’s right.

“No, please,” Lily pleaded. “You promised. At least wait until we know if she’s here.”

“Lily—”

“Ethan.” Unnoticed, Fane had left our concealment at the foot of the great oak tree and stepped to the edge of the cliff, in full sight of the beach. His voice echoed off the rocks, startling those below. Everyone on the shore fell silent, craning their necks to see him.

Ethan regained his composure quickly. He stood with his feet planted, his arms crossed over his chest. “Fane, make this easy for us.”

“I am,” Fane replied. “Leave. Please. All of you. Those who surrender will be unharmed.”

This is pointless. We have a plan. They can’t leave this island . We’re only pretending mercy. My fingers twitched, desperate to bury themselves in the soil.

Oliver groaned in the background. “God. This is like the worst movie cliché.”

“I think that’s where he got his speech from,” Tor said, pointing to Pax. His mouth was moving in time with Fane’s.

Several people exchanged glances before looking at Ethan, who grinned. “Sure, Fane. Give yourself up, and we’ll go.”

“Never.”

Ethan tried one last time. “Think of all the guilt you’ll feel. People will die today. On both sides.” He waited for a reaction from Fane, and from the rest of us. When there was none, he sighed as though disappointed in us and turned to Ilse. “Bring her out.”