Shade and Clearwater

Chapter Twenty-Two

Did I say the drive from Capital City to River City was the longest I'd ever experienced? Well, I must've lied. The drive from River City to the farm was much longer.

Somehow Jon drove even faster than before. Occasionally he asked Miles for status reports, which Miles gave out in short, clipped sentences. As we listened, the first tactical team moved in, suffering heavy casualties but eventually disabling the gun turrets on the ground level. The survivors fell back, letting the next tactical team take the next floor. It all seemed so hopeless, so inevitable.

"I'm really sorry, Miles," I said.

"Keep the channel clear," he snapped in reply.

In-between updates of the farm situation, I told Jon what I'd suspected, that Circe had planted a suggestion in my head that had made me obsessed with rescuing Marlene and Daisy. "It's not your fault," he said, but he kept his eyes on the road, not looking at me, gripping the steering wheel so tightly the blood drained from his hands.

"I need to go inside my head, see if she left any nasty surprises."

Jon nodded.

So I closed my eyes and found myself in the clearing where my tower should have been. Of course it was still rubble, and the pieces that remained were covered with thick, snaking brambles. Among the vines I caught little glimpses, images of marshals storming Marlene's house, dragging the frightened old woman and her granddaughter out of their beds, making them kneel facing the wall, and...

No, no that was enough of that shit. I manifested a flamethrower in my hands and used it to burn away the brambles. I made sure to torch every inch of every fiber, everything I could find. When I was done, I created a shovel and used it to dig out the roots and I burned them as well. And if Circe had been there, I would have burned her straight to ash.

As I stood and surveyed the smoking remains, I realized I'd need to rebuild the tower at some point. I was sure it represented some important construct in my mind, but I didn't know what exactly to do and I didn't really have the time. So I left it bare for the moment and popped back into my meat body.

"It's done," I announced, glancing out the window. While most of these backroads looked the same, I was sure we had a good twenty minutes left before we got to the farm.

"Miles has gone quiet," said Jon, and I was startled to see his eyes glistening with tears. "I think they got him."

"No," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "No fucking way."

"Maybe we should turn around?" suggested Max. "You know, move away from danger, rather than toward it?"

"No!" snarled Jon, turning his head to glare at Max. "Not if there's even a chance we can still save him."

"I knew that wouldn't work," Max muttered, slumping down in his seat.

I put a hand on Jon's arm. He relaxed a little, returning his eyes to the road. "What's your take?" I asked Max.

"There's a 65% chance that Miles is still alive," Max replied in a quiet voice. "For the moment. But the chances of us reaching him before the Feds are almost zero."

"Why's the radio dead?"

"50-50, either the Feds have a way of jamming the signal or they've taken out whatever antenna system Miles had been using."

"Either way, he's cut off." I slammed my fist into the dashboard. "Damn!"

"There's got to be another way," said Jon. He was already pushing the car as fast it could go on these roads. He took the next turn with a power-slide that left us inches from flying into the drainage ditch. All Max and I could do was hold tight.