I Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 4) Page 2

  Finally Victory cleared his throat and rustled some papers on his desk. He glanced at his assistant.

  "Corporal Fields?"

  Fields was an obese young man with short black hair, pink cheeks, and a baritone voice. "Yes, sir?"

  The major squared his shoulders. "Let the record show that, based on his own testimony, as collaborated by multiple witnesses, Jon Taylor was kidnapped by the Kalayaan, fought bravely to prevent a leak of classified information, and suffered a bullet wound for his efforts." He stared across the room. "That's what I heard. Did anyone here hear otherwise?"

  The soldiers all shook their heads.

  Jon blinked, dumbfounded.

  "But—" he began.

  He fell silent when George glared at him, his eyes bugging out so far they almost fell to the floor.

  "All right, case closed," the major said. "Everyone out of my trailer."

  The soldiers began to shuffle outside. Jon took a step toward the door, but the major spoke again. "Not you, Taylor."

  The others stepped outside. George gave Jon a last look, eyes soft with concern, then joined the others outside. Jon closed the door, took a deep breath, and turned back toward his commanding officer.

  The major leaned across the desk.

  "Taylor, I saved your life today."

  Jon nodded. "Thank you, sir."

  Victory stood up. He walked toward the wall and gazed at a map of Bagong Palawan, the largest island on Bahay, where they were currently stationed. The map showed battles won and lost, enemy positions, and destroyed villages.

  When the major spoke again, his voice was softer. "I had a son in one of those villages."

  Jon frowned. "Sir? You seem too young to have a son in the army."

  "Not in the army, Sergeant." The major turned toward him. "It happened four years ago. During an offensive north. I was a lieutenant, in command of my first platoon. I led my men into a village. There was a woman there. Barely more than a girl. So beautiful. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. The men, they said she would do anything. Would pleasure Earthling soldiers for food. So I took a turn. I … I didn't think it was rape. At the time, I thought she wanted it. But then more men took turns, and …" He could say no more.

  Jon felt the blood drain from his face. "Sir, you don't have to tell me this."

  Victory's face crumpled. Pain filled his eyes. "We've sinned in this war, Taylor. All of us. I had a son in that village. Or maybe he belonged to another man. I don't know. We all took turns that night. But I was first. And I think he was mine. A mestizo, the natives call them. Half-breeds. The village was Santa Rosa. The village that your platoon destroyed. My son died there. It was punishment, Taylor. For what I did."

  Jon lowered his head. "I'm guilty too."

  "Taylor, what you did, leaking that tape … it was wrong. By all rights, I should condemn you to death. I'm giving you one more chance, Sergeant Jon Taylor. Because you spoke of Santa Rosa. And right now I can't bring myself to take another life."

  "Sir … thank you."

  The major's eyes hardened. "Taylor, I'll likely be promoted to colonel now, to replace the man you killed. I'll probably command this brigade. And I'll be watching you. You have a problem with authority. You break the rules, over and over. You fragged the brigade's last commander. For the duration of our service together, I will ride your ass like it's a train to a whorehouse. If you so much as stick bubble gum under a table, I will be there. And I will no longer be merciful. You fuck up again—and I will kill you. Do you understand, Taylor? You fly straight. Or I will end you."

  Taylor saluted. "Understood, sir."

  He left the trailer and stood in what remained of Camp Apollo. The devastation of war spread around them. Charred, smoldering jungles. Fields cratered by artillery fire and dark with old blood. A few last chunks of bone still littered the field, perhaps animal remains, perhaps human.

  George approached him. "Jon, is everything …"

  Jon nodded. "I'm on probation, so to speak. With the world's most murderous probation officer."

  George nodded. "We got off easy."

  "We?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

  His giant friend bristled. "Hey, you asked me to stay behind, remember? To be an alibi?"

  Jon nodded. "I remember. George, I never wanted you to get in trouble. It seems trouble keeps finding me. Or rather, I keep chasing it. And I don't want to drag you down."

  "Jon, I wasn't drafted," George said. "I enlisted. To protect you, remember? You can't just leave me behind while you rush off into danger."

  "I hope the danger is over now, George," Jon said. "I hope Ward's confession is spreading across Earth. I hope the war ends. I hope we can go home."

  George heaved a sigh. They gazed together at the battlefield. A hot wind blew. Dust devils danced across the desolation, perhaps mingled with the ashes of the dead.

  "We could be going home soon, Jon," the giant said. "Maybe within months. Maybe only weeks. We'll sit on the bench outside the church and look at the maple trees. We'll play Symphonica songs, and Kaelyn will sing, and we'll release our album and become rock stars. We'll play Dungeons and Dragons again, ride our bikes, and have campfires in your backyard. Things will be like they were. Before all this goddamn mess." George sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Things will be like they were."

  "I don't know if things can ever go back," Jon said softly. "Maybe we're too broken. Maybe we sinned too much. Killed too much. There's blood on our hands, George, and I don't think we can ever be those boys again. But we can still build a new life. A good life. You, me, and Etty too. And Maria."

  George sniffed and nodded. "I like that. The four of us—and Kaelyn too. We'll live in a big house together. By trees. With a stream for fishing. A place to write music and just be happy. We just have to survive a little longer, right Jon? Just a little longer, and we can go home?"

  "I don't know, George." He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "All we can do now is wait and dream."

  Only moments ago, Jon had been ready to die. Now he had so much to look forward to. That house among trees. That stream. His friends. And Maria—the woman he loved.

  Hang in there, Maria, Jon thought. Survive. Just a little longer. I'll come get you, and we'll build a new home.

  Chapter Three

  Drinks and Death Are Free

  Maria ran through the burning city, holding her pregnant belly. Fire painted the night red. Smoke invaded her nostrils. She coughed, blinded with tears.

  Please don't let the fire kill my baby, she prayed silently. Please let us live. Please.

  The fire was spreading across the shantytown, consuming plywood walls, hanging laundry, and the wooden stilts that kept the hovels above the floodwaters. A tarpaulin sheet tore from a hut's roof and fluttered across the sky, alive with fire, a demon fleeing from hell. It landed in another alleyway, and more flames spread.

  Thousands fled around her. War orphans in tattered tunics, barefoot, their faces singed. Beggars and squatters, those who lived on landfills, under bridges, along train tracks. They ran, their hovels destroyed, fire at their heels. Animals fled too. A few stray cats and dogs, but mostly rats—thousands of rats, more than Maria had ever seen. Some of the rats were burning but they ran, spreading the fire.

  "Come, this way!" Maria pointed down an alleyway. "It leads to a riverbed. We'll be safer. Everyone, come!"

  A few people glanced at her, then at the alley. The fire was raging there too, consuming the shanties.

  "That path is too narrow!" said an old man. "We'll never make it. We must continue down Santo Niño Street."

  Maria shook her head. "No! Santo Niño Street just leads to Happy Mountain, the city's largest landfill, and a maze of shanties around it. It'll go up like a fireball. Come, down this alleyway! We can make it. The water is only a moment away."

  She ran toward the burning lane. The shanties were burning, yes, but if she ran quickly between them, she could reach the water, and—

  Somebody gra
bbed her arm, pulling her back. "Maria, watch out!"

  Ahead, a blazing shanty collapsed. Plywood piled up, burning bright, blocking the entrance to the alleyway.

  Maria turned to see who had saved her.

  It was Charlie. Charlie Wonder herself!

  "Charlie!" Maria whispered. "You saved my life."

  Only a year ago, Maria had been a frightened orphan, her village destroyed. She came into this big city a castaway, with wide eyes and a scarred heart, and lost herself in the labyrinth of neon slums and shantytown sorrows. After days of homelessness and hunger, she washed up in the Go Go Cowgirl, a club where local girls danced for Earthling soldiers, poured them drinks, and warmed their beds.

  Maria had been so scared, just a trembling teenager, easy prey for the local pimp. Charlie Wonder, the most famous and beautiful bargirl on the strip, had taken trembling little Maria under her wing. Charlie nurtured her. Made her strong and proud.

  Charlie was older than most bargirls. She never admitted her age, but she was probably closer to forty than thirty, nearing the end of her career. But she was still the most beautiful woman on Bahay, queen of the bargirls. And Maria's mentor.

  And I betrayed her, Maria thought. I betrayed my fellow bargirls. I shoved Pippi, one of our own, into the path of a blade. A blade heading toward my belly. I saved the baby who grows inside me. But I sacrificed Pippi, and I drove Charlie away.

  And after all that, here was Charlie—saving Maria's life.

  Maria looked at her friend, eyes wide. "Charlie, thank you."

  The older woman glared at her. Her bob cut, once perfectly smooth and black, was singed and coated with ashes. Her fishnet stockings were torn, and she had broken off her heels.

  "Yes, I saved your ass." Even in the flaming slums, Charlie's eyes were icy. "It's more than you deserve. After what you did."

  Those words hit Maria like a slap. She cringed, and a tear escaped her eye.

  "Yes, I killed Pippi," she whispered. "Our friend. Our best friend. Ernesto's knife was coming at me, and it was either Pippi or my baby. So I made a choice. I shoved Pippi into the path of the knife to save my child. And I'm sorry, and I don't know if I made the right choice, and—"

  Charlie groaned. "Oh, we don't have time for this! Come on, help me clear the way to the river."

  The bargirl approached a shanty that wasn't yet burning. The crude hut balanced atop stilts, a standard design in this city of floods and rats. Charlie grabbed one stilt, tugged hard, and yanked it free. The shanty wobbled on its remaining legs. With the dislodged stilt, Charlie began prodding the burning wreckage blocking the alleyway.

  Maria followed suit. She tore off a stilt of her own, causing the shanty to finally collapse. Thankfully, the family inside had already fled the fires. Using the wooden pole, Maria helped Charlie shove away the blazing plywood.

  Soon the way was clear. Fire still gripped the shanties alongside. Clotheslines and electric cables sagged over the alley, racing with flames. But a tunnel led through the inferno. And beyond the gauntlet, Maria could see the river.

  She looked over her shoulder. "Everyone, come on! This way!"

  Most of the people were still fleeing down Santo Niño Street. Instinct drove them down the wider road—a path Maria knew led to the landfill, a flammable inferno. But others listened to Maria. Some were her fellow bargirls. But most were strangers, shantytown squatters and refugees of the northern battlefields. They trusted her.

  Maria led the way, racing down the alley. She ducked, dodging burning laundry. A shanty collapsed beside her. Its roof, a sheet of corrugated steel, slammed down ahead of Maria, nearly guillotining her. As she whipped around the fallen roof, the steel touched her leg. Her skin sizzled. She cringed and kept running.

  I should have stayed in the cemetery, she thought. No fire can reach that place of stone and bones.

  But no. Ernesto and his men lurked among the tombs. The skeletons had risen. The cemetery had become its own battlefield between life and death. It would never be safe again.

  Maria shuddered. Ernesto was still alive. Lurking in this city. Hunting her. He had been hunting her for a year—through death and fire, through war and despair, through rainforest and shantytown. Jon had shot him. Flames had burned him. She had sliced off his fingertips with her father's blade. And still he pursued her. He would never stop.

  He's no longer human, she thought. He's a demon, and he lives for one purpose. To catch his prey. He will destroy everything along his path to me.

  Tears stung her eyes, and it wasn't just the smoke.

  He thrust the blade. But I'm the one who killed Pippi.

  A shanty crashed down before her, burning her thoughts away. It blazed like a living creature woven of fire. Maria jabbed with her pole, trying to push the wreckage aside. Charlie helped, but it was too heavy. The flames spread quickly, gripping more shanties all around. Laundry, tarpaulin sheets, and fragments of plywood flew through the air, all aflame.

  "It's a death trap!" somebody cried.

  "Maria, you killed us all!" somebody else shouted.

  Maria froze, horror claiming her as the fire closed in.

  * * * * *

  No.

  Maria snarled and balled her fists.

  No! She would not sacrifice more lives!

  She raced through smoke, heading toward a shanty with a burning roof. The fire hadn't gripped the walls yet. Maria tore off a square of plywood the size of a riot shield.

  The opening revealed children huddling inside.

  "Come on, out, out!" Maria said.

  As the children jumped into the alleyway, Maria held the plywood before her. A shield.

  She ran forward.

  She plowed through the burning wreckage like a bulldozer.

  She reached the river and shoved the flaming debris into the water. Clouds of steam billowed over her. Coughing, she guided people out of the alleyway.

  There was no room to gather at the river. Shanties crowded the riverbank, stacked several deep. A forest of stilts rose from the water. Millions of people crammed into Mindao, overflowing it. They lived wherever they could. Which was everywhere.

  Maria waded into the stream, pulling others with her. They navigated between the stilts as shanties crackled above. Finally, they emerged into open water.

  Hundreds of people clogged the river. More and more kept spilling from the shantytown, many of them sooty, some burnt. Trash floated everywhere, hiding the water. Paper cups, food wrappers, diapers—they covered the river, burning like debris after a naval battle. Hundreds more people emerged from the inferno, some ablaze. They rushed between the shanties and into the water like deer fleeing a wildfire.

  The water was warm and sludgy. Slimy tubes slid around Maria's legs, perhaps algae, perhaps rotting trash, perhaps strange mutated eels. It was a narrow river, barely wider than a city street, but it was enough. It contained the shantytown fire like a firebreak through a forest. A few scraps of burning tarpaulin flew in the wind, but residents already stood on the opposite riverbank and rooftops, poles in hands, ready to catch the burning debris and dunk it into the river.

  Maria climbed onto the safe bank, coughing and shivering. She took a few steps between the stilts of shanties, then yelped. Something bit her leg!

  She looked down and gasped. A rope was coiled around her leg, ankle to thigh, bristly with scraps of paper, coffee cups, and bottlecaps.

  The rope bit her again.

  "Ow!" Maria cried.

  The rope raised its head and looked at her. And she realized it wasn't a tangle of garbage after all. It was a strange eel. Those were not paper scraps, cups, or bottlecaps on its body, but organic growths like horns or warts, evolved to look like human garbage.

  Its ancestors must have been regular eels, Maria thought. It evolved in our polluted rivers, so its camouflage looks like our trash.

  It tried to bite her again. Its teeth looked like fishing hooks. Maria grabbed its neck, tugged, and finally unwound it off her leg.
She held the slimy creature at arm's length. The mock bottles, cups, and papers rattled along its body. When Maria squinted, she could make out little scales on the fake trash, but the imitation was damn impressive. She tossed the odd beast back into the river. It hissed and swam away, blending in with the floating trash.

  Charlie climbed out the river next. Three of the mutated eels clung to her.

  "Ack, they're savaging me! Get off!" Charlie pulled two garbage eels off her thighs, ripping her fishnet stockings, and one off her chest. "You are worse than drunk putes in a brothel. Get back, back into the water!"

  She kicked the creatures. They responded with hisses, but when Charlie swung a pole, they retreated into the water.

  Maria looked away from the river. This too was a poor neighborhood, but the houses on this side of the river were more solid. Some were even built of concrete. She gazed down a street lined with little electronic shops, kiosks, and humble dwellings, all hunkered under tattered awnings. Rickshaws, bicycles, and dozens of muddy children filled the road. Beyond them, Maria could just make out a wider boulevard. People were marching there. She could hear the chants.

  "Earthlings go home! Earthlings go home!"

  Distant gunfire rattled.

  An Earthling helicopter roared overhead, its blades churning the air, tearing roofs off homes.

  The chanting continued undaunted. "Earthlings go home! Earthlings go home!"

  I did this, Maria thought. I recorded the general. I leaked his confession. Now this city burns.

  "This is South Bahay," she said, turning toward Charlie. "We're meant to be Earth allies."

  Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You released a video of General Ward calling us bugs to kill. What did you expect? That this city would keep collaborating with the putes?"

  "I wanted Earthlings to rebel against their government on Earth!" she said. "Not for us to rebel here. Charlie, I hear gunfire. They're killing us. Come, help me! We have to stop this."

  She grabbed Charlie's hand, but the older bargirl wrenched herself free.

  "Why should I help you anymore? So that you can shove me into the path of a knife? Like you did to Pippi?" She looked at Maria's belly, then back into her eyes. "A half-pute child grows inside you. Where do your loyalties lie?"