The Sowing

BAM! BAM! BAM!

My rounds glance off the Flesher’s protective armor, but it’s all the distraction the guy needs. He seizes the cutting arm and plunges it into the Flesher’s own throat. Dark fluid—oil? blood?—spurts from the creature’s neck.

Clacketyclackety… whir… whir… vroom…

The Flesher begins to spin, out of control. The young man leaps from it.

I fire the remainder of my ammo, striking the most vulnerable target, its head, ripping holes through the tubules connecting from its nose to its skull.

The thing lunges for me—

Click! Click!

I’m out of ammo—

Then the thing teeters and collapses at my feet.

But its body is convulsing. As I watch, horror-struck, I can see the flesh mending. Whoever built this monstrosity employed some kind of regenerative tech.

I back away from it and turn to the young man.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. His massive chest pushes in and out with heavy breaths. Sweat trickles down it, past the sculpted ridges of his abdomen and narrow waist.

“This thing’s not dead yet, and there are more of them coming!” I shout. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here. Follow me!”

GONG!

The sound explodes right behind us. I whirl, vaguely aware of my rescuer in my peripheral vision. Then we’re both running back down the hallway, snaking up the still-dangling fire hose leading into the vent shaft and dropping down into the hangar bay, the pursuing Fleshers threatening to overtake us at every moment.

Dashing into the lone Squawker, I hit the ignition switch as soon as we’re both aboard. My heart stammers as the engine sputters.

The door to the hangar bay bursts open. A horde of Fleshers rips through the chamber, heading right toward us.

I pound the control console as the first of the Fleshers closes in.

The engine roars to life. As I hit the throttle, my back slams against the pilot seat. In the rear monitor, I see the craft’s exhaust set Fleshers on fire. Then we’re airborne, shooting out of the hangar and into the dark skies.

Below, the Infiernos military installation is just a smoking husk of debris, completely overtaken by the swarm of Fleshers crawling all over it until it’s smothered in living darkness.

No one will ever endure that hell again.

The Establishment better beware. This is just the beginning.

I settle back into my chair, tears burning down my cheeks, as the Squawker is swallowed by the clouds.

Finally, I have a few seconds to spare for the stranger who, I’m vaguely aware, is in the copilot’s seat beside me. “Thanks for your help back there. Are you okay?”

No response.

I turn toward him. He’s slumped in his chair, his long, wild hair still obscuring his face and falling across his powerful pectorals.

I know that profile.

“Can’t you hear me?” I move closer and grip his rock-hard shoulder.

He flinches and pulls away, and the moment he does, the hair cloaking his face in shadow falls away from his face and I see those piercing eyes.

Those piercing blue eyes.

He looks away.

My hand drops. No. It can’t be.

A blizzard of emotions engulfs me. Shock, unfathomable joy, wholeness, deep betrayal—my brain is short circuiting. I can’t breathe as I revel in this miracle. Or is it a curse?

Maybe I’m finally losing my mind.

Reaching out a trembling hand, I push the hair from his beautiful face.

It is Digory.

PART III REUNIONS

TWENTY-SIX

Dusk’s rays filter through the cockpit window, bathing the cabin in a soft purplish glow. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” I whisper. “Why? Why did you do it? Was it all a lie?”

Digory still won’t answer me. Won’t even look at me. He just stares out the window, his blue eyes like glassy seas reflecting the dying light until pools of liquid orange form there.

Losing him was one of the deepest pains I’ve ever felt. But finding out he betrayed me was worse than death. Now, having him so close, yet so far away at the same time, I feel an unbearable mixture of joy and agony. I just want to scoop him into my arms, hold him as tight as I can, never ever let him go again—or throttle the last breath from him.

Below us, a familiar silhouette rises from the rippling whitecaps. The statue of the Lady. Even though she’s canting deeper into the ocean than I remembered, she’s still standing. The sight of her fills me with memories, longings for home, for Cole. She’s still holding her torch high, and with the fiery red sunset burning behind her, it’s as if she’s lighting a path through the desolate seas just for Digory and me.

Digory and me.

No. There is no Digory and me. Not anymore. There can’t be.

At that instant Digory turns, almost as if he senses me staring at him. The exhilaration of gazing at his face once more sends a rush through me. I reach out my hand to him, then pull it back.

A series of angry bleeps pierces the quiet.

The fuel gauge is blinking red. Shit! I checked it when we first took off. One of the Fleshers must have ruptured the lines as we were taking off.