Epic: Book 02 - Outlaw Trigger (36 page)

That was what was real.

Right then, it all crashed upon him. Consequence. Reality. Coldness. Galina had just died. Galina—his valued friend—had just died.

She was dead.

“
I didn’t mean it,” Scott blurted out. He said it without giving a thought. He’d shouted without meaning to shout. The cry was choked in the restraining of tears. For the first time since Nicole had died, his thoughts weren’t focused on her. They were focused on another girl he knew. They were focused on the one he had killed.

The one
he
had killed. He himself.

David stopped in the hallway. He turned his head to the side, just slightly—just enough to be seen. Then he said something Scott had never heard him say to him before.

“
I don’t care.”

Scott watched through blurred eyes as David walked away. He listened as the footsteps grew distant. He listened until they were gone.

For the second time in his life, the death of a girl was upon him. The first one had led to the second. Who was next?

He couldn’t feel his feet as they drifted. He only knew he ended up back in bed. He didn’t remember shutting the door; he didn’t remember turning off the light. He didn’t remember anything but her.

Her and her both.

* * *

Room 14 was a tomb. Of all the operatives who resided there, precious few slept in their bunks. The rest of them—Becan, Jayden, Max, Travis, and Varvara—remained restless and enervated in the lounge.

Only one of them cried. It was Varvara, as her face was nestled tight against Jayden’s cradled arms. Her tears were not loud, but they streamed in a constant flow. Her sniffles were the loudest sounds in the room. All of the others were still, their eyes dry with exhaustion, their emotions too drained to be apparent.

“
It’s all right,” Jayden whispered, his arms caressing Varvara’s back as she trembled against him. “It’s all gonna be all right.”

The news of Galina’s passing had been delivered by Captain Clarke, who promptly left after he announced it. David had walked out not long after. The rest of them stayed there in silence.

Finally, one of them spoke.

“
I think we have a serious problem,” said Becan. Even his voice was subdued.

No one answered at first. It was as if no one had heard him at all.

“
It’s called war,” Max eventually responded.

Becan turned to him and frowned. He hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Yeh know I’m not talkin’ abou’ tha’.”

“
Yeah. I know.” Max rubbed his hands over his face. Then he leaned back in his chair. “You’re talking about Scott.”

“
We need to figure ou’ wha’ to do. Do you realize all this has happened in one bleedin’
week
? Tha’s it, just a week. Wha are we goin’ to look like a whole
month
from now? We need to figure ou’ somethin’.”

Max pressed his fingertips to his forehead, closing his eyes. “What is there to figure out?”

“
Oh, nothin’ much, only how to stop our friend an’ commandin’ officer from goin’
psycho
.”

“
I don’t blame Scott for this,” Max said. “Scott took action—that’s what he does. He took action in the middle of a war. Maybe it is his fault. But maybe it’s Clarke’s fault for not charging first. Maybe it’s my fault.”

“
Were you just ou’ there with us?” Becan asked sarcastically. “Did you not see wha’ we saw?”

Max glowered at the Irishman. “I saw one of us die in a war.” He glanced briefly to Varvara in apology. “Galina was everyone’s friend, and every one of us loved her. But she died in a war. Scott may have had nothing to do with it. But because of what’s going on now…it’s spiraling out of control.”

“
Are you saying we’re blowing Galina’s death out of proportion?” Travis asked. The others turned to regard him.

“
No,” Max answered. “Not at all. But Scott’s going to get all the blame—and he shouldn’t. It might just have been her time to go.”

“
So you don’t think Scott had anything to do with it?”

Max sighed. “You see how everyone in here feels right now? Take that and multiply it by a thousand. That’s how Scott’s felt for a week.”

“
An’ now Galina is dead,” said Becan.

“
So is Anatoly. So is Ivan. So are Kevin and Kostya. Hell, our new demolitionist got knocked out in his first mission—he’s lucky to still be alive. Does anyone even remember his name?”

“
Tha’s not the point.”

“
The point is that people are going to die. Are we going to blame Scott for all of them?”

“
It ain’t Scott’s fault,” murmured Varvara through her Russian-thick twang. The moment she did, everyone shifted to face her. “It is
their
fault. They have done to him what hurts him the most. Now he has become someone else.”

“
Who has he become?” Becan asked.

Varvara said nothing.

After a moment, Max answered again. “The only thing I can tell you is what I think. That might not be much.” He hesitated before going on. “I think Scott’s losing a fight. It’s the biggest fight he may have ever faced. First, he lost his fiancee. Then, he lost his faith. And now…he’s losing his friends.”

“
He hasn’t lost me,” said Jayden.

Travis frowned. “I feel weird talking about Scott right now, man…”

“
And normally, we’d be grieving about Galina,” agreed Max. “But we’re not. We’re brooding. We’re divided. You could cut the tension in this unit with a knife. That’s not because Galina’s just died. That’s because some dregg in slayer armor murdered Scott’s girl. That one thing led us to this.”

“
I know, but—”

“
No ‘buts,’ Travis. If we don’t talk about Scott, if we don’t find some way to get this unit on track, someone
else
is going to be dead.”

“
Didn’t you just say it wasn’t Scott’s fault?” Travis argued.

Max stared at him in silence for several seconds. “Congratulations, nitwit. You’ve managed to miss the whole point.”

“
So wha’s the point?” Becan asked.

“
The point is, everyone’s emotional now. That’s not good in a war. Do I think Scott killed her? No. But because of his situation, everyone looks at it that way. And that’s causing all these emotions, and
that’s
what’s going to get someone else killed.” He leaned back in finality. “And that is why we have to talk about Scott,
now
.” He turned to Travis. “I hope you’re getting all this, because I’m starting to sound like a shrink, and I don’t like it.”

Travis was silent before he answered. “Yeah, I get it.”

Out of the new quiet, Varvara spoke once again. “When I was with him, he said to me how he feels.” The others in the room listened attentively. “He said that we can’t understand how he hurts. And it’s true. Not one of us knows of that pain.” As the rest of the operatives watched her, she distanced her eyes from the room.

After a moment of unfinished silence, Becan tilted his head. “So wha’ does he need to get better?”

She didn’t answer.

As the wall clock ticked on relentlessly, the collective gazes of the operatives lost their focus, until they stared upon nothing at all. When one of them eventually spoke, it was as if for the first time.

“
He’s not gonna lose me,” said Max. “I swear that to God.” On the other side of the room, Jayden looked up.

“
I bet Remmy never thought you’d say somethin’ like tha’,” Becan said.

“
No…I think he did,” Max pondered. “Hate me or not, he never gave up on me. I’m not gonna give up on him.”

The Irishman leaned back in his chair. He stretched out his legs to the floor. “I never planned to to begin with.”

Varvara clung to Jayden more tightly.

Max blew out a slow breath, sliding his hands in his pockets. “All right, then.” Everyone else turned to face him. “Galina was one hell of a girl. Let’s give her one hell of a ride home.”

Travis slowly nodded his head. “I’ll wash down the
Pariah
. I’ll fly her out myself.”

Max agreed. “That’ll do good, Trav,” he said in conciliation. “That would be meaningful.” Then he stood. “Everyone sleeps now. You know that’s what she’d have said.”

“
Yes sir.”

One by one, the operatives rose from their chairs. One by one, they filed out the room. The last one clicked off the light to the lounge, and the room was empty.

Room 14 fell asleep.

* * *

Dostoevsky’s eyes glossed over as he watched his glass fill with vodka. He was in his private quarters, but not alone. Another man sat across his table from him with a long-emptied glass in his hand.

“
You drink like a man with regrets, commander,” said Nicolai Romanov. He was one of the Nightman slayers from the mission.

As Dostoevsky’s glass filled to the brim, he tilted the bottle upright. “Should I not have regrets?”

“
Of course not,” Romanov answered, grinning in the strange way only he could. “You are perfect, like me.”

Dostoevsky laughed in irony. “If that is what you believe.”

“
You do not believe I am perfect?”

“
Of course you are,” the fulcrum commander answered sardonically. “And so am I.”

Romanov chuckled and leaned back, twitching in his peculiar manner. He was similar in size to Dostoevsky, despite Dostoevsky’s lesser age. Both men were of equal height and build, if Dostoevsky wasn’t a tad more muscular. Both men had nefariously dark hair. Both men were Nightmen. The difference came in their roles. Dostoevsky was a fulcrum; Romanov was not.

“
You have a very interesting group of friends, Yuri.”

“
They are not my friends.” Dostoevsky swallowed a drink.

“
Am I your friend?”

“
If the general says so.”

Romanov laughed. “He does. He says we are very good friends. In fact, he says we are such good friends that we will be together for a very long time.”

Dostoevsky swallowed a sip, then stopped with his glass in midair. He looked hard across the table toward Romanov.

“
Then I suppose you have not yet been told. We will be joining your unit.”

“
All of you?”

“
That is correct. Viktor, Auric, and Egor. And myself. Together we will spill beautiful blood. Does this disappoint you?”

Dostoevsky stared at him for a moment, then resumed his alcoholic indulgence. “No.”

“
It is a good thing that Viktor has medical training. It appears that your unit will need it.”

Dostoevsky hurled his glass to the floor. It shattered, with shards scattering in every direction.

Romanov twitched and raised an eyebrow.

“
Do not mock the dead, Nicolai. Not with me.”

“
The dead
concern
you? Since when?”

Dostoevsky didn’t answer. Instead, he drank straight from the bottle.

Romanov propped his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Never have I seen you this way. What has happened?”

Once again, Dostoevsky said nothing.

“
Are you afraid because of what you have done? Are you afraid that you are damned?”

Yuri chuckled, quietly at first, but louder as the seconds passed. Finally, he took another large swig of vodka. Placing the bottle down, he eyed Romanov. “We are all damned, Nicolai.”

“
Then we will all burn in hell together.” Romanov clanged his glass against Dostoevsky’s bottle, then grabbed it to fill the glass up.

“
There is a special place in hell saved for me,” Dostoevsky said, as he watched Romanov pour jerkily.

“
Why is that?” Romanov asked, downing his drink.

“
Because I am evil.”

Romanov laughed and extended his glass for a toast. “In honor of those who are evil.”

Romanov’s hand was outstretched for a mere second before Dostoevsky’s palm swiped it aside. The glass flew from Romanov’s hand, shattering against the far wall.

“
You like breaking glasses today,” Romanov said dryly.

Dostoevsky pushed back his chair and rose somewhat shakily. “This evening, I will give him what he wants to hear.”

“
You will give him what he wants to hear? Who?”

“
Remington.”

“
You will give
Remington
what he wants to hear?” Romanov stared at him quizzically. “What does he want to hear?”

Dostoevsky walked to his closet. “A name.”

Romanov’s eyes shot wide.
“What?”

“
I will give him a name.”

“
Does the general know you will do this?”

“
Leave me, Nicolai.”

“
But are you sure—”

“
Leave me, slayer!”

The voice made Romanov flinch. He hurriedly rose to his feet. “You know what will happen if you do this. You know what will be done.”

“
I know.”

Romanov stepped to the door. He opened it, then turned around a final time. “You know what will happen.”