Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (50 page)

“Why did you have to go and die first?  It would have been nice for someone to hear my last words…”he said as he kicked at the desk that had served as his cover.  He looked back at his knees and couldn’t help but feel like it had all been wasted.  No one would really know him; not ever.  He could feel the blood filling his lungs and the pain in his shoulder disappearing.  It was only a few moments before he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Joseph Warner faded away in that hallway with no one to witness.  There was a security camera pointed directly at him after the explosion, but it wasn’t recording anything.  Goldstein had put it on a loop weeks ago.

-

The boy soldier was finding it difficult to breathe normally as the rounds flew over his cover.  He and Carver had done what they could, but four Hammerheads had found their way to the main entrance and were doing a great job of keeping the two of them behind the tables from the mess hall.  Roberts prayed that the metal of the tables would keep the rounds from entering his back.

It had started out just as they expected, but after Goldstein had been tasked with checking on Corrigan and Warner it left a weakness in their defenses.  The two Crows had been quickly overwhelmed once the Hammerheads had decided to show up.  When Carver noticed the four men coming in through the entrance he took his time; he wasn’t going to waste their advantage of surprise.  He had signaled Roberts just before taking his chance and the boy soldier knew exactly what the old Crow had meant.  The veteran knew Roberts wouldn’t be able to get that great of a shot from his position, but he could hit a knee at that distance.  When Carver sank a round into one of the Hammerhead’s face plates Roberts had followed it up by crippling the man on the other side.  Carver quickly shifted his aim and took the man out with another round to the man’s neck.

They had evened the odds, but these men were not fighting for their lives; they were still fighting for the games.  So while Roberts and Carver couldn’t afford to stay out of cover, the Hammerheads were continuing to press their advantage.  The boy soldier didn’t know what they were supposed to do like this.  It was only a matter of time before one of the slaves decided to use a grenade to flush them out.  That’s what Roberts would have done, at least. 

He looked over at Carver again, but the veteran had no advice this time; he looked just as lost over on the other side.  Roberts laughed at the thought; he had never seen Carver lost or misguided.  The old Crow had always known what to do and how to do it.  It was just one of the reasons that the boy soldier admired him.  The old man really was the hero that the games made him out to be, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Christopher felt the reverberations of the shells hitting the table behind him and it set off a cascade of pain within his own body.  He winced as the echoes made their way through his bones and muscles.  He had forgotten the pain after Hawkins, but it decided to return at the worst time.  He despaired as he realized that even if he made it through the rest of this battle, even if the revolution succeeded and he was able to see the end of it, he would always have this pain.  He would always suffer under Hawkins’ legacy. 

Christopher had done what he needed to do.  Roberts would not have known mental peace without forcing Hawkins to realize his mistakes.  The boy soldier wished that he wouldn’t have had to cause so much pain and bloodshed, though.  It was never his way.  Christopher had just wanted to tinker with computers and tech for his whole life.  Then they turned him into a guinea pig.

The young Crow laughed as he realized that he had caused so much more damage to the Commission with this revolution stunt than he ever would have with the stolen data.  He had already had his revenge against the organization responsible for his incarceration and pain.  Roberts had hoped that revenge would help him feel better, but he realized that it was an empty accomplishment.  He was still going to suffer and his life would never achieve much meaning.

In his own little way, Roberts had fallen into the same trap as Hawkins.  His only accomplishments were to destroy and take away from the world around him.  It did not help his self-esteem.

He looked back over at the old Crow and wondered if he could ever be like the veteran.  Roberts wondered if the right thing would just present itself to him and he would know what to do with it.  Christopher desperately wanted to have that moment, but didn’t know if he would ever see it. 

“Come back here!  Stop!”  Roberts looked back to the mess hall in confusion and saw a soldier running towards them.  He wondered who it could be, as most of the others were at their posts.  As he saw Templeton running behind the soldier, Roberts’ heart sank.  Jenkins was coming to save them, the fool.  The young messiah stopped a meter away from Roberts, took aim with his rifle past their cover and for a moment the gunfire stopped striking the table behind Roberts.  In terror, Christopher realized that the two soldiers must be aiming at Jenkins instead of his cover.

Roberts rose, seeing Carver doing the same out of his periphery, and saw the two men aiming at the newborn soldier.  The youngest Crow resolved that he would not let any bullets fly out and aimed at the left soldier’s head.  In perfect synchronization, Carver was doing the same with the other soldier and then it all turned to chaos.  A maelstrom of bullets flew around in that tiny space, but miraculously, the three Crows had ended the lives of their opponents.

But as one of the Hammerheads fell, he grabbed at an object at his side and then tossed it towards the three revolutionaries.  Time seemed to slow as the object sailed through the air, landed and bounced along the ground.  It skittered to a stop just half a meter from Jenkins and as Roberts watched the black orb spin he realized what had just happened.  Just like every other game, when a soldier was about to die, sometimes he would lob a grenade just to get that extra kill.

Christopher Roberts only stared at it for half a second, but it seemed like an eternity.  He started to weigh his options and what he needed to do in this circumstance.  He could grab at the thing and throw it back to the entrance, or perhaps kick it down the hallway, but he realized that he didn’t have enough time.  Both of those options would have ended up with shrapnel tearing through the newborn Jenkins.  The messiah would be dead on the first day of the revolution.  Roberts couldn’t accept that; he couldn’t let his friend and mission die like that.

He really had no choice at all.

Roberts leapt forward as the two Crows watched.  They didn’t even have time to say any words as the tiny, pain-ridden soldier landed on top of the explosive and wrapped his small frame around it.  Jenkins only had enough time to widen his eyes before the muffled explosion occurred underneath the broken Crow.  The shrapnel tore through the boy soldier, causing pain he had only felt during the worst incarnations.  Roberts could already feel himself leaking out as he was turned over by his friend.  Jenkins released the clasps of his helmet and threw it down the hallway so that he could see his fellow Crow.  Roberts appreciate the gesture, but he didn’t need it.

“Oh, God, Roberts, hold on!  Charlotte will be here soon!  You’re not gonna die!  I’m not gonna let you die!” he shouted, but as the words continued, Roberts found it difficult to hear them.  He looked up at his friend and smiled, not realizing that the newborn soldier wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Don’t…... the pain…. over….” Roberts said, not knowing if either Crow could hear his weak words.  It didn’t much matter; he didn’t want them to feel bad, but he was more selfish at this moment.  He finally knew that he had done something worthwhile.

Jenkins was still holding the boy soldier’s body when it went limp beneath him.  The crimson from Roberts’ wounds had flowed around him and covered the messiah figure’s armor.  Jenkins couldn’t prevent himself from crying; he hadn’t meant for this to happen.  He hadn’t meant for the grenade to fall at his feet; he hadn’t meant for Roberts to jump on it.

But he knew it didn’t matter; he knew that it was his fault and that Roberts was never coming back.

“Chris…..I’m so…. I’m so sorry….” Jenkins said, still cradling the younger man in his arms.  Carver watched as Jenkins took in his loss, but he knew that they had to move.  It wasn’t safe out here in the open.  The old Crow walked over to his friend and put his hand on the messiah figure's shoulder.

“Later, Ryan.  There will be time later.”

“You don’t know that, Carver,” Jenkins said as he laid down the corpse of the first friend he had made on the Crows.  He arranged the body out flat and put his hands together over his torso.  He looked oddly peaceful to the veteran.  “We could all be dead in an hour.”

“Well, for him, let’s try to make it past that, alright?” Carver asked, rapidly losing his patience.  He didn’t even notice Templeton standing behind him.  The thin, black man wanted to chide Jenkins for his behavior, but he knew it would only result in the young messiah directing his rage towards him.  The revolutionary kept his silence but watched the different avenues of approach in case there were more Hammerheads.

Jenkins rose to his feet and looked at his fellow rebels.  His gaze was hard, even if it was rimmed with tears.  He turned and walked towards the mess hall with the two older men on his heels.  Carver noticed Templeton looking at him and glared back.  As the revolutionary took a breath preparing to speak, the old Crow cut him off.

“Shut the fuck up, Templeton.”

“Look…”

“Shut the fuck up.  There’s nothing to say.  One of our friends died for the cause, that’s all,” Carver said, determined to stop the resistance agent from saying anything disrespectful.

“No, old man.  He died because of me,” Jenkins said as he turned to the two men behind him.  They stopped in their tracks and looked at him with caution.  “He died because I was being stupid and I won’t ever forget it.  His blood’s on my hands.  I killed my friend today.  Don’t fucking tell me otherwise, or better yet, don’t tell me anything about it at all.  I’ll deal with it after.”

“Kid…”

“After!  Just like you said, Carver.  There will be plenty of time to mourn after.”

                “You seem to be quite the natural leader, Percy,” Jackson said, laughing as he kept his stride.  “I seem to be the only one that remembers that you were a fuck-up just a couple weeks ago.”  Roth didn’t bother to look at the man as he ran towards the medical clinic; the same clinic where Percival had been resurrected only a month ago.  He was rapidly losing patience with his comrade.

“You’re wrong on that one, Jackson,” Roth said between his own breaths.  Jackson looked at him as they ran and grunted.

“Oh, really, Roth?  Seems like you have everyone fooled.”  The three men came to rest thirty meters from the medical complex and Roth took his time reclaiming his breath before looking at the antagonistic slave soldier.

“I remember, Jackson.  I remember every wasted day, every painful resurrection.  I remember what I used to be,” Percival said before lessening the distance between them.  “And I know I’m still that same person.  I just got to be a better shot.”

“And started taking everyone’s kills,” Jackson said with a sneer behind his helmet.  Roth scoffed at the remark, not considering that Jackson would be so petty as to blame Roth for something like that.  He lowered his gaze and looked at his comrade.

“It’s not about stealing kills, Jackson.  They’re dead either way.  It’s not about personal accomplishment…”

“Oh, it’s not Mr. Hero?  Look, you’re a glory hound, now.  I get it.  You hustled all of us.  But don’t expect me to pat you on the back.  I’ll stick around you because it means I’ll survive, but don’t expect that to make us friends.  I want my fair share,” Jackson said before starting off towards the medical complex.  Roth thought about stopping him and creating a plan for storming the clinic, but instead he shook his head and looked at his feet.  He brought up his gaze to find that Forrest was looking at him expectantly.  Percival searched for something to say, but instead shrugged and headed after his teammate.

“I don’t think the same thing, you know,” Forrest said behind him.  Roth turned slightly to look at the other slave soldier, surprised to hear anything from the man.

“You don’t think I’m a glory hound, Forrest?” Percival asked, desperate to hear someone combat Jackson’s comments.  Forrest shrugged and caught up to the would-be hero’s side before speaking.

“Not the same way that Jackson thinks.  He thinks you want to be an action figure.  He thinks you want to get out of here without your debts.  I know that’s not true,” Forrest said as the two of them walked towards the front entrance of the clinic.  Jackson was already halfway there, but Roth knew that the Hammerhead would wait for his support.

“How do you know?” Roth asked, wondering how this soldier, who had never talked to him, had gotten that impression.  Forrest shook his head and cleared his throat before looking at the ground in front of him.

“It’s the way you carry yourself, man.  It’s not the fame that drives you.  I remember when it did, but that was for all of a week.  You changed just within the last few days, and I like it.  It reminds me of all those old western movies.  Like The Magnificent Seven.  You’re standing up for what’s right,” Forrest said, but Roth ended up being more confused at the statement.

“What do you mean?  How is entertainment and gladiator warfare anything like standing up for what’s right?” Percival asked, not even caring about the game that was occurring around them.  Forrest laughed and looked up at his hero compatriot.

“Man, do you really not get it?  You don’t just want to win; you don’t just want to live.  You want all of us to live.  The way that you’re playing now…. Man, it’s almost like Jenkins on this team.  You’re playing for everyone.  You’re playing so that people know what it’s like to be a hero.  You’re somebody that people can look up to, but it’s not even that.  You’re setting an example for what it’s like to be a decent human being.  And I can tell, man.  I can tell that it’s a little selfish, you’re doing it for you, but I can’t help but like you, Percy.  You’re just trying to be better,” Forrest said before stopping five meters from the front doors of the clinic.