Sixteen
Gage Bronson, Dax Janner, Blythe Sol, Jenica Swan, Sayer Strom, Laura Rosenberg and Professor Neville Hinkley
Stonehead Prison Facility
Washington D.C.
August 18, 4010
1:00 a.m.
As the Neville I hovercraft drifts over the darkened Nevada desert, I turn my head to gaze out the window. Because of the darkness outside, my reflection is what greets me and I stare into unfamiliar eyes. The man whose face and name tag I’m wearing as a disguise is Captain Jack Knightly, a high-ranking officer of the Military Police. He is middle-aged with nondescript features and dull, gray eyes that seem stripped of any uniqueness or emotion. I guess that’s what it takes to be an MP—murder people in cold blood, and follow the dictates of a broken government like a stupid, soulless sheep.
My mind should be on the mission ahead of us. Infiltrating the maximum-security levels of the Stonehead prison facility will not be easy, despite the advantages that our disguises have given us. Everything has been carefully orchestrated and there can be no deviation from the plan like there was on the last mission. I have gone over the details dozens of times in my mind since the meeting but it still doesn’t seem like enough. I rehearse it, over and over, playing out all scenarios and contingencies as the hovercraft zips through the sky at a steady and rapid pace.
Across the aisle from me is Sayer Strom, a member of the resistance that I have not gotten to know just yet. He has one bionic leg and a pair of bionic lungs, as his own were severely damaged by radiation poisoning after the nukes took out Austin, Texas. Like everyone else here, he became a part of the Restoration Project looking for a second chance. I’m sure the insurance salesman’s son did not expect to one day become part of a secret organization targeting the very government that had promised him redemption. He’s young, no older than eighteen, but I can see that years of running, hiding, and fighting have changed him. The harsh lines of his face are further enhanced by a scar running across his face in a jagged, diagonal line, the only flaw in his perfect, all-American looks.
Next to Sayer is Laura Rosenberg, the newest member of our team. Unlike me, she is trusted by everyone with no question, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she’s ‘one of them’. Without a bionic prosthetic—the only one in the group besides the Professor without one—I’m the odd man out. Laura’s gleaming chest plate and bionic heart aren’t the only things that make her, though. The former army sergeant is tough as nails and raw as a slab of bleeding beef How she can sit there, with fresh, angry burns marring the side of her neck and one shoulder, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, is beyond me. She insisted that she was fine, allowed someone at the infirmary to slather burn ointment on it, and demanded to be let back into the fray. I have to say that I admire her dedication.
In the row in front of her Blythe sits alone, one row behind the cockpit where Jenica and the Professor are seated at the controls. I can only see her profile from where I sit, and can’t help tracing the sloping lines of her face with my eyes. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail at the top of her head, the long strands brushing the back of her caramel neck teasingly, making me want to come up behind her and press my lips to that very spot, that stretch of skin just above where her neck meets her shoulders. This girl is a mystery to me, as much as I think I am to her. I think it’s what has drawn us to each other. In the end, I also believe it is what will tear us apart, and the thought leaves me sick to my stomach. If there is anyone I want to be completely honest with, it’s her. The deepest shadows of my heart are hers and she doesn’t even know it. Or maybe she does. It could be what has her keeping me at a distance.
Or, it could be Dax. I scowl unwillingly as I shoot him a glance out of the corner of my eye and find him watching her too. Even in disguise, the naked hunger he feels for her is obvious. Anyone paying the slightest bit of attention could see it. The only mystery is where Blythe’s heart is in this tug of war. I don’t think even she knows; which only makes the chase that much more desperate for me. I don’t know how or when it happened. I’ve always been the kind of guy to keep things casual when it comes to girls. I don’t do commitment and I’ve never been in love. At least, not that heart-pounding, tragically beautiful, painful love portrayed in books and movies. Yet, one look in those buttery brown eyes and I was lost. The broken, hardened woman peering at me from the dark depths pulled on my insides, gripping my soul like marionette strings and leading me along effortlessly.
And yet, Dax has just as much, if not more, stake in this battle for Blythe. Their friendship is a deep one and it makes me feel like an intruder. They understand each other on a level beyond anything I’ve ever seen. This intimidates me about as much as Blythe’s brittle outer shell does. I’m not stupid. I know my chances are slim and I’m the odd man out. A smarter man would leave it alone, let Dax have her, and bow out graciously. But I’ve never been one to take the easy way out, and am known to pursue the things I want with intense ferocity.
Maybe if she hadn’t given me the smallest glimmer of hope, if she hadn’t opened herself up and told me her story, if she hadn’t kissed me as if stealing my last breath… maybe then it would be easier. Blythe doesn’t even know what she’s done by giving me even that much. Just a taste of the corner of her mouth would have been enough, but now I’ve tasted the heady tang of her tongue and felt the slide of her thick hair between my fingers. I’ve felt her breath on my cheek and taken her intoxicating scent in on far too many occasions.
She’s looked at me with those soulful eyes and showed me a glimmer of promise, a lingering of doubt and intrigue when she looks at me, one too many times. Blythe has given me just enough that I know the fight won’t be in vain, just enough hope to spark a flame that grows by the day, and now I’m on fire for the girl with the saddest eyes I’ve ever looked into. I want to be the one to soothe that hurt, the one to use the tips of my fingers to wipe away tears, and smooth lines of agony away with the touch of my lips.
She has given me hope and she doesn’t even know what she’s done, God help her. If she did, she would have never let me kiss her. I guess no one ever told her what hope can do to the hearts of men. I’ve seen it happen, and continue to watch the same effect unfold within the Resistance. With the smallest bit of hope, men have risen against their oppressors with fists raised, even when they knew they stared into the face of death. Women have held infants against their breasts and covered their eyes and ears against the horrible sights and sounds of war, because they believe that even in this terrible world there is innocence to be preserved. Nations rise up against their government, screaming that they’ve had enough, that injustice will not be tolerated any longer… no matter how many of them have to sacrifice their lives for the cause.
That is what Blythe has done to me. She doesn’t even know it, but I would gladly follow her into Hell.