Up From The Deep Vaughn Jackson (book club suggestions TXT) 📖

they were barely managing. Almost everything was reduced to rubble, and the ground beneath her feet was craggy and uneven. It blistered in some places and dropped into wide sinkholes in others. She looked back to where Inkanyamba had been and saw only a lingering cloud of ash and dust, a thick rust-colored haze swimming around it. Is it still alive?

“Alright,” she said, still wincing every time she heard the harsh mechanical bark of her new mask. “We’re at the southern end of Soma now. That means we have about a three-mile walk to Fisherman’s Wharf, through a nuclear fallout zone.” She paused, taking in the terrified faces of her soldiers, their guns trembling in their hands. “We made it out of range of the worst effects, but that does not mean we should linger any longer than we have to.”

Caine approached her. “News,” he said.

“Don’t wait for an invitation,” she said, “tell me.”

He showed her the readout on a Geiger counter.

“Yeah, I’d imagine the air would be radioactive after a nuke went off.”

“Five minutes ago, the number was double what it is now,” he said. “The radiation is disappearing far quicker than it should be.”

Greenwood looked at the swirling cloud at the epicenter of the bomb drop. “She’s alive.”

“I know.” Caine followed her gaze. “We should go.”

“Alright everybody, let’s move out,” Greenwood called.

The trek was straightforward, and uneventful, but Greenwood couldn’t shake the feeling that she kept seeing glimpses of motion out of the corners of her eyes. Shadows that skittered away as soon as she tried to focus on them.

“You see them too,” Caine said.

“What are they?”

“Formicaleon,” he said. “Giant bugs that feed off of the great dragon. The Hand of Legends called them that.”

Greenwood considered which to address first, the giant insects stalking them or the potential new intel she could glean from Caine. Her military instincts took over. “That’s three of these Hands I’ve heard of now,” she said casually. “The Hand of Gold who you believe is a traitor. Your boss, the Hand of Shadows, and now a Hand of Legends, who I’m assuming is…like the pope?”

“That would be an accurate comparison. He preaches and indoctrinates. Much like any government, control is Tempest’s highest goal.” He stopped mid step, before returning to his original pace. “You’re trying to get information out of me.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll get no more.”

“I don’t understand,” Greenwood said. “You and your boss both want to end Tempest now, right? So why not work with us to do that?”

“He does not.”

“What?”

“The Hand of Shadows does not wish to end Tempest. He wishes for Tempest to return to what he considers the true path. This required us to work with you to that end.”

Greenwood bit her tongue. She’d suspected that Kurtis didn’t really intend to end Tempest, but hearing it said so plainly made her blood boil. He was a con man through and through.

“I, however,” Caine said, “believe Tempest should end.” Even through the mechanical distortion, she could hear the young man’s anger.

“Oh?” Greenwood said.

“He would have left us to die in that explosion had your general not extended amnesty,” he said. “Seven of us did die in that explosion. I thought he was different than the rest, but we are as expendable to him as we would be to her. We are drones expected to serve our purpose and die.”

Greenwood let out a sad sigh. “Sometimes,” she said, “I feel the same way. The general is great, but the higher ups…can I trust you?” she asked.

“That is not for me to decide,” he said. “But know that I stand with you now because of your kindness, not because of my orders.”

“And your friend? The one who survived?”

Caine’s tone darkened. “He did not survive.

“But you said—”

“His loyalty to Tempest was unwavering. He still intended to betray you.”

“You were going to betray us?”

“Just you. He views you as a threat.”

“Figures,” Greenwood said, “I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

“I appreciate—Get down!” Caine tackled Greenwood to the ground. She gasped as the air left her lungs. A chittering, clicking mass screamed over their prone forms and skidded to a stop on the other side of what remained of the road. Slimy mandibles snapped and gnashed at the air. The insect only had a moment of menace before eleven assault rifles opened fire, ripping it to shreds and splattering the concrete a sticky green.

Caine rose to his feet and offered a hand to Greenwood. “There will be more,” he said. “Formicaleon travel in swarms.”

“We’ll have to hurry then,” Greenwood said, “and thanks, I owe you one.”

“No,” Caine said, “now we are even.”

“Keep a lookout soldiers, there’s more of those hostiles where that came from,” Greenwood shouted. “We’ve only got about a mile left to go.”

A chorus of chitinous cries rose up around them, a frenzy of discordant harmonics. The Formicaleon poured out of the twisted metal husks of buildings and rushed towards them, hundreds of them.

“We won’t outrun them,” Caine said.

“New plan, stand and fight,” Greenwood said, “they go down easy enough.” She raised her rifle and clicked off the safety, ready to fight. As the creatures approached, they split and swarmed around the small group of survivors, ignoring them completely. She watched as the swarm headed for the harbor and disappeared into the crashing waves. “What the hell?”

“I’ve seen this before in rats,” one of the engineers said. “They’re running from something.”

“Oh fuck,” Greenwood said. “Run for the docks, now.”

No sooner had she finished, Inkanyamba’s ear-splitting cry cut through the air, rattling what remained of the city with the force of her lungs. She emerged from the rust-colored fog, blowing it aside with a single beat of her shredded wings. Heat and radiation had burned her skin an onyx black and fused her scales into one solid armored carapace. Her frills had burned off and her eyes turned a bloodshot red. The arches still clung to her back like a metal exoskeleton. Lightning sparked in the air around her, coursing through the wiring and crackling