Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

52. The End of One War

26th of Arestre, Continued

Legends and songs always make victory sound like the end. Someone wins, someone loses, it's over. In some ways, that's how it feels — at least at first. There is an unspeakable, incredible relief that the bombs aren't falling any more, elation that you survived... But it turns out the end of a war hangs around long after it has worn out its welcome, stinking up the place like a mean drunk, one minute passed out and motionless in the corner, the next hitting and smashing and bringing nothing but pain, confusion, and heartache for no reason. The bombs might stop falling, but the repercussions don't.

~~~

A breeze whispered over my skin, sifting through my hair, tugging at the cotton pants and short jacket I had been given. Afternoon sunlight warmed my face, and I let my head loll against the cushioned top of the seat behind me.

We were on our way down into the valley, and I was with Arramy. Just the two of us, with no signs of battle in sight, only the green of pine and the grey of limestone unrolling along beside us, and a vault of perfect blue sky overhead. If I pretended the pock-pock-pock echoing in the distance wasn't gunfire, we could have been any two people, going anywhere.

The two-man began rounding a long, gradual bend in the road, and I eased an eye open, getting a lazy glimpse of Arramy's hands as he worked the steering controls. A ghost of a smile tugged at my dry, crackly lips. He had taken off his hunting jacket and rolled his sleeves up above his elbows. I let my gaze wander upward, taking my time.

My smile faded as my little daydream bubble met reality. Arramy's clothing was dusty with dried mud, soot, and who knew what else, and he smelled like a war zone; sweat, dirt, hot metal, ashes, oil and explosive powder. Bits of inky blue-black grease paint still smeared his face and streaked his hair. Judging from the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth and the weary slump to his shoulders, he hadn't been able to sleep much since putting me on that medical transport.

My throat tightened, my eyes prickling and hot.

Then we finished rounding the bend, the trees thinned, the valley opened up below us, and I lost my breath, my good hand moving to grip the edge of my seat.

Because we really weren't out driving on a lazy afternoon. We were racing down the mountain road in a Coventry two-man engine, and from our vantage point, we could see the entire valley floor. It looked like a giant had taken a hoe and dragged a long trench through the earth between the Headquarters building and the Manufacturing Sector fence. The lines were almost neat, the ground on either side practically untouched, the grass still green and incongruously dotted with field flowers. But between those lines, there was nothing but five miles of pitted, pockmarked mud.

And there, roughly halfway down the trench, the tail fin of a Coventry flyer jutted at an angle from a crater. My lips parted on a stuttering breath as I realized just how far we must have run through enemy fire: all of a mile, at least. So many ways we could have died...

Pock-pock-pock... pock-pock...

The rattle of gunfire was getting clearer now, as we got closer, loud enough to be heard over the growl of the military gopher engine. It sank into my chest, lodging there like a freezing ball of lead.

Pock-pock... pock... pock-pock-pock...

I swallowed hard and fought to keep my breath moving in and out, in and out, but a wave of dizziness rushed at me anyway, my vision flickering along the edges.

Pock-pock-pock...

... burning debris everywhere, and I was falling, falling, falling — I dug my fingernails into my palms, using the pain as an anchor. I took a deep breath, then another, dragging myself back into the present, forcing the terror into its little box... as much as I could, anyway. My hands were still sweating, my heartbeat racing, but I had pulled back from the brink. Arramy needed my help. I had to get myself under control.