Gods Under The Dome

4.2

《Freedom》

¤

Della pats Keran on the back. "We ready?"

Keran snaps to attention, her body going rigid as she places two gloved hands on her chest, left of her sternum. "You bet, Commander. Alpha-Nine's on its way."

"Where's our men?"

"Awaiting orders behind the Facility emergency vehicles, one klick south. The Liars," she looks at me, "the majority of the Liars," she corrects, "are there alongside the Chemist."

Della nods and Keran relaxes. She stretches her head from side to side. "You, Nose and Dieter," she motions to the men who's uniforms are caked with dust from clearing the debris. "Join up."

Keran nods and whistles. The two other Titav strut up to her, offering that same strange salute. "Time to move." One foot outside the hole, she looks back at me, as if just remembering I existed. "And what of one-zero?"

Della wraps her arm around my shoulder. "You ready to fly, little dove?"

The feel of her added weight, constricting around me like a python causes my skin to crawl. I jerk forward and her arm slides off me. She cracks a smile. "Follow Keran. Stay low. We've got eyes in the sky, but you never know. The Birds of Prey aren't elite guards in name only."

I nod and stuff myself through the opening. My foot wavers over the asphalt as I'm reminded of the explosives traveling through my veins. I'd drunk whatever disarming liquid she'd given Nol, but had it been enough? Keran said the others were safe, with the majority of the Collective awaiting extraction, but what if--

"You dally anymore and I'll leave your ass behind!" Keran calls. Her and the others serpentine through a fleet of black vans, keeping themselves low to the ground.

I smile. What is it with these Titav and their old-fashioned lingo? Someone needs to get them an updated dictionary so they can modernize their repertoire. When I see Tujo again, I'll mention it to him. Hopefully, it'll make him chuckle. I inhale, set my foot on the asphalt. No kabooms.

Keran's waving an arm at me to hurry. I imitate their movements, hunching low to the ground, and make my steps erratic in case the Titav aren't the only ones who fancy air attacks. By the time I reach Keran, I'm out of breath and my thighs and calves are on fire.

Keran smiles. "They don't got a gym in there for the country's best and brightest?"

"No," I say between huffs. "But they do have baths. Let me guess, Titav provides you with a hose and a few tattered rags?" I wrinkle my nose and wave my hand back and forth in front of my face. A flush of anger floods Keran's face. She looks like a matchstick - her clothes a grimy, dingy beige, her neck and head shining as brightly as Marava's nails.

She hisses, and snaps at me. "Watch your back."

Something clips the backside of Keran's head. She winces, and whirls, gun trained. A blur of flesh drives her arm upward and loosens the gun from Keran's grasp. She frowns, reaches for it. A combat boot lands on her wrist. She yelps. "Maybe you should watch yours, lieutenant," Della says. She steps off Keran, and if I thought she'd look red before, I'd vastly underestimated her ability. Her face reminded me of molten lava, violent reds washing over her from deep within her hairline traveling well beneath the collar of her attire. She grumbles as she grabs her pistol, wipes it with the sleeve of her shirt and shoves it into the waistband of her pants. "Sorry, Commander."

Arms folded, chin jutting, if Keran had been stripped of her weaponry, given a pair of jeans and t-shirt, she could have passed for a regular teenager. The disappointment she must feel coupled with her embarrassment sheds years of tough-girl act off her. Her face takes on a softer, rounder appearance. Her cheeks carry a layer of baby fat and her skin, despite being tan, is smooth, free of wrinkles and dark circles. Her blue eyes sparkle with that flicker of youth, one that's hard to douse, no matter how much blood is poured over it.