The Chronicles of Kin Roland: 3 Book Omnibus - The Complete Series Page 18

“A Reaper is easily a match for a man in Fleet armor. I don’t have armor and I’ve already tried to kill it twice.”

  “Yeah, but you’re Kin Roland,” Rickson said. He took Clavender by the hand and began to drag her toward Crater Town. Kin watched them go. He listened for the Reaper and readied his weapons.

  Droon charged up the trail, yellow eyes glowing and saliva dripping from bared teeth. Meteors streaked across the sky in the distance, too far away to illuminate the scene. Kin ignored the spectacular night sky. Morning was an hour away. If he could stay alive until then, things would get easier. Or so he promised himself.

  He aimed the rifle, settled his breathing, and began to fire. Droon bounded behind rocks and through shadows, never retreating. Kin knew he scored several hits, yet Droon barely flinched. Kin looked at the rifle to be sure he was handling a deadly weapon, then cast it aside. It was out of ammo now anyway. Pulling his pistol, he aimed at Droon with one hand and slid his sword free of the scabbard with the other.

  “Come a little closer, and I’ll make these rounds count.” He needed to stall. Clavender and Rickson needed time to escape.

  Droon snarled as he slowed his approach. “Kin-rol-an-da.”

  “Droon,” Kin said.

  “Kin-rol-an-da. Last Man on the planet.” Droon sidestepped and measured the distance between them.

  Kin adjusted his position to prevent Droon from running past him toward Rickson and Clavender. “That’s right. I was the last man on Hellsbreach.”

  “You killed everyone.”

  “I didn’t kill you.” Kin relaxed his arm and lowered his sword to one side. Reapers generally didn’t detect upward slash attacks.

  Droon snapped his teeth together several times and shook his head violently. He didn’t seem to like Kin’s answer.

  “So many dead. You burned thousands.”

  “Keep talking, Droon. I have all night.” Kin moved closer, heart racing. The Reaper seemed distracted, confused. Kin thought he might have a chance to end this. Maybe Commander Westwood would show leniency if he brought back the head of a Reaper.

  “Cla-ven-da,” Droon growled. “Cla-ven-da.” The Clingers covering his body twitched and jerked at his head, seeming to force him to look into the night. “Cla-ven-da!”

  “Droon!” Kin shouted.

  The Reaper focused on him, eyes growing intense. The Clingers rippled and jerked at him.

  He seemed more aware — less like an animal ready to leap, and more like a general planning intrigue. Kin, who understood their minds better than anyone due to his captivity, knew their cunning. But the intelligence he saw now made Kin feel weak.

  The Reaper smiled.

  “I found Kin-rol-an-da. I’m the master of the Long Hunt.” He lunged forward, quick as a snake, and bit deep into Kin’s forearm. Blood gushed across his face and into his mouth.

  The Reaper venom burned. Kin could almost see a link growing between them, a bond he hated. It felt unclean. Nightmares flashed in his vision. The Reaper’s mind battered against his.

  Kin tried to pull back his arm, knowing he should have shot the Reaper instead, but he was unable to resist primal fear.

  Get out of my head.

  Kin twisted but couldn’t break free. The Reaper’s mind invaded, rampaged unchallenged through memories, but what burned in his head were Droon’s memories. Kin recoiled from visions and clutched to hold what was his. Droon pillaged and stole something that had been with Kin since Hellsbreach.

  “Get out of my head!”

  Droon released him, stepping back to fight the Clingers into submission. Kin fell on his butt and cradled his wound, watching the power struggle with fatalistic interest. He had to get up. He couldn’t just sit. His arm numbed and blood congealed into a heavy black scab, like new skin.

  Reaper venom had never affected Kin like this. He felt Droon’s memories advancing and sensed madness in their wake. He focused on the scene before him. He studied every detail of the night that might distract him from the mental assault. He embraced pain. When none of it seemed to protect him, Kin clung to his own memories. What he found lurking in the corners surprised him.

  AFTER Hellsbreach, Kin awoke in a hospital. He heard voices.

  “We can’t just kill him. It doesn’t matter if he is alive or dead,” a voice said. “All they need is his blood. I have explained it a dozen times. Why won’t you listen?”

  “They’ll never get him back. The mission failed, but the planet is quarantined,” a voice replied.

  Kin turned his head, dragging tubes and wires that were attached to his head, neck, and face. He didn’t remember being injured. He had initiated his own version of the detonation sequence for the nuclear warheads and taken the launch shuttle into space to join the Fleet Armada.

  Why am I in the hospital?

  “That won’t last. The Fleet will move to another system. We have to burn him,” the first voice said.

  “Or lose him.”

  “Where can we lose a hero?” the first voice asked. “We must incinerate the body and launch his ashes into space.”

  “That’s an idea.”

  I can’t stay in the hospital. Droon is after Clavender. He sat up and realized the hospital room was a memory. The place looked like an interrogation chamber.

  “How was I injured?” Kin asked.

  The two men faced him, surprised.

  “Damn it, Roland,” the owner of the first voice said. The emblem on the collar of his uniform identified him as a scientist for the Research Division, but he didn’t have a nametag. The second man wore civilian clothing but stood like a general.

  Kin sat up. Tubes attached to every part of his body. “Am I being interrogated?”

  “No. There was an accident when your shuttle docked with our ship,” the general said.

  Kin rubbed his face, aware that he shouldn’t pull his arms away from the bed. Tubes broke free and several machines began to beep. “I don’t remember an accident. I don’t remember anything after watching the first explosion on Hellsbreach.”

  Two guards entered the room. Kin’s confusion melted away. They wore uniforms without rank or identifying markers. Kin was in an interrogation chamber. His body had probably been filled with enough mind-altering drugs to kill him without life support machines.

  Looking at the Scientist and the General, Kin made a decision. “You might as well tell me the truth. I won’t remember anything with all the medication in my system.”

  “You shouldn’t be conscious,” the scientist said. He turned to the general. “Which supports my argument. He can’t be trusted. Something happened to him in captivity. He is probably more Reaper than human.”

  “Give him something,” the general said. Then he spoke to Kin. “I lost a bet, Roland. A lot of people said you would betray us. Said the Reapers brainwashed you. I defended your honor and commitment to the Fleet.”

  The scientist pulled a syringe from one of the intravenous tubes. “That should do it.”

  The general talked to Kin, but Kin wasn’t listening. He imagined the burning landscape of Hellsbreach. He hated the Reapers, but killing every creature on the planet, destroying a world...

  I can’t erase this world. We can beat the Reapers. I know we can. Millions of species. Innocents. If I set off every bomb, the planet will become an asteroid field. What if this were Earth?

  Kin faded but remained awake. The voices in the hospital room made no sense for several moments.

  “What if he wasn’t a hero? What if he was a convicted traitor? Disposal would be much easier,” the scientist said.

  “I don’t care how it’s done. Just make sure the Reapers can’t recover what they hid in his blood. Launch him toward a black hole — that will seal the deal. Without his blood, they can’t threaten us.”

  “He disobeyed orders,” the scientist said.

  “I like that. It should play well for our Public Relations Division. Millions died to give him the chance to end it. There is no way so many nuk
es could have failed to detonate. He sabotaged the mission,” the general said. He paused. “I wish I understood why.”

  “Would you like a confession?” the scientist asked.

  Silence.

  “Yes. Get me a confession. I will file charges and arrange a trial,” the general said.

  Kin couldn’t focus his eyes. He needed to vomit. The room started to spin.

  “You should leave, General. The interview will be…messy.”

  DROON howled at the sky and looked at Kin. He smiled and advanced. Kin pushed onto his feet and retreated.

  “Kin-rol-an-da can never escape now. The ten-thousand-warrior pack will come to Droon!”

  Kin watched the Reaper gather his legs under him for a leap.

  “Cla-ven-da. Now.”

  Kin picked up his sword, bracing himself for the Reaper charge. He cursed, realizing he instinctively put both hands on the hilt, causing Droon to see the danger. He slashed up with all his strength, but the grip of his left hand was weak. Droon batted the sword down and leapt past him, tumbling Kin like a child.

  Kin lunged with his twitching left hand and grabbed the Reaper’s tail. It cut his palm, but he held on as he was dragged several steps. Pulling his feet in front of his body and digging his heels in, he grunted, cursed, and heaved on the tail. He wanted to swing the sword but couldn’t get in position.

  Droon whirled and struck with a claw. Kin pulled closer to take the force of the strike from Droon’s forearm instead of from the claws. The impact of the arm felt like a metal club.

  Kin swung the sword. Droon deflected it.

  Droon chased him as he scrambled away. Kin couldn’t move fast enough. He was about to die, but at least Clavender and Rickson were out of sight. Droon retracted his claws and swatted Kin several times, playing Reaper games.

  Terror blossomed in Kin’s gut. He tried to ignore it.

  He slashed and moved, avoiding a tackle. His ground fighting skill was exceptional, but Reapers were far stronger than humans. This wasn’t the time or place to test his skill on the ground. He dodged sideways and retreated. Droon charged. Kin met his advance but rolled out of the way.

  Kin thrust the sword and pulled it back.

  That should’ve been a killing blow.

  The Clinger shifted around the base of Droon’s skull, covering the exposed area. It was like fighting two adversaries. That was when he realized there wasn’t one Clinger protecting Droon, but three or four. The organic layers seemed indestructible.

  Kin hesitated too long as he pondered the Clinger armor. Droon seized him by the throat with both hands. Immediately, Droon pushed him down and placed both feet on Kin’s stomach, extending his claws as he began to rake at Kin’s guts. Kin thrust with his hips and twisted his body, momentarily exposing his back to his attacker, even as they were face to face. He pushed the ground with his legs, twisted his body and hips, and thrashed desperately. The Reaper was too heavy and strong.

  Kin grabbed the Reaper’s hands with his left hand, dropped the sword, and drew his pistol. He reached over the Reaper’s arms and jammed the muzzle of the gun into the gaping mouth. Droon jumped back as Kin began to pull the trigger.

  It was no good. The bullets grazed the side of Droon’s face. No time to reload. He holstered the gun and scooped up his sword, wincing in pain at the effort, running into the predawn gloom. Droon hesitated, looked toward where Clavender and Rickson had fled, then chased after Kin.

  Kin desperately wished he had an accomplice now. Bear could have ambushed the Reaper as he pursued Kin. But Bear was dead. He was on the floor of Long Canyon, the top half of his body consumed by Clingers and the bottom half pressed against the ground. That was how Clingers left their victims, half eaten because they were too mindless to roll the prey over.

  Kin stopped to catch his breath. One moment Droon was on him, the next he pulled back to launch a new attack.

  Kin understood Reaper tactics and had taught his troopers to adapt quickly, but this was too much. Fatigue, injury, and Reaper venom made his head swim. Long forgotten memories whispered in his mind. He neared the top of the hill only to meet Droon’s surprise attack.

  The Reaper never made a sound as he crested the hill and jumped forward, seizing Kin again by the throat. This time, he didn’t attempt to disembowel with the claws on his feet but thrust one finger at Kin’s heart. Kin twisted and took the claw in his shoulder. The pain went through like a flaming knife, pinning him to the ground.

  “Kin-rol-an-da. Last man on the planet. Murderer,” Droon said. “Mine.”

  Kin screamed. Droon squeezed his throat with one hand. The terrible pressure increased until he couldn’t make a sound.

  “We spared Kin-rol-an-da. Kin-rol-an-da betrayed us. Droon found Kin-rol-an-da. Droon ends the Long Hunt.” He twisted his finger and leaned his weight down, crushing Kin’s throat and his chest at the same time.

  Kin couldn’t fight anymore. He barely kept his eyes open. Blood seeped around the claw.

  This is death.

  Droon babbled non-human words, curses and exaltations, accusations and promises of revenge.

  Every second seemed like a year.

  Kin laughed maniacally, quietly at first, but louder and louder as rage consumed him. Choking, gasping, and grunting, he suffered an epiphany and felt more than saw what happened next.

  His blood hardened and twitched as it touched Droon’s claw.

  Reaper blood. My blood.

  Kin fumbled at one of the Clingers and pulled. Droon flinched. Kin yanked the Clinger over Droon’s face. A horrible scream split the night.

  Droon rolled across the ground, clawing, ripping, and tearing until the Clinger lost suction. He mauled the creature, slammed it on the ground, and jumped on it with both feet.

  Without thinking, Kin sheathed his sword and stuck his thumb as deep as it would go in the wound to stop the bleeding. He staggered away from the nightmarish battle.

  When he looked back, he saw at least twenty Clingers crawling over the top of the hill. Kin wanted to run but was paralyzed by the appearance of the evil parasites.

  He shook his head, breaking free of his surprise, and left the Reaper to fight his new enemies.

  When he had gone a hundred meters, he packed his wound with gauze and tied his last bandage over the dressing to hold it in place. He moved and stopped several times as he did this, looking back more often than he looked ahead, waiting for Droon’s victorious howl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  KIN awoke and panicked. He couldn’t move or remember where he was.

  I was on my way to Crater Town.

  He controlled his ragged breathing and realized he was covered in rocky soil with only his face exposed. He chastised himself, because an FSPAA unit could be buried completely without danger, allowing the surveillance sensors to be his eyes above ground. And then he remembered he wasn’t wearing armor. He had planted himself in the earth like a Reaper trying to heal.

  I’m burning.

  The sensation unnerved him — blood rushing, strength returning. In his hand was a cord. He twisted and pulled until the cord opened the ground like a zipper. He sat up and rolled out of his grave. Dizziness and nausea plagued him for several moments. Pain returned as his heart rate slowed to normal. Hunger and thirst tortured him. He wanted to die.

  A good trooper checks his gear.

  Kin didn’t have much left. He sat cataloguing his injuries until he had the courage to stand. For a man who should have died ten times, he was in decent shape, although he still wanted to crawl back into the ground.

  He considered the safest route but chose the most direct instead — a river that cut through the mountain pass. A ridge followed the terrain on his right. He looked up before entering a natural place for an ambush. Droon probably wasn’t up there, but he couldn’t rule out a Fleet patrol.

  He followed the river, his progress slowed by the uneven shore. After a half mile, he bundled his clothes and weapons together, held them o
ver his head, and started to cross to the other side. From what he could see, there would be more room to walk without tripping over loose rocks and driftwood.

  Halfway across, he learned how deep the water was. He was up to his neck when he stepped in a hole and went under. He held the bundle high and held his breath, but it was no good. The current tumbled him as he pulled the bundle to his chest, clinging to it tightly. He snorted to keep water out of his nose but wound up sucking in a freezing deluge with his next breath. A dislodged tree stump struck him in the face. He gasped and gagged as water rushed in.

  Roots entangled him. Before he knew it, he flipped upside down, fighting panic.

  The water is not trying to kill you; it is only flowing.

  Kin relaxed and ignored the pain in his chest, the freezing cold soaking into his limbs despite the hard labor of swimming for his life. The bundle came apart. He grabbed at the pieces, wanting to curse as most of his food disappeared.

  A powerful blow along the side of his head stunned him. For a moment, he lazily wondered what it was, then his face hit another rock. He floated for a time without fighting the current. Then, slowly, he began kicking his feet and pulling with one arm until he crawled onto the bank to lie on his back. He was not surprised to realize he was on the wrong side again.

  He gathered his clothing and weapons. His pistol and sword had remained in the holster and scabbard of his belt, which had been buckled tightly around his clothing. He dressed and forded the river again. There was no use trying to stay dry, and the crossing was easier. To his chagrin, this part of the river was not as deep, barely reaching his waist. The current still moved him downstream, but he made progress. He was laughing at himself without much humor when he saw a figure running along the ridge above him.

  He splashed onto the bank and moved quickly. The figure ran, pacing him with fluid strides. Kin didn’t think it was Droon, but it definitely wasn’t a trooper or Bear, who was the only man he would expect to find in this part of the wilderness. Bear was dead. Clingers devoured him. Kin dared not stop and he couldn’t stare at the stranger without tripping. This side of the stream was smoother than the other but was by no means civilized.