14

There is never a right time.

There is only now.

If you are to step, make it deliberate

Feel the memories beneath your feet

Let your legs forge a path

One comprised of dreams and grit

Others may follow

But your road is your own

Even if you may turn

Your destination remains the same

When you step, don’t look back.

If you are to live, make it meaningful

A million stories spiral within you

Let those dreams escape the heart

Be practical

Be crazy

Leave a mark

Do not worry where other paths lead

For your story won’t be the same

You don’t have to be greater

But when you live, be the difference

“Khalani!”

She startled, snapping her notebook shut.

Brock stood a few feet away, watching her as the others gathered their belongings, preparing to continue on the treacherous road.

Khalani’s eyes had stayed open the past few nights, imagining herself running back toward the Desert Spring to rescue Derek.

Before they left, he hugged Khalani tightly and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be afraid. You’ve already survived one underground city. You have everything inside you to do it again.”

In the present, Khalani discreetly wiped away another tear that had leeched out, but she stood, ready to leave.

The faster they reached Hermes, the sooner they could return for Derek.

Winnie fluttered around the abandoned gas station they’d slept in that night, an extra pep in her step that made Khalani’s head spin. The group was busy packing their rucksacks as Winnie moved from person to person, insisting they eat the extra food the Chief had provided when they left the Desert Spring a few days ago.

“Serene, your beautiful blue hair is losing its shine. Make sure you stay hydrated.”

“Adan, your jokes are getting worse. Have some soup.”

“Brock, your muscles are atrophying. Did you eat the beef stew today?”

“Takeshi, please stop looking like you’re about to commit murder. It’s bad for the skin.”

“And Khalani.” Winnie turned to her. “Turn that frown upside down and eat some beans, for goodness’ sake.”

She nodded, hastily stashing the notebook in her pack.

“What’s that you’ve been writing anyways?” Adan brushed a hand through his ruffled bronze hair.

“Nothing interesting,” she shrugged dismissively.

Poetry was portions of her soul laid out on paper.

She wasn’t ready to share that with anyone.

“Is it a diary or something? Secret crushes and all that?” Adan nudged her shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You nailed it. I just write ‘Khalani and Adan’ with hearts circling our names over and over again.” She rolled her eyes as they exited the building and stepped into the bright sun.

As they traveled during the day, the number of buildings dwindled. The gas station they’d spent the night in was the only large structure they’d spotted in the desert.

Interestingly enough, nearly all the cars on the highway faced the opposite direction, as if everyone had been trying to flee the very place they were heading.

She rubbed her hand across her forehead as the blazing heat of the sun continued to rain down. To pass the time, she counted her steps.

One…

Two…

Three…

Khalani stopped when she reached one hundred thousand.

She then concentrated on the bright orange rocky hill in front of them, letting that be her next focus. But once they passed it, there was yet another endless expanse of road, desert terrain and distant, jagged hills.

“So,” Serene disrupted the stiff silence, “I have a very important question for you, Khalani.”

“What’s that?”

“If you marry Adan, does that mean we’ll all have roles in the wedding?”

A laugh bubbled out of her. “You know I was just joking about writing our names in a diary, right?”

“Can’t you just let a girl dream about having the best sister in the world?” Serene sighed, a wistful look in her eyes.

Khalani’s heart thumped harder, and she cleared her throat, not knowing how to handle her rising emotion. “If we ever get married, sure. You and Winnie would be my maids of honor.”

Serene made a mini fist pump, and Winnie’s eyes brightened like Khalani just gifted her the world.

“You really would want Winnie to have such a special role?” Winnie’s chin trembled.

“Of course. You could make our dresses too. Otherwise, I might end up at the altar covered in dirt.”

Winnie placed a hand over her heart and bowed her head low. “Winnie would be honored.”

“Who’s going to be Adan’s best man?” Serene pondered.

“Probably Brock.” Khalani’s lips curled up.

“Leave me out of your lovey-dovey crap,” Brock grumbled.

“Nah, Brock’s the ring bearer,” Adan said. “Because he’s so charitable and all.”

Brock shot them the middle finger and walked faster, trying to lose them in the heavy sands.

The atmosphere was light, but Serene’s tone held a hint of mischief when she asked, “So, what would Takeshi’s role be?”

Her eyes couldn’t help but flutter to him.

Takeshi was at the front of the pack, marching like a man on a mission, ignoring their entire conversation, but every now and then, she noticed his fists clenching.

“Well,” Adan hesitated, “Takeshi could be the…uh…reverend?” he said it like a question.

If the atmosphere wasn’t so tense, she’d burst out laughing.

Takeshi glanced over his shoulder. “The only thing I’ll be is your mortician if you don’t stop talking.”

Adan’s face turned green and he quickly nodded.

Takeshi faced forward, his black cloak flapping in the wind like a dark cloud ready to cover the world.

They continued to trek onward.

Khalani didn’t know everyone’s reasons—what drove each of them past their limitations and fears.

But whatever their motivation, whether it was to save themselves, a dying city, or to venture beyond their wildest imaginings, their footprints remained in the sand.

If no one else, the Earth witnessed the evidence of their resolve.

As they ventured closer to Hermes, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt a deep, primal urge to turn around, her body sensing they were on the verge of a terrible mistake.

“There.” Brock pointed toward the horizon.

They finally reached the crest of a ridge, and in the distance lay the largest city they’d encountered so far.

Her mouth was agape as they ventured closer and got a better look at the destruction left behind from the Great Collapse.

Grandiose, golden buildings lay toppled, like a monstrous giant had blown them over. Windows were shattered, and cars lay piled on top of one another.

Khalani wrinkled her nose at the odd, rusty smell in the air as they walked past a broken green sign on the road entitled, Las Vegas Boulevard.

She couldn’t comprehend why such a massive city had been built in the heart of the desert.

Everything about it felt strange. The black pyramid-shaped building looming in the distance. The brown and red chips scattered like confetti on the cracked asphalt. The golden pillars toppled over the sidewalks.

It was an ancient graveyard of opulence.

She carefully stepped over a torn streetlight and her gaze caught on a piece of paper trapped under the rusted metal. She frowned, crouching to pick it up. The crumpled paper was ripped in half, but she could still make out some of the writing:

Daily Vegas Times

brEAKING NEWS

Nuclear War Imminent

The White House has yet to release an official response, but this past weekend, many members of Congress were seen leaving Washington, D.C., to be with their families. Most declined to comment, but Senator Gale Grovenheart stated, “We let in the Trojan Horse, and the enemies have opened the gates,” before hastily boarding his private jet to Hawaii. He declined to elaborate, but anonymous sources within the government agree that it is not a matter of if, but when, Russia and China will attack.

These types of talks have occurred before, but none quite as serious since the terrorist attacks in Moscow, Beijing, and New York City that claimed the lives of millions. Military forces remain on high alert, and what was once the theory of “Mutually Assured Destruction” may soon become a reality. There have been talks of bunkers being erected, but even our high-level sources have declined to comment on their exis—

The rest of the page was torn. Khalani’s lips pressed together as she let the archaic paper tumble to the ground, the wind sweeping it away like a lost memory.

She shivered as they continued forward. Takeshi palmed a sharp blade, his body tense.

No one spoke.

Everyone’s eyes were alert, flickering past the quiet streets and lavish buildings that had been torn to shreds.

“Over here,” Brock spoke in a low voice, jogging toward one of the few structures still standing—two massive, metal arches that rose above the street. The rusted beams were adorned with intricate patterns and crisscrossed over one another.

“This is the Gateway Arch,” Brock proclaimed, pointing to the structure overhead.

“We made it!” Serene cried out in relief, nearly collapsing to the ground.

“But where is Hermes?” Adan panted, sweat soaking through his clothes.

“It’s located somewhere beneath us.”

“But I don’t see a dome.” Khalani glanced around with her brows drawn low.

“They don’t have one,” Brock answered. “Hermes isn’t like Apollo. The casinos underground are entertainment enough for the rich.”

“What the hell is a casino?”

“Do you have the walkie?” Brock turned to Adan, ignoring Serene’s question.

Adan dug around in his pack and carefully handed it over. “Here.”

Brock changed the frequency and spoke into the speaker, “Come in, Spade. Spade, come in.”

Khalani didn’t know who Spade was, but they waited in rapt attention, like they were preparing for God Himself to speak.

Just when panic set in, a familiar voice echoed from the walkie. “What comes alive in the shadow of the night?”

Her eyes widened. It was the same voice they’d heard on the surface of Genesis.

“Stars and sin,” Brock replied confidently.

“Brock, is that really you?” the familiar voice asked.

“It’s me, Spade.”

“By the flush, I thought you were a goner.”

“I’m at the Gateway Arch with a group from Apollo,” Brock said. “How long before you arrive?”

A heavy pause followed. “How many are with you?”

“Seven in total. We’re ready to go through the chute entrance into Hermes.”

Spade cursed over the line. “I didn’t think that many would make it across the Death-Zone, but I suppose you’re the only crazy fucker who could manage that. But we have a problem. The chute entrance is being monitored. One of our boys got captured on the last smuggling run. I’ll have to get you into Hermes another way.”

Brock stiffened. “How?”

“The sewers. It’s not going to be a pleasant journey, but it’s the only way I can guarantee your safe passage. I’ll meet you at the Arches at midnight. Got it?”

Brock’s face looked painfully frustrated, but he snapped, “Understood.”

Spade quickly cut the line and after Brock turned off the walkie, all they could do was wait.

They found some shade in a ruined shop across the street, the windows blown out and the place stripped clean. Serene and Adan sat on the dirty tiled floor and talked with Winnie about the Great Collapse.

“What do you think happened here?” Serene paled at the devastation around them.

“Bombs dropped on all the major cities and eviscerated the Midwest, which housed most of the nuclear silos,” Winnie explained. “According to the Archives, anyone who didn’t secure a spot underground either died from the blasts or starved.”

“But how did the government decide who got a spot underground and who didn’t?” Adan asked.

Winnie hesitated, her face twisting. “Government documents stated that those under thirty and couples with kids were the priority. Everyone else was left to die. But many people who met the strict qualifications weren’t able to get in because the wealthy bribed officials and soldiers for spots.”

“That’s so messed up.”

Winnie nodded, leaning forward intently. “That’s why it’s important for everyone to remember our history. To memorize our twisted scars and mistakes so that we may become better versions of humanity.”

They hung on her every word, captivated by the grim truths of the Great Collapse.

Khalani gave a sad smile and stepped outside for some fresh air.

The hopeful side of her, the one Winnie had brought back to life in prison, believed that humanity could correct its mistakes. Their bleak history of death and cruelty didn’t have to define their future.

But the dark pit inside her stomach continued to expand as she gazed around the ruins of the empty city.

It felt like the same ignorance and capacity for destruction that nearly ended the world was stirring, like something treacherous had awakened.

Her hands shook as she stepped through the door, her boots crunching on broken glass. Takeshi and Brock stood on opposite sides of the store entrance outside.

Brock looked out at the buildings, while Takeshi sharpened his knife. She winced, the jagged grating of metal against stone providing the only eerie soundtrack to the haunting quiet.

“Hey,” she greeted them awkwardly.

Brock acknowledged her with a casual one-finger salute, not bothering to look her way. Takeshi inclined his head, his fiery gaze locking onto her briefly and making her shiver. But he quickly went back to focusing on his blade, sharpening it as if it was the only thing keeping him calm.

Khalani walked over to one of the ruined cars in front of the store. It looked as if its owner hastily abandoned it there without a thought. Its faded yellow surface was marred with burn marks and every window was blown out.

She leaned against the frame, lacing her fingers behind her head, drawing in a deep breath.

Khalani counted down the seconds, praying midnight would come faster, but the sun stayed high in the sky. Staring. Waiting for their next move.

She gave Brock a sidelong glance, hoping to kill time another way. “How do you know this Spade guy?”

She half-expected him to ignore her, but Brock sighed and walked over, hopping on the hood of the car she was leaning against.

She raised a brow, worried the wrecked car would crumble with his weight, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

“Spade saved my life,” Brock began, his elbows resting on his knees, hands steepled together. “Most Death-Zoners stay in Hermes at least a month after the long trek across the desert. Hermes isn’t like Apollo. They thrive off sin and debauchery, like a terrible jar of whiskey you keep chugging.”

As Brock spoke, she noticed Takeshi slowly drawing closer, the scraping of his knife becoming less frequent as he listened.

“One night in the casino, I was at my usual spot at the bar, drinking my life away, when I heard a commotion. A young woman, desperate to feed her family, had spent the last of her money gambling. She lost of course and was convinced the casino had cheated her. Something about her tears and the uncaring way security had treated her didn’t sit right with me. I caused a scene. Punched a couple of Dealers when they tried to arrest her. Another guard came over and pulled out his pistol.

“But then, Spade stepped in and talked the guard down. I didn’t know then how much influence he wielded in the city, but I did notice the wad of cash he slipped into the woman’s pocket—more than she ever needed. I left, sleeping it all off. But the next day, when I showed up at the bar, Spade was waiting for me.

“He started talking to me every day, wanting to know the little things. My preferences in alcohol and food. What I thought of Hermes. Apollo. He became fully aware of my discontent with the underground cities, and he was the only person I could stand in that wretched place. During my last week there, he confided in me about the resistance group in Hermes and how they could use my help smuggling supplies as a highly regarded Death-Zoner. It was an easy decision for me. They’re good people, probably the only good people left underground.”

She sat in silence, letting his story weave through her mind.

Hermes sounded completely different from Apollo.

Apollo didn’t have casinos—whatever those were—bars, dancing, or any type of late-night gatherings. Debauchery was frowned upon, and any mingling after hours had to be done in secret.

The Council loved to spread fear, rewarding those who betrayed their neighbors in the name of patriotism, even if the accusations were false. Because of that, most people were terrified to get to know one another.

But the desperation in Brock’s story, the indifference toward others, treating the poor as expendable…maybe that was a common trait in every underground city.

Or maybe a lack of empathy was a disease that spread long before the Great Collapse.

“So, Spade’s the head of this resistance movement in Hermes?” she asked.

Brock hesitated. “Not exactly. I’ve never met their leader.”

“What?” She swung her head.

“Yeah.” Brock crossed his arms. “The resistance leader is a very careful man. Apparently, I wasn’t trusted enough to meet him, and I’ve been working with Spade for years. I doubt we’ll ever see him.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip, the uncertainty like a razor blade hovering over their heads.

Takeshi slipped the blade into his boot, pulling out another one from his vest, the metallic scrape of sharpening resuming as the sun beamed down on them.

Should she be concerned at this point with the number of weapons he had?

“Aren’t you worried about poking yourself with all those…things?” She waved her hand.

If you looked closely, a ghost of a grin appeared on Takeshi’s face. Though you’d need a microscope to be sure.

“No,” he replied, not breaking his focus from the obsidian blade, his cold and aloof expression firmly in place.

The ensuing silence screamed at her.

It was the empty city. The hours stretching endlessly. The scraping of a knife. His quiet disregard.

Everything eroded her nerves.

Perhaps the lingering mayhem in the ruins rubbed off on her, because Khalani craved to get a reaction out of Takeshi that was more than a single word.

“Hey, Brock, how skilled are you with a knife?” She leaned back on her palms nonchalantly.

Brock looked up at the sky. “Unmatched.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened, feigning surprise. “You’re probably a really good teacher then, huh?”

Takeshi slowed his sharpening.

Brock tilted his head. “You could say that. Why?”

“Oh, nothing.” She kicked her feet. “I was just thinking we had some time to kill. Maybe you could teach me.”

Takeshi completely stopped what he was doing and looked up, a deep scowl darkening his face.

“Sure.” Brock shrugged, jumping off the car. “Nothing better to do.”

“I can teach you,” Takeshi spoke in a low voice, his black eyes narrowing into slits.

“No, it’s fine.” Khalani waved him off, letting her hand briefly rest on Brock’s shoulder. “Brock’s got me.”

Takeshi’s expression morphed from shock, to betrayal, to anger, before shifting into something more unsettling.

He stood very still, gripping the hilt of his blade so tightly that she was surprised blood wasn’t pooling on the concrete.

An evil grin curled up Brock’s face as they moved toward the empty street. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Brock said, flipping his blade and catching it by the hilt without even looking. “But who knows, you might actually learn something.”

“Bring it.”

To her surprise, Brock proved to be a good teacher, though he was impatient.

He spent considerable time teaching her how to grip the damn blade. He demonstrated various slashing and thrusting techniques, focusing on her leg placement for maximum force.

She would never admit it to Brock, but even though he obviously knew what he was talking about, she learned better from Takeshi.

The cold Captain knew exactly when to push her buttons and when to offer support—though that last part was more of a rare occurrence.

Even though he drove her crazy, no one else ever made her feel so in tune with her strength. Like she shouldn’t fear the world, but it should dread her.

The entire time, Takeshi didn’t intervene or speak.

He merely watched from the dark corner outside the shop.

Takeshi’s arms were crossed, casually leaning against the building. She couldn’t see his facial expression, but she felt his cold, predatory gaze slide over her body.

Khalani didn’t know how long she practiced with Brock, but her body was worked to exhaustion and the sun had long set.

“Good.” Brock nodded, looking vaguely surprised. “Didn’t expect you to last this long.”

“Someone helped me with that.” She glanced past Brock, frowning when she noticed Takeshi was no longer there.

Brock’s brow raised but he didn’t inquire about the mystery person.

“If you want to keep practicing, stick to the drills I showed you. I’m going inside to check on the others.” He turned toward the store, leaving her alone.

Khalani wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead, the temperature quickly dropping, and only a faint hint of sunlight remained on the horizon.

She took a deep breath and resumed her stance, slowly going through the drills—slicing, thrusting, and jabbing forward—speeding up with each repetition.

Her movements were a bit sloppy, but she was confident that if an enemy appeared, she’d at least be able to nick them with the blade.

There was a quiet tension in the air and the hairs on her arms stood up. Before she could turn, a large hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream.

She thrust her right hand back, but her wrist was captured and squeezed tightly, forcing Khalani to release her grip on the blade and it clattered to the ground.

“He forgot to remind you to watch your back,” Takeshi tutted in her ear and shivers raced through her body.

Her backside was pressed flush against his front, her chest heaving with each breath as anger swept through her, barely overshadowing the warmth pooling in her stomach.

She tried to bite the hand covering her mouth, but he lowered his grip until his palm rested around her throat. Khalani tried to elbow him, but he wrapped his forearm around her, rendering her immobile.

“And you’ve already relinquished your weapon,” he softly continued, as if holding her utterly still was child’s play. “I should eviscerate your teacher on principle alone.”

“Jealous?” she seethed.

“Do you want me to detail the one hundred ninety-seven ways I thought of killing him, or the thousand ways I plan on punishing you?”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Keep provoking me, Kanes. See where that gets you.”

“Are you admitting that you care?” she prodded.

He lowered his head, his palm still resting on her neck. “You mistake caring for being annoyed that I have to retrain you. Your grip on the blade was all wrong. Your footwork looked like you were trying to dance rather than stab someone. At this point, you’re more likely to injure yourself than an enemy.”

“You sure that’s the only reason?”

He chose to stay silent. But the untamed energy didn’t just flow through him.

The pieces of her that enjoyed toying with danger reared its ugly head, desperate to feel something other than fear before descending back into the underground.

“Maybe I prefer him as my trainer.”

The brief tightening of his muscles was her only warning.

One minute she was standing upright. The next, she was sprawled on her back.

Takeshi crouched over her, twirling her fallen blade through his fingertips. “Lie again for me, Kanes.”

“You really are insane,” she gnashed through her teeth, staring into Takeshi’s cold, handsome face.

“Now she gets it.”

His windswept hair was as black as the night sky, and Takeshi’s gaze was as hard as the ground he had her pinned to.

It wasn’t too long ago that he had her restrained in a similar position in the back of a truck, and she felt something else that was—

No.

No.

She needed to get a grip and stop chasing men who didn’t want her—and had made that abundantly clear—into the storm.

Hell, Takeshi was the storm. Barreling into her life. Knocking down her inhibitions.

She needed to focus on what was important. And that was getting into Hermes and figuring out how to rescue thousands of innocent people in Apollo who would die soon from crop failure.

“Give me back my knife,” she demanded.

Takeshi kept twirling it through his fingers, staring straight into her green eyes. Like he wanted to dive into her mind and pry out every secret, so nothing was hidden from him.

After a long stare-down, he extended the blade toward her. She snatched it quickly and stood, fighting to regain her composure.

But when Khalani shoved past him, he blocked her path. “If you value the Death-Zoner’s life, don’t do that again.”

“I can talk and train with whomever I want, Takeshi. If you don’t like it, that sounds like a you problem.”

A part of her knew that provoking him was an invitation to play with death and all his creatures. But she was too prideful to back down.

His expression hardened, jaw tightening, but Takeshi swiftly composed himself and tilted his head. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You can train and talk with whomever you wish, Kanes. You’re not mine.”

Khalani’s pulse hammered like she was dangling off the edge of a cliff. “I’m not?”

“You say that like a question.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, determined not to say another word.

Takeshi was the one to break the silence.

“No, you aren’t mine, Kanes. If you were, you’d know it.” He leaned closer, his black eyes scorching. “I don’t like to share.”