Incineration (The Incubation Trilogy Book 2) by Laura Disilverio

help me straighten and ignore my throbbing cheek. Suddenly I remember Jariah, the Bulrush agent who works at the RESCO. She helped me escape the first time.  Vestor might have met Jariah, had contact with her when he was prepping Dr. Malabar as a witness. A tiny thread of hope tingles through me. Maybe she’ll help me again. Maybe she’s in touch with Bulrush agents I don’t know, or maybe Alexander or Idris survived when the IPF raided our headquarters.
    It’s the first time I’ve used “our” when thinking about myself and Bulrush.
     
    The journey seems to go on forever. I’m in no hurry to get to the RESCO, but it seems to be farther from the city center than I remember. The rain is probably slowing us down. The guards don’t look worried. They're relaxed against their seats, exchanging a few words now and then. I’m wondering how Jariah will make contact with me, how long I will be at the RESCO before she can arrange my escape. I resign myself to the fact that it might not be immediately; I might be in the RESCO for a few weeks. Still, that’s better than a life sentence, better than bearing—
    The ACV begins to slow. The rain has tapered off and I lean sideways to peer out my window. A row of unfamiliar buildings meets my eye, made ghostly by encroaching dusk. They’re several stories tall, of brown and tan brick, but seem deserted. Glassless window openings gape at us. There’s rubble and detritus in the streets and chartreuse kudzu spewing from cracks in sidewalks, manhole covers, and other crevices. Runoff from the rain sluices down the street and the ACV glides over temporary streams. I don’t understand.
    “Almost there,” the sergeant says.
    “Where are we?” I ask.
    He looks at me like I’m a moron. “The RESCO.”
    “I mean what city?”
    “Used to be called Auburn,” the younger guard says when the first one ignores me. “It’s been deserted since the third wave of the flu. Nothing here now but the RESCO.”
    We veer into open space, a giant quadrangle that undoubtedly used to be a swathe of green before the locusts. Stately old buildings are spaced at gracious intervals.  Light glows from the windows of the farthest building. We’re not at the Atlanta RESCO, the one where Jariah is a medical technician. We’re somewhere else entirely, at a RESCO where I know no one, where there’s no hope of help or escape. The realization crushes me, like a buttress breaking loose from the building in front of us and falling onto my chest.
    The ACV rocks. For a moment, I think a chunk of masonry did fall off the building and land on us, but then the ACV rocks again. Thin armor like fish scales ripple down over the windows. I can’t see a thing.
    “What the—” the senior guard says. He taps the comms panel to talk to the driver. “Heller, Erhardt, what’s going on?”
    “Not sure, Sergeant. Can’t see—”
    “Get us the hell out of here.”
    We zoom forward a short distance but then there’s a crackling sound and sparks dance around the ACV’s metal alloy frame. The vehicle drops to the ground. We land with a teeth-jarring ka-thunk .
    “EMP,” the sergeant says grimly. “Chavez, watch the prisoner. If it looks like we’re being overrun, kill her.” He slides open a small port and aims his blaster through it.
    A shockwave undulates through the ACV as one of the soldiers in the front fires a bow-mounted blaster. I think I hear a thin scream from outside. Looking to my left, I see that Chavez has risen and is peering out a stern aiming port, paying me no attention. If only I could get these cuffs off.  It wouldn’t matter; I’d still be locked into the harness. I strain against it to no avail.
    The sergeant is talking non-stop, communicating with the soldiers in the front compartment and, apparently, with an IPF base. “ . . . under attack . . . multiple . . . orders regarding prisoner?”
    I don’t hear what response he gets, if any.
    Suddenly, an armor-piercing round barrels