Incineration (The Incubation Trilogy Book 2) by Laura Disilverio Page A
Authors: Laura Disilverio
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through our compartment and the sergeant falls, mid-word. He lands facing me, the right side of his face sheared off, remaining eye open and blank. Blood and brains spatter the wall and the odors of smoke and burning chemicals clot the air. Chavez stands immobilized, staring down at his sergeant. Confused shouts and blasts sound from outside. A thin rivulet of flame licks the partition between our compartment and the cockpit.
“We need to get out of here.”
Chavez doesn’t respond; he continues to stare, wide-eyed, at his fallen leader. The flames spread, whooshing across the partition and dancing their way up to the ceiling. Heat pushes at me.
“Chavez!”
The panic in my voice reaches him and he swings around, beamer leveled.
“No, don’t!” I hold my cuffed hands in front of me. “The fire. We need to get out.”
Chavez looks from me to the corpse, as if expecting it to issue orders.
I cough. Smoke is filling the enclosed space and the flames are greedily sucking the oxygen from the air. Chavez punches a code into the door release but nothing happens. He rattles the handle, and then throws his whole weight against the door.
“Won’t open!” He can’t get to the other door because the fire is eating at it.
A curl of smoke wisps from the seat beside me. I don’t want to burn to death. Of all the horrible ways to go—
“—back!”
The voice comes from outside.
“Help! Help us!” I scream.
Chavez pounds on the door just as a laser blade cuts through it, scoring a dark line. Chavez backs away.
“Hurry! Chavez, cut me loose.”
To my relief, he hesitates only a second before slicing through the restraints with a tool he pulls from his belt. I stand, hands still cuffed, and join him by the door where another dark stripe intersects the first. Chavez is doubled over now, overcome by smoke and I put my mouth to the small weapons port, trying to drink in fresh air. Taking a deep breath and holding it, I aim a foot at the door and wham my heel toward it, near where the lines of night meet. It buckles and so do I. My knees hit the floor. Can’t breathe. Heat presses on me from all sides. Going to die . . . hope smoke gets me before . . .
The door peels open with a screech of outraged metal. Hands are reaching in, pulling me out. As I drag in great coughing breaths, I clamp my hand around Chavez’s wrist.
“Leave him,” a male voice says.
“No,” I cough, tightening my grip.
With a muttered curse, someone reaches around me, grabs Chavez by the shoulders, and hauls us both out onto the damp earth. Fed by the new intake of oxygen, the fire crackles behind us, consuming the ACV.
“Gotta get out of here now ,” the same voice says.
I scramble up, looking around me in a daze. By the fire’s light, I make out a cluster of ACVs. Two- and four-seaters mounted with weapons hover in a semi-circle around the burning IPF vehicle. Two of them take off as I watch. Beyond them, I see activity around the entrance to the RESCO, drawn by the commotion, I assume. Finally, I spot a familiar figure running toward me, beamer pointing toward the ground. He seems a shade taller, more filled out, and his curly brown hair definitely longer. Has it only been four months since I last saw him, since I lost him in another scene filled with blasts and shouting and chaos?
“Wyck! Oh, Wyck.” I fall into his arms and he hugs me so tightly my partially healed ribs make me gasp.
With an arm around my waist, he half-drags me to a four-seat ACV hovering twenty yards away. A jumpsuited figure leaps out and helps him bundle me into the vehicle. We’re off before I’ve had time to catch my breath.
“Good to see you, Ev,” Wyck says with a brash grin. His green eyes say more.
“Good to be seen,” I manage. “What took you so long?”
Chapter Eight
The figure who helped me into the ACV turns out to be a red-haired woman.
“Rhedyn,” she introduces herself, spelling it out when I doubtfully repeat,
“We need to get out of here.”
Chavez doesn’t respond; he continues to stare, wide-eyed, at his fallen leader. The flames spread, whooshing across the partition and dancing their way up to the ceiling. Heat pushes at me.
“Chavez!”
The panic in my voice reaches him and he swings around, beamer leveled.
“No, don’t!” I hold my cuffed hands in front of me. “The fire. We need to get out.”
Chavez looks from me to the corpse, as if expecting it to issue orders.
I cough. Smoke is filling the enclosed space and the flames are greedily sucking the oxygen from the air. Chavez punches a code into the door release but nothing happens. He rattles the handle, and then throws his whole weight against the door.
“Won’t open!” He can’t get to the other door because the fire is eating at it.
A curl of smoke wisps from the seat beside me. I don’t want to burn to death. Of all the horrible ways to go—
“—back!”
The voice comes from outside.
“Help! Help us!” I scream.
Chavez pounds on the door just as a laser blade cuts through it, scoring a dark line. Chavez backs away.
“Hurry! Chavez, cut me loose.”
To my relief, he hesitates only a second before slicing through the restraints with a tool he pulls from his belt. I stand, hands still cuffed, and join him by the door where another dark stripe intersects the first. Chavez is doubled over now, overcome by smoke and I put my mouth to the small weapons port, trying to drink in fresh air. Taking a deep breath and holding it, I aim a foot at the door and wham my heel toward it, near where the lines of night meet. It buckles and so do I. My knees hit the floor. Can’t breathe. Heat presses on me from all sides. Going to die . . . hope smoke gets me before . . .
The door peels open with a screech of outraged metal. Hands are reaching in, pulling me out. As I drag in great coughing breaths, I clamp my hand around Chavez’s wrist.
“Leave him,” a male voice says.
“No,” I cough, tightening my grip.
With a muttered curse, someone reaches around me, grabs Chavez by the shoulders, and hauls us both out onto the damp earth. Fed by the new intake of oxygen, the fire crackles behind us, consuming the ACV.
“Gotta get out of here now ,” the same voice says.
I scramble up, looking around me in a daze. By the fire’s light, I make out a cluster of ACVs. Two- and four-seaters mounted with weapons hover in a semi-circle around the burning IPF vehicle. Two of them take off as I watch. Beyond them, I see activity around the entrance to the RESCO, drawn by the commotion, I assume. Finally, I spot a familiar figure running toward me, beamer pointing toward the ground. He seems a shade taller, more filled out, and his curly brown hair definitely longer. Has it only been four months since I last saw him, since I lost him in another scene filled with blasts and shouting and chaos?
“Wyck! Oh, Wyck.” I fall into his arms and he hugs me so tightly my partially healed ribs make me gasp.
With an arm around my waist, he half-drags me to a four-seat ACV hovering twenty yards away. A jumpsuited figure leaps out and helps him bundle me into the vehicle. We’re off before I’ve had time to catch my breath.
“Good to see you, Ev,” Wyck says with a brash grin. His green eyes say more.
“Good to be seen,” I manage. “What took you so long?”
Chapter Eight
The figure who helped me into the ACV turns out to be a red-haired woman.
“Rhedyn,” she introduces herself, spelling it out when I doubtfully repeat,
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