Page 50 of Blue Arrow Island (Blue Arrow Island #1)

Plant pathogens can share genetic material with each other, even across different species. This sets plants apart from animals because they can quickly acquire new virulence traits or resistance to treatments. This makes them potentially dangerous and unpredictable.

- Excerpt from a lecture given by Dr. Lucinda Hollis in her Plant Evolution course

Niran’s shoulders drop with relief when he sees Marcus.

“Thank fuck,” Niran says, coming over to put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. He glances at me and says, “Hey, Briar.”

“Hey.”

We just walked down the steep wooden stairs of a small underground bunker about a quarter mile from the shield perimeter. Its entrance door lies flush on the ground, a top layer of dirt, greenery and moss making it impossible to see if you don’t know it’s there.

I glance around the cool, dark space. It’s about ten feet by ten feet, two tall candles on small metal disks providing the only light.

The walls are lined with shelves of supplies.

Large metal canisters have labels like “Medical Supplies,” “Oats,” and “Rice.” Glass jars with fruits and vegetables are neatly arranged on one wall.

Guns and knives take up another entire wall.

“Adele’s getting the switching device,” Marcus says, surveying the shadowed faces around us. “Tell me everything you guys know.”

Stella, Wyatt and Niran all recount the takeover. Wyatt doesn’t know much because he was training at the ring when Nova gave the order to everyone in camp to “hunker down”, which, for Command officers, apparently means evacuate to this bunker if you’re able.

Niran was at the Sub when someone radioed there was fighting near the kitchen.

“By the time I got there, it was a shit show,” he says. “Stark was dead on the ground and Ray had taken Blythe hostage. The prisoners he released were jumping the command and security people, trying to disarm them and tie them up.”

“They disarmed Nova?” Marcus’s tone is incredulous.

“Yeah, because Ray had a knife to Blythe’s throat.”

“Fuck.” Marcus looks away. “I should’ve done something about him. This is my fault.”

“It’s not,” I say. “Focus on now.”

“He’ll pay,” Niran assures Marcus in a level tone.

Stella picks up a piece of paper from the wooden table.

“I wrote down everything I could as soon as I got here, while it was all fresh. We had twelve people in holding cells, including McClain. I know seven of them joined Ray and are working against us. And then from our people, I know Darien, Juno and Jax also joined.”

“Darien?” Niran shakes his head. “I’ve always liked him.”

Stella ignores him and continues. “So eleven people, including Ray. Only Nova was carrying a gun, so that’s the only one they have. And I counted four hunting knives. No stun sticks, they’re all locked up.”

Marcus nods. I see why he considers Stella such an asset. The information she gathered is crucial to what we’ll do next.

“I should go back up, Adele,” Niran says. “And do recon.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “I gave her my gun. Come back within an hour if you can. We need to move as quickly as possible.”

Niran puts on a holster and is choosing his weapons when there’s a creaking noise, sunlight illuminating the space. Someone opened the door.

Marcus’s arm shoots out and he moves me behind him, drawing his knife. I lower my brows over being treated like a damsel in distress, my gun already in hand.

“It’s me.” Adele is breathing hard as she descends the stairs. “I got it.”

Small pieces of her light-blond hair stick out at her temples, just as sweat-soaked as her skin.

“Good work,” Niran says. “I was just about to come offer you a hand.”

“Didn’t need it.” She passes Marcus the device.

He turns off his aromium, then grabs a nearby bucket with one hand and passes me the device with his other. By the time I get my aromium off, he’s bent over the bucket, throwing up.

I hardly feel the usual drain of energy from switching it off, adrenaline making up the difference.

“The fuck, man?” Niran says as he watches Marcus. “Are you okay?”

“This happens every time he switches his aromium off,” I say tightly.

Wyatt, who hardly ever speaks, says, “That seems like a problem.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I agree.

“Can I fucking puke in peace?” Marcus gripes.

I turn to Adele and ask, “How’s your wound?”

She presses her lips into a thin line. “It hurts, but the stitches are holding. I’m fine.”

Marcus secures two handguns in his holster. He told me to be his voice of reason, and I wish I could do it in private, but it has to be now, in front of the others.

“Every gun we bring into camp is a gun that could end up in their hands,” I say.

He nods and meets my gaze. “They’ll only get these if I’m dead.”

Though his aromium is off, his eyes have the lethal gleam I’m only used to seeing when it’s on.

“Niran, you’re with Adele,” he says. “You guys enter camp by the holding cells. Wyatt and Stella, circle around and come in by the command housing block. You know where the ladders are. Briar and I will come in by the garden. Stay out of sight, watch your backs and pick them off.”

“Lethal force?” Wyatt asks.

“Yeah. They made the wrong choice, and I’m not giving them a chance to do it again.”

I study his icy expression, which takes me back to the night he shot Vance.

He said I’m more beautiful than a rose. That he can’t breathe without me. He holds me so close when I sleep that I can hear his steady heartbeat against my back. But he also decides whether people here live or die. He has to be hard and decisive; cold even.

I know both sides of him, but I wonder if he realizes that the hard decisions he makes aren’t who he is. He carries so much on his shoulders, and he bears that weight alone.

Five minutes later, I’m climbing the stairs out of the bunker, the air thickening with every step. Monkeys nearby are whooping and chattering, oblivious to us.

We break apart, each pair taking a separate path. Marcus and I scan our surroundings as we slowly creep forward, watching our footfalls to stay quiet.

“Are you still sick?” I ask in a low tone.

“I’m good.”

“Tell me the truth.”

There’s a pause and then he says, “Yeah. I might stop to puke, but I’m okay.”

Within a minute, he needs to stop. He throws up twice and then wipes the back of his hand over his mouth before nodding and moving on.

“Think we lost McClain?” I ask softly.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That bastard’s probably long gone, laughing it up.”

“You think so? He seems pretty haunted by what he’s done.”

“He should be.”

When I look at the ground to see where I’m stepping, I notice a deep emerald vine sliding along next to me. I lower my brows and stop walking.

The vine stops too. I bend down and examine it. Tiny dark purple thorns are scattered around it, and there’s the occasional small bundle of leaves with purple vascular bundles that resemble veins.

I take two steps. The vine slithers to catch up, then stops again.

I don’t even have my aromium on, and I’m not feeling a surge of emotions like I usually am when I call out to the vines. But Flavius followed Marcus before he turned his aromium back on.

“So I have a friend,” I say in a low tone, glancing at Marcus.

He brings his index finger to his lips, signaling for quiet. I stop, listening intently.

There are voices in the distance. I ready my gun, forgetting about the vine by my feet.

We keep moving, watching every step we take. After a couple minutes, the voices have faded. Staying silent, Marcus leads the way to another bunker, the trapdoor to this one also covered with leaves and vegetation. He hooks his fingertips into a small crevice in the door and opens it.

This bunker is much smaller. It’s only about two feet deep and about six feet on each side. It’s stuffed full of weapons, empty plastic water jugs, some canned food in glass jars, and a metal ladder.

Marcus lifts the ladder out of the ground, his arm muscles cording from its weight.

“This unfolds and extends to twelve feet,” he says. “We’ve never needed to use it, but it should get us over the wall.”

I close the bunker door, making sure vegetation covers the small inlaid handle. It’s only about a half-mile walk to the wall from there, and my pulse races as we get closer.

Marcus is quiet, unfolding the ladder and easing it against the wall. The sharp, pointed spears on top of the wall are going to be an issue.

“Are you sure about this?” I whisper.

He reaches into the pack on his back, taking out a rope. “I’ll go first and secure this to the spikes. I’m going to use it to rappel down the other side. Then I’ll throw it up to you when you need it.”

It’s a good plan—in theory. But getting over the long spikes isn’t going to be easy.

Marcus climbs up the ladder, carefully taking in the view of camp over the wall before going all the way.

And then, not surprisingly, he makes getting over the spikes look easy. His legs are so long that he finds footholds in the openings without hitting the sharpened ends of the spears.

He quickly secures the rope, wraps it around his waist, and disappears over the wall.

After a deep breath, I put my hands on the ladder and climb it, not looking down. This is how I can get to Amira, Olin and the others I care about. I have to make it work.

Marcus throws me the rope. I miss it on the first try, but get it on the second.

Navigating the spikes is harder for me. They’re far enough apart that I can’t lie on them like a bed of nails, but too tall and close together for me to get around like Marcus did.

All I can do is squeeze my way between them, taking an indirect path. A short spike catches on my pants and tears a small hole in the fabric on my left thigh.

A couple minutes later, I make it to the other side and lock eyes with Marcus. He nods at me, hands on his waist.

It’s been years since I rappelled. I was just a kid, and I only did light rock wall scaling with my dad bracing my rope the entire time. But I have to get down there.