Все главы Fire and Water: Глава 71 - Глава 80

His eyes flung wide open like the flood gates after a hurricane as he was dragged from the depths of sleep. At the moment, James couldn’t quite place what had awakened him. All he knew was that his nerves were tingling, and his instincts were on high alert. He remained as still as possible, his eyes searching the darkness with great intent. Nothing. No sounds. No sights. Then it hit him. His nostrils flared and burned at the putrid, acidic smoke licking across the ceiling like a brewing mini storm. Quickly spumed to action, he threw the covers off of himself. “Tres, get up!” he screamed, swiftly slipping into a pair of shoes. Tres grumbled groggily. “Wh-what ... what are you yapping about?” “Do it now! Get up, there’s a fire,” James called out once again to his friend. “What the hell?” Tres asked, more in declaration than actual confusion. He slid on some shoes, donned his glasses, and began to hail Alexandria to gamer any available information.James, by this time, had raced

Arriving at the end of the hall, James lifted a single foot and kicked the door in. The struggle going on in the room shocked him enough to crack a shallow wedge in his confidence. Svetlana lay on her bed clutching her bleeding chest, while in the far comer by the window, Eliza barely held the attacking soldier at bay with her dagger which was held in a vise-like grip. She was trembling with fear and tears spilled profusely from her eyes. The shattering doorframe had knocked the soldier’s attention from her and as its eerier eyes were coming to rest on the intruder, James flew into action. In barely more than the blink of an eye, he batted away an attempted strike and skid his blade clean through the enemy’s chest. With a flick and twist, the heart was pierced, death instantaneous. James slammed the body into the ground with disgust and moved his eyes to Eliza. “You okay?” he asked gently. She sniffed once and nodded. He secured his sword and shield onto his back, then went to S

James had never been inside Romero’s home before. There had never been a reason to because over the summer their base of operations had always been Washington Manor—the Director’s residence. Under normal circumstances, he would have found the house to be warm and comfortable. It was built in a classic American style from a bygone era: wood floors, wood paneling intricate crown molding and lots of fireplaces. He couldn’t help but think it a miniature version of the Director’s place. It was for that reason alone that in lieu of any comfort, he felt stifled and suffocated. Ignoring all else, he made his way through the house and onto the screened back porch. He sat into a wooden Adirondack chair hoping to process more than a few of his rumbling emotions. He studiously avoided thinking about Blakeney and instead focused on the others which had died. There were many he didn’t know, but of the few he did, he had known them well. There was Jennifer West, the beautiful and spontaneous girl

“I know that we’re all in a lot of pain right now, but we don’t know how long this period of inaction on the part of our enemies will last,” said James, eyeing each of the faces gathered in the room. “The task ahead of us won’t be easy, but I’ve had people die in my arms and I don’t want that to happen again.” “What are you saying, James?” Bill interrupted, wanting clarification. He glanced around the room again. “I’m saying it’s time to fight. I’m saying the time for secrecy among us is over. We need to gather everyone together that can fight and train them to go to war. Mr. Blakeney once told me that during the World Wars there were thousands of swords, shields, armor, spears, and arrows made from metal mined from Olympus and forged by Hephaestus and his workers.” His eyes seemed to harden with resolve as if they were marbles. “We need to find this cache and build an army. Never again will we be caught unprepared, not ready.” James elevated his voice as he spoke. “It’s time to ta

At that, James and Eliza stood to lead the procession of surviving students. With a single white rose in each of their hands, the just over three-hundred walked down the aisles and passed before the table which held the framed pictures of the victims. Some wept, some simply said goodbye and moved on, but each of them laid their rose to rest in front of their fallen friends. It was significant of a promise to be kept: A promise to always remember their friends and classmates, a promise to never forget, and a promise that those who died would be carried in the hearts of the survivors for as long as they live. The last mourning student placed her rose on the cold earth, a tear falling from her cheeks and splashing onto the laid flowers, and the gathered assembly stood to move amongst each other. As everyone else began to comfort and converse with those they knew, James remained seated, his eyes searching the faces framed before him. He found the picture of Adonis and lifted on corner of