Page 2 of Night in a Waste Land

Beck’s grin widened, fangs flashing in the lamplight. “Innocent?” He turned to look at Rose, and her face blossomed – opened and melted and shone with a love that was like worship. Wondering, full of awe and doubt like she couldn’t believe he was really here. “What do you think, sweetheart? Are you innocent?”

They shared a grin that left Lance feeling like an interloper. He felt vaguely sick.

He thought they would kiss – but then their smiles softened, and Beck lifted his head to survey them all. “Well, then. What have I missed?”

TWO

Before

“Sergeant du Lac!”

Lance didn’t slow, but cast a glance over his shoulder at the young cadet rushing down the hall after him. The hall branched, and he took the right fork. “Better make it fast, Adamson, I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Sir! I’ve just come down from the recruitment offices…” He panted as he caught up to Lance and drew alongside him. “There’s a girl up there – wants to join – Rift Walkers, she said – and some of the boys – they – sir, she challenged them. Wiped – wiped the floor with–”

Something pinged in the back of his mind, and he drew up short. Adamson nearly fell. “What’s her name?”

“I dunno. But she knowsyourname.” The cadet pitched forward, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “She said you told her to come join up. And, sir, she’s kicking everyone’s ass.”

“Rose.” He turned and started back the way he’d come.

“Sir, what about your flight?”

“Tell them I’ll catch the next one.”

Rose stood in the center of the ground floor training room, barefoot, in leggings and a tank top that showed off her lean musculature. She was poised lightly, ready for another attack; one cadet helped another over against the wall, and no one looked ready to have another go at her.

When Lance entered, she blew a strand of hair out of her face and straightened. Shoulders back, feet squared, chin lifted in challenge. Her eyes sparked, glittering with grief masked as defiance.

He wondered, briefly, what she’d been like before Becket was taken. If there had ever been anything soft about her.

“Rose,” he greeted. “How are you?”

She swallowed, the movement of her throat betraying her nerves. But when she spoke, her voice was steady. “Disappointed in your cadets.”

He felt a grin threaten. “You and me both. It’s hard to find good soldiers these days.”

She shifted her stance, ready again. “Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.”

He unzipped his jacket, and shrugged it off; passed it to the nearest cadet.

“Sir?” he asked. “She’s nuts.”

“She’s good,” Lance corrected. He tucked his dog tags down inside his shirt, and stepped onto the mat. “Watch and learn something.”

Rose’s gaze narrowed, and one corner of her mouth flicked up a second: she was pleased. She wanted a good match, and had been denied one, if the way the cadets stood now on the sidelines, nursing bruises and glaring at her was any indication. One of the girls had an eye swollen shut that was going to turn into a wicked shiner.

Lance shook out his arms, rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck – and launched his first strike without warning. It was a move he’d used in every cadet training match, and which usually garnered him a few good hits, if not an outright pin.

But Rose was ready for him. She dodged, and ducked under his guard right away; caught him the throat with a sharp jab from the heel of her hand.

Lanced choked – but he was well-trained and practiced enough to push past it, reaching for her even as his lungs emptied and his eyes watered.

She wriggled away, though, slick as an eel, and squared off from him again, her slight smile tight now with satisfaction.

The cadets around them murmured and exclaimed. Someone hissed an insult.

Lance took a deep breath and moved in again, more careful this time.

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