Moscow Mule by Shayne Silvers & Cameron O'Connell

Author:Shayne Silvers & Cameron O'Connell [Silvers, Shayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Argento Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-10-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

When I looked up, tears staining my cheeks, my mother’s ghost was gone. The weight of the assault rifles settled across my shoulders as if they hadn’t been there before, and I felt the bone-chilling cold beat against my face and cheeks, kept at bay only by the ushanka which covered my head and protected my ears. Once the tears were wiped away, I could see two figures dimly visible in the distance, and it looked as if they’d just seen me; they were pointing and rushing towards me, waving their arms. It took me a minute to recognize them, to recall those faces. Othello and Natasha. I rose unsteadily to my feet in time to be taken to the ground by Othello, who hugged me hard enough that—had I been entirely human—I might not have been able to breathe. We lay in the snow, and I saw Natasha’s relief from over Othello’s shoulder, as if she, too, had been concerned.

“Everythin’ alright?” I asked, voice muffled by Othello’s coat.

She unfolded herself and stared down at me, tears brimming in her eyes. “I thought you were lost in the storm.”

“We both did,” Natasha added.

“I got held up,” I said, still reeling from the host of revelations I’d been left with. Later, I decided. Right now, we had a job to do. Once this was all over, I’d dwell on everything I’d been told and sort out how I felt. Of course, it helped to know I could play back the memory of my parents’ voices any time I liked; I doubted I’d ever be able to get them out of my head, now that I’d actually heard them.

Othello looked skeptical and ran her gloved fingers down my cheeks, tracing the lines my tears had carved, but said nothing. Instead, she rolled off me into the snow and sat up. “Told you we’d all make it out,” she quipped.

Natasha and I gave her the looks that she deserved, until her smile widened to the point that it threatened to burst her bulging cheeks. Natasha reached out and drew both of us to our feet in one smooth motion. The speed of it made the world spin for a moment, but I adjusted; I was getting used to moving faster than a human. Othello, on the other hand, was not. I caught her before she could fall backwards, letting her lean on me for a moment before propping her up to stand on her own two feet.

“How long was I in there for?” I asked, worried that my little foray had cost us a significant amount of time.

“The sun rose some time ago,” Natasha said, and I realized she had a film of white sunscreen riding her already pale face, making her skin appear almost comically white, like a freshly painted picket fence.

“Natasha’s cord stayed attached to me,” Othello said. She pointed behind us, and I saw the squall from the other side. “We tried searching for you, but the minute we did, we came out this side.

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