War Song (Orphan Wars Book 2) by J.N. Chaney & Scott Moon

Author:J.N. Chaney & Scott Moon [Chaney, J.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sort4
Publisher: Variant Publications
Published: 2021-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

18

Edging close to the cavernous hole, I gaze down into darkness. Garin seems unperturbed by the ominous sight. The kid just isn’t afraid of anything, and we could all use a little of that right now.

Jack leans his shoulder against mine, far too close for comfort considering the real possibility we both tumble forward with the slightest misstep. “It’s not that far down.” Neither of us can see the bottom.

“Can you try not to bump me?” My words compete with my dangerous curiosity. Even now, I’m both amazed and terrified—creating a weird, hollow feeling just below my sternum. The sight of the black gulf makes me want to retreat a step or three but also see what is down there—like I can have it both ways.

I could see just as well from a safer position—but I don’t retreat. My companions could do with a little more caution. If only we had a prep team and safety gear, this could be a proper archaeological operation, but instead Jack nudges me with his shoulder, bumping me out of my reverie…and a half step closer to the edge.

“Hey, I—”

Jack’s grinning, and it’s the old friend I see. “Gives me the willies just standing here. Thought you could use a little adrenaline.”

Garin comes to my aid, hands on his hips. “I don’t care who you think you are. You better not mess with the Doc.”

“Settle down, kid. I’m not going to kill my best friend,” Jack says, holding up a hand to forestall my rescuer.

“He wasn’t trying. Honest,” I say, holding up a hand.

Garin, kid fists clenched at his side, doesn’t act satisfied. “If you say so, mister doctor.”

“Call me Murphy.”

He nods, then backs away, eyes still on Jack—definitely not letting him off the hook.

The light darkens further.

When we first entered the building, the last rays of sunshine had streamed through the partially destroyed ceiling. Now it’s all the darker for the macabre scenes of destruction below. Fear can be gestalt—a combination of details not fully realized on a conscious level, like a shadow just out of sight that nevertheless makes its presence felt.

I shine my flashlight toward other parts of the cavern, unable to see anywhere near the bottom, the sides, or the top. Whatever caused this damage wasn’t worried about aesthetics or even structural damage. Outside, I saw blast craters like there had been an artillery strike, or maybe even nukes used in what Army artillerists call “danger close,” calling down strikes so close to your own forces they’re placed in danger of annihilation by friendly fire.

If that doesn’t suggest desperation in the face of an unstoppable enemy, I don’t know what does. Whatever arose from below had the ability to export hellish levels of violence—enough to rip the world apart.

Enough to justify a heavy bombardment.

I squat near the edge, balancing on the balls of my feet and feeling the vertigo of a very long potential fall. Jack doesn’t mess with me now. He finds his own spot to examine where we

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