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The prince peered around Taylor, searching for his father. He looked confused. Something wordless passed between him and his father. Finally, he looked back at her and slowly shook his head.
“I . . . I cannot answer that,” the prince said.
“Well, think about it when you’re better,” Taylor said. “Because this Foundation thing is totally fucked and somebody needs to do something about it.”
With that, Taylor closed her eyes and clasped the prince’s feet. She sensed the sickness lurking within him, just as she sensed three pulsing beacons of light trying to burn it away. She added her healing energy, giving as much as she could, as if her life and not the prince’s depended upon it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CALEB CRANE
APACHE JACK’S, NEW MEXICO
HIDDEN IN THE WOODS, THEY WATCHED APACHE Jack’s in uneasy silence. The Harvesters appeared to have finished preparations on their snake effigy; a handful of them were gathered around the wooden structure, some holding torches, eager for whatever came next. Even more were hanging around on the bar’s back deck.
Caleb remembered a scene from when he was fourteen and was called by his oldest brother to pick him up from one of the bars nearby the base. He wasn’t even old enough to drive, but he’d snuck away regardless under threat of catching a beating if he didn’t. The atmosphere there—drunk people looking for trouble—reminded him a lot of the one at Apache Jack’s.
Isabela had been gone twenty minutes.
We shouldn’t have let her go in there alone.
We should bail now. Call the Academy.
We can take them. This hiding is moronic.
Kill everyone down there.
Prove yourself.
They don’t even like us. Run in the other direction. Leave them.
SHUT UP, Caleb insisted.
In the darkness, Caleb saw Nigel looking in his direction. He realized he was clenching his teeth, veins in his neck bulging. He forced himself to relax.
The muffled sound of gunfire erupted from inside the bar. The Garde all jumped and so did the Harvesters outside. They looked unsettled—some of them moved towards the building, others away from it. Those who had guns raised them.
“You heard that?” Caleb asked the others.
“Yes,” Ran replied.
Seconds later, a fireball exploded through the back door of Apache Jack’s. The force knocked the screen door right off its hinges and blew out the bar’s back windows. Several Harvesters were knocked clear over the deck’s railing, the others outside rushing to their aid. Fire crackled along the door frame and black smoke billowed into the night. A biker ran out the back door and tossed himself to the ground in an effort to put out the flames on his back.
“Bloody hell,” Nigel remarked. “Imagine that’s a distress signal, yeah?”
“We have to go in,” Kopano said firmly, starting forward.
Caleb put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Hold on. Let me go first.” He paused. “I mean, let them go first.”
A dozen duplicates slid out from Caleb. His three friends stepped back, giving him room as their patch of trees became suddenly crowded. Caleb was grateful for the opportunity to let his duplicates out; it quieted the voices in his head. Mentally, he commanded them to spread out. Keeping low—even though there was little chance the Harvesters would see them with all their attention on the fire—the duplicates fanned out into the woods.
“I’ll attack them from all angles,” Caleb said. “Keep them busy.”
Ran hadn’t taken her eyes off the chaos at the bar. She turned a pinecone over in her hand, a small pile of the things collected at her feet.
“I don’t see her down there,” Ran said. “I don’t think the explosion was a diversion. Isabela might be trapped in there.”
“I’ll get eyes on her,” Caleb said.
Nigel put a hand on his shoulder. “You can handle that many clones?”
Caleb nodded, although he wasn’t entirely sure. A dozen at once was as many as he’d managed during the fight last night and that had left him feeling ripped apart, like his body had been stretched too far.
Hell with it. They needed to find Taylor.
He urged the clones forward. Focusing, he divided his attention among the duplicates, making them move cautiously.
The duplicates spread out through the trees so they wouldn’t give away Caleb and the others’ position. Some of them looped around farther, towards the sides of Apache Jack’s. The goal here was to locate Isabela and she could be anywhere within that bar. Caleb’s vision blurred. Each duplicate’s view of Apache Jack’s was like a still frame from a movie made transparent and laid over the next angle. If Caleb concentrated, he could isolate one view at a time, but that meant losing some control over the other duplicates.
“I’m sending them in,” he said through his teeth. Throughout the woods, the duplicates whispered his words.
“We’ve got your back, mate,” Nigel said, sticking close.
A dozen Calebs charged towards Apache Jack’s. The Harvesters didn’t see them coming. They were too focused on the fire and whatever else was happening inside the bar. He hit the stragglers first, the ones closest to the woods. Two of the duplicates tackled one overweight biker and pummeled him into unconsciousness.
One of the nearby Harvesters—this one dressed like a cowboy and holding a shotgun—heard the commotion and spun about. A third duplicate was there when he turned and ripped the gun right out of his hands. The duplicate gracefully whipped the gun into a firing position and took aim.
This duplicate wanted to kill, but Kopano had encouraged them to limit their bloodshed. So Caleb took control. He smashed the Harvester across the face with the gun’s butt and then tossed the weapon into the woods.
His duplicates scrambled onwards. They were like a wave, catching the Harvesters from behind and smashing them into the ground. A woman who’d been working on the effigy heard a muffled shout and turned just before one of the clones would’ve pounced on her. She thrust her torch in the duplicate’s direction, burning his face. The pain didn’t register with Caleb, only the vague sense that that particular duplicate was no longer fully whole.
“We’re under attack!” the woman screamed.
A shirtless man who was trying to put out the fire turned at the woman’s warning. He pulled a pistol from the back of his jeans and shot the burned clone right between the eyes.
No more element of surprise. But at least the clones had taken out a handful of Harveste
rs before they were discovered.
Caleb felt a jolt pass through him as the duplicate disintegrated and returned to him. Immediately, he gritted his teeth and manifested the clone again, sent it sprinting through the woods to take a new angle on the bar.
“The abominations have followed us, brothers and sisters!” shouted a scrawny Harvester cowering on the back deck. “Strike them down for Reverend Jim—!”
One of the clones clamored over the deck’s railing and punched him in the mouth. Seconds later, a long-haired Harvester who looked like he’d spent the last five years living in the woods emerged from the smoke-filled back exit. He coughed raggedly but carried an automatic rifle.
The Harvester began to spray bullets wildly. He gunned down three clones and possibly a few of his own allies. The bullets even reached the trees. Ran and Kopano lunged for cover, while Nigel dragged the focused Caleb down to the ground.
With a sharp intake of breath, Caleb felt the clones return to him. He immediately set them loose, forcing them to charge back into battle.
“How long can you keep this up?” Nigel asked.
“Not sure,” Caleb replied, a migraine tearing through his brain. He’d been wondering who would run out of ammunition first—him or the man on the back deck.
The Harvesters on the back deck took cover behind the broken wooden slats of the railing. They were pinned between the fire and the clones, but they were starting to get organized. They were picking off Caleb’s clones faster than he could make them. Some of his duplicates grabbed weapons from fallen Harvesters and returned fire. The situation was too desperate to handle gently. They needed to find Isabela and get out of here.
In the darkness of the woods, Caleb couldn’t see if Kopano wore a look of disapproval. Caleb switched views, looking through the eyes of a clone that had looped around to the side of Apache Jack’s. He peered through a dirt-smudged window. Inside, a group of panicked Harvesters were getting the fire under control—it appeared to be localized around the back door, where Caleb could see charred and twisted hunks of what used to be fuel canisters. Other Harvesters had popped open a trapdoor beneath the bar that contained a stockpile of weapons, the bartender handing out rifles to whoever wanted one. Soon, they’d be in real trouble.
