Disclaimer—See Chapter One
A/N: I can't believe another story is almost finished again! Only two more chapters to go after this one. I do not yet know if this will be turned into a triliogy. At this point in time, I believe this series is finished. I suppose I'll find out when I start the next story! It will be at least three or four weeks before I am able to post a new story as I will be on vacation and then will need time to start writing one. Sorry, I write slowly! I will finish posting the last few chapters of this story this week before I leave. Thank you so much to Shado-Fox, MariShal, Alicia Emmanuel (welcome back!), Brennan's Angel, Garfieldlady, Melodie, Rachel, Rain, Fiery Feral, Lucy! I am so glad you are enjoying the story still! Mayra--thank you!! That was my whole goal with this series, to see how much I could push their emotions, so I'm so happy you noticed! :) Quadrantje, good observation! You'll see in this chapter, it was intentional...and the reason for the cliffhanger! :) This is the last cliffhanger of the series, and one of my favorite ones, I hope you enjoy!
Things More Beautiful—Chapter Sixteen
At first she saw nothing except whirling blackness. Until now, she hadn't really noticed how thick the smoke from the fires had grown. Raggedy gray ashes floated thick on the heavy hot air. The listless puffs of wind from the sea barely stirred them. She finally became fully aware of the stench of wood smoke, of sulphur and other noxious gases from the bowels of the earth, of the deafening cracks and shrieks of ageless trees burning, of the deep-chested roar of the thunderous sea. She was in a maelstrom.
And so was Brennan. She caught a moment's glimpse of him as the heavy smoke curled wrathfully this way and that. His sculptured features were distorted with agony as he strained, fighting the sea, the smoke, the heat, the world itself. He had been fighting, struggling, ignoring pain and fear and defeat for an eternal night and day and yet another endless night. His muscular arms, in sharp relief in the smoky light, were lumped and bulged, the muscles strained and wracked, as he pumped the oars up and down, up and down, against inhuman odds. His chest, even in the semidarkness, glistened with spray and sweat.
He must be…almost…dead. His body must be so agonized, wracked and screaming in pain. He must be so weary, so fatigued that he can't think. But he just fights on, and on, and on… She pressed her lips together. And so will I.
She turned and ran down the pier, carelessly now, leaping over missing boards, barely stopping as monstrously strong waves hit her knees so hard she was almost knocked down. She reached them, the last ones. Three huddled on the beach, staring at her; Riley was still missing. If Brennan came back, there would be six of them left. She prayed the helix could hold them all. They all looked at her, frightened; none of them wanted to die. In the moment of silence, the lava came rushing down the west side, a glowing scarlet ribbon that screamed as it flowed, then hissed like a million snakes as it roiled into the sea. It was hitting the beach at an angle. Instinct struggled to take over, straining, almost quivering, to go, to run, to escape. Instead, she took a deep breath, turned, and walked into the fire.
The air, with the nearness of the lava, had become the temperature of the inside of a furnace. She tried hard to breathe it in, but her mind—and her nose and chest and throat—rejected it. She slid to a stop, put her hands on her knees, and leaned over, gasping and retching. She jumped slightly when she felt something brush against her; Chester. The little dog was huddled at her feet. She groaned, shakily raising her head and trying to catch a scent of Riley, but her nostrils were burnt, her brain refusing to register anything but smoke. She shook her head mutely, then took off running again, Chester following.
The coconut trees had all burned down to fiery stumps. Even as Shalimar ran, the first fingers of lava ran onto the sands of the beach. She was morbidly fascinated to see that it wasn't running evenly, like water; lumpy fingers ran ahead, then seemed to slow as the rest between the fingers caught up. It wasn't moving very fast, as she had imagined with dread as she watched it come down the mountain. It was lethargic and chunky, sometimes folding over itself as it moved forward.
But it was definitely coming.
She kept running toward it. With every step, she got closer to her private nightmare. She didn't fear the danger; she feared her memories and the fact she might freeze. As long as she kept her focus and kept moving, she could deal with the risks. But if she had to face flames…the nausea started deep within her soul.
In the dark, he was simply an impression—a tall man, wearing a light brown jacket and jeans. He slipped his hands into his pockets and idly turned to glance toward her. She couldn't see his face, but knew him.
Riley.
She stumbled. The man stepped back and disappeared into the shadows. What was he doing? What was going on? A hot ember brushed her cheek. She whimpered at the heat. It invaded her shirt and penetrated her body. The tender, healing skin on her hand screamed. She wanted so badly to retreat. She knew what was waiting at the edge of the beach. Go or turn around? She took two more steps forward. Her eyes burned with the smoke and visibility was minimal. She didn't waste her breath trying to call out, it would only choke her. Where was he? She stumbled, and stumbled again, shuddering as a feeling of weakness suddenly assaulted her. "No," She groaned, frustrated as she realized the serum was already starting to wear off. Nails dug into palms as she clenched her fists, resolutely taking a few more steps. Fire crackled, mocking her as spots of blurriness clouded her eyes. She had left the remaining serum back on the beach. She cursed her stupidity, crying out as she suddenly staggered and fell.
Her legs were burning, trembling, useless. She gasped, rolling herself over onto her back, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as her body refused to listen to her mind's frantic commands to move. Heat, dark heat, traveled through her veins, leaving her gasping as her stomach rolled in revulsion.
"Help me!"
It took her a moment to realize the whimpers were coming from her own tight throat. She desperately tried to raise her voice, but only choked instead. Movement registered in her whirling brain, and she was shocked at the intensity of emotion sweeping through her. She so badly wanted to live. She wanted to see Brennan just one more time, feel his cool fingers closing over hers, see his familiar chocolate brown eyes and drown in their comfort.
"Help me."
She didn't have the strength to raise her head, but she knew it was Riley. She could feel his eyes watching her.
"Shalimar?"
Her eyes blinked in remembrance as Jesse's concerned voice stirred her consciousness.
"Jess--" She managed to whimper his name.
"Shalimar, what's going on? Your readings are very faint."
"Jesse…" His name came out in a gurgle.
"Shalimar?" His voice raised sternly, sharp with concern. "You hold on, we're coming, ok? But I need you to hang on."
"I fell?"
His heart broke at the confusion in her voice. She sounded like a lost little girl. Lexa's hand came over to rest on his shoulder as he forcibly wrenched the control stick forward, asking more from the speeding helix. The jet shuddered, then picked up a few more paces.
"Good girl," Jesse breathed, eyes darting back to the little blip on the screen showing him Shalimar was still alive. "Stay with me, Shal."
"Fire."
Terror was evident, even in the whisper, and Jesse exchanged anguished glances with Lexa.
A new voice echoed through the helix.
"So beautiful...but then she died."
"What the--" Startled, Jesse leaned forward in the pilot seat. "Shalimar? Shalimar, answer me!"
Silence crackled back.
Brennan unceremoniously dumped Jimmy onto the deck, staggering back into the railing. The ship pitched and heaved, and hands ran frantically around the little fishing vessel, trying to compensate for rough waters.
"Jesse?" His lungs rasped desperately for air, sucking greedily of the slightly clearer air out at sea.
"I'm here, Brennan."
He sounded distracted. Brennan narrowed his eyes, forcing his body to turn around one more time. "Do you have her?"
There was a slight pause. "Almost."
Not good enough. Brennan groaned as he pushed his exhausted body off the rail and back to the quavering dinghy.
"Brennan, wait."
But he ignored him, indicating to a disbelieving crewman to once again lower the rescue boat. His mind screamed at the foolishness of going back into the water again, he was too weak. He shut his mind down, and vaulted over the edge.
She was hot, so hot. Blackness surrounded her for a moment, and then she realized a tiny pinhole of gray light pierced the darkness. She struggled to stay focused on that bead of light until suddenly she sat straight up with a sharp gasp. Bright light flooded her senses, and she squinted in overwhelming pain, unable to focus in the sudden brightness. Panicked, she pressed her hands flat on the ground, pausing when hot sand sifted through her trembling fingers. Sand. It was hot, but it wasn't burning. Not yet. Heavy weight pressed against her chest; she couldn't breathe. She wrenched her eyes open again, and gasped.
Riley lay sprawled across her, and she knew without touching him that he was dead. Saltwater burned her skin, and she realized with a start that she was lying on the edge of the beach, waves of hot water rolling over her feet. She twisted around behind her, heart thudding when realizing the lava was sliding down the beach. Drag marks gave silent evidence of how she had gotten back to the water. Her eyes dropped back down to Riley, cradling the still body in her shaking arms. "Oh no, no, no."
"He saved you."
The quiet voice brought her head sharply up, eyes flashing protectively. Energy wilted and her shoulders sagged when she saw one of the remaining women watching her; the woman she had saved from drowning.
"He gave you more serum." She continued to speak quietly, tiredly.
"You know about that?" Shalimar eyed her suspiciously. How many had the Dominion involved in this sick project?
The woman's lips twisted bitterly when she saw Shalimar's expression. She pushed herself to her feet, hobbling over to Shalimar and dropping a worn bag by her feet. Dust billowed up in forlorn little puffs. She watched Shalimar, eyes dull. "Not all of us are evil." She turned and staggered a few yards down the beach, collapsing by the other woman.
Shalimar's brow furrowed at her cryptic statement before her head dropped back down in defeat. She didn't know what to believe anymore. Chester whined and pushed up under her hand. She listlessly tangled her fingers in the matted fur, closing her eyes. Lava hissed close behind her. There was no way Jesse could make it in time. She had somehow known that when she sent Brennan away. Brennan. She raised her eyes one more time out to sea. And her heart stopped, a thunderstruck look making her eyes widen, unfocused, blank. Her mouth opened a little, and her lips quivered. She saw Brennan
Before her, with clarity, she saw Brennan. She saw the raging sea, the black side of the Marie Annalea soaring above him, the little dinghy tossed fitfully against it. She saw him sit down, grimace and lift the oar. She saw him paddling like a madman for the barrier reefs.
Still blind, still unseeing, she scrambled to her feet. "Oh God, no, don't let him!"
The vision broke into a million wisps, insubstantial as the tendrils of smoke she now saw. There was no way he could make it. But Shalimar knew he was coming back.
She turned, scooped the little dog into her arms, and ran back toward the pier. As she ran she saw that the first fingers of lava, the longest grasping claws, were only about ten feet from the tide mark. She ran into the surf, taking hard grinding steps, her teeth gritted, hoping against hope she wouldn't stomp anything deadly. She ran, her mouth and nose on fire, burning, pain piled on top of pain. Her chest felt as if she were being stabbed.
The pier appeared, wreathed by the devilish smoke. More pilings were down, more boards were lost to the sea. Shalimar flew over them. She was ankle-deep in water now, and the biggest, cruelest waves smashed against her thighs. She stumbled, clinging desperately to this piling, the next.
She fell to her knees, got up again, took two more steps, fighting the hateful sucking of the water at her legs. The pier was still standing, but it shook as if from mortal fear. She stood on the edge, straining on tiptoe at the last standing board, and shrieked, "Brennan! Brennan!"
A wicked gust of wind tossed her screams back in her face, mocking her. She saw nothing, only blackness. Tears blinded her eyes until she wanted to scream in frustration. She slammed her hand against the piling, wincing as a splinter dug in and her hand protested at the added pain. She took a deep breath and ordered herself to calm down. She slowly lifted her eyes back to the sea, and found him.
He was rowing so fast and hard she could barely see the oar. But he seemed to be standing still; she watched, holding her breath so she could be motionless.
A waved tossed him, the stern of the dinghy lifted high above his head. He wasn't making headway, she saw with horror, because the boat was sloshing with water.
And he couldn't stop rowing to bail.
Behind Shalimar, she heard a horrible screeching sound, and without turning to look, she knew that the far end of the pier was collapsing.
"Row! Row!" She groaned between teeth so gritted that shooting pains gripped her jaws.
Brennan rowed and fought valiantly.
Shalimar saw one—three—a dozen—more, she couldn't count them because they were swimming, darting, jerking, all around the little boat. Black, triangular fins, appearing and disappearing as quick as blinks, here, then there, turning, swirling.
"Brennan! Brennan! Hurry!" She screamed.
How far? Her mind screamed impotent. A mile? Two miles? Can he make it? How long? How long?
Straining her eyes again, she set her jaw and focused on the lonely figure in the pitiful little boat. He still fought, but Shalimar could see that each swell, every few moments, swamped the boat. It was doomed. Brennan was doomed. She screamed again, and he looked up, startled.
He had heard her.
Grimly he set to paddling again.
Then, impossibly, something black, something malevolent, came up, crawling on the dipping oar, writhing, oily, flailing tentacles. Brennan stood up, lifted the oar with the oily blackness fouling it, shook it, and shouted out with a fierceness rarely seen in men except in deadly battle.
And so it was.
A manta ray, about six feet in diameter, had thrown itself up onto the paddle. Brennan shook the oar, the manta flailed as if it were made of thick oil. Brennan threw the oar far out into the maelstrom. Then, with no panic, he dove into the boiling water.
Shalimar tried to scream again, but her voice was gone.
She heard nothing.
She saw nothing.
There was nothing.
After an eternity of deafness, muteness, mindless terror, she saw his dark head surface.
"Brennan, sharks! Brennan, swim, swim!"
He cut the water cleanly, never wavering, never faltering.
A black triangular fin cut right in front of him. He struck it, stopped, went under.
"No!" She dove in after him.
Water closed over her, and there was eerie silence, then the unmistakable boiling hiss of fire on water as the last of the beach slipped away.