With one final look at the unconscious soldier, I tiptoed out of the room and slipped into the hallway beyond.
I nearly scraped my skull on the low, curved ceiling—again—and ducked my head with a stifled growl. The corridor was actually an enormous corrugated steel tube with rooms branching from it. A steel ladder at the far end of the tube led up to a tiny concrete hatch in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. As fallout shelters went, it was pretty typical. Riley said he’d “stumbled onto it” many years ago and had modified it into an emergency fallback center. It was dark, it was claustrophobic, but it was, according to Riley and Wes, the most secure place we could hope for, a refuge where we could wait out the craziness up top and know that St. George wouldn’t come for us all in the night.
I didn’t know how much I liked the idea of waiting things out. Now that I knew Garret would be all right, sitting here doing nothing, just hoping Talon and the Order would forget about us, was sounding less like a plan and more like a stall tactic. Neither was going to forget about us. And we had worked so hard to strike a decisive blow against both organizations; breaking up the alliance between Talon and the Patriarch was a huge victory, even if it had almost cost one of us his life. To pull back and hide seemed the opposite of what we should do right now, but good luck convincing Riley of that.
The room beside Garret’s, where Riley and Wes shared a bunk, was empty. So I headed to the one other place they would be, the “command room” at the other end of the tube.
Like everything in this underground facility, the command room had low ceilings, concrete walls and just enough room to move around. A square table sat in the middle of the floor, with maps and files and other documents scattered over it, and a desk with an old computer was shoved into the corner with a couple shelves. Amazingly, Wes had been able to get power running to this place. The opposite corner held a very old, yet working, television, and it was on at the moment, an overly cheerful weather reporter announcing that we were in for a soggy weekend.
As I walked into the room, I blinked in shock. Wes, unsurprisingly, sat at the computer, both his laptop and the other screen open and active. Riley stood at one end of the table with both hands on the surface, gazing down at the map spread out beneath him. He was dressed in black—black jeans, boots and shirt—and his dark hair was unkempt. I felt a stirring of heat inside me, my dragon coming to life as she always did when he was around.
But it was the third person in the room that caught my attention. She stood on the other side of the table, arms crossed, straight black hair falling to the center of her back.
“Jade?”
The slight Chinese woman, in reality a forty-foot-long Adult Eastern dragon, turned and gave me a faint smile as I stepped into the room. “Hello, Ember,” she greeted me. “It’s good to see you again. From what Riley has told me, I was expecting not to catch a glimpse of you for days.”
“What are you doing here?”
One slender eyebrow arched. “I said I would return, did I not? When I made certain the monks were safe and had found a new temple, I promised to come back. And there is still a war to be fought.” She lifted her hands slightly. “So, here I am. Though it seems I have come at a, if not bad, rather uncertain time.”
“Ember.” Riley rose quickly, his gold gaze meeting mine across the table. For a moment, his expression was apprehensive; I hadn’t voluntarily left Garret’s room since the day we’d arrived. There were only two reasons I would leave it now. “St. George?” he asked cautiously.
“He’s awake,” I said, making him slump, but whether it was in relief or disappointment, I wasn’t sure. “The fever has broken—he was talking to me a few minutes ago. I think he’s going to be okay.”
“Well, that’s something at least.” Riley raked back his hair. “Nice to get some not horrible news for a change. If the bastard gets back on his feet soon, I could use his perspective on what the hell is going on out there with the Order.”
Mention of the Order brought the current situation rushing back. I’d been so distracted by Garret, I’d nearly forgotten about it, but now it rose up again, looming and ominous. “Why?” I asked, stepping to the edge of the table. What had I missed? “What’s going on? What’s the Order been doing?”
He shot me a frustrated look. “Nothing,” he growled, making me frown. “Not a damn thing. We haven’t heard a peep from them since we left Salt Lake City. There’ve been no raids, no strikes, no activity at all. The Order has gone completely AWOL.”
“I’m confused,” I said, cocking my head. “Isn’t that a good thing? We exposed the Patriarch to the rest of St. George, and Talon’s hold on them is broken. They’re not going after your safe houses anymore.”
“Not right now.” Riley crossed his arms. “But it’s still too quiet. I don’t trust this complete lack of response—it’s not like them at all. This is probably the calm before the shitstorm.”
“The Order is not the one we should be worrying about,” Jade insisted, as if I hadn’t said anything.
“So you keep telling me,” Riley said, glaring at the Eastern dragon. “But I don’t know what you expect me to do against Talon. If the organization is up to something, all the more reason to keep off their radar. We hide deep, and we hide hard. That’s the only way we’re going to survive.”
“It is not a plan to simply hide and do nothing.”
“I’m sorry—this from one of the Eastern dragons who, for hundreds of years, have done nothing but sit on their scaly butts in isolated temples while the rest of us fought the war?”
While they were talking, the news story changed to show a young reporter standing on a narrow stretch of pavement that snaked into a forest. A pair of orange and white barricades blocked the road behind her, warning lights flashing in the gray drizzle. “Authorities are still struggling to discover the reason behind the accident that caused a cargo plane full of fuel to crash into a small Arkansas town last week,” the woman was saying. “As you can see, the road to the town has been blocked, and authorities have closed off the area. Rescue crews are on the scene now and have been combing through the rubble nonstop, but so far no survivors have been found.”
“When did that happen?” I asked.
Riley gave the television a cursory glance. “Couple days ago,” he said in a brusque voice. “Apparently, a plane full of jet fuel took a nosedive into some hillbilly community in the mountains. Caused a spectacular explosion and wiped out the whole town, according to the news. It’s been on every station for days.” He shrugged. “Tragic, but not something we need to worry about.”