The Flame of Prometheus (The Prometheus Project Book 1), page 1
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgments
To my husband, Drew.
You are my hero, my confidant, and my soul.
Thank you for fanning my flame.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Taryn L. Davidson
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Phantom House Press.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
For more information, address: admin@phantomhousepress.com
First edition January 2024
Cover by MiblArt
Hardcover ISBN 979-8-9885110-7-6
Paperback ISBN 979-8-9885110-6-9
Ebook AISN B0CKPSPPYW
CHAPTER 1
Ilifted my eyes to the dark sky where the stars winked above, silent observers of our misdeeds. Though I trusted they approved of our retribution.
A small reverberation rattled the forest floor. It crawled up the oak tree to the branch I was perched on and echoed faintly in my bones. The tremors sharpened my mind like the steady swipe of a whetstone along a sword.
Twenty seconds.
I glanced to my left. My eyes met those of glittering grey that peaked through an obsidian knit mask.
Balor Owens, my commanding officer, nodded.
The subtle motion should have brought me comfort—it should have eased my increasingly tensing muscles—but this was my mission.
Balor would soon be stepping down from his role of Commanding Officer, and this mission would determine if I would take over his position. But the entire Coalition Resistance Force wouldn’t be on board unless my team gave their approval. And if they thought Balor was still leading this mission, or, worse yet, if the mission failed—
I glanced away quickly, not wanting my team to sense my weakness. Though I felt all their eyes on me, each set as heavy as a boulder strapped to my back. My chest tightened.
Focus, Red. You have been on this hit a hundred times. It’s the same train supply hit you and your team executes at least once a season.
I closed my eyes and drank in the night. Crisp autumn air stung my nostrils and filled my lungs, the cool tendrils slicing me to the core and revitalizing my soul.
Because today—today, this hit was mine.
I opened my eyes and glanced to my right. I found Ulysses’ and Clay’s eyes set on me, peering into the darkness, awaiting my signal.
But not yet.
My gaze lingered on Ulysses, his impish smirk taunting. Though we both fought for the Resistance, our common goals made us enemies. We both desired Balor’s position, and while competition is healthy, ours was anything but.
I forced my attention from him and pulled out the zip-line rod from my jacket pocket. I hooked it onto the line just above my head, stretched beyond the tree line where my team was perched, and into the woods just beyond the train tracks.
To the East, behind Ulysses and Clay, a round, blue light grew brighter, and the rattling in my bones grew stronger.
My gloved fingers tensed and stretched over the rubber padding of the rod, and the train’s front light flickered as it passed an old Pre-Coalition railway sign, the yellow and black painted metal now worn away by rust.
It’s time.
I pursed my lips and mimicked the two-toned song of a black-capped chickadee.
My team moved.
Donned in black and swinging from the trees, the four of us descended like forest wraiths into the clearing just as the cargo train approached. One by one, we let go of our rods and tumbled onto the tops of train cars, the thunks of my team members hitting the train drowned out by the wind. I was light on my feet as I fell onto the train, my impact little more than a few clinks of metal as I tucked my chin and rolled. My right knee grazed a pin, the joint thumping in pain as I unfolded to a crouch. Luckily for me, pain subsides easily. It was already fading into a dull throb when I glanced to my left. Balor was on his feet two cars down, bolting to his assigned carriage as I paused to count. I was on car seven. I needed to be on nine.
The wind whistled sharply in my ear, whipping at the loose tendrils of my crimson hair as I rose to my feet, turned right, and ran. Ahead of me, Ulysses was bounding over cars to find his target—car thirteen.
I kept pace, light on the balls of my feet as the train rattled beneath me. I skipped over the threshold to car eight, my feet finding purchase as I kept running toward my destination. I pumped my legs a few more paces before I pounced again. My stomach felt like it slammed against my throat as I tumbled onto car nine. On top of my destination, I pumped my legs a few more times before I slid onto my knees, my whole body gliding down the train. My hands caught the ceiling latch, and I grunted as the opposing forces of my body and the train played tug of war against my torso. I pulled myself forward and slammed my knees into the top of the train as I cranked on the metal wheel. My arms buckled against the strain, but my gloves held strong, the rubber gripping to the worn metal until it finally gave way. The screeching of hinges was drowned out by the howling of wind and the jostling of the train. As I crawled down the hatch, my legs dangled in the abyss of the train carriage, and I felt like I was wading in shark-infested waters, not knowing what was beneath me until my left foot found a solid corner of some object, then a smooth surface.
I let go.
I crouched on a large wooden box, the faint scent of damp iron and moth balls lingering in the cool air. Moonlight trickled through the hatch, dimly illuminating the labels on several of the boxes.
Blankets…
Sweaters…
“Ah, there you are,” I whispered into the darkness as I found a box labeled ‘socks’.
I swung my pack around and pulled out a small pry bar. I aimed the bar for the top seam of the box and jam—
“Intruder Alert. Intruder Alert.” Sirens boomed around me as red lights flooded the car, casting eerie shadows around the small space.
Fuck.
My head reeled. This could not be happening.
Holy Skies, damned fuck.
My muscles throbbed as adrenaline poured into my veins, flooding every tissue throughout my body, my heart pumping harder and faster with each ring of the alarm.
Focus, Red. You only have fifteen more seconds to get the hell out of here.
I shoved down the panic and forced every ounce of strength into my core, shoulders, and arms as I jammed the pry bar into the crate. With a loud snapping of wood and creaking of nails, the board came loose, pulling open as easily as roasted boar.
I shoved armful after armful of socks into my pack. There was no time to grab the other supplies I came for. Once my pack was filled, I threw it over my shoulder and bolted for the door. I kicked the large metal slab, and the door flew open, but instead of the dark night, I was greeted by a bright, scarlet light pouring from the open door to car ten. With one arm, I shielded my eyes from the unexpected glow, but over the crux of my elbow, there was a dark figure who stood on the threshold.
My heart stopped.
His shoulders were broad and threatening as rifles peered around his back like metal wings—the devil himself standing before the mouth of hell.
Slowly, carefully, I reached for the Glock strapped against my upper thigh as the soldier stepped forward. But as the moonlight touched his face, my fingers loosened around my weapon.
Stepping out of car ten was my fellow agent, Ulysses Smith. Behind him, scattered pieces of security bots littered the floor, sparking and twitching like de-limbed bugs.
My teeth ground together as I once again noted the weaponry protruding from his back— guns and ammunition that were not present at the start of our mission.
Ulysses, dark eyes blazing, raised his arm, a handgun aiming right at my nose.
My heart dropped into my stomach, not out of fear but anticipation.
“Duck.”
I obeyed more on instinct than by his command. A crack reverberated in the air between us, and I felt heat shatter in the air behind me, metal falling to the floor like tiny, blazing meteorites.
&n
Red-hot rage burned in my chest. My hands flexed into fists at my sides, and I rose onto the balls of my feet. I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to claw his eyes out. And just as I nearly released my ire upon him, I caught the steady beat of wings from a security chopper thrumming in the distance.
I glanced behind Ulysses, peering into the night. The frigid wind stung my eyes, and my vision blurred with tears, but I could still make out the aircraft’s searchlight glowing faintly, scanning the bluffs about two miles off.
Shit.
I reached for my COM strapped to the lapel of my jacket. And, like a gift from the Skies above, just as I was about to request aid, our salvation revved to life. Shooting from the woods, a black Humvee sped toward the train. The vehicle slowed as a figure about six cars down jumped into the trunk and barreled toward us.
Ulysses flagged down the Humvee, then gestured with a gloved hand to the open vehicle as it kept pace next to us. “Ladies first.”
I did not hesitate as I jumped onto the moving car, grabbed the top rail, and swung into the trunk. I landed on the far side, right next to Clay, who had already made his escape.
Ulysses landed with a heavy thud into the trunk and tapped the top of the vehicle three times, signaling the driver to speed up and aid the last agent.
When we caught up to Balor on car three, he was fending off two security bots as he clung to the side of the train, gun in one hand trained on the bots, while the other grasped a ladder rung. Behind us, the beating of the chopper grew louder. I peered in the humvee’s side mirror to find the chopper’s light had descended onto the train.
Ulysses must have seen the chopper as well and realized the seconds we had left were quickly dwindling. “We have to leave him!” he shouted over the roar of the train and wind. Ulysses’ hand hovered over the top of our vehicle, ready to give the signal for the driver to head toward Base.
But that was not his signal to give.
As I stood up, I slid one foot under Ulysses’ and pulled. His knee fell into the trunk, and his head cracked against the top of the car. Blood rushed down his face, but I didn’t care.
“Stand down,” I ordered, not deigning to look at him as I pulled my Glock from my holster. I planted my feet on the floor of the trunk, my muscles fighting to keep steady under the moving vehicle, and took aim at the security bots that surrounded my commander.
“Jump!” I yelled over the deafening roar of the chopper. “I got you covered!”
As Balor pocketed his handgun, I shot the first and closest bot down, the machine falling under the train rail and shooting sparks behind us. Balor did not glance at the other bot as he propelled himself off the train. But my aim was too slow. From the bot’s center eye, a small red beam shot straight for Balor’s leg. The scent of burned flesh singed my nose, and Balor’s cry grated down my spine as the crack of my gun rattled the air. The second bot fell from the air as Balor’s hands hit the rail of the Humvee, his body dangling over the edge. His right leg smoked, and embers clung to the fabric around the gaping wound.
“Clay! Ulysses!” I yelled, but they were already there, heaving their commander into the trunk. The driver didn’t need a signal, not as the scope light from the chopper drew closer, nearly catching our tracks.
I holstered my gun and crouched low, eyeing up the left side mirror. My eyes met the driver’s. I gave Niahm Owens a single nod. A flicker of relief swept across his freckled face before he pushed the pedal to the floor, jerked the wheel left, and we disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER 2
Crimson bloomed across my white-wrapped knuckles.
One.
Wet, dark stains spotted the old punching bag swinging before me.
One-two
But I felt nothing.
One-two.
Not my own blood spraying my face.
One-two-three.
Not the ripping of skin from my knuckles.
One.
Nothing.
One-two-three.
All I could feel was the burning hatred for Ulysses as he stood in the threshold of the wrong train car, a feral smirk stretching across his face.
One-two.
All I could see were those damned rifles like iron wings as they loomed over Ulysses’ shoulders.
One-two.
And all I could think about were the vials of medicine left untouched on car thirteen—the medicine that was supposed to be safely stored in our Medical Wing. It was probably being unloaded in some Skies-forsaken Coalition City at that very moment.
One-two-three.
“Calm down, Princess.” Ulysses’ taunt bounced off the walls of my mind as I replayed our argument in my head.
One-two-three.
But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—calm down. I was Rowyn Eloise Darrow.
I was Red.
One.
The metal chain bracing the bag to the ceiling rattled with the force of my blow. My chest swelled with satisfaction as clunking heavy boots echoed off empty walls.
I knew those footsteps.
My mind was yanked back to the dim, dank gym smelling of stale sweat and worn iron.
“What do you want, Hoenir?” I panted, my eyes still focused on the blood-stained sack as I continued punching. Hoenir Vasquez walked up beside me, his eyes like dark lasers burning into my cheek.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he said, voice cold as the concrete floor beneath my bare feet.
“I’m a little busy,” I breathed.
“Agent.”
One-two-three-four.
I swung my body in for a hook, bracing my core, but Hoenir grabbed my right wrist, swung me around to face him, and pinned me with his eyes. I didn’t dare look away.
“As Director of the Coalition Resistance Forces,” Hoenir growled, “I order you to report the details of yesterday’s hit.”
I ripped my wrist from his grasp and hit the bag one last time, putting all the strength I had left into one final blow. The chain that secured the punching bag snapped, and the sack flew across the room before it landed with a heavy thud. I turned back to Hoenir. The Director flinched when the punching bag hit the floor, though his usual stone-cold stare was again etched across his face, hazel eyes unyielding.
I stepped closer, nearly nose-to-nose with my director. Sweat trickled down my temple as my gaze bore into his. “We managed to snag food, socks, and random weapons. Unfortunately, the medicine we needed was…compromised.” A knot formed in my throat as I thought of my baby sister all those winters ago— burning with fever, quiet as she clung to her fragile strands of life.
Hoenir crossed his arms. “Compromised? From my understanding, your team made no effort to grab the medicine. Instead, you brought back weapons despite direct orders not to hijack the weaponry car.”
“My team? Ulysses is the one who disobeyed direct orders.”
“Maybe the orders weren’t clear enough.”
“With all due respect, sir,” I spat, my voice a low, feral growl, “they were crystal. Ulysses hopped on car ten instead of his designated car, thirteen. Car ten was bugged, just as we suspected. Since the alarm was tripped, we had twenty seconds to grab what we could and run.”
“According to Agent Smith, he did jump on car thirteen. Was it possible our Intel was incorrect?”
The dim fluorescent lights flickered, casting eerie shadows across Hoenir’s angular face.
“He can claim all he wants, but I saw him jump off car ten with three packs full of rifles, semi-automatics, Military-grade explosives, and ammunition.” I began to unwrap the boxing bandages. My knuckles stung as the flesh ripped away from itself, and bright, fresh blood pooled to the surface. “People will get sick and die this winter because of his deliberate disobedience. The whole Resistance will suffer because of his insubordination.”
I saw the wheels turning behind his eyes, but Hoenir remained silent for a moment. “I will talk to him.”
The Director turned, hands folded behind his back, and walked out of the gym.
That’s what Hoenir always said, but it never changed anything. Not when it came to Ulysses.
Hoenir founded this pathetic excuse for a Resistance about twenty years ago. He fled the city of Imperium in the American Coalition with five of his closest friends and family. They are all dead now, either casualties of disease or helping other people escape the Coalition. I think that’s the reason he always plays it safe.
