Surviving Ice (Burying Water #4)(61)
Three heartbeats of silence hang over the table, where Sebastian’s stony expression gives nothing away and Jono waits for him to respond, and Dakota watches with wide, curious eyes, and I wonder if I’m going to have to apologize for my friend killing her dinner guest.
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Sebastian finally says.
My eyebrows must be halfway up my forehead.
“We’re all like little pawns in their master scheme. Millions and millions of little tiny puppets with strings attached to us”—Jono starts miming the act of puppet master over his plate of food—“doing whatever they tell us and bullying us into paying for things we don’t need or want. We end up working like dogs until we’re old and gray so they can waste it on unnecessary things like . . .” He frowns, searching for an example.
“Military defense?” Sebastian offers.
“Yeah! Armies and ships and guns. See?” Jono bumps his arm with his fist. “You totally get it! You want to talk about wasting taxpayers’ dollars. I was down on Coronado Island a few months ago—have you seen that place?”
Sebastian nods once.
“Man, the billions of dollars they spent on all those ships and submarines, when our own country’s infrastructure is sorely lacking, for wars that don’t even exist.”
“What? What are you talking about, they don’t exist? Do you not read any news?” I finally blurt out.
Jono waves away my words with a dismissive hand. “It’s all propaganda. They tell us there’s a war so they can justify spending our tax dollars on defense toys and all these highly trained soldiers. I read an article in the paper the other day about those . . . what are they called?” His eyes scrunch up in thought. “Yeah, those super-elite guys that they always send in. What are they called?”
“Navy SEALs,” Sebastian says.
Jono snaps his fingers. “Yeah! Them. Do you know it costs a quarter of a million dollars to train each of those human weapons? And for what? So our government can say that we have these indestructible stealthy task forces, so don’t mess with us?”
“Actually, it cost them half a million to train me,” Sebastian says quietly, taking a long sip of beer, his eyes downcast. “And no one is indestructible.”
I’m no longer paying attention to the idiot sitting across from me. Now I’m keenly focused on the stranger who sits beside me, and how much more I need to learn about him. Sebastian already said he was in the navy, but did he just admit to being a SEAL? Granted, everything I’ve learned about our military forces comes from Hollywood, but the one thing they’ve all portrayed is that those guys are some of the toughest, smartest, bravest of any soldiers out there.
They actually are weapons.
Jono hasn’t clued in to the fact that he’s insulting the man sitting next to him. “Half a million dollars!” He whistles. “And, really, what has that bought America? Not nearly enough, I say. Those guys are probably over there, drinking beer and playing Ping-Pong on taxpayers’ hard-earned money. I’ll take my lifestyle over slaving to pay for that any day.”
Sebastian turns to size up the California bum with a hard look. I lean forward, itching to hear his response, to hear him drop a hammer down on this ideological asswipe.
“Ivy, where are your keys?” he says instead, his tone calm and low, unbothered.
It takes me a moment to process the question. “Hanging by the door.” I frown. “Why?”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You shouldn’t leave computer equipment in a car overnight.” He nods to Dakota. “Thank you for dinner. It was great. Excuse me.” He pushes out of his seat and heads into the house.
Leaving me to glare at Jono, who seems either unconcerned or oblivious that he offended Sebastian. But at least he’s watching me with wariness now, as I thumb the tines of my fork.
“Isn’t it great to be able to live in a country where differing opinions are celebrated?” Dakota says with a slightly apologetic shrug.
“Right. It’s just peachy,” I mutter sarcastically. Eying the doorway into the house, wondering how long I should wait before going after Sebastian.
TWENTY-FOUR
SEBASTIAN
I admire the California bum. He gets to live in a fairy-tale world, where he is free to take what he has in front of him for granted, where he has the luxury of choice. And as long as there are “sheep and puppets” like me, working within the shadows to keep him in the dark about the kind of evil that exists in this world, he’ll get to stay snug in his ideological fairy tale until he’s old and gray.
Or until someone crushes his larynx, which is what I almost did five minutes ago. That would have been twice today that I lost control due to pure emotion. I had no choice but to dismiss myself. I figured it would be impolite as a dinner guest to kill another dinner guest.
And I have something much more important to do anyway.
I close Ivy’s bedroom door and press my knee against it, to hold it shut. She’s still in the greenhouse. Likely ready to lunge across the table and choke our dinner companion. She’s not as concerned about being impolite. But I have a feeling it won’t be long before she comes to check on me; I saw the look on her face as I stood to leave.
So I need to hurry.
Setting her tattoo kit down on the floor in front of me, I flip open the latches. Inside, it looks exactly the way I saw it yesterday, except now the machine pieces are all safely secured within the custom cutouts in the black foam.