Hatred Day

by T S Pettibone

  Snofrid pulled her phone from her satchel, determined to photograph the finer details of the site. The first angle she captured was of the forest canopy; it made a dense sort of ceiling over the glade—a domed roof of branches that provided cover. Verdant trees, as tall as masts, picketed the site like a fence. Openings had been cleared through the dense branches, probably pruned for the benefit of the snipers. Several Dracuslayers were fine-tuning their sniper nests, built under cover of redwood roots and inside hollowed logs; others were being lowered by cables into the trench while the rest were laying out rows of steel spikes across the snow.

  “One hydrocop unit is two klicks northeast, heading this way,” Coyote announced. He was seated on a tree stump, a laptop on his knees. “Nethers, draw them out.”

  A stalky man emerged from the trench and unclipped his harness. He moved like smoke, here and then there, as quick as wind. His faced was shaded by a large hood, draped back to show his elaborate, tribal throat tattoo; it dipped down his chest, and appeared to flare out across his clavicle. Above it, a scarf was tightened around his mouthpiece.

  Snofrid watched Nethers jog from the glade.

  “Like what you see?” Rhode sneered. “I think I just heard your mouth water.”

  She took a photo of the trench. “I’m not interested.”

  “Judicious decision,” Rhode praised. “Fingal Nethers is crazy. Crazy can be funny, but most of the time it’s tedious.” The boy sighed, pounding faster on his game controller. “He thinks his newborn daughter is still alive, even though she’s been worm food for the past two years.”

  Snofrid felt a pang of shock. It sank into pity, and then rose up in annoyance. “No one told him his daughter died?”

  “His courtesan used to tell him every day.” Rhode rocked forward, sliding into a front split. “Everyone who served under the Unloved God went crazy to some degree.” It sounded like he was smiling. “Nethers has an obsessive need to do everything twice. Turning out the light, closing doors… placing large bets.” The boy reached a new level in his game and cheered, “Woo hoo. I’m so good!”

  “Yagami!” Hadrian called. “Stop wasting my time.”

  Snofrid switched off her phone and jogged toward the trench, joining Hadrian and Hessia near its edge. Inside, two Dracuslayers were lining the floor with steel spikes. “This is the second line of attack?” she assumed.

  “Yes. If the snipers fail, the spikes will destroy the welx. It’s called a Fail Floor.” Hadrian unearthed a sheet of overlapping plates that resembled lavender quartz. She touched one; the surface was so warm, it radiated heat through her glove.

  “These plates will eventually be laid across the full trench,” he explained. “When the welx steps on them, they will collapse and the beast will be impaled by the spikes.”

  Snofrid noticed a Dracuslayer in a hazmat suit was lacing the spikes with a jelled substance. “What is he lacing the spikes with?”

  “Hematic venom.”

  “How is it—”

  “The venom has been stabilized with Abalus Root,” he interrupted. “It won’t go airborne. These plates will only trigger if touched by the welx—we’ve primed them to its DNA with magic. So if you need to run across them, you’ll avoid becoming a pin cushion.”

  She felt reassured. There was sure to be commotion during the hunt and anyone could touch the plate by accident. This thought made her grimace: death by Hematic venom was rumored to be agonizing.

  “The last part is an added defense for your sake,” he said. Standing, he reburied the plates with his boot before gesturing to the center of the glade. “There is a steel dome buried under the snow that will activate once the welx crosses the Alchemy Sphere. You’ll be safe enough inside when all hell breaks loose.”

  “How do I get out of it?” she asked.

  “There is a lever on the ceiling. Pull it down and the dome will flatten.”

  She frowned. “On me?”

  “Around you.” He flipped up a claw in warning. “But don’t open the dome until the welx is dead.”

  “I won’t. But tell me when it happens. I’d rather not be sitting in there after you all leave.”

  Hadrian smirked, as if considering the idea. “The Coyote will be your handler during the hunt,” he went on. “He’ll tell you when to activate the dome and when to exit it.” Hadrian moved to walk away, before he stopped and faced her, rotating his fist in a circular motion. “Do another walkthrough of the site.”

  “I’ve memorized it already.”

  “Your assurances don’t concern me. Do another walkthrough.”

  Snofrid sighed. “Fine.” Whipping out her phone, she stalked toward the nearest bridge.

  “I’m sensing tension in the air,” Rhode remarked. “Where might it be coming from?”

  “It’s coming from how much I dislike you.”

  “Lie.” Rhode sprawled out on his back, holding the game screen right up to his face. “It’s coming from a strong resentment towards something else…maybe you want me to spice up your dislike of the Commander with some depraved details?”

  She took a moment to mull it over. “No, thank you,” she decided. “I already know enough about him that’s depraved.”

  “You can never get too much filth on a person,” Rhode assured. “Commander Gravebane whacked his father. Messily.”

  “I already know.”

  Rhode fell silent a moment. “In battle, he eats people in his second form.”

  Snofrid thought of Cannibal Brongo and her insides churned. Ducking under a tree bough, she started doing laps around the site. “That’s disgusting.”

  “It is, but you know nothing.” Rhode snorted a laugh, suddenly amused. “Because the Commander’s a Skinwalker, he can hear high pitched sounds. He’s also very sensitive to them. So if someone were to play the pitch, 67 Hz+, he’ll turn dopey.”

  She fell short on what this meant. “You mean he gets stupid?”

  “Wait, while I blow up this rabbit den.” Rhode’s thumbs pounded the screen of his phone as he pelted a family of bunnies until they exploded. “Nailed it…where was I?”

  “Commander Gravebane.”

  “Oh, yeah. If you play that pitch, then he’ll…well, he’ll be more easily ‘persuaded’.”

  She wavered, feeling skeptical. “If that’s true, then why don’t you use it and get out of gun cleaning duty?”

  He scoffed, firing down another row of rabbits. “Because the pitch is on my other phone, and I left it at the Web.”

  “I appreciate the lowdown,” she said, climbing over a fallen log. “But I don’t need to persuade Commander Gravebane into doing anything.”

  Rhode snorted. “I’m not doing you any favors, girl. Don’t start fantasizing about us being friends now.”

  “Don’t worry,” she muttered aloud. “The fantasy wouldn’t even enter my mind.”

  Snofrid completed two laps of the site, taking photos and marking where the sniper nests were. Snow was showering from the sky by the time she returned to the middle of the glade. The Dracuslayers were tiling the trench with lavender plates.

  “Yagami,” Hadrian hollered from the farthest bridge. “You’re done. Follow the Coyote.”

  “Finally.” She made a beeline for the stump where Coyote was packing up his laptop when her phone beeped. She switched the phone on and was stunned to find a message from Atlas Bancroft.

  What girl calls a bloke and then doesn’t answer his return call?

  Give me a bell when you get this, Snofrid.

  Snofrid read and then reread the message. How could he have sent it? In order for him to contact her through the shield, he’d have to be in Hollowstone.

  “Let’s go,” Coyote said, nudging her arm. “I’ll escort you home.” He swung the duffle over his shoulder and circled back toward the bridge. “I’ll come for you Thursday evening at 1800 hours,” he went on. “The welx will feed from anytime between midnight on Thursday to midnight on Friday, so we need to be in position ear
ly. We’ll do a run through before we put you in place. From that point on, you’ll be on your own.”

  She nodded, still distracted by Atlas’s message. “Uh…what do I need to bring?”

  Coyote ignored her. He dropped his duffle bag and glanced around, his eyes tapered. “What is that?”

  Snofrid followed his sight to tree line, thinking he might’ve heard hydrocops. She ditched the idea swiftly; the sensors would’ve picked up on anything in the area.

  “Commander, do you feel that?” Coyote called. “There’s something under us.”

  Hadrian hunkered down and felt the earth with his palm.

  “The Coyote’s senses are never wrong,” Rhode said, flinging his game aside. “Turn. I need a panoramic view.”

  Snofrid turned. “I don’t see anything.”

  Hadrian shot to his feet. Seizing Hessia’s arm, he raced to the center of the clearing, and roared, “Take cover!”

  In one swift motion, the Dracuslayers dropped and shielded their heads with their arms.

  Snofrid felt a tremor start low in the earth, rattling her body like a leaf in a storm. She slid onto her chest and crawled toward the bridge. “What’s happening?”

  “If it’s an earthquake, you’re going to want to be away from the trees,” Rhode pointed out. “And you’re…wait a minute.” The boy stood up, shaking off the guns with a clatter. His tone grew excited. “This isn’t an earthquake, it’s an uprising!”

  BOOM.

  The cloud from an explosion erupted somewhere in the city above. Body shuddering, Snofrid dug her fingers into the snow. Creaking metal and shattering glass echoed the upsurge, screeching even louder than the fireworks. She craned her neck skyward, and thought desperately, “What the hell is happening?”

  Intense heat fanned across the area, evaporating the snow from the sky. For an instant, she saw fire ballooning over the tops of the trees. Fear tore through her like a rotary blade. A blue wave of wafting heat melted a section of buildings somewhere near the city square. Deep down, she knew what was happening, but felt too terrified to register it fully. The high-rises bowed like wet paper before splashing down over surrounding buildings.

  “Oh my hell.” She staggered to her feet as the wave expanded and then headed for the hunt site. Her gaze fixed on two paragliders sailing over the treetops, their wings catching the flare of the blast. Before the wave took them, their wings smoked, screams sliced the air, and they enkindled in the heat.

  “Ooh, bullseye,” Rhode cheered, throwing an air punch. “Don’t worry, girl. The site is outside the blast radius. It can only be one mile and you’re 1.6 miles out.”

  “The Alley is 1.2 miles out.” Snofrid bolted for the bridge. Just as she reached it, Coyote seized her arm and hauled her backward. She shoved him off, bucking and thrashing in his grip. “Don’t you dare try to stop me! I need to see my family!”

  “Your family is on their own,” Coyote panted, struggling to restrain her. “You need to be free to assist in the hunt, which means you’re coming with us. This city is about to go to hell.”

  Around the site, the Dracuslayers scrambled to their feet and packed up their gear. Snofrid twisted in Coyote’s hold, freeing one hand, and switched on her phone. Coyote snatched it from her and stuffed it into his armor. Lunging, she pounded on him with her fists. “That’s my brother’s life, you bastard!”

  “Enough. Don’t make me silence you myself.” In one hoist, Coyote flung her over his shoulder. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked hard.

  “Continue, and I’ll allow the Coyote to knock you unconscious,” Hadrian threatened. “You’re coming to the Spyderweb and you won’t set one foot outside of it until this is over.”

  The Third Door on the Left

  Wednesday, 2 Days until the Hunt

  Since moving in, Snofrid had learned two essential details about the Spyderweb tunnels. Firstly, they were a confounding labyrinth of dead-ends and violent traps. And secondly, they were vaster than one could chart in only a few days.

  Standing before a rock wall coated with turquoise glowworms, she resisted admitting she was lost. She’d been tricked by Rhode. Again. Turning on her heel, she gazed back the way she’d come. Glowworms dazzled in the pitch blackness, extending a half-mile down, so that the tunnel looked like a boulevard through outer space. The passages magically changed to mislead intruders, which added further difficulty. This was the third dead-end and she was beyond aggravated at Rhode’s taste for causing trouble.

  She rubbed her aching temples with her thumbs. It could be a lot worse, she told herself, trying to generate her own encouragement. Hadrian had confirmed that Lycidius, Desya and Jazara hadn’t been harmed in the RP bombing, which was almost all she’d hoped for. However, one important thing remained to be done: responding to Atlas’s message. This was why she was down in the tunnels, tramping through the darkness and trying to outrun shifting walls. Without a phone, she figured her best alternative was to make a trade with Rhode before her time ran out—if she ever found his room that is. Tomorrow, Lucian would come to collect on their deal, making tonight her final chance to request Atlas’s help.

  Pulling off her glove, she pressed her palm to the rock and waited sixty seconds. She breathed a curse. It wasn’t a Mock Wall.

  “Lost?” Rhode’s voice asked. He sounded entertained.

  “I’m lost because you keep leading me in circles,” she accused. “It should’ve taken me fifteen minutes to find your room, not an hour.”

  The boy chuckled. He was sprawled out on a high, four-posted bed in a chamber of blue coral, leafing through a horror comic book called Bloody Claw. Plush white beast furs were heaped across his stomach, and, at his feet, she saw piles of candy spilling from paper bags.

  “You took a wrong turn back at the Orina Junction,” he told her.

  She whirled. “That was WAY back there, Rhode. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

  “To humble you.” He licked his finger, then turned the page of his comic book. “You need to understand how helpless you are without my contributions.”

  “Your contributions are wasting my time.” She stalked back down the tunnel, aiming her lunar stone light at the receding walls; the glowing lunar stone was encapsulated by a lantern, which could only be dimmed by shutting the metal lantern screen.

  “Patience, girl. Remember that this meeting is a favor to you.” A sucking sound slurred the end of his speech. A blue lollipop suddenly appeared and waved in front of his face. “If I get caught shirking with you, I’ll be on wash-duty. You should appreciate the risk I’m taking.”

  “I’d say you’re already taking a pretty big risk by being in your room. You’re supposed to be doing endurance training right now.”

  “Nope. That’s at 0900 hours.”

  “Then I was right. You’re late. It’s 0947 hours.”

  Rhode added a third viewpoint to the bug dials, zooming in on a circular arena paved with gravel. Grunts, shouts, and clanking wood tore the air. The other Dracuslayers were dragging each other across the gravel by ropes, beating one another in the chests with rocks and leaping onto each other’s shoulders, forming Inborn ladders up the walls.

  “It doesn’t look like they know I’m missing.” Rhode tugged a cord, letting loose a fabric canopy around his bed; the training images vanished as the curtain was drawn. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

  “What happens when they do realize you’re gone?”

  “Someone will come get me. When they do, I’ll squeeze through the filter system and be in the training arena before he reaches my lodgings.”

  She ducked under a bridge made of trees. This was something about Rhode she envied: he didn’t ever seem to be intimidated by anything, including Hadrian’s mighty discipline. “Good luck squeezing through the strainers,” she said.

  “The strainers?” He snorted. “Those are child’s play.” He threw his lollipop stick onto the floor. “Why are we having this meeting anyway, girl?”

 
; “I’ll tell you why when I get to your room.” Snofrid sped up, hopping over puddles of glowworm goo. At a bend in the tunnel, she shone her lantern on a grated iron door. “What on earth?” she murmured. “Is that a dungeon?”

  “Indeed. If we take P.O.W.’s, they need a place to stay.”

  She resumed her urgent pace. “Do you know every room in the Spyderweb?”

  “Every room, every tunnel, and every staircase.”

  “Where does the spiral staircase in the courtyard lead?”

  “The Commander Lodgings. No one is allowed inside except the Coyote.”

  “Why just him?” she questioned.

  “Because he’s the Commander’s pet.” Rhode chuckled at his comic and muttered, “I knew she’d die.” Licking his thumb, he turned the page again. “So…how is sketch number seven?”

  She frowned, the lantern rattling with her steps. “The Commander made me restart again.”

  Rhode laughed. “That’s because the proportions looked like Hessia’s face.”

  “The proportions were fine.”

  “If the hunt site really looked like what you drew, we’d all die.”

  “Everyone except me,” she corrected.

  Snofrid exited the glowworm tunnels and scuttled across a marble platform. Commander Hadrian’s perfectionism was a tack in her shoe. He’d ordered her to sketch the hunt site from memory, but the task had evolved into eight different sketches. Whenever she’d complete a new diagram, he’d skim it over and then chuck it into the fire and say, “The blind Hematic Lord draws with better proportions. Do another one.”

  It was a pain. She was poor at sketching, so she’d most likely be redoing the picture until the actual hunt. Refusal wasn’t within her power on account of the Covenant, but her conformity to Hadrian’s will in other areas was beginning to waver. It had begun when he’d hijacked her phone. Keeping the phone wasn’t even necessary. She wasn’t a threat to security; he simply needed to have control. Just like he had to control the RP bombs. Since they’d gone off, he’d placed the full responsibility upon Narwood and Kuzmic—for arriving late at the Alley and failing to track down the Inborns in possession of the RP’s. In Hadrian’s mind, failure was defiance. She turned squeamish at the thought of what Narwood and Kuzmic’s punishment had been.