"How many?" Luther doesn't sound the least bit nervous.
"All of them."
"How's that?" Samson rumbles.
"According to the spirits, every last daemon is heading this way, desperate for something to eat—or somebody." He comes up for air. "We could do it, right here. Get rid of them, once and for all."
Luther's measured tone is a stark contrast to Milton's excitement. "Are there any defensible ruins or elevated safe zones out of harm's way? You will need to take the babies there immediately."
Our original plan of engagement involved setting up positions every few kilometers, expanding as we moved westward. But none of those locations would be safe for these little ones.
"City ruins, yeah—maybe twenty klicks north by northwest. I can fly them up there, but who's going to take care of them?"
"I will," Victoria says, baby on her hip. "Obviously."
I crest the hilltop and jog toward them.
"Sergeant—" Luther faces me.
"I heard." I give Milton a nod. "We've got company."
He shrugs at Victoria. "I can fly with both babies, or I can fly with you. Not both."
"Two trips, then." Luther beckons to Burke. "Milton is taking the little ones to safety."
Burke hands baby Florence over to Milton without pause.
"Right." Milton struggles to hold the girl, and she starts fussing, not at all confident in his grasp on her.
"Here." Memories of my little Mara at this age hit me like a sucker punch to the gut as I show him how to hold her.
"Thanks." Milton cradles her close with one arm, and she quiets down. Then he reaches for Victoria's son. "Next in line."
"You guys can't be serious." Victoria holds onto little Boaz. "Take me first. I'll be there when they arrive."
She hands her son to me. That's what I get for showing off my dad skills. Milton hands off the baby girl as well.
"Remember how we do this?" He puts his arm around Victoria in a familiar way.
Six months ago, he rescued her from the overturned ocean liner in Cain's Shipyard. I may be wrong, but I might have noticed a budding mutual attraction between them ever since I joined Luther's group.
"I remember." She wraps both arms around him and squeezes tight. "I should be lighter this time."
"Right. Because you're not carrying Boaz." He glances my way, where I have the little guy in my right arm and Florence in my left, staring at each other from behind their makeshift baby goggles and reaching for each other's face coverings with their miniature gloved hands.
"My stomach is flatter now, don't you think?" She slides it against him.
He clears his throat and glances at Luther. "We're off."
With a burst of dust, Milton and Victoria take to the sky and disappear from sight.
"The Creator moves in mysterious ways," Luther says absently, patting me on the back, his attention absorbed by the two babies. "He works all things together for good, even when all we see is evil. The forest for the trees..."
Not sure where he's going with this. "We lost people in that missile strike. We're about to be swarmed by a hundred armed hostiles." I shake my head, doing my best to keep my voice neutral and not upset the little ones. "Where's the good in any of this?"
"You heard Milton. The Creator is bringing the daemons straight to us. We won't have to go out looking for them."
"And that's a good thing?"
He nods slowly. "The offensive we planned—how long would it have taken? How many lives could we have lost in the process?"
"We won't all survive this."
"With every death we suffer, I lose a piece of myself. We all do. But I have faith the Creator will see us through. And once this land is free of the daemon blight, we will be one step closer to seeing our children again."
Feeling the warmth of these pudgy little ones in my arms, it's all I can do to keep my composure. He knows what I want more than anything.
"That's some faith you've got, Luther. Not sure I understand it."
He squeezes my shoulder. "The Creator is greater than our ability to understand."
Without warning, Milton returns with another blast of dust and reaches for the babies. "All aboard the Milton Express."
I adjust his grip on each of the squirming tykes. "Got 'em?"
"Sure." He sounds less than confident. "I mean, they'll probably turn catatonic once we're in the air, right?"
If he's lucky.
"Have a safe flight." Samson gives him two big metal thumbs up.
Another burst of dust, and he's in the air. The babies were on the verge of screaming a moment ago, but as soon as they're airborne, I don't hear a peep out of them. They're probably stunned. Traveling at supersonic speeds will do that, from what I recall.
"Anything, Shechara?" Luther checks.
She's keeping watch, scanning the terrain from left to right with her mechanical eyes roving, rotating, zooming. "Nothing yet."
But I hear the solar-powered engines humming ever louder. Twenty-five distinct vehicles, each potentially carrying four mutants armed with assault rifles, rocket-launchers, and plenty of ammo. They're never in short supply.
Unlike us. We have the jeeps, rifles, and rocket-launcher we took off those mutants in addition to our own small arsenal of rifles and handguns. Not nearly enough.
Luther catches me staring into the distance. "Battle plans, Sergeant?"
"I'm not liking our odds."
Samson grunts. "We shouldn't be concentrated all together like this. Once we start shooting, we'll give away our position, and—" He whistles while one of his metal arms swoops overhead and crashes down at his side. "RPG inferno."
"Agreed." I glance down the hillside toward the jeeps. There's no cover anywhere else nearby, no fallback position. We're trapped here. "We can't engage so many of them." It would be mass suicide. I clench my fists, desperate for a solution. But nothing presents itself—until I look outside the box we've climbed into. "So we don't fight them. Not here."
"Explain," Luther says.
"You're not going to like it." This will go against every vestigial belief from the Old World he still clings to. Respect for the dead being at the very top of the list.
"I don't have to, as long as our people survive and the daemons do not."
I pause, weighing my words. Then I dive in headfirst. "We let the mutants take the Homeplace. They'll sniff out the blood and climb the cliffs to get inside. Once as many as possible are in those caves, we take out any stragglers in the foothills below while simultaneously hitting the front and rear cave entrances with RPGs. I'd assign that responsibility to Milton, since he can fly around the mountain faster than we can set up positions on each side."
Samson glances at Luther. "Seal the daemons up and initiate a cascade collapse throughout the entire cave network."
Luther is silent for a few moments before managing, "We allow them to desecrate our dead...and trap the daemons in the act."
I nod. There's no point in sugarcoating it. War is an ugly mess. But this way, those we lost in the missile strike will have given their lives for a greater purpose: eliminating the mutant threat once and for all.
"They usually prefer live prey." Samson scratches his chin through his head covering.
"According to the spirits, fresh meat is hard to find these days. The mutants weren't too finicky about the bodies in Cain's Shipyard."
"The spirits told you this?" Luther says.
"And they said they'd help us." Not sure what they meant by that, but it's worth mentioning.
"Maybe they'll throw a screen of dust in the air to cover our approach," Samson offers. "They've done it before."
"Yes. They have." Luther is deep in thought, staring into space. Then he seems to reach a grim conclusion. "Very well, Sergeant. We'll do it. And may the Creator have mercy on us for such a despicable act."
The bodies in those caves are just empty shells now, but I don't say that out loud. Instead I think back on the sight of G
ranger, Sinclair, and Harris after Cain gunned them down. I get Luther's point. If someone suggested using their bodies for mutant bait, I would have decked the bastard.
"So we sit tight and don't make a sound, let them all pass us by," Samson says. "And hope they don't notice those two jeeps we've got parked down there."
Milton returns, gliding out of the sky to land beside us. "The daemons are less than fifteen klicks away, climbing onto this plateau," he reports. "So what's the plan?"
Luther tells him, and he stares mutely, looking first at me, then Samson.
"You're okay with this?" he finally asks.
"His idea." Samson flicks a metal finger in my direction. "It's horrible. But it just might work."
"I see them," Shechara announces, and everyone instinctively crouches as she points westward.
"Victoria and the children are safe?" Luther whispers.
Milton nods. "Not the most comfortable accommodations, but secure. Hilltop sublevel on the edge of some ruins, near a cache of hydropacks and other rations. Might be a good spot for Homeplace 2.0."
"First things first." Luther raises his voice slightly, addressing the entire group: "Stay low and hold your positions. Do not engage the daemons. We are going to let them pass. Once they're five klicks away from the Homeplace, we will follow at a distance." He turns to me. "Sergeant."
I take my cue and fill everyone in on the plan. Most of them don't like it, looking at each other and shaking their heads. But Luther backs me up, telling them this is the only way. We can't take on a hundred mutants, no matter how courageous we are. We're all that's left, and we have to be smart about this.
Act wisely, the spirit told me. Listen…
Milton perks up when I tell him his role. "Always wanted to use one of these." He strokes the rocket-launcher. "Jealous?" He looks at Samson.
The big man grunts. "We'll make sure nobody shoots you down."
Milton's shoulders slump a bit. "Right."
The herd of solar jeeps closes in, seeming to know right where we are. Crossing kilometer after kilometer in a purposeful approach. I strain to hear anything from the mutants themselves, but they remain silent. Easy to imagine them in their vehicles, lidless yellow eyes bulging and oozing, sharp fangs glistening in the sunlight. Weapons held at the ready with a practiced ease.
They've never mobilized in great numbers before. Shechara shakes her head as she watches them in the distance, unable to believe her eyes.
"So many…" she whispers.
In a matter of minutes, they have us surrounded. We hold still, not making a sound, doing our best to blend into the surroundings. We're close to a couple hundred meters above them, so we should be out of sight. But I'm sure Luther is praying. I hope he is.
The jeeps rip past our position, moving onward without pause, headed straight for the Homeplace ten klicks east. A massive cloud of dust drifts after the mutants, thickening as their tires kick up more dirt.
Or maybe it's the spirits, providing that screen Samson mentioned.
Either way, judging by their speed, they should be halfway to their destination within the next five minutes or so. I signal everyone to get to their feet. Time to descend the hill and follow.
"Can you see through that?" I point at the wall of dust.
Shechara shakes her head.
Listen, the spirit said.
I can hear the mutants' vehicles and visualize where they are. "I'll take the lead. Stay close."
She nods.
We pile into our pair of jeeps, some finding seats while others stand on the running boards and grip the roll bars like before. Everyone is armed, a few with more than one rifle. Milton hefts the rocket-launcher.
"I'll see if I can do it in three," he tells me.
Three grenades are all he has. "Good plan."
We take off, keeping our distance—a klick or two behind that dust screen. No one says a word, and I hope none of those mutants have the kind of hearing I do. If we're lucky, the sound of our jeeps will just blend into theirs.
"You praying?" I ask Luther, seated beside me.
"Without ceasing," he says.
I nod. "Keep it up."
14 Sera
22 Years After All-Clear
Arienna takes the news fairly well. Better than I did, at any rate. She seems to accept at face value that the parents who raised her are not blood relatives, that her biological parents are from the North American Wastes, and that her eggs have been harvested monthly to create children for upper-caste Eurasian citizens. Now that her augments are offline, it shouldn't be long before she starts manifesting some kind of unique yet bizarre ability.
That's right, tree monkey. Join the club.
The problem being, of course, that the club currently boasts only three members, and it doesn't look like Erik will be visiting the other seventeen anytime soon. Because as soon as he activated that EMP burst in the palm of his hand to knock out Arienna's neural implants, a swarm of Dome 2 law enforcement drones buzzed our way through the trees.
For a split-second, I felt a bit of nostalgia at the sight of them zipping through the air with their little rotors whirring at top speed. I've missed Wink and Blink. But these aren't my buddies, and seeing eight of them whiz our way with their lights flashing and warning sirens wailing is downright intimidating.
Arienna raises her hands into the air and bows her head like a good citizen. I'm tempted to do the same to keep the drones from firing any shocker darts my way. But once they identify me as a law enforcer and Arienna as a local, we won't be targets. Erik is the one they're after.
I consider letting them have him. He's broken more laws than I care to list right now, the most recent being yet another EMP burst. Not a wise choice today, after what just went down at the Chancellor's tower.
But I understand what he's trying to do. As more of my memories return, like he promised they would, I realize how important it is for the other members of the Twenty to discover who they really are. Apparently, localized electromagnetic pulses are the only way to neutralize the augments that interfere with remembering our past...and our abilities.
Which makes me wonder about those thousand or so kids created from our sex cells. Are they displaying any unique talents yet?
"Remain calm, citizens," the drones command in unison, hovering around us in a loose cordon. They direct their high-powered flashlights at our faces in the sun-dappled gloom beneath the leafy canopy. "Please kneel, interlocking your fingers behind your heads."
Arienna and I do so. Erik scowls, fishing through his jacket pockets like he's forgotten something important.
"You're gonna want to kneel," I warn him.
He nods absently but doesn't follow suit. I'm sure he regrets it as a drone fires a dart like a miniature missile, striking his chest dead center. The shock is instantaneous, and he groans, his limbs outstretched as his entire body stiffens. Grimacing and convulsing, he hits the artificial dirt and thrashes around for a few moments before lying completely still. He looks dead.
"Enforcer Chen, why have you not deposited this violator at local law enforcement headquarters as you indicated?" the drones ask. Of course they're in contact with the guards at the maglev station and know exactly what I told them.
I lower my arms and stand, glancing at Erik flat on his back. "I'm on a special assignment to locate all members of the Twenty. This violator happens to be one, as does Arienna—"
"What is your business with Arienna Dogan?" A short pause. "Why are your neural implants offline, Enforcer Chen? Why have all three of you disabled your augments?"
"Some kind of glitch," I offer, tapping my temple. "Must have something to do with the terrorist attack."
"There is no record of a special assignment for Enforcer Sera Chen," they drone on. "You were expected to report to MedTech and then return to your cube. That is where you should be right now."
Thinking fast, or digging a deeper hole for myself, I reply, "Orders came directly from the Chancellor. Probe t
hat security unit's memory, if you don't believe me."
The security clone I ordered to stay put has instead decided to run through the forest, straight for us.
"Halt." The drones reposition themselves, widening the cordon to include the clone. It stops abruptly. "You are identified as Unit D1-436, member of Chancellor Hawthorne's personal security force."
"That is correct," the clone answers without a hint of irony in its tone.
"Did Chancellor Hawthorne order Enforcer Sera Chen to locate each member of the Twenty—"
"Under Emergency Stipulation 5.6, Subsection 2, in the event of a threat against law and order, all members of the Twenty are to be sequestered until that threat has been neutralized," I recite from memory. Then I raise an eyebrow at the clone. "Sound familiar, Unit D1-436?" Nice to finally know its name.
Erik groans like he's suffering from intestinal distress. I try to ignore him.
"Yes," the clone says, its black face shield directed toward me. Followed by a long pause. "But I am unable to ascertain if the Chancellor ordered you—"
"Call her up," I suggest. "Oh, wait. You can't. Because she's missing."
"We will contact your commanding officer," the drones reply.
Commander Bishop. Great. I'm sure she'll be elated to receive word on her favorite curfew enforcer's most recent insubordinate activities.
The lead drone projects a hologram of Commander Bishop into the air. Her three-dimensional image glows with a ghostly aura as she stands hovering over the ground, dressed exactly as she was last night. Does she ever go home to sleep—to change? I've never seen her wear anything other than that stiff-collared uniform and long coat. I can't tell where she is, since there's no background in the projection, but she looks annoyed by the interruption. She's glaring at me.
"What are you doing in Dome 2, Enforcer Chen?" she demands.
"Following orders, ma'am."
"What orders would those be?"
"I am escorting last night's curfew violator to local law enforcement."
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 98
