by Travis Brett
“That’s not an option. Either way, we do this as a team.”
Roman paused mid-step. “I won’t ask you to risk your life. Not again. Not if you don’t want to.”
There was a silence that seemed to stretch on painfully long.
Tan let out a long sigh. “I don’t want to die. But, after my brother killed himself, I learned that there’s something worse than dying — being the last one left alive.” He paused. “So I guess I’d rather die down there with you, than go back to drinking alone.”
“Thank you, Tan.” Saying thanks didn’t feel enough. Roman wished he had the proper words to describe his full gratitude. “When I hired you, I got more than I could have hoped for.”
“It’s because you offered me more than I deserved.”
“Hey, you sentimental idiots,” Caleb grunted. “You might want to check this out.”
Roman walked back to the ledge. Caleb was pointing at the street they had come down ten minutes before.
The militia had arrived. There were well over a hundred, maybe almost two hundred — far more than Roman had ever seen before. Like a swarm of ants, they clambered over piles of rubble blocking the road. The morning sunlight glinted off their weapons.
“Well . . . shit,” Caleb muttered.
Roman nodded in agreement. “It’s almost ironic, isn’t it?”
“Hm?”
“I spent so long wishing Juliette would actually use the militia. And now she finally has.” Roman’s hands curled into fists. “Just when I don’t want her to.”
A shout came from the station below. Roman spotted an Adrenalite running between the buildings, then another. One by one, more appeared as they activated themselves and their blue glow revealed them. Soon there were over two dozen visible throughout the station.
The militia must have seen the Adrenalites too, because they broke into a sprint, charging over the rubble towards the station, bellowing angry threats. The first gunshots rang out as militia fired into the air. Roman knew he had to get moving, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. This is the power of the Ministry . . .
Caleb grabbed him by the arm and pulled him from the ledge. “Come on.”
As they made their way down the stairs Roman gripped his revolver tight. Two shots left. It didn’t feel like enough, but it would have to do.
PART FOUR
The Station
27
Sparks stood atop the debris of a house and watched the battle begin. He was almost shaking with excitement. This was a fight he could have only dreamed of: a final confrontation between the militia and the Adrenalites, between Juliette and Candle.
He couldn’t wait to join in.
Two militia stood by the front gate to the station. Whether they were too cowardly to enter with the rest of the army, or whether they had been instructed to wait outside, Sparks didn’t know. Or care. As he approached the station he pulled out his activation needle, tossed the now empty satchel into the gutter, and pierced the needle into his forearm.
The familiar warmth of being activated rushed through him, his second heart settling into an eager pulse. He strode boldly down the centre of the road. Both militia were too busy watching the station to notice him. One was armed with a crossbow, the other with a machete. They both slowly retreated from the gate as if a horde of Adrenalites were going to burst through at any moment.
Sparks stepped in between them. “I can’t find my date,” he said casually. “You haven’t seen a man named Candle, have you?”
They both spun to face him, eyes going wide. Sparks kicked the machete-armed militia in the groin, then snatched the blade out of his hands. The militia stumbled backwards, bent over, clutching his privates. Sparks spun the machete in a wide curve, slicing through the man’s neck.
Sparks turned to his next opponent, who was hastily raising his crossbow as he retreated. Sparks moved his blade directly in front of the crossbow, flat edge facing forward. The militia fired. The bolt hit the blade with the clang of metal striking metal, then spun away uselessly.
The militia tossed his weapon to the ground and fled. Coward. Sparks threw the machete after him. It struck just below the neck, burying itself up to the hilt. The militia toppled to the ground, making a gurgling noise as he drowned in his own blood.
Sparks could have laughed. How the hell had the militia ever expected to win versus Adrenalites? It wasn’t a fair fight.
He entered the station. It was in far worse condition than the one he had destroyed yesterday. Choosing a path between the wreckage of a building and an enormous pile of rusted metal beams, Sparks ran towards the screaming and gunshots. Even though it made it near impossible to find his way forward, he was pleased that the clutter of steel and debris turned the station into a maze of alleyways – fighting in tight spaces would favour the Adrenalites.
He dashed around a corner and found a militia coming towards him, ten yards away, holding a revolver.
They locked eyes, then both sprung into action. The militia yelled as she lifted the pistol and cocked the hammer. Sparks dropped into a crouch and darted to the side. The militia fired twice. The first shot missed. The second whizzed past Sparks’ ear, disturbingly close. Sparks grabbed a brick and hurled it, catching the militia in the shoulder. Her third shot went wild.
Sparks leapt the last five yards, grabbing the militia by the throat as he bowled into her and sent them both to the ground. The militia tried to raise her gun, but Sparks pinned her wrist to the ground with his other hand.
“Fucking monster,” the militia gasped, spitting out a tangle of her blond hair that caught in her mouth.
“Don’t call me that,” Sparks growled. “I know a man who called me that. I didn’t like it.”
“Doesn’t change what you are. You’re a—”
Sparks tightened his grip around her neck, cutting off her words. “I said don’t fucking call me that.”
She stopped struggling as her face began to turn a pale blue. Sparks saw the resignation in her eyes. He released her arm and raised his fist for a final blow. No point making her suffer, after all.
To his left: the glint of sunlight on steel.
Sparks rolled to the right.
Too late.
Something cold tore into his side. He cried out, one hand moving to the wound. His fingers met the touch of steel and blood. He spied his attacker on the rooftop above him, armed with a crossbow.
“Bastard!” Sparks dashed forward, leaping into the air and grabbing the edge of the roof. The militia stepped forward, dropping the crossbow and pulling out a knife.
Sparks cursed. He didn’t have time to climb up before the militia swung the knife down, aiming for Sparks’ fingers clinging to the ledge. Sparks let go with one hand and grabbed the militia’s wrist, stopping the blade just in time. He yanked the militia forward and pulled him off the roof. The militia’s yell was cut short as he hit the ground head first. His neck snapped with a crunch.
Sparks dropped down, the militia’s body cushioning his fall, and inspected his wound. He was lucky: the bolt hit below the ribcage and far enough to the side that it hadn’t hit any major organs. Also, it wasn’t a normal bolt, but rather a thin steel needle, nearly a foot long. Confused, Sparks reached down to pull it out.
“Don’t move.”
Sparks turned to the female militia from before. She had sat up, one hand to her throat. The other hand held her gun. “Hands up. Now,” she wheezed.
Sparks raised his hands, fingers outstretched. He kept his eyes locked onto hers, watching for any sign of distraction – he would only need a split second. “Well,” he said, trying to keep his rising panic out of his voice, “What now?”
“Shut up.” Her eyes moved to the throbbing wound in his side, but she didn’t do anything. What was she waiting for?
Footsteps. Out of the corner of his eye, Sparks saw a trio of militia, all armed with knives, running towards him. The female militia glanced at the newcomers. Sparks took the chance and da
rted to the side. She fired.
He felt a sharp sting in his shoulder as the bullet grazed him. He leapt forward, pulling the strange arrow from his side as he did, then shoved it up through the militia’s jaw and into her skull.
She didn’t even have time to scream.
Sparks turned to the three militia, grinning. He made a beckoning gesture. “Come on. I think I’ve finally warmed up now.”
They all backed away slowly.
“Aw, don’t be like that. I’ll go easy on you, I promise. Well, kinda. I—” Sparks paused when he noticed his arm. It wasn’t glowing anymore.
He looked down at his chest. His light was fading, and quickly. His second heart still pulsed, but was weakening with each beat.
The thumping in his chest stopped.
His glow vanished completely.
What the hell was going on?
Now the militia were the ones grinning. They advanced on Sparks, knives out. The man in the middle – an older man with a thick beard – even had the gall to laugh.
Sparks didn’t move, numb with shock. Should he fight, or run? He had never run away before. Retreating was cowardly. It was something only weak people did, not him.
He ran anyway.
He turned left at the first corner, then right. The militia chased, just a couple steps behind, yelling taunts. Panic overwhelmed Sparks. He had to get out of here, now. While he was deactivated he was vulnerable, weak, pathetic – he wouldn’t last ten minutes like this.
And he was lost. He took another right turn and came to a blocked path. The building on his right had collapsed, leaving nothing but a mountain of rubble. Too late to turn around, so Sparks began to climb. Chunks of concrete shifted and crumbled beneath his boots. If he wasn’t careful he was going to lose his footing and slide straight down to his pursuers.
He glanced behind. The militia were following him up, but he was moving faster. He was going to get away.
His next step sunk him knee deep into the rubble, slabs of concrete dissolving into little more than dust. He pitched forward, landing face first in the jagged debris. He tried to pull his leg free, but his trousers were stuck.
The closest Militia was only a yard away, raising his knife. Sparks rolled to the side, and the knife came down where his body had been a moment before. Cursing, Sparks pulled his leg free, just as the second militia jumped on top of him, shoving him back into the rubble. Dust and dirt clogged his throat.
With one hand, Sparks caught the militia arms that held the knife. He squirmed free enough to shove his knee into the militia’s groin. The militia’s grip went weak and Sparks twisted away. He staggered over the apex of the rubble, stumbled, fell, and rolled down the debris. Concrete slammed into his back, limbs, and head as he fell, driving the air from his lungs and sending spikes of pain through every nerve.
He rolled to a stop on the ground. No time to check for any injuries. He stood and ran—
– into a dead end.
If Sparks had any breath left, he would have cursed. He turned to see the three militia carefully descending the rubble, taking their time. They knew he had nowhere left to go.
And they were right. But if Sparks was going to die, he was going to die fighting. No doubt about that.
He adopted a fighting stance. Knees bent. Feet shoulder-width apart. Hands raised.
Suddenly, the wall to Sparks' left exploded. Bricks went flying as a militia – well, more accurately, the broken corpse of a militia – burst through, flew across the alley, hit the opposite wall with a thud, and dropped to the ground.
An Adrenalite stepped through the hole left in the wall. He glowed with a dark blue hue, and the tendrils of line covered his entire body; they meshed across his face like a spider web. He was tall, with thick arms and broad shoulders. Black hair hung past his shoulders, knotted and greasy. He wore nothing but a tattered pair of shorts. A pair of activation needles were strapped around each of his forearms.
He turned to Sparks, looked him up and down, and frowned.
Sparks grinned. “Hey there stranger. Care to give me a hand?”
The militia attacked.
The Adrenalite burst into motion, his movements nearly too fast to see. He grabbed two militia by their necks and slammed their heads together. Both skulls burst. Blood and gore and specks of bone sprayed everywhere.
The last militia skidded to a halt and turned to flee. But the Adrenalite picked him up by his armour, spun him upside down and slammed him head-first into the ground. His neck snapped with a piercing cracking sound.
Sparks realized his mouth was hanging open, and quickly closed it. He hadn't seen anybody move so quick before. “You’re Candle,” he said slowly, knowing as he said it that he was right. There was something in the way the man held himself that made it obvious he didn’t take orders from anybody else — it reminded Sparks of Roman.
The Adrenalite turned to him. “I am. But who the hell are you? I don’t remember freeing you.”
“I’m the best fighter in Legacy.” Sparks held out his hand. “And if you do me the favour of activating me, I’d like to prove it to you.”
Candle pushed Sparks’ arm aside, grabbed him by the jaw and twisted his head around to examine his tattoo. He scowled, then let go and shoved Sparks to the ground. “I’ve heard of you. You’re that traitor.”
Sparks rubbed his jaw — Candle might have broken it if he’d squeezed it any tighter. “I’m not a traitor.”
“Then explain why you were working with a fucking bounty hunter.”
“Roman was my master, I had to do what he said. Or I thought I did. Not anymore. I left him. He was an asshole, and a liar, and weak. I came here to join you instead.”
“Why do you want to join me?”
It didn’t take long for Sparks to think of an answer. “I want to fight. It’s the only thing I’m good at. And if I follow you then I get to fight against Juliette, and I can’t think of anyone I would rather kill.”
Candle nodded, holding out his hand. “If you make me regret this, I’ll rip your spine out of your body.”
“You could try.” Sparks took Candle’s hand and climbed back to his feet.
Candle unstrapped one of the adrenaline needles from his forearm and stabbed it into Sparks shoulder. Sparks grinned, stretching his arms wide, feeling his second heart come alive again.
“Let’s go,” Candle said.
“Which way?”
“Just follow me.”
Sparks did.
28
Roman, Tan, and Caleb approached the station from the west side. Tan gave Roman a sideways glance, eyebrows raised. “We're really doing this, aren't we?”
“Yeah. We are.”
Roman paused when they reached the fence that encircled the station. Standing at three yards high, the top of the fence was lined with barbed wire.
Caleb stopped beside him. “You remember our deal about Sparks?”
Roman nodded. “A deal is a deal.” He hooked his fingers into its steel mesh and began to climb. The fence shook with his weight. Just before the top, Roman removed his jacket and hung it over the barbed wire. He carefully swung one leg over. Even through his coat, the barbed wire ripped at his thighs and hands. Cursing, he pulled his other leg over and dropped to the ground on the other side.
Tan followed after him, somehow he managed to make the climb look almost graceful. A gunshot echoed, somewhere close. Roman flinched. He pulled out his own revolver and looked around, but there was nothing around save from rusted and broken machinery.
Tan landed with a soft thump, rubbing at a gash across his arm. “It’s almost as though there were trying to keep people out,” he said, pulling Griff's knife from his belt. “Can't imagine why.”
“Anti-social bastards,” Roman replied.
The fence nearly collapsed as Caleb pulled himself over it. He dropped down beside Roman with an impact that shook the ground.
Roman led the way through the station, keeping his head low and hi
s pistol raised as he darted between the buildings and machinery. It was a maze of alleys, half of which were blocked by rubble. Roman paused at each corner, checking the path was safe before continuing. No sign of anyone so far. But the screaming and shooting quickly grew louder as they got deeper into the station.
“The ministry didn't give a shit about this place,” Caleb muttered, kicking a stack of rusted steel bars that blocked off a side path.
“They've had bigger problems,” Tan said. “Kinda like we do now. How the heck are we meant to find Candle in this mess?"
Roman frowned. They needed a plan, but they had no way of tracking Candle. They didn't even know what he looked like. And if they found him, what then? "I'm working on it," he said.
The crack of gunshot sounded, somewhere to their left. It was close. Too close. The shot was quickly followed by a howl of pain.
“Screw this.” Roman moved to the nearest building. “Caleb, give me a boost.”
Caleb knelt, offering his shoulder as a foothold that Roman used to climb onto the roof. From here, he looked over the station. A hundred yards away the blue form of an Adrenalite leapt across the rooftops, away from Roman. To his right, two militia with crossbows strapped across their backs were climbing one of the steel towers.
The roof shook as a girl landed across from Roman, barely five yards away. Her bare chest glowed blue. Tendrils of light reached down to her forearms, crisscrossing with blood running down from a wound in her shoulder — a thin metal needle was caught through her flesh.
Roman raised his pistol. The girl spun to the side, moving with inhuman speed. Roman’s finger tensed on the trigger, but he didn't shoot. He couldn't waste a shot.
“Do it, you bastard,” the girl hissed, beginning to circle him. She was young, barely a teenager. Black hair and dark eyes. Roman's heart hammered in his chest as the girl slowly drew closer. He closed one eye, lining up the shot.
