Firestorm

by William Stacey

  Before she could answer, Casey swept her up in his arms, lifting her feet off the ground as he hugged her and swung her about like a doll.

  She thought her heart would burst with joy.

  The main assault on the city began at dusk.

  It came as a surprise to no one. Tec and the others couldn't miss the preparations. The Aztalans tried to cover the massing of their troops with smoke but only confirmed where the enemy would focus their attacks. Whistle blasts echoed in the night, accompanied by the yelling of Aztalan officers and noncommissioned officers as they tried to organize their men. Under Wyn Renna's leadership, the fighting positions along the wall had been reinforced with sandbags, providing some protection from the snipers. Most of the city's residents were in communal shelters.

  Tec and Wyn Renna accompanied a procession led by Duncan Marshal and Monique Carter along the walls, encouraging the soldiers with their presence. Tec stood next to Wyn Renna, watching the enemy preparations. Tavi was nearby, always close to Wyn Renna. At some point, she had not only gotten past her anger at the elf woman but had also decided she was Wyn Renna's unofficial shadow, her bodyguard.

  Tec, watching the enemy muster, thought his heart might break with the futility of it all. He was no longer worried about a lack of water, not with the size of the assaulting forces preparing to come at them. For whatever reason, instead of waiting for the city’s inevitable surrender, the dragon and her Tzitzime servants had decided to storm it. Hundreds, maybe thousands of Aztalan soldiers would die before they took the city, but it wouldn’t stop them. They simply didn’t have enough bullets to kill them all.

  Not for the first time, he wished he had a tenth of the stockpile he had stored away in his bunker, but all that ammunition might as well have been on the moon. He sighed heavily. "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men," he whispered.

  "What’s that?" Wyn Renna asked without turning her head.

  His thoughts soured. "Wyn ... Constance ... when they come, when they breach the walls, you can't let them take you." He stared into her face, watching her angular profile, her large nose. Her face wasn’t truly her face, but she had worn it for so long that maybe even she didn't remember what she had looked like as an elf.

  Her fingers brushed the bulky load-bearing vest she wore over her combat uniform. "They won't, old friend," she whispered. "Not a drop."

  A bright-red flare rose into the night. With a furious cheer, the Aztalans stormed forward, rushing through the smoke, attacking from the south and east.

  "Stand ready!" Wyn Renna yelled. She turned to face Marshal and Carter. "Get off my wall. The last thing I need is either of you dead."

  Both leaders hurried away, rushed to safety by their bodyguards. Tavi slipped closer to Wyn Renna, her hand on the hilt of her saber.

  "Call it," Wyn Renna said.

  She knew Tec had been in similar situations before, although never this dire. He waited until the mass of the enemy hit the first markers, some two hundred meters away. "Fire!" he yelled.

  As one, the defenders opened fire, a long, continuous roar of gunfire that ripped through the attackers, sending them reeling. On the far flanks, heavy machine guns opened fire, beating the ground with lead and tracers, creating hell on earth for the Aztalans. So far, the war had gone well for the Aztalan army, with the Norteno military putting up only the briefest resistance. Now the defenders fought not only for their lives but for the lives of their loved ones. There'd be no mercy, no quarter, and the Aztalans were just now learning how steep was the price in blood they’d have to pay.

  The attack faltered, and men soon broke and fled to the rear, running back into the smoke. Hundreds of corpses lay scattered beneath the walls, the ground wet with blood. Tracers had started fires in the dry grass. The defenders could do this again and again ... until the ammunition ran dry.

  The fighting continued along the eastern wall. "You stay here," Wyn Renna said. "Make them bleed."

  "I'm sorry it's come to this. Sorry for your mother, your people."

  "We're all sorry. Die well, Jaguar Knight." And with that, she hurried away, Tavi only steps behind her.

  Chapter 39

  Angie stood at the edge of the Black Pool, a lit flare in her hand illuminating the dark waters and blackened bones of thousands of animals. The lake extended before her, much farther than the light of her flare could reach, broken only by the fingers of stalagmites thrusting out of its depths.

  Erin, standing behind her, cleared her throat. Erin carried a sub-gun slung over her shoulder, but Angie had left all her weapons, including Nightfall and Lodin's spear, in the bunker above.

  "What are we doing here, Angie?" Erin shivered, rubbing her upper arms. She wore combat pants, boots, and a T-shirt. Angie wore the same, but with the ankles rolled up. The smallest of the combat uniforms she could find among Tec's stash were still too large for her. She had even had to punch a new hole in the belt.

  "Not sure yet."

  Sandman and the elders had been brought inside the bunker, and Angie had made introductions, explaining she had promised them the supplies—as well as the bunker and mountaintop as a new home. Rowan and Casey had objected but only briefly and without any real heart; there was no way the Seagraves could keep all this to themselves, and they knew it.

  Besides, when Angie told them of her dream of the fall of Sanwa City, Jay had told his family in no uncertain terms that he was going back for Tavi with or without them. It would be with them, Rowan had said, explaining that it was one thing to strike out into the wilderness when you were a fugitive but an entirely different one to abandon everyone you knew to slaughter. The Seagraves weren't the kind of people to turn their backs on others, no matter how badly those people had treated them. Besides, Rowan had said, a hard edge to his voice, they still owed Rayan Zar Davi for their brother Lewis.

  And just like that, the matter of ownership of the bunker had been settled.

  Angie considered the Black Pool. Why am I dreaming of this place? she asked the Shade King.

  I DO NOT KNOW. YOU ARE LINKED TO THE DRAGON. THIS WAS NEVER DONE IN MY TIME. THERE WERE NO DRAGON-MARKED. YOU ARE AS UNIQUE NOW AS I ONCE WAS, PERHAPS MORE SO.

  She sighed. "Not helpful." She was aware Erin was watching her, wondering who she was talking to. The Shade King's presence had become natural to Angie. It was always there now if she needed it, but it never intruded on her consciousness. You can grow accustomed to anything in time, she realized, even a supernatural passenger. She opened her left hand, trailed her fingers over the fang-shaped scarring on her palm. The mark was cold. She made a fist of her hand and stared out over the water.

  The last time she had been here, the dragon's presence had been overpowering, the air throbbing with his magic. Tec had insisted his master was gone.

  She dropped down on her rump and began to remove her boots.

  "Whatcha doin', Angie?"

  "Maybe nothing. We'll find out in a minute."

  She pulled her socks off and stood up again. Her feet hurt from the blisters from walking up the mountain in homemade boots. This was probably pointless, but...

  Angie stepped into the cold waters of the Black Pool, shivering and wrapping her arms across her chest as she did. She stepped back onto the bone-strewn shoreline, staring down at her feet.

  Nothing. The blisters and sores remained. Tec was right. The dragon was gone.

  But why were the hairs standing up on the back of her neck?

  "What are we doing here?" Erin asked.

  "Maybe wasting our time." Angie drew the flare back and then threw it as far as she could into the underground lake. The bright red light spun through the air and then hit the waters, sizzling out in a moment. Darkness rushed in on the two women.

  And then, in the center of the lake, a golden glow pulsed beneath the waters, barely visible but unmistakable. Just like in her dreams.

  "What the fuck?" asked Erin, the fear ringing clear in her voice.

  "When we first came here,
there was scuba gear in the bunker … can you show me how to use it?"

  Erin stepped into the water beside her, her gaze transfixed on the pulsing golden glow in the center of the lake. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and then shivered. "Rowan," she finally said. "Rowan can show you."

  "Okay," said Rowan, kneeling in front of Angie on the shore of the Black Pool. "This is going to be fast and furious. Usually, you take classes and start in a pool."

  "There are no pools," Angie answered, her heart pounding. "And I can't swim."

  Rowan snorted, a half grin on his grizzled features. "That's an entirely different problem, but you're not gonna swim, just float. I'll be with you, holding your hand the entire time, and I mean literally holding your hand. You let go, and I'm dragging you out of the water—by your hair if I have to. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  They had both stripped down to their underwear, but she had kept her T-shirt on, while he wore only the weird rubber vest—the BCD, the buoyancy something or another that could make him float up or down depending on how much air was in it. He had shown her how to wear hers, how to blow air into it, but she was so frightened she wasn't sure she'd remember when they got into the water.

  More gear sat nearby, courtesy of Tec's never-ending supply depot: an underwater flashlight, two air tanks with the hoses and bits that went into your mouth, as well as weight belts, flippers, and half masks. Rowan had already stripped away the bent tubes attached to the masks, telling her they wouldn't need them. Erin, Jay, and Casey stood nearby, with Sandman, Earl, Silver Katana, and Miss Fortune. They all stared out over the dark waters. None of the We Clan really wanted to be down here, she could tell.

  Neither did she, if she were being honest.

  "It's gonna be bitchin’ cold on your girly bits," Rowan said, "but not so cold we're gonna need wet suits. Just remember to breathe. In and out, nice and slow. Never forget."

  "Breathe. Got it," she said, bobbing her head as she fit her arms through her own BCD.

  Erin knelt and helped her, pulling the zipper closed on the BCD and then strapping the weight belt around her waist. "Maybe I should go with Rowan. I can swim."

  "Or me," said Jay.

  "I'll go," said Casey. "I want to go."

  "Nope, won't work," Jay said. "Shit floats."

  Casey scowled, but Angie was too terrified to pay attention to their banter. She really wanted to take Erin up on the offer, but she knew it had to be her. "I'll be fine. I'll stick with Rowan."

  "You'll hold my hand," he corrected her, sternly, like an angry father.

  "I'll hold your hand. Just need to breathe and float. I can manage that."

  "Breathing is gonna be the weird part, at least the first few breaths," Rowan said. "Everyone holds their breath when their head goes underwater. It's ingrained. Those first few breaths under water will come as a surprise. Then you'll be just peachy keen."

  "No risks," Erin told Rowan. "You swim her out there, you take a look at that glow, and then you come right back."

  "Relax, sis." Rowan smiled. "I was a SEAL, remember? This is what I do ... did. It's like riding a bike ... underwater. Okay, it’s nothing at all like riding a bike."

  "Never did that either," said Angie.

  "Besides." Rowan smiled. "Maybe that glow is treasure."

  "Yeah, maybe," Angie answered, making a fist of her left hand. The dragon-mark remained cold.

  In minutes, they were ready. Rowan placed the air tube in her mouth, and then just like that, she was breathing canned air for the very first time. While she stood on the shoreline, the tank felt heavy, the over-sized flippers felt awkward, and the weight belt pulled at her hips. Rowan had said it would be different in the water, and she'd barely notice the weight. Then Rowan took her hand, flashed her a bright smile, and led her into the cold water. She shivered with each step, and all too soon, the water was up to her knees and then her crotch—which was every bit as unpleasant as Rowan had warned—and finally her chest. She floated now, buoyed by the vest, the weight of the belt and tank no longer as heavy. But when her feet could no longer touch the smooth rocks beneath the water, she began to panic, to hyperventilate.

  Rowan gripped her upper arms, pulling her along with him, maintaining eye contact. His flashlight hung from his wrist by a strap. He spit out his mouthpiece. "Be chill, Angie. Breathe. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you." He grinned. "Trust me, I'm a werewolf."

  "Wolves don't swim."

  "This one does, like a dolphin, like a bad-ass warrior dolphin."

  Despite her fear, she snorted with laughter and then began to calm, but her pulse still raced. When she felt she could handle it, she nodded at him, and he drew her farther out into the water, still holding her arms, swimming backward, maintaining eye contact with her. He was right, she realized. She was floating and would continue to do so until she let air out of her BCD.

  "Remember, once we go under, every few feet, we're gonna stop, pinch our noses, and gently blow. That'll release the pressure on your eardrums. Very important. Just as important as breathing and holding my hand. Got it?"

  She bobbed her head. They had practiced that for about fifteen minutes—equalizing he had called it.

  "It'll be even more important when we start to come back up to the surface. Like 'save your life' important. If, for whatever reason, you need to surface fast, don't hold your breath. Breathe out the entire way up. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "Okay, now I want you to put your face underwater and just breathe. Okay? Just show me you can do it."

  "'Kay," she mumbled through the mouthpiece. She took a deep breath then another as she readied herself. Finally, she put her face into the cold water. It was too dark to see anything other than the light from Rowan's flashlight, and despite his instructions, she held her breath. Come on, do it, she told herself. Don't be a baby. Everyone's watching. She breathed. Just a half breath at first but then another. The stunning revelation that she was breathing underwater sent a chill through her, almost enough to overcome her fear.

  She was breathing underwater.

  Angie lifted her face from the water. "Did it!" she said, spitting out the mouthpiece to grin at him.

  Rowan smiled and put the mouthpiece back in her mouth. "That's great, but don't drop the regulator again."

  She nodded.

  "Okay, then, let's go see the strange glowy thing in the bottom of an underground lake where a dragon used to live. If it is treasure, I get dibs."

  She smiled. Still holding her hand, he pulled her along the surface of the lake.

  All too soon, they reached the glow, deep below them. She tried to peer into the depths but couldn’t make anything out. Then he motioned for her to release air from her vest. Surprising herself, she remembered how. They began to sink, but very slowly, and the air pressure built much faster than she would have thought. After only a few feet Rowan stopped them, using his flippers to keep them in place, and watched her pinch her nose and blow. The air popped in her ears, feeling immensely better, and she nodded at him in surprise. They continued, slowly sinking into the depths of the lake. She barely noticed the cold now. Rowan stopped them every few feet to watch her equalize. They sank farther. Even with the equalization, the pressure became very uncomfortable, like she was being squished. Looking up, she saw nothing but air bubbles rising. Then, just for a moment, she saw something small and black dart through the water, maybe the size of her forearm.

  Something lives down here, she realized in sudden panic. Rowan squeezed her hand, tapped his face mask to get her attention, and then held the bridge of his nose. She focused on equalizing, on the task at hand—descending. Glancing down, she saw the golden glow was now much brighter. She could even see the bottom of the lake.

  And there, not ten feet away, at the base of one of the stalagmites, was the source of the glow. Angie’s breath caught in her throat.

  It was a golden egg the size of her head.

  She stared in disbelief.
Small scalelike indentations covered the surface of the egg. Then it pulsed with a bright golden glow, as if a star burned within it. With Rowan still holding her right hand, she reached out for it with her left, swimming closer, and her fingers trailed over its pebbled surface. It’s warm. She placed her palm against it.

  The dragon-mark on her palm throbbed. Energy coursed through her.

  She snatched her hand away, staring in wonder at the fang-mark on her palm as it glowed in time with the egg.

  Quetzalcoatl hadn't been the last of his kind after all.

  Tec leaned over the sandbags atop the wall, firing aimed shots down into the Aztalan soldiers. This was the third assault on the southern wall since the fighting had begun. The resupply teams were coming around less often now, and the last time, they had only handed out loose handfuls of 5.56 mm bullets instead of clips or preloaded magazines. They had savaged the enemy, though, and hundreds of Aztalan corpses littered the ground before the wall.

  He fired, dropped his target, picked another, fired, and dropped that one as well. Black smoke hung thick in the air, making his eyes water. The Aztalans had tried using trucks laden with explosives earlier, but all six of their improvised explosive vehicles burned in the field, the closest having come within forty meters of the wall. Tec was no fool. No way he'd let a rolling bomb get close to the walls.

  But if they try that now…

  His magazine was empty, the breech to the rear, so he reloaded with another, noting how few he had left. Everyone in the city had given up whatever they had. Someone claimed that even the city's underworld had provided guns and ammo—with the criminals now fighting alongside the defenders. No great fan of people, Tec had his doubts, but it was possible. Certainly, the criminals would understand that if the city fell, they'd end up on the sacrificial altars as well.

  Marshal had been on the radio, begging the other Commonwealth city-states to send a relief force, but Marshal was wasting his time, Tec knew. The other cities would sit back and watch, worried about themselves, hoping that the Aztalans might stop with Sanwa City. They wouldn’t. The Aztalans would take them out one at a time until the entire west coast was theirs. And then ... well, it wouldn't matter then; he'd be long dead.