by T. C. Edge
He peers through it, keeping low, and waves his hand to make sure I stay out of sight. I drop down beneath the window as he watches silently and intensely. Once more, a little further away now, I hear the rumble of engines.
Zander turns to me, his voice a harsh whisper. Finally, he answers my query.
“The trucks are used to transport the criminals to the REEF, outside the city,” he says. “They’ll be moving out soon. We have no time to waste.”
“The REEF? What’s the REEF?!”
“The Reconditioning, Examination, and Execution Facility,” he answers. “It’s where they take all criminals for whatever nefarious punishment they’ve been assigned.”
“And you think they’re moving out already?”
He nods.
“We heard the trucks moving overhead from the tunnels. That means they were going towards the prison. They’ll be loading up the criminals and moving them out soon.”
“How soon?!”
“I can’t be sure. As long as it takes to fill the trucks. Could be minutes only.”
“Minutes! Then what do we do?!”
He glances through the window again, arching his eyes to the sky. It’s quickly darkening, a mass of cloud cover sweeping from the north to blot out the fading light.
“We have to move now,” he says. “The holding cells are a couple of blocks northwest of here. Yet this might present an opportunity…”
“How?”
“If we catch the convoy between the holding cells and the gate, it might be easier to release your friend. The only problem is, we won’t know for sure if he’s being transported.”
“But the letter…it said he was being sentenced tonight.”
“Sentenced, yes, but not necessarily taken to the REEF. It’s possible he’ll be transported tomorrow, depending on numbers.”
“Then…how are we going to find out if he’s in a truck or being kept in the prison?”
“I can’t answer that until we get closer. Come on, follow me and keep low.”
With his back bent, he starts moving to an old door. Opening it up, we enter onto a deserted street, the hum of colour and noise from the inner district of the western quarter a way off to the east.
We turn northwest, however, towards the silent and empty roads and decaying buildings that spread around the boundary of Outer Haven. Around us, only a few lights appear in old buildings, the odd pair of eyes peering down in curiosity.
Moving in single file, I stick right behind Zander in his slipstream as he begins to rush along to the nearest alley, keeping close to the wall and low to the ground. We reach the alley and disappear into it, darting to the other side where a more open stretch of earth extends towards the city’s border.
We stop at the edge and look out, and I see the twinkling of a hundred little lights that dot the collection of buildings before us, all hidden behind high walls and a strong metal gate. It looks impenetrable, the walls fitted with razor sharp wire and metal spikes, the gate manned by armed guards peering relentless out towards us.
The night brings with it a bitter chill that descends as quickly as the sun departs. Beyond the wall and behind the gate, I see the rising of steam and know it can only be from the engines of the trucks. They must be in there now, preparing to be loaded.
But will Drum be with them?
“OK, what now?” I whisper harshly.
Zander doesn’t appear to be listening. His eyes scan the gate and walls and all external parts of the prison. I let him work. Moments later, he comes back to me, stepping deeper into the shadows of the side-street.
“The trucks will be blacked out. We’ll never be able to see if Drum’s inside.”
“Then what?”
“I need to get closer. There’s a guard on break, just outside the wall to the south. Do you see?”
I look around the side of the alley again and see the shape of a dark figure pressed up with his back against the high wall. There’s a little light hovering by his waist, which quickly rises up to his lips, smoke billowing out of its end.
“The one smoking,” I whisper, turning back. “What are you going to do?”
“Stay here,” he orders. “I’m going to find out what he knows.”
In a flash and a blur, Zander’s body shoots off, scuttling so fast away from me that even my new eyes are hardly able to keep up. He zips quickly, moving through the shadows, working his way towards the southern wall.
I quickly inspect the security of the prison again, and note that the men appear to be Con-Cops, and not Enhanced. Their eyes won’t be enough to see him coming, and he’ll choose his moment wisely to make his move.
As he continues to move in, I lose sight of him, merging away into the night and taking cover behind anything he can find. I keep my eyes on the smoking guard, casually tapping his foot against the wall behind him, looking towards the empty streets without a care in the world.
Then, suddenly, a form darts from the shadows. It’s on the guard before he can react, wrapping him up tight with strong arms and setting a glinting knife to his throat.
I focus hard and find my eyes zooming right in, see Zander whispering into the man’s ear from behind him. The guard’s eyes grow with fear, and I realise that he cannot be a Con-Cop, whose minds have been altered to suppress such a feeling.
He must be a normal man, his job to oversee this terrible place.
As his stark eyes weaken, his lips quiver, spilling the secrets that Zander is looking for.
I watch on as the knife hovers across his neck, expecting it to cut suddenly through is jugular and empty his body of blood. But Zander doesn’t do so. Instead, he turns the man to him and stares right into his eyes for a few moments.
And then he lets him go.
Less than a minute later, he’s whooshing through the dusty streets and emerging right in front of me. The guard, meanwhile, merely finishes off his cigarette, before wandering back around the wall and through a small door beside the gate.
“What the hell, Zander! The guard’s gonna say something…”
“No, he won’t. I erased his memory. He won’t know I was ever there.”
“You can do that? Erase people’s memory?”
“Sure. And you’ll be able to as well. In fact, it’ll be crucial for your mission.”
My mission…I’d rather not think about that now.
“And Drum? Do you know where he is?”
He nods, and as he does so, the sound of engines begins to rumble once more, quiet but audible beyond the gate. We both send our eyes to the source of the sound.
“He’s being transported tonight,” he tells me. “There will be two trucks. We just have to figure out which one he’s in.”
“So, now what? Sounds like they’re about to leave…”
“Yeah, and we need to be ready. Come on, sis, it’s time we laid a trap.”
With a little smirk that suggests he’s enjoying himself, he turns and fades back into the shadows, moving south through the western quarter.
And I follow right behind.
49
Zander’s knowledge of the city, as much as his substantial powers, is a godsend. Leading me southwards, we dash down side-streets and narrow alleys, quickly escaping district 10 and moving straight through 9.
Around the city’s perimeter, it’s quiet and lonely, the place – even though we’re in the western quarter – carrying a similar feel to the far reaches of the northern quarter. Here, so near to the boundary wall, the threat of the toxic mist has grown sufficient in recent years to drive people away.
The concern enters my mind as we rush through the streets, going as straight as we can in the direction of the western border gate that sits right between districts 8 and 9. We don’t move towards it, though, but begin moving back up into the district in the opposite direction as we near, readying ourselves to cut off the convoy before it can reach it.
“The trucks will have to take a longer route,” Zander tells me. “They�
��ll keep to the main roads a little deeper into district 9, and will have to circle around before hitting the western exit road that leads to the gate.”
Thankfully, we have no such restrictions, and use the narrow cut-throughs to make quick progress. Our Dasher powers – which we have to use sparingly due to my lack of endurance and practice – also helps us to arrive at a suitable ambush point before the trucks come into view.
Stopping behind a low wall outside of a tower block, just off a straight wide road, we crouch down and set our eyes to the distance. Swigging in some long breaths, I note the scent of the acidic mist that so often seeps into these rough edges of town.
I cough and splutter, and Zander quickly reaches into his coat and pulls out a gas mask. It’s just like the one he gave me when he took me beyond the city walls to meet Lady Orlando.
“If you’re having trouble with the air, put this on,” he says, handing it to me.
“What about you?” I ask, my nostrils and throat feeling like they’re on fire.
“I’ll be fine. I’m more used to it than you. This isn’t lethal, not around here. You’d have to go way outside of the city for that. Go ahead, put it on.”
I take his advice and place the mask over my nose and mouth, pulling the elastic straps around the back of my head. The sensation of relief is immediate and welcome.
“So, how are we going to stop these trucks exactly?” I ask, my voice now slightly muffled and distorted.
Zander answers by pulling another trick from his coat. This time it’s a pulse rifle, craftily folded up and hidden away. With the push of a button on its side, the handle extends, allowing him to fix the weapon to his shoulder to provide better stability for aiming.
I watch him work to fully unpack the weapon, pressing his thumb to a small scanner on its underside. A second later it hums to life, the barrel of the weapon glowing blue. It appears as though it activates to his thumbprint only, a useful security measure to ensure no one else can use it.
“And what are you going to do with that?” I ask, wondering just what he’s got in mind.
“Don’t look so worried,” he says. “This thing’s got an EMP setting. I’ll be able to disable the trucks. And like I said before, leave this to me, Brie. You just stay here and keep your head down. I can handle it.”
With time against us, I don’t argue. Instead, I turn my eyes to where his are, down to the end of the street a couple of hundred metres away. As the moon continues to creep across the sky, the darkening clouds ahead bring with them a growing mist, tinged with green and causing little tingles to dance across the exposed skin on my face.
“They’re coming from there?” I ask.
Zander nods, just staring. In the silence, I hear the distant hum of engines, and see a pale yellow light beginning to glow in the fog.
“They’re here,” whispers Zander. “Stay down, and don’t move. As soon as I’ve taken out the security, we run. Got it?”
“OK,” I whisper, watching the fog grow brighter.
It continues to do so, until from around the corner the first truck appears, little more than a shadow in the haze. Then, another joins it, right up behind, the two heavy vehicles grinding along the worn down streets.
They grow in clarity as they come, thickly armoured and devoid of windows, their metal extremities stained and rusted and eaten away by the toxic mist they so regularly have to contend with. They’re so unlike the vehicles from Inner haven, sleek and smooth and clean, operating under voice command.
The trucks aren’t run by a computer. Behind their windscreens, blacked out and covered in iron bars, an actual person will be driving, manually shifting these hulking metal husks in and out of the city. Ferrying people to the REEF to be returned as little more than shades of their old selves, if they return at all.
I stare at the two trucks and note that the one at the front is riding a little lower on the rear axle. It could just be filled with more criminals. It could just be in need of repair. Or, it might just be that Drum is sat there in the back, weighing the rear of the vehicle down.
“I think he’s in the front vehicle,” I whisper to Zander.
“How do you know?”
“It’s riding low.”
He seems to understand what I’m saying.
“OK, I’ll check that one first when I’ve disabled the guards.”
I appreciate his confidence. There’s nothing in his voice to suggest he’s concerned about what he’s about to face. I suspect he’s faced off against far greater foes across the years than this.
My throat feels like it’s turning to ash as I watch the trucks trundle on, my heart thundering so hard I feel it pulsing in my neck. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, and hear Zander growling through a whisper as his eyes fix to the front vehicle.
“Stay down,” he warns. “And be ready to move. It will all be over quick.”
I duck as low as I can, but can’t help but keep my eyes above the low wall, the trucks only about 50 metres from us now. Zander begins counting himself in.
“Three,” he whispers, his fingers gripping tight to the handle of his rifle. “Two…”
I brace for the fight, even though I’m a non-combatant, my entire body tensing and turning rigid as Zander says: “One.”
Immediately, his finger clicks the trigger and a little burst of blue spits out of the end of the barrel. Fizzing and swirling, it leaves a trail of sapphire light in its wake as it zeroes straight in on the first truck, hitting it square on the front.
The blue ball bursts, engulfing the entire truck in a coating of crackling sparks that quickly fade. The vehicle comes to a screeching stop, just as Zander sends a second round at the truck behind. It too is quickly immobilised, the wide road turning suddenly silent.
The eerie calm only lasts a second.
Bursting from the front doors of both vehicles, several armed men come. From my hidden vantage, I count three from the front truck and two from the rear.
They lift their weapons and point them in various directions, trying to find the source of the attack. Then their eyes discover the fading blue trails and turn towards the wall where we hide.
I look to Zander, and see him smile.
“Time to play,” he says.
Then, with a blast of air, he explodes from cover and storms at the men. None are able to see him coming or react before he reaches them. The first two don’t even have a chance to get off a shot, so quickly are they taken out and disabled.
Like lightning my brother moves, leaving his own trail of swirling mist as he surges from one man to the next, using the butt of his rifle to knock the men out. Once he’s taken out the first two, the third from the lead vehicle fires, lighting up the street with his own pulse rifle.
The rounds blaze from the tip, fizzing in my direction and burning holes in the tarmac and the sides of buildings. One comes right at me, hitting a portion of wall just to my left and leaving it with a black crater.
I thank my lucky stars that it didn’t come at me, yet find myself unable to tear my eyes from the scene. The rounds have no impact on Zander, his speed too great and eyesight too fierce to let himself be hit.
The guard’s brief attack ends abruptly, his lightshow brought to a swift conclusion by Zander’s rushing fist. By the time he’s been dealt with, the other two guards are storming around the truck and looking to engage.
The tenacity with which they do so makes it clear to me that they’re Con-Cops. No normal man would approach such a dangerous foe in this way, their fear holding them back and forcing a different response.
In most cases, that might be to surrender or flee. Only the bravest and most foolhardy would attack.
In such a way, fear can be both a hindrance and a help. Some men will be paralysed by it. But others will use it to their benefit, seeking out a course of action that will let them defeat their enemies without personal harm.
The Con-Cops have no such advantage, their ability to feel fear stripped aw
ay. So they rush in without thinking, without fearing what might become of them, without seeking a smarter way to take their opponent down.
Their failure is total. Zander sends them to the dirt in moments, leaving them unconscious but alive.
The sound of combat dies. The streets grow quiet again. And then, suddenly, I hear my brother call.
“Sis, it’s time! Let’s go!”
I stand without a second thought and pounce towards the trucks.
I find Zander at the rear one, fiddling with the settings on his rifle. He reduces the intensity of the pulse rounds and sets the gun to the door, shooting out the lock. It cracks and burns, and he reaches out to pull open the door.
Before he does, however, he turns to me with a tight frown.
“Step to the side and out of sight.” His voice is low now, a speedy whisper. “No one can see your face.”
“But the gas mask…”
“Will hide you to most, but not all. These people will be interrogated to find out who attacked the truck. If someone says your name your entire mission is bust before it even begins.”
“Not if we let them go…”
“There’s no time. And most will be caught anyway.”
His eyes force me to obey. I move around to the side of the truck, next to one of the knocked out Con-Cops. His body is slumped awkwardly, his jaw broken and nose running with blood. But he’s breathing.
Zander saw no need to kill these men.
As I stand to the side, I hear him opening the back of the truck. A sound of whimpering immediately drifts to my ears, men and women cowering in dark corners. They begin to cough and wheeze too, the green-tinged mist immediately pouring into the back of their mobile prison cell.
Zander’s voice whispers harshly.
“I’m looking for a boy named Drum.”
My breathing halts and my ears open wide. Time seems to stand still for a second. There’s no response. Then, after asking for a second time, a low but soft voice detonates from the truck’s interior.
“Who are you?”
I recognise it immediately. He sounds frightened. I want to rush around the side but hold my form.
