by T. C. Edge
“Glad you’re coming around,” I say.
He remains somewhat ambivalent, despite his words. And then, almost begrudgingly, a smile lifts on his bountiful lips, and he dips his head in the direction of my – our – companions.
“Well come on then,” he calls. “You don’t want to miss your ride.”
Together, we begin jogging after them, me having to run at a decent clip to make sure I keep pace with his lengthy strides. We catch them up soon enough, and I look down and across the streets to see people creeping from doors, emerging from their apartments, drawn out by the commotion and the fever of hope that’s suddenly gripped the city.
It’s amazing what words can do, Lady Orlando galvanising the people into action, showing them just what we stand for and who we are at a time when desperation is so rife.
Right now, the people will cling to anything they can grab hold of, so many of them thinking it, just not saying it. Those that have lost loved ones to the fighting, or seen them taken to the REEF, of giving them up for ‘optional reconditioning’.
Now, every single one of them who stayed strong, who rejected the lure that Cromwell dangled before their eyes, has been given a voice. The voice of the Nameless. The voice of freedom.
The voice of choice.
They come, creeping into the road, seeking out others who think as they do. Dozens of them, hundreds, spewing onto the sidewalk, looking to one another and nodding with a collective determination.
They look to us, a show of unity, a display of everything Lady Orlando said in a nutshell. Kira and me; hybrids of the Nameless. Mrs Carmichael, Tess, all the kids from the academy; regular Unenhanced seeking a better life. Titus and Magnus; City Guards choosing, too, to turn from the deceit of Cromwell, to join the fight for good.
They look at our grouping of giants and children and regular sized people in between, and say ‘yeah, I can do this. If they can, so can I’. And as we reach the van, and flock inside, I sense a change taking hold in the city, the frightened masses saying ‘no more!’ and surging towards the gates.
It’s a tight squeeze in the van, what with our two Brute escorts. They take up positions in the back, Magnus climbing in first with Mrs Carmichael, Titus following soon after once all the other kids have settled in, two giant bookends for our little gathering.
Only Abby, clinging to my hand once more with her soft little fingers, refuses to get in.
“I’m riding up front with you!” she announces.
Kira laughs. “Can’t argue with that.”
I can’t, and I don’t. Around the front we go, Kira stepping into the driver’s seat, me climbing in the other side with Abby alongside me.
As the van begins to chug, setting its sights back towards the inner wall and the southern gate, I can feel the weight in the back slowing us to a crawl.
“This one isn’t made for guys like us,” comes Magnus’ foghorn voice, a jetstream of hot air pouring at us through the little window into the back. I turn and see his massive face filling the entire space. “Maybe we should get out and follow behind,” he suggests.
“Nonsense,” shouts Kira. “She’s driving perfect. You two earned the ride.”
They sure did, although I suspect that plenty of their brethren might well follow suit. The City Guard are, for the most part, a very proud force of men and women, and after hearing, and seeing, what they all saw, there can be little doubt that many will see the light.
Grinding low, the van cruises on, scraping occasionally over any little mounds in the road. Kira keeps her steady, driving as quickly but as carefully as she can manage with such a precious cargo in the back.
And precious they are. I glance back, the window now free of Magnus’ moon-face, and see Mrs Carmichael speaking with the kids, easing any tension they feel. And Tess too, taking care of a couple of the newbies, herself showing her motherly side that, until recently, I never knew existed.
Then my eyes are drawn to Abby, sitting wide-eyed beside me, leaning forward as she gazes out of the window with her little pink backpack clasped between her fingers. She barely knows where to look, twitching like a puppy loaded up on amphetamines, excited by just about everything that passes across her eyeline.
I smile at seeing the thrill in her, the sort of joy only a child could feel at a time like this. And I smile at the knowledge that my friends are here with me now, safe, and the city is buzzing with an energy I haven’t felt since…well, ever.
Yet still, there’s a job for us to do, and the stark reality quickly swipes down at my growing elation as a crackle of gunfire buzzes from up the street.
The kids in the van cower and call out in concern, and I look a little way down the road to see a few of the fleeing civilians of the southern quarter being gunned down.
The van, so heavily loaded as it is, chugs to a slow stop, and from a side-street I see a small band of renegade Con-Cops marching forward, firing wantonly at people who might just be old friends, old relatives.
But these Con-Cops are no longer human, just vessels of Cromwell’s design, carrying out his evil purpose. Most may have gathered in the east, but pockets of them still remain here, perhaps waiting for this very thing.
Who knows just how deep Cromwell’s contingencies go. Who knows whether he considered this very situation to be a possibility all along, and made sure there would be Con-Cops littering the streets to ruin the party.
But not here, and not today.
I don’t have to think before acting. As the van skids to a glacially slow stop, I’m already opening the door and darting from the van, swinging up my pistol, dashing towards the little grouping of killers at a pace they cannot possibly see or contend with.
I skid along the turf, kicking up a trail of dust behind me, peppering my enemy with a barrage of bullets that cut quickly through flesh and bone. There are eight of them, their guns swinging to me, filling the air before me with a hundred hungry rounds.
I have my wits about me, and know that the van lies just down the street. I surge to one side, drawing their fire away from it, quickly ending the lives of three of their number before Kira can even join in.
Then she does, and together we act just as Zander and I did, firing and displacing and destroying the physical remains of these people who no longer have souls. We cut them down like lightning, my pistol running dry with a couple remaining, the poor final two suffering the indignity of being blown clean in half by my pulse rifle as I swing it from my back.
But they don’t care. They don’t feel. Not fear or pain or anything else.
And right now, nor do I. The process of killing, of administering death, has become second nature to me now. With my friends behind, and innocent people being so needlessly gunned down, I don’t have the luxury of caring.
I take lives to save lives.
That is what I do.
And when the eight men and women are lying dead in the dirt, Kira and I return straight to the van and step back inside. Abby looks up at me with eyes as big as dinner plates, the sheer wonder on her face growing exponentially.
“Queen-Brie..,” she whispers, staring, the fantastical stories of her comics coming to life..
I smile, wink, and then guide my eyes back ahead.
And the van just keeps on rumbling.
186
As the van moves on up the road, our eyes wash over the civilians caught out by the Con-Cops. It looked for all the world like all were dead, but my Hawk-eyes pick out some movement, and Kira, with her far more powerful senses, pricks up her ears and notes that a heart is still beating.
She stops the van immediately before I can suggest it, and just as we step out, the rear of the van opens up as the Brutes clamber out too. Losing their weight, the van rocks and rolls for a moment, swaying wildly before steadying like a boat caught in a sudden storm.
It’s in the Brute’s veins to help people in need. And it seems to be in mine too. Without hesitation, they lunge in and start checking for pulses and breathing. Kira, with a blend
of powers they can’t have even seen before, informs them that there’s only one survivor.
The woman in question, dark haired and middle-aged, is quickly scooped up as gently as the big men can manage, Titus doing the honours and quickly taking her back to the van. It’s getting overcrowded, so Magnus suggests the two giants stay on the streets and help, should they need to, to keep any fleeing people safe.
We agree that it’s the best course of action, not least because their weight is also slowing us down so much, and hit the gas immediately, speeding now far faster towards the southern gate.
Mrs Carmichael, given her extensive experience in patching up scrapes and burns and semi-major cuts, does what she can with what she’s got in the back. Yet a handful of bullet wounds to the body is more than she can realistically deal with, her job merely to halt the flow of blood using the medical provisions available.
Sitting up front, Abby now watches through the hatch window to the rear with a grim look on her face, the wonder gone and her fingers still gripping tightly at her pink pack. I do the same, the flow of blood from the woman’s body oozing into the metal cracks on the floor, forcing the kids to bend their legs and raise their feet to avoid it.
Speeding fast, we reach the southern gate in no time at all, Kira swerving down the shortest and safest routes, the van hurtling for the gate as one of our guards steps through the side door on the right.
I lean out of the window and wave and shout for them to open up, hoping it’s a Hawk on duty who might just recognise me. If they don’t, they sure do recognise the van, the guards at the western gate doing as Kira ordered and informing them that we may return this way.
Without needing to slow, the gate opens before we arrive, and the large trucks beyond pull away too to present us quick passage onto the outer spiral.
Far from the slow, leisurely tour I had when I first ventured here, the first-timers see only the cold empty streets rushing by in a blur. Yet most remain more interested in the poor woman slowly dying at their feet, a whole mess of hands now pressing down to stem the flow of crimson as it seeps from the holes in her flesh.
Winding down the outer spiral, we curl inwards down side-roads, making straight for the centre. In the City Guard HQ, proper medics and facilities are on hand, this rush to save a single life, a woman none of us have ever met, saying so much about the difference between us and those who cut her down.
In a panicking rush, we finally curve for the final time and speed straight down the central road on which the HQ sits. We can go only so far, the rubble from the High Tower spilling way off the platform and blocking much of the road, so are forced to screech to a stop a good fifty metres from the front door.
Our entrance doesn’t go unnoticed. Efficient as always, our men at the southern gate have called it in, and a medical team appear, running with a stretcher in hand and ready to get to work.
When I step out, it becomes immediately clear that yet more Savants have been recruited to our cause, two of the doctors carrying the flat demeanour that only they portray.
It’s odd, really, to think that these emotionless people will so willingly jump ship over to our side, happy enough to just follow orders from someone else now that their master has tucked tail and run.
But then again, come to think of it, it’s not weird at all. Savants are like sheep to a shepherd, smarter than the rest of us and yet unable to think for themselves. It’s a strange and cruel irony, really.
Their cool heads are, however, well suited to this sort of work, and so they, along with a couple of orderlies, quickly take the dying woman off our hands and rush her away to be seen to.
And, finally, we all breathe.
The kids clamber out of the van, some still huddling together for safety, others gazing around at the strange, alien streets.
Mostly, people coming to this part of the city would only be looking at one thing, finally venturing close enough to gaze right up at the High Tower, from base to tip. Now, it’s to the building’s remains that all eyes are drawn, even now still smoking at certain spots, a whirling cloud of dust constantly hovering above it like a dark cloud.
“Brie…where’s the High Tower?” asks Abby, at my side once more and tugging at my shirt.
Clearly, she didn’t see it come down. I wonder if any of them did, hidden away in that concert hall.
I catch eyes with Mrs Carmichael and she shakes her head.
“It’s gone, Abby,” is all I say.
The core of the city isn’t how we left it this morning. Now, with the afternoon drifting quickly by, and the sun beginning to trundle off towards the horizon, I see a sea of people peppering the huge, vast platform ahead, dispersed among the debris.
Already, a massive operation is underway, and much of the population of Inner Haven, it seems, have come to help out. Digging through the rubble, survivors are being sought out, and the many, many remains of the dead taken to be identified and cremated.
It’s a horrible job, but one that needs to be done. Many, it would seem, have come willingly, both the Unenhanced living here, and the regular Enhanced too, all of them banding together at this time of need.
Among it all, I see large machines as well, rumbling loudly with the guttural roars of their mighty engines. In areas cleared of the remains of the dead, they work to gather up huge piles of stone and brick and metal, some using giant sweepers, and others massive, robotic arms to clear the streets.
It’s all being overseen by a few of our people, keen perhaps to ensure that the evidence of what we’ve done is quickly swept away.
But really, this is more about a search for survivors. A public show of compassion as the city comes together to ensure that anyone trapped in the tangled mess get out of there alive.
Looking upon it, I can’t imagine that there’s anyone with a heartbeat in there.
“Come along now,” calls out Mrs Carmichael, herding the kids back into a more manageable group as they begin to wander and stray off course. “Let’s, um, get you somewhere safe.”
She clearly doesn’t know where that somewhere is. While trying to stay in control, it’s obvious that my old guardian is just as mesmerised by this place as the rest.
With Abby alongside me, I return to the group, moving up alongside Tess whose eyes have refused to budge from the ruins since we arrived.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it,” she murmurs. “It was only, what, months ago, less, that we were there on the platform for the ceremony.”
I nod silently, picturing the scene once more.
Tess seems to be doing the same.
“Do you remember how uptight Sophie was?” she asks, smiling at the memory. “She was all about the etiquette…hardly seems to matter now. Do you know if she’s…alive?”
I forget how little Tess must know about all this. How much I’ve been through that she hasn’t been a part of.
“She’s fine,” I say, hoping that’s the case but, in reality, not truly knowing. “She’s way outside the city, in some old mines. I helped get some of our people there to safety. Oh, and Drum’s there too.”
She rounds on me.
“Drum! He’s OK?!”
“He was when I left him,” I say.
A long blow of air is pressed from her lungs, battling from between partially open lips.
“I’ve missed a lot, huh,” she puffs. “And um, sorry for…you know…trying to kill you.”
Her eyes dip shamefully, and Abby looks up at her in shock and surprise.
I look down at the little girl.
“No, she doesn’t mean it, Abs,” I say. “She didn’t try to kill me.”
“Well,” shrugs Tess, cradling her abdomen and the padded dressing beneath her shirt. “I’ve got the scars to prove it.”
“Tess, it wasn’t you, or Brenda. You had no choice in the matter. I’d hoped you wouldn’t remember.”
“I remember enough,” she says. “Comes in flashes, you know…”
“Well, I can take care
of that if you want.”
“Yeah, I guess you can. Show off…” She looks at me with a smirk. It’s not like the rest, gazing at me in wonder. No, not Tess. She’s my best friend, and doesn’t get impressed by such things. I’m delighted to see that she’ll treat me just the same as ever.
Abby, on the other hand, seems quite unable to look elsewhere but me right now. All with that slack jawed gape that marks me out as very different to the rest.
When Kira comes jogging over – it seems she returned to the HQ briefly and has gathered up a couple of administrators – Abby now looks at her in much the same manner. Her appearance alone is enough to garner such interest, what with those dazzling green eyes and wild red hair. Add some rather fantastical abilities to the mix and you’ve got yourself an attention-seeking winner.
“Right, everyone,” she says, commanding all our attention. “We’re going to get you housed, OK. This way.”
We follow her and the two tablet-wielding admins towards a building a little way up the street, marching in the opposite direction from the City Guard HQ and right towards a building I’m quite familiar with – Compton’s Hall.
Moving past the pillars outside and into the reception hall, I find a whole stream of mattresses and beds being ferried into the main hall itself. Tess’s eyes wander about, and I nudge her in the side, a little too close to her stab-wound for comfort.
She grunts. I apologise, and then say: “You always wanted to go to a bachelor ball, right?” with a grin.
“Here? This is where they take place?” she asks.
“Yep, right here in this big dull building.”
Right now, however, it’s anything but dull. Instead of the bland open space, it’s filled with beds and food and water stations, very distinct areas set up for little groups just like ours. There’s not much privacy, but then again that’s hardly a priority right now.
“OK, here we are,” says Kira. “It’s just temporary for now, while we get things sorted.”
I suspect it’s a lot easier to manage the people if they’re all bunched together. And, should any attack come, they’ll be easier to protect too.
