The Enhanced Series Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  Wait for us at the assigned point, I tell him. Wait for us until we arrive.

  I withdraw. Now his expression does change. It’s in the eyes, which glaze over for a moment, before turning detached once more.

  “So?” I ask.

  The Stalker’s jaw grinds open.

  “We will wait,” he drones.

  It’s all I need to know.

  “OK, enough talking. We’ll see you there.”

  I immediately begin rushing off again, with an additional four Nameless soldiers alongside. It looks as though I’ve put out that fire, for now at least. Then again, I did kind of start it myself by shooting Zander in the first place.

  We cut our way back through the network of lanes and passages, dashing swiftly for the main road. I’m a little more cautious this time as I take on the leadership role, feeling somewhat responsible for these more seasoned warriors. Stopping at each intersection, and at the end of each alley, I’m careful to ensure all routes are clear before advancing. I even try using Zander’s convoluted list of hand gestures on the men, to limited effect.

  Still, I do my best and work us towards the fancy tenement block without hindrance. We arrive to find Zander absent from the concierge desk. His voice issues instead from behind a sturdy pillar to one side.

  “You’re back,” he says, stepping into the light. The glow illuminates his face. He looks rather pale from blood loss.

  “What are you doing over there?!” I ask. “Come, lie down. We’ll sort out the wound.”

  He comes forward, trying to stay as upright as possible and keeping his expression light. I doubt he wants to show weakness in front of the men, his obvious pain held at bay.

  “I was taking cover,” he tells me as he passes by. “If someone else had come in, I wouldn’t have been in a good spot standing in the middle of the hall now would I?”

  I don’t answer, but instead force him to lie down this time. First, however, his armour and combat gear are removed, allowing for our resident medic to do his work. Pulling a small medikit from a pocket in his jacket, he lays it out and begins assessing the wound. I wait nervously to see whether my analysis was about right.

  It seems it was.

  “Clean wound, a pretty serious graze but not much more. The gash is a couple of inches, though. Looks like you’ve lost a fair bit of blood, sir.”

  “Nothing that can’t be replenished,” grunts Zander. “Where are the others?” He seems to have only just noticed the Stalkers are absent. “Outside, standing guard?” he queries.

  “Not exactly,” I say as the medic begins stapling his gash. Zander flinches but doesn’t make a peep. “They wouldn’t come, said they have to get on with the mission immediately…”

  “What!”

  “Settle down, sir. You need to stay still,” says the medic.

  “It’s not a problem,” I reassure him. “You know Stalkers, they can’t think for themselves. But they can be manipulated. I made sure that they’ll be waiting for us at the designated point.”

  “The designated point? Brie, there isn’t one. Not really. Just a general area. We can’t know about the enemy positions until we get close. Jeez…”

  “Well, I did my best, OK.”

  “I know, I know. It’s not your fault.” He looks at the medic. “Hurry up with that. We have to go asap.”

  “Are you sure you’re able?” I ask. “You look…pale, brother. Maybe you should head back over our lines.”

  I’m fully aware the suggestion will be met with some frost. The glacial stare I’m greeted with is perhaps more severe than I’d expected.

  “I guess I’ll take that as a no,” I mumble.

  “Good guess,” snarls Zander. “I’m fine.”

  “Hmmmm. Sure. So did you get in touch with the other teams?”

  “One. The other two didn’t answer. Probably too risky to make contact.”

  “And? Which one did you speak with?”

  “The western team. They’ve managed to unload our scout. He should be approaching the western perimeter wall already and heading towards the REEF.”

  “Good. And are the team ready to strike?”

  “Yes. They’ve encountered no resistance so far, but are ready to break up and close in on the enemy positions to the rear. I’m sure the other teams are the same. We have to go immediately. Are you done?!”

  He looks at the medic who puts the finishing touches to the wound, now stapled and seared shut.

  “Just a dressing, and we’re good,” he says calmly.

  “Make it quick.”

  He does, working efficiently under pressure. Within another minute, Zander’s side is patched up and his clothes and armour are back on. He still looks a little drained, but the blood flow has at least been stopped. It should be enough temporarily. He can get some more thorough attention back at the HQ.

  Retaking charge of the team - well, half of it at least - he gathers us together at the door and brushes off the questioning expressions. The pallor of his facial skin is sufficient to draw concern from the group, yet they clearly know not to call attention to it.

  Zander is belligerent and stubborn to a fault sometimes, particularly when it comes to battle. It’s as if he’s always trying to prove something, whether to others of himself I’m not sure. To show that he can go on and on, come hell or high water, and never back down from a fight.

  I see it as a weakness of his, not a strength, and a very dangerous one. Not only could such behaviour get himself killed, but it could others as well. What if he faints during battle from blood loss? He’ll be shot dead, surely, and so might anyone else he was meant to be covering.

  In situations such as this, you need to be completely honest with yourself. If you’re not operating at a high enough level, you need to withdraw from the game. Right now, those are the queries in the men’s eyes. And yet they trust their young leader to make the right call. After all, he knows his limits far better than anyone else. We just have to hope he’s not overstretching.

  So it’s back out onto the streets we go, moving back the way we came and veering off towards the west. My watch doesn’t work, but I estimate about seven or eight minutes have passed since we left the Stalkers. A swift job, no doubt, and hopefully they’ll still be waiting as I ordered.

  I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

  277

  Our path through the network of alleys and lanes is at an end. And with its conclusion growing near, the fighting at the blockade has grown louder. Now, the chattering of guns is more evident than ever, dozens, perhaps hundreds of weapons joining in the chorus. Explosions sound too, ripping through the air like thunder strikes, the air growing more misty as we approach, the accumulation of smoke and soot and dust from toppling buildings setting a grey film over the streets.

  That film suits us well, and conceals us as we approach. Through the mist, down long roads, figures now begin to appear. Their shapes are evident, darker than the fog, each of them flashing with little yellow lights as their guns rattle and discharge. We’re at the rear now, our position secure. And before we strike, we have two jobs to complete.

  First, locate the Stalkers.

  Second, scout for Cure soldiers on watch, and then get into position.

  If the action so far is anything to go by, my grandmother’s assertion that the Cure are consumed by hubris stands firm. We’ve faced little hindrance on our path here, easily sidestepping or disabling any units we pass. And now we’re close, so close to their rear lines, exposed and vulnerable and so very appealing to my eyes.

  Zander sets out the orders verbally this time. It’s so loud here that his voice is easily concealed among our group, huddled tight so his words reach our ears.

  “We move, street by street. The Stalkers will be close. Looks like they haven’t engaged. Let’s go.”

  We waste no time, and move quickly off, the growing fog a great and unexpected boon to our cause. All soldiers here are little more than silhouettes, figures in the m
ist, and we’re no different. From afar, a Cure soldier spotting us would likely just think us one of their own units. There’s nothing to differentiate us from them in conditions like this.

  It helps us move swiftly, yet we still do so with care. My brother appears focused and alert enough to quickly assuage my doubts about his physical state. I suppose I shouldn’t doubt him at all. After all, he was still outperforming me after a couple of days without sleep.

  At first I watch him close. Then I forget all about the gash to his side as he takes charge in his usual manner. His decisions are swift, his orders succinct. He leads us through further roads, working cleverly down paths he’s stalked and hunted before. And before too long, our first job is nearing completion.

  It isn’t us who find the Stalkers, however, but they who find us. Their cloaks are perhaps more easy to differentiate among all these faceless shadows in the mist, but we don’t spot them. Instead, it’s their dark troop of six that appears from the murk, hissing at us from the cover of some rubble. We turn quickly, guns primed, until we see their eyes glinting in the shade.

  “We waited,” comes a voice. “Now it’s time to act.”

  We hurry to their cover first, Zander’s reappearance smoothing over the tension between the two groups. Still, I note the show of suspicion in the eyes of the Nameless, fully aware that these men can’t be trusted. That they may, at any time, turn on us right here so far from our lines.

  It’s a valid worry, and yet we can’t give it much thought. All we can do is continue on with the plan and keep it in our periphery. Always in mind, but off to one side. If they make a move, at least one of us will see it coming.

  As we move into cover, I begin to realise just where we are. The main blockade, which was once in the central ring of the southern quarter, is now located at the inner ring. Here, we’re somewhere between the two, right behind the Cure’s forces just off the main road. From here, it wouldn’t take long to get to Culture Corner. Or Sophie’s training house. Or the fancy shops and cafes and well appointed apartments that litter this part of town.

  Yet, the fighting has passed through now, and these districts aren’t as they were. It is more akin to the northern quarter now, a desolate place. A ruin and little more, still smouldering all over and littered with hundreds of bodies.

  I suppose, with all I’ve been through, I’ve grown blinkered to it all, blinded to the horror. Yet when I think about it, and really look, I see tragedy everywhere. Lives lost and ruined. Homes wrecked. Entire blocks destroyed.

  When all of this is done, there won’t be much of Outer Haven left. Now, all of our might needs to be put towards protecting Inner Haven, a place that was once so alien to me, to all of us who dwelled in these parts.

  No more. Inner Haven is now the last sanctuary for all residents of this city. And right now, the Cure are advancing on it fast…

  Regrouped with our full complement back together, Zander swiftly sets about issuing orders. The Stalkers, once again, listen and take note, instructed to follow them. I guess it’s a good thing he decided to continue after all.

  The plan is now simple, and already discussed at some length before we left. We will divide into groups of two, move into position across the breadth of the enemy’s rear, and begin our assault as one. Six coordinated strikes, using what explosives we have, to cause mayhem in the enemy ranks. We’ll take down as many as we can before retreating, working back in the same direction we came. If we’re followed, we’ll draw the Cure soldiers towards the fixed positions along our lines, catching them in the snare.

  It’s a basic plan, but requires stealth and synergy. Each team of two will need to sneak into position before we all act. The better coordinated we are, the more effective the strike will be.

  First of all, Zander divides us up. To no surprise, he pairs us together, before merely doubling up the six Stalkers and four remaining Nameless based on how close they’re standing to each other. He points down the line, setting the pairs, before getting onto the radio to make contact with the other teams.

  He’s successful, once more, with the one in the west. They’re in position, ready to attack. He tries the northern and eastern teams. There’s no answer from the north, but there is from the east. They, too, are now working into position, a little delayed like us. It seems they got into a heavy firefight, losing a couple of men in the process and yet, somehow, not alerting the main force sieging the eastern blockades.

  He tries a couple more times with the northern team, and is unsuccessful. In the end, three out of four isn’t too bad, and with any luck the final team will still be in play, just out of contact.

  “Right,” he says, completing his communications. “We go. You know your pairs and you know your routes. No talking from here. Get into position, and set your timers. We strike in ten minutes exactly.”

  Pair by pair, we begin moving, each team heading off in different directions. From here, just east of the central road, the route will take us all north to the main fighting. And Zander and I will be right in the thick of it, one of the two teams tasked with going right up the middle.

  My brother, of course, wouldn’t have it any other way. And neither would I.

  Speaking telepathically, we surge northwards, up streets parallel to the primary road. Our unique ability negates the need for hand signals and eye contact. I’m in his head, and can almost see through his eyes too. We have a 360 view of our surroundings, merging as a single fighting entity as we press on, stopping and starting if ever a shape materialises in the mist.

  The battle grows ever louder, ever more aggressive. Within minutes, we’re working close enough to make out the masses in the fog, see the many hundreds of soldiers hidden behind cover and barricades, standing and shooting and, sometimes, speeding off down other channels to try to make small flanking moves.

  The dead are clear to see. They pile up behind the enemy lines, men and women dropping to the dust as they march inexorably forward. Their losses will no doubt have been far greater than ours. But they can take it. They have the numbers. And freshly bolstered, they’re pressing closer and closer to the walls of Inner Haven. Closer and closer to the civilian population.

  Five minutes have passed, and our strike zone has been reached.

  We will attack from here, Zander tells me. We need a good vantage.

  I search through the fog and see a rare undamaged building. It looks sturdy, and unattended.

  How about there? I say.

  Zander doesn’t need to ask me where I’m looking. Our link is such that he already knows.

  He peruses the structure, just across the street and tall enough to give a great view of the action below. With our Dasher powers, we could toss grenades a fair distance from there, rain them down from on high and devastate those below. And in the mayhem, our pulse rifles will tear the enemy apart.

  I like it, says my brother, a wicked smile gracing his pale face. Good spot. Let’s go.

  We turn and move back, working around so as to remain unseen. Flashing between cover, we arrive within another minute, before quickly checking that the foyer is empty. It’s quiet and still inside, blocked off from the battle. The walls are thick, the doors solid. No wonder it remains untouched.

  With the clock counting quickly down, we hurry up the many flights of stairs, the lift seemingly disabled. By the time we reach the top, a dozen floors up, I’m panting hard. Zander does the same, clutching his side as a hint of blood starts to creep through the dressing.

  “The staples are coming apart,” I say. “You have to be careful.”

  “I don’t have time to be careful,” he grunts.

  Finally, we reach the empty roof, and the cacophony grows once more. The edge of the building is walled, a perfect four foot barrier to conceal us. Over the top, and down below, I see the sprawling battle spreading into the distance, clear in spots and hidden in others by the heavy mist. The bird’s eye view presents a unique look upon the enemy, their numbers still strong as our
defence struggles to hold them out.

  I can’t see our own people with such clarity, but can get a good impression of the barriers, blockades, and defences in place. And beyond, the shape of the walls to Inner Haven come into view as well, so sparsely defended now.

  Zander checks his clock.

  One minute, he says. Gather all grenades. Set them on the wall. We throw right there along the lines. He points out the perfect spots. Create havoc, sis, and then unload with your pulse rifle. Make sure it’s charged. Fifty seconds now…

  I set my grenades as ordered, then check my rifle. It’s good to go.

  Forty seconds.

  All explosives are lined up, six each. My brother has some final advice.

  I’ll throw longer, he says, and try to reach further behind their lines. You throw closer, right on the edge. We’ll close them in a fire trap.

  Thirty seconds.

  I look behind us, and check that the door to the roof is shut and locked. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us from behind. I turn back to the action as the wind picks up. The clouds are starting to gather above.

  Twenty seconds.

  I wonder now if the others are in position. I turn left and right and try to see the little teams down on the street. I lift my gaze to other rooftops, wondering if they had the same idea as us. Then I see two shapes, and my chest swells. Two of the Nameless are nearby, ready to add their storm to ours.

  The others are out of sight, but I know they’ll be ready. The Cure have fallen into our trap. They have no watchers at their rear. They have no concern of such a strike. Hubris, as Lady Orlando said, has made them vulnerable. They have no idea what’s coming.

  Ten seconds.

  I take hold of a grenade, and grip it tight. My heart pumps, my ears throbbing with blood and noise. I reach back, as my brother does, ready to throw with all my enhanced force and speed.

  Five seconds.

  I take a breath, Zander whispering the countdown in my head.