by T. C. Edge
“Let’s hope so. So, what now for us?”
“We head for Inner Haven…”
“But what can we do there? We need to help secure our forces across the wall.”
My brother begins to nod.
“Hmmm. Perhaps you’re right. But Commander Burns and Lady Orlando need to know what’s happening.”
“They will,” I say. “But if radio comms are being interrupted, what’s the point in going back there? We should be in the west. That’s where the fighting will be.”
As I speak, the colour of crimson fills my eyes again. I look at Zander’s wound. He can’t fight. Not now. He needs that fully taken care of first.
“Actually,” I say. “Maybe…maybe we should head back. We’ve been given some warning at least. We have some time. And…that wound needs to be properly seen to. You’re losing blood again, and going pale.”
Zander never likes any reference to weakness regarding his physical state. However, there’s no denying that his powers are waning, and will continue to do so should he go on like this. He needs to be stitched up and refuelled. Only then should we return to the wall.
“You’re probably right,” he concedes. “I am feeling a little…dizzy.”
“Right. Well, let’s go then. The commander here has things in hand. And the hybrids are taking word around the city. We’ve done our bit for now.”
He nods, and as he does, I see a familiar shape over his shoulder. Moving from his position defending an alley down the street, the lumbering frame of Drum appears, relocating with his unit as the orders are swiftly given to do so.
I find myself stepping away from Zander, and calling out his name.
“Drum!” I shout, a smile crafting itself onto my face.
He turns, and sees me, then hesitates as his men move off. I don’t force him into a decision. Instead, I rush towards him, closing the space between us with a flash of flowing legs.
“Brie,” he smiles. “I heard you were around here. Are you OK? You were on the strike team?”
I nod, and then hug him. It’s such a comforting feeling, wrapping my arms around his great trunk. It reminds me of a simpler time.
“I’m good, Drum. Real good. You’re heading back to the southern gate?”
“Yeah. We just got the order.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “We’re meant to leave Cromwell loyalists behind…”
“Yeah, I know. I helped make that plan.”
“You did? Well…it’s hard. They know we’re moving. The commander has put them into their own units, but they know something’s up.”
“Don’t worry about it, Drum. Just get back through the gate where it’s safe, OK.”
“Safe. Is it really safe there?”
“Safer than here,” I say. “There are still plenty of Cure left. They’ll help slow Cromwell’s men down. But…they’re weak and ready to fall. It won’t take long.”
“Right. So, this is our last stand?”
I nod.
“No more backward steps. I promise.”
I reach up and cup his cheek, and see that innocent smile of his, that used to grace his face so often, appear once more. That visage he’s been building, that of a soldier, is stripped away, and the oversized boy from the academy takes centre stage again.
It lasts a second, but it’s enough.
“OK, little brother,” I say to him. “You don’t want to lose your unit.”
He smiles a toothy grin, and sweeps my body up into a hug. The breath is pressed from me for a second, as it used to be. Again, I like it. It may not be comfortable, but it is comforting.
As soon as he drops me back down, he moves off, heading northwards towards the gate with his troop. Zander wanders over to me, having given us a moment alone.
“How is he?” he asks.
“In good spirits,” I say.
“That’s good. Looks like Rhoth’s moving too.”
“Huh?”
I see his eyes spreading behind me, and turn to see the shapes of the Fangs, slipping northwards too. They’re all together, heeding the call to retreat, the dying embers of a proud tribe of hunters. This war, this battle, is too much for them. It pains me to see them so depleted.
I just pray that their flame doesn’t go out completely.
“Should we go with them?” I ask.
Zander shakes his head.
“Rhoth will take care of them. And they’d only slow us down. We need to move quick now. I’ve had my rest. I’m ready.”
“Then so am I.”
Turning north, we begin working straight up the nearest alley, veering a little towards the west where the main blockade in the south is still under bombardment. As we grow closer, still using our Dasher powers, though sparingly, I note that the attack from the Cure’s remaining soldiers continues to build steam. It appears that they’re making a final surge here, and possibly in all parts of the city, without knowing what lies behind them.
In the spare moments I have to ponder it, my instincts tell me something’s not quite right. I don’t voice my suspicions, but it seems to me that the Cure aren’t quite as weakened as we thought.
I turn my mind away, and focus on getting back to Inner Haven. The gate is near now, and as we reach the main street, the southern blockade so close, I see other soldiers spreading north, desperately retreating and rushing for the wall.
There seems to be some measure of panic. The lines of communication are breaking down, and as they do, all soldiers start to withdraw. It’s hard to know at a glance, but I can only assume that many City Guards still loyal to Cromwell are part of that number. And more obvious are the Con-Cops, ordered to follow the instructions laid down by their commanders, but seeming to become embroiled in the swell as hundreds of soldiers now make for the gate.
We rush through them, much faster than most can run. And over in the west, the thunderous roar of battle seems to escalate, harkening back to days ago when the Cure’s full force first advanced upon the city, and broke through our lines at the perimeter wall.
The gate is open when we arrive, soldiers already passing through. Orders have clearly been given, and I begin to hope that certain radio signals are still in operation. But the entire place is a mess, falling quickly into turmoil. Our people, and Cromwell’s people, appear to mingle together, hurrying as one as the blockade starts to crack and fall, the Cure’s army overrunning us.
I turn back amid the madness, and take a calming breath. My Hawk eyes summon their full power, spreading far from where I stand. At the main blockade, details come into focus, and the flashes of gunfire and exploding grenades become more prominent. I see shapes and shadows massing, far more of them than there should be. They spread like a plague, sniffing blood as the orders spread through our ranks to withdraw.
The blockade is quickly surrendering to an enemy we thought were neutered. An enemy we believed to be in disarray, and right there for the taking.
And as I watch, the pieces of the puzzle come together in my mind, and I realise that we misunderstood the scout’s words.
This isn’t Cromwell’s doing at all…
“Brie…come on!”
Zander’s voice fills my head, and my gaze pulls back. I take a sharp breath, coming out of my reverie. He looks into my eyes, dark and intense.
“What…what’s going on? What did you see?”
I shake my head, and my shoulders slacken.
“The scout didn’t see Cromwell’s secret army,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…he never said what he saw. Just that soldiers were coming from the west. He never mentioned Cromwell. This isn’t about our grandfather…”
Zander’s eyes tighten. “The Cure,” he whispers. “Another battalion?”
My head shakes once more.
“No, not another battalion,” I breathe. “Another army…”
281
The realisation dawns on Zander as quickly as it did on me. His eyes turn to all parts and take in the rush of bo
dies, the hysteria taking hold as the orders to retreat spread through our ranks. Then his gaze stops, his body unmoving as he looks right down the main road as I did. He takes a second, then blinks as he withdraws.
“Damn. You’re right,” he mumbles. “There are too many of them. And we’re in the south. What the hell is it like in the west?!”
At that moment, several more explosions ring out from the distance, from the very quarter under question. If the Cure are bolstering their ranks here, enough to overturn our retreating army, then they’ll quickly do the same in the west.
Sharing a look, we both know that there’s no time now to head back to Inner Haven. Together, we sprint for the gate, passing right through amid the rush. Guards there are trying to separate the soldiers as they pass, working to prevent Cromwell’s loyalists from entering. It’s a thankless and impossible task.
“Forget it”! Zander calls out to them. “Let them all in. There’s no time. Shut the gates when the enemy get near. We can’t let them past the wall!”
His fly-by orders are taken on board, and we’re quickly hunting down a vehicle. There are plenty to choose from, parked along the outer spiral, ready to ferry soldiers to where they’re needed most. And right now, we’re needed in the west.
We jump into a jeep, and Zander starts the engine. It chugs to life, and he hits the gas, speeding us around the outermost street that circles Inner Haven.
The going is quick, the streets clear of the devastation that litters the lands beyond the wall. So far, Inner Haven has been untouched, except for the loss of the High Tower some weeks ago. They remain pristine compared to their sisters across the wall, though empty of life as all civilians huddle closer to the core. The only hindrances are the small roadblocks in place, though there are fewer of them here. If the enemy breach the inner wall, we’ll have a much harder time stopping them.
The car doesn’t have far to go. Circling the boundary, we’re quickly approaching the western gate, and the rush of soldiers grows clear once again. They spread inside, hurrying to safety, some looking stricken and shellshocked, others immediately climbing into position atop the ramparts to begin the inevitable defence.
The car judders to a stop, screeching on the tarmac, and we pile out, leaving the doors wide open. We sprint in the opposite direction as everyone else, hunting quickly for those tasked with guarding the gate and ensuring only our own men get through.
Once more, there are some soldiers trying to stem the flow, but it’s impossible.
“Let them pass!” Zander roars again. “We have no time to pick and choose! The blockades are being overrun!”
We battle through the rushing crowds, moving back past the gate and into Outer Haven. The swell of pouring men is stronger, and searching forward, the sight of the Cure’s army appears. It’s vast, all gathered here, moving straight for our lines as our last, bravest, soldiers try to hold them off.
“We have to help!” shouts Zander. “Come on!”
Forgetting his wound and weariness, he darts further down the street, and I follow right behind. Our pulse rifles are pulled from our backs, and seeing us come, many other soldiers slow and turn, galvanised by our appearance.
“Hold them off!” roars Zander, setting a fire beneath them. “Light the bastards up!”
Dozens of soldiers now turn and join us. I’m shocked to see that there are Con-Cops among them, even some Stalkers. Drawn by the movement of the masses, they seemed to just go with the crowd. But now, my brother stands tall, and his orders are obeyed.
We move west, past barriers set as the final line of defence. The blockade here spans a good stretch, half a kilometre of temporary walls and roadblocks and little base camps. Still, some soldiers continue to fight from cover, pouring fire at the advancing army. I see it clearer now as we go, the shape of a tremendous force amid the mist. I set my rifle to its most devastating setting and unleash my blue flame.
The bravest of men continue to be drawn to us, our collective will to fight them off slowing them just a touch. The barrage of gunfire that comes our way is relentless, hundreds, thousands of old firearms peppering our positions with deadly lead. Men fall left and right of me, not hit by skill or some talented marksmen, but by sheer numbers. Lift your head from cover at the wrong time, and you have to rely on luck to stay alive.
I’m lucky, I guess. I spend more time out of cover than I should, feeling as though my pulse rifle is a shield. In a manner, it is, the blue rounds of energy able to eat away any bullets that hunt me down. I fire without stopping until my rifle begins to grow hot, its charge running out.
Now I drop, right beside my brother as he fires too with more care and accuracy. I don’t stay down for long. Gripping my pistols from their holsters, I rise above the barrier and fire. This time I take aim at anyone getting too close to our lines. Men of the Cure rush forward, nothing but cannon fodder. They hurtle in with no fear of death, programmed perhaps as the Con-Cops are, yelling manically and in a manner to intimidate.
But we aren’t intimidated. All the hundred or so men and women still defending the lines are courageous beyond measure. Willing to die right here to allow the rest of us to get to safety, they will remain unmovable until the last moment.
That moment is surely coming. As my magazines run out, and I duck below cover again to change them, I look back to see our people still squeezing through the gate away in the distance. There’s a growing gap now, between us holding the line, and the remainder escaping behind the walls. The larger that gap becomes, the more stranded we’ll be.
I look to Zander, his own pulse rifle now running out of charge. As it fails him, so does his body. I see him blinking wildly amid the maelstrom, his eyes losing focus. He drops to the floor in a heap, his rifle knocked from his hands as he collapses.
“Zander!” I shout.
I heave him up into a sitting position, and take his pulse. It’s growing weaker, his side still weeping blood. I look down the line to a huge, well armoured Brute, bullets bouncing off him as he fires a mighty weapon at the advancing soldiers.
“Here! You!” I roar.
He glances at me, not sure if I’m calling for him.
“Yes, you! I need help! Right now!”
Seeing Zander, bloodied and in my arms, he comes crashing over without hesitation. I lightly slap my brother’s cheek, my heart rate spiking as his eyes flicker and begin to open.
“Zander, can you hear me? Zander!”
He seems to come back round, nodding and wincing.
“I…I hear you. I’m…OK.”
He reaches weakly for his pulse rifle, forgetting it’s out of charge.
“No!” I slap his hand away. “We’re getting you back to the gate right now, before it’s too late.”
I look at the gigantic Brute above me, crouching on his knees and only just hidden behind the barrier. His armour appears thick enough to repel all but the most devastating of gunfire.
“Can you carry him? Straight back to the gate?” I ask.
“Of course,” booms his voice.
“Then go! Now! Don’t wait!”
He bows, slips his powerful arms beneath my brother’s body, and lifts him easily from the floor. Then, turning his back as more bullets ping off his armour, he begins bounding east towards the gate, so fast for a man of such size and proportions.
I’m alone now, here in the middle of hell. But no, not alone. We have soldiers left, fine soldiers, brave soldiers. I look left and right, and then sneak my eyes over the barrier. The Cure are still coming, the heaving mass gathering. We can’t hold them back any longer.
If we stay here, we’ll all die. It would be a senseless waste.
So, roaring left and right, I call for the retreat.
“Head back for the wall!” I bellow as loudly as I can. “Run for the gate! Now!”
Some hear me, only those closest. I pray for them to treat me as they would my brother. For them to heed my order.
And they do.
My
words are taken down the line, moving from one soldier to the next. Soon, the call to retreat has been heard by all, and we’re rushing back from the front line, moving quickly between cover, and firing as we go to slow the pursuit.
Most are Dashers, able to cover the ground fast enough to avoid being hit. Those that aren’t are helped along, their allies fixing to their sides and speeding their step. We displace and fire, edging to safety, cutting down the enemy as they draw near.
Then, suddenly, a couple of heavy booms shake the earth and sky. They crack like thunder, spreading from either side of the gate. I look ahead, and see the mighty guns fixed to the wall, firing now over our heads at the massing army. Huge shells and balls of burning energy fly over, tearing up the ground and buildings behind us and shielding our retreat.
A muted roar issues from my allies, and we rush a little faster as more booming blasts fill the air. The Cure have ventured into range, and with our soldiers having pulled back, the full capabilities of our defence can be unleashed.
Joining the huge gun placements, I see soldiers firing from the ramparts. The multi-coloured balls of energy, sent from a hundred pulse rifles, fly over my head like shooting stars. The sky above, darkening as the clouds gather, glows with a dazzling array of lights. And all over, the deafening din grows so unbearable I think I might just pass out.
I continue on, reaching the final stretch. Ahead, I see the totemic Brute lumbering across the threshold. I speed faster towards him as the rest of the soldiers come with me, some dropping as their luck runs dry, errant bullets catching them before they can get to safety.
My lungs burn, and my legs wobble, and through the gate the soldiers urge us on. One by one, we reach it, tripping and tumbling behind the mighty barrier. I collapse into the dirt, a couple of soldiers quick to pull me up and out of the way as our final men rush through.
With a heaving chest, I seek out the Brute, his frame clear amid the rabble. I stumble towards him as the gate begins to close, the final soldiers through.
“Get him into a car, right now. Get him to the HQ,” I shout, looking at my brother, unconscious in his arms.
