The Sowing (The Torch Keeper)

by Santos, Steven dos

  In spite of the pain, I conjure up a smirk. “You don’t have much to give, huh?”

  The words hit her like a seismic surge. Her smile cracks and sinks. Tremors rock her reddened face. She tears the helmet from Valerian’s hands and slams it back over my head. It still reeks of vomit.

  “I think we need to try this again.” She marches over to the control panel. Her hand hovers over the release valve.

  Buzz!

  The sound shatters my already-shredded nerves. A transmission is coming through the com system. The large screen flickers to life.

  Slade twists the valve shut. The dark gunk in my mask freezes less than an inch away from the faceplate, sloshing with a sickening wetness.

  Cassius appears on the monitor.

  Behind him, the others—Cage, Boaz, Drusilla, Arrah, Dahlia, Tristin, and Corin—are barely standing, their faces and exposed parts of their bodies covered in bleeding cuts and bruises. My eyes linger on the kid’s hands. Even from this camera angle, I can see the blood oozing from the tips of his fingers.

  They pulled every single nail out.

  My hands and feet strain against their restraints.

  “Has he confessed the conspiracy to you yet, Sergeant?” Cassius asks Slade.

  Is that a squirm? This must be the first time I’ve ever seen Slade this nervous. “Prefect Thorn, Sir. Spark insists on the lie that he was solely responsible for the murder and theft.” Her eyes shoot hate my way, then return to Cassius. “But I can assure you, I was just about—”

  Cassius’s tsks silence her as effectively as a shout. He shakes his head. “No, no, no, sergeant. I’m disappointed. I would have thought someone with your expertise would understand that there is only one thing Lucian Spark cares about.” He sighs. “Others.”

  He holds out his hand to Styles, who is standing behind the group. “Give me your sidearm, Officer.”

  Styles unclips the gun from its holster. His expression alternates between bloodlust and disappointment, as if he’s being robbed of another opportunity to inflict pain on the innocent. He slides the weapon into Cassius’s palm. The long, gleaming, black eel contrasts against alabaster flesh.

  My heart trips over itself as, one by one, Cassius’s long fingers coil around the grip. He holds the gun out and begins to pace along the haphazard line of haggard Recruits and Incentives. They’re sandwiched together, terror and exhaustion spread over their faces, eyes pleading through the cameras at me.

  Cassius studies each one as he passes, the barrel of his weapon tracing lines of sweat, blood, and grime across their foreheads. “What is it going to be, Lucian? Are you going to cooperate, or am I going to be forced to motivate you?”

  “Don’t bother, Spark.” The sound of Boaz’s voice surprises everyone, like the dead calm of the eye of a storm that rages around it. “They’re going to kill us either way.”

  The cock of a trigger cracks loudly, like the sound of splintering bone. Cassius shakes his head. “Our first volunteer.”

  Before words can erupt from my throat, Cassius jams the gun against Boaz’s temple. I can almost feel the cold steel pressed against my own head and I flinch—

  BANG!

  A bright flash obscures the image for a split second. Then a spray of red and gray confetti spatters Cassius and the prisoners closest to Boaz.

  The blast propels Boaz’s body into Dahlia and Corin. His body teeters for a few seconds, then crashes to the ground.

  Someone’s cry penetrates my shock. It’s Corin, now sobbing uncontrollably.

  Cassius turns to look right into the camera again. Flecks of Boaz’s blood and brain trickle down his face like obscene tears. He swipes at the gore sprinkling his uniform. “I wish you hadn’t made me do that.”

  Just as quickly, his expression changes into one of rage. He shoves Dahlia out of his way and grabs Corin, jamming the muzzle of the weapon into the child’s mouth.

  “No, don’t hurt him!” Arrah shrieks.

  Cage springs forward, but Styles slams the butt of his gun into the back of Cage’s head and he falls to his knees.

  Cassius’s green eyes target me. “What is it going to be, Lucian? As always, the choice is yours.”

  It feels like I have that mask clamped over my head again—I can’t breathe, my stomach twists as it tries to repel an invisible invader.

  “Let the boy go.” My voice is hoarse. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “I knew you would.” He pulls the gun from Corin’s mouth and pats his head. “Styles. Take this boy back to his cell … for now.”

  “Yes, Sir. What about the other prisoners?”

  Cassius casts a disinterested glance their way and stifles a yawn. “This lot is guilty of conspiracy and treason. Take them down to the furnace and execute them. It will save you the trouble of having to drag the bodies down and burn them.”

  “Right away, Sir.”

  Styles and the guards surround the others, dragging them away.

  My chair nearly topples over and I buckle against it trying to break loose. The restraints dig into my skin, drawing blood. “Cassius! I said I would tell you whatever you wanted to know. We had an agreement!”

  “I said I wouldn’t harm the boy. The others are expendable collateral. Really, Lucian. You always seem to hear what you want to.”

  I slump against my chair. It’s hopeless. The plan we spent so much time putting together, invested so much of our sweat and hope into, has failed. No second chances. Boaz is dead. The others will follow in just a few minutes. And after I tell them what they want to know, Corin and I will be murdered too.

  There’s no way out.

  “Slade.” The Sergeant snaps to attention at the sound of Cassius’s address. “A team is on its way to your location to retrieve Spark for further debriefing.”

  “As you wish, Prefect, Sir. I will make sure—”

  But he’s already dismissed her with his eyes, focusing instead on Valerian.

  “Valerian,” Cassius continues. “I need at least one person I can count on. See to it that the custody transfer goes smoothly and is not bungled.”

  She salutes him. “Everything will be taken care of, Sir.”

  The transmission ends. The images are snuffed out.

  Slade and Valerian exchange glances.

  I can tell Slade is bristling with anger at having her judgment questioned. She scowls at Valerian. “Unstrap him.”

  Valerian hunches over me, using her key to unlock the manacles on my legs first. Then she reaches for the ones on my hands.

  I blink as the light of her sidearm reflects in my eyes. No. It’s not over. Not until I’m dead.

  Snap!

  The last manacle clicks open.

  In a flash, I’m ripping Valerian’s gun free. Before either she or Slade can react, I kick Valerian in the gut. She slams into Slade, throwing off the Sergeant’s shot.

  BAM!

  A burning hot bullet nicks my ear, and a smoking hole rips through the chair. I roll off it in a spinning arc.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! The chair explodes into shrapnel. Then there’s a loud series of clicks.

  Slade’s out of ammo.

  Before she can reload, I’m letting loose a round of my own. The two officers dive behind an equipment cabinet, scrambling to escape the shower of sparks and chunks of plaster raining down all around them.

  Click.

  Damn it. The chamber’s empty. I hurl the now-useless weapon across the room, where it clatters against the wall.

  I might have missed them, but at least I’ve taken out the com unit.

  “You’ll never get out of here alive, Spark,” Slade sneers.

  Snap. The ominous sound of another ammo clip locking into place.

  I dive for the door. My body slams into the floor and continues to slide on its o
wn momentum—three feet away, two feet, one …

  Slade’s body is a blur as she leaps from her cover, her weapon blazing.

  I don’t give her a chance to come to a stop before I spring, head-butting her. Then we’re rolling, grappling for the gun clutched in her hand.

  Instinctively, my free hand shoots up and grips her fingers, tearing them free of my face, bending them backwards … and backwards … away from the palm …

  Her face contorts in pain and rage. “Argh!”

  SNAP!

  The bones in her fingers give way with a piercing crunch.

  A shadow eclipses the light above us. We both twist our necks to look. Valerian’s standing over us, weapon held at the ready.

  Somewhere beyond the doorway and out into the hall, alarms are blaring and the clatter of boots are approaching. The rush of energy I had evaporates, replaced by a tightness all over my body.

  Slade leers down at me. “Game over, Spark. I don’t care what Thorn says. You’re too much of a liability to keep alive.” She turns to Valerian. “What are you waiting for? Shoot!”

  Valerian’s eyes narrow at me. “As you wish.”

  I close my eyes and tense for the impact as she pulls the trigger—

  BANG!

  twenty-five

  I look up to see Slade’s face, a look of surprised confusion carved into it. And a smoking hole in her forehead. She releases her grip and slumps over, her body collapsing on top of me.

  I shove Slade’s corpse off me and spring to my feet. Valerian stands stone-faced, aiming the gun at me. I look at the body at my feet and back to her. “What the hell? ”

  Instead of firing, she tosses the gun to me. In spite of my surprise, my reflexes kick in and I catch it.

  She sighs. “Try not to botch this mission too, Spark.”

  “What?”

  But she’s already moving, snatching up a familiar looking rucksack from the corner of the room.

  The one containing the weapons I stole.

  And the detonator.

  She lobs it to me. I catch it and look inside. Everything’s still intact. But there’s a notable addition: a charred silver disc. It’s the remaining concussion charge from my attack on the Emporiums. The one Slade was going to have analyzed by forensics, which would have exposed me. Valerian covered for me …

  “I saved these for you, too.” She pulls out Digory and my ID tags from her pocket, as well as the holo recording of Digory’s transmission to Cassius. “I’ve recovered the corrupt data on the disc. You may want to take a look.

  Now I’m really pissed off. “I told you to trash those. Why the hell would I want—”

  “Shut up and listen for once, Spark. When you get out of this, you’ll thank me.”

  Reluctantly, I shove the items into the rucksack with the weapons.

  The clatter of boots comes to a halt just outside the door. Someone tries the lock but the door remains closed. Fists hammer against it.

  “Sergeant Slade! Captain Valerian! What’s your status?” someone shouts on the other side.

  I cross the room to Valerian. “What’s going on here? Why did you—”

  She shakes her head. “There’s no time. Hit me.”

  “What? ”

  “I need you to hit me. Hard. And make it look convincing. Not like those childish blows you traded with Slade.”

  Battering against the door, rattling it from its hinges.

  Valerian grips my arm. “Do it now!”

  I swing at her, knuckles connecting with her face, her nose. Crunch!

  Bone shatters. Blood flies. Her head whips back. She staggers against the wall. When I reach for her, she pulls back, wiping the blood, smiling. “Maybe Jeptha was right after all,” she whispers.

  “Jeptha? Cage’s father?” I stare at her as I dig into the rucksack, finding the detonator. I pull it out, slip it in my pocket, and sling the bag’s strap over my shoulder.

  The door bursts open.

  A half dozen Imposers spill in, weapons aimed. Taking in the sight of Slade’s body, Valerian’s bloody face, and me standing there holding a gun on her.

  There’s a series of clicks like the chattering of rodents as every weapon is trained on me. “Drop your weapon!” Ensign Echoes shouts.

  I fling the gun to the floor.

  One of the officers is communicating via his hand-held. To Styles.

  “Just about ready to begin executing the prisoners,” Styles reports. I can see the flickering images of Cage, Drusilla, Tristin, Arrah, and Dahlia just beyond him.

  “We’ve got Spark in custody,” Echoes responds. “Proceed with shelving immediately.”

  My finger jams down on the detonator in my pocket. I can hear multiple explosions rock the complex like a massive earthquake. The room teeters, and everyone falls to the floor. The lights go out, plunging everything into total darkness.

  “What the hell was that?” Echoes’s voice pierces the blackness.

  The sound of grinding, screeching metal cuts him off, echoing down the hallways. It’s followed by a series of deafening clangs and a series of smaller explosions.

  There’s the sound of running just outside the door as soldiers sprint past us.

  “Defenses have been breached!” someone shrieks. “The enemy’s entered the base! Prepare for ground assault!”

  The enemy. I know who they mean even before that dreaded sound shatters my thoughts—

  GONG!

  The Fleshers have penetrated the outer wall. Infiernos is under attack.

  Just like I planned.

  I’m ready for the mass confusion. In no time, I’ve donned a pair of infrared goggles from the rucksack and shoved my way past the web of bodies, out the doorway, and into the corridor.

  Trying to catch my breath, I careen down the corridors. All around me, the sounds of screaming and weapon fire assault my ears. Imposers run to and fro. Some even slam into me. But they don’t bother to stop, don’t seem to care about my presence at all, and that’s even more disturbing.

  I see Corin, dazed in a corner, curled up in a fetal position. The Imps escorting him to Cassius must have just abandoned him here during the explosions and ensuing panic. He jumps when I touch him.

  “It’s okay, kid. We gotta move.” Then I’m pulling him to his feet and we’re both running.

  Rounding another corner, we spy a cluster of Imposers, their backs to us, firing weapons at something just around the bend that we can’t see.

  But we can hear it.

  Clacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclack …

  Whir …

  The chilling sounds of the unseen Fleshers crawl up my spine. Obscene shadows scrawl the walls as something approaches the huddled squad.

  We’re on our own now.

  We take off in the opposite direction. My mind is dizzy with disorientation. In the vent shafts I knew exactly where I was going. But the sights and sounds of the unseen invaders are wreaking havoc on my senses.

  More explosions rip through the stairwell above. Shards of metal and concrete rain down on us. We burst through the doors of the lower level, narrowly avoiding being skewered.

  Through the greenish haze, I can make out the entrance to the crematorium. Part of the wall is caved in. I brandish my weapon and we tear up the distance to the entrance.

  Arrah, Drusilla, and Dahlia are struggling against the group of Imps who brought them down here. Corin bursts from my side and jumps into action, flinging rocks and kicking out at those around him. The smothering dark has robbed anyone of an advantage. As I glance off to the side, my elation turns to concern. Cage is lying in the rubble, obviously in pain. Part of him is trapped under a mound of debris. Tristin is hunched down beside him.

  Aiming my weapon, I take out the Imposers trading blows with Arrah, Dru, and Dahlia.
>
  “Lucian?” Arrah shouts. A grin rips across her face. “That you?”

  “Who else?” Then I’m dashing over. “Take these!” Reaching into the rucksack, I scoop out more goggles and weapons, thrusting them into each of their hands, even Corin’s.

  For the next few seconds, everyone’s busy strapping on belts with guns and grenades.

  “We thought you were d—” Drusilla stops midsentence, snapping a fresh clip into her gun instead.

  I reload my own weapon. “Yeah. Thought you were, too.”

  Dahlia’s eyes flit to Cage and Tristin. “Can you move?”

  Tristin shakes her head. “His hand’s trapped.”

  I squat beside them. Cage looks like he’s fighting the pain. The lower half of his arm is buried in the rubble almost up to the elbow. I reach for the surrounding debris, straining as I try to dislodge it, but I only succeed in making Cage inhale sharply and wince.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  He tries to smile but it’s a real effort. “S’okay. I’ve still got another one.”

  GONG!

  Clacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclackety!

  The horrid sounds are approaching our position.

  Fast.

  Tristin hugs Corin close. “What are those things?”

  “Right now, they’re our chance to get out of here,” I whisper. The others are crowded around us, trying to lift the rubble trapping Cage’s arm, but it won’t budge.

  And the Fleshers are getting closer.

  Cage’s free hand locks around my wrist and he pulls me close. “Spark. There’s no time left. This is the chance we’ve been fighting for. Take my sister and get the hell out of here. Now! ”

  Tristin claws her way between us. “We’re not leaving you behind. We would never do that!” Her shaded eyes search the group, and I try to avoid doing the same so I won’t see their expressions.

  And so Tristin won’t see my own.

  She clutches my arm. “Don’t you have anything that can blast through this rubble?”

  Instead of answering her, I rifle through the duffle bag, searching for something—a low-impact charge to blast the rubble, some sort of chisel—anything.