by T. C. Edge
“And I agree,” says Lady Orlando. “They are mindless and feral. They will be eliminated.”
“Eliminated,” chuckles Rhoth. “I like this word. You have an unforgiving nature, Lady Orlando. Some might consider you cruel, but you get things done.”
He reaches out his filthy fingers, tipped with scrappy and uneven nails, and our leader does the same. Her pallid, wrinkled digits disappear into his palm.
“So marks our union,” says Rhoth. “Now, we must go. Take care of the old woman, boy,” he says to Zander. “I need her alive to honour our agreement. And if you don’t,” he growls, “I will hold you responsible.”
“We’ll honour it, don’t worry,” says Zander.
“You better…”
His eyes narrow and, suddenly, he turns and calls out to his men to follow, before marching off towards the throng.
“They’re going to be frightened of him,” says Adryan as he leaves. “Someone needs to explain all this to the people.”
Zander appears to agree.
“I’ll go. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He moves off, catching up with Rhoth. I stand once more with only Lady Orlando and Adryan, set to say another goodbye. None of us need to go through such a thing again.
So linking eyes with them, I just nod, before darting straight off after my brother.
I catch him as he catches Rhoth, and begins to call out to the people, explaining the situation. They all know him, all trust him, and soon enough their fears and confusions are allayed.
Then, with Rhoth commanding his fifty or so men to take positions around the group, I get a moment with my brother alone.
“I wish you were coming as well,” I say.
“Me too,” he says quickly.
He doesn’t believe it. I can sense that he’s itching to get back to the city.
“You’d better get going, though,” I tell him. “They need you at the factory more than anywhere. When do you think it will happen?”
My eyes scan the distance. The High Tower is barely visible now. So faint, so far away.
“The plan was a couple of days from now. But as Beckett said, things need to be expedited. I don’t have the answer, Brie.”
“I’ll come back,” I say as soon as he says my name. “I’ll come back tomorrow. I’ll come to the city…”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he cuts in. “I can’t control you, I know that now, but you’ll stay out of the city. There’s no way back in for you now. Things rest on us, and us alone.”
A short silence follows as his eyes press into mine. I whisper: “OK,” and he draws me into a hug. I feel safe with him, as if nothing could happen to me when he’s around.
But I know I can’t rely on him forever. I know I need to feel safe alone. And as he lets me go, and moves off to the church, and I turn back to look at the gathered crowd, I know too that I need to step into the breach.
That I need to become a person to look up to.
That I want the way I feel around him to be the way people feel around me. A fighter. A warrior. Someone who will keep the people safe and free from harm.
That is my role now. That is my task.
And I will see it done.
23
It doesn’t take long before the High Tower is completely gone, even to my eyes. The church and old skeleton town, too, fades quickly as we march as fast as we can through the open, hilly lands just north of the Nameless HQ.
I find myself at the front alongside Rhoth, who quickly appears to have taken over the leadership of the rabble. That role was meant for a man named Pearson, a fairly uptight soldier who has a range of enhancements within his hybrid blood, including that of a Dasher and Bat, as well as a suggestion, through his cold demeanour, that there’s a little Savant in him too.
I catch a conversation between the two men, which you might describe as frosty at best, and positively glacial at worst. It sounds as though Pearson has met the brutal tribal leader before and, like Zander, they have history.
“I have travelled this route several times, Rhoth,” complains Pearson. “I know just where we’re going, and have been tasked by Lady Orlando herself with managing this affair. Now please, offer the protection you promised, but don’t get in my way.”
Rhoth smiles that yellow smile of his throughout the rant, his face curling with its network of scars and wrinkles. Then his guttural, throaty voice rumbles to join in.
“Mr Pearson,” he begins calmly, although with that usual hint of dominance that seems to fill most of his words. “You may have travelled this route before, but these are my lands. I have lived here all my life, and know them much better than you, or any of your men, ever will. You lead your people, that is fine by me. However, I will take us along the route. I will choose the direction. And if I say stop, we stop. Do you understand me?”
The two men stare at each other, even as they walk. In Rhoth’s bear-like grip, I see that pulse rifle he took from Zander only days ago hovering, ready to engage if necessary. He already appears to have customised it somewhat to his own tastes, adding some camouflage and natural embellishments to make it blend in with his outfit.
The stand-off, I feel, isn’t going anywhere. I decide to step in.
“Pearson, do you mind if I say something?” I ask.
His eyes turn from Rhoth’s to mine. He takes a moment, then nods.
“Of course, Brie,” he says stiffly. “You have earned that right.”
“Thank you. I, um, I understand how you both feel,” I start, trying to sound pragmatic, “but let’s all agree that getting everyone north and to the mining facility as quickly and safely as possible is in all our best interests. Yes?”
The men offer subtle nods, their eyes bearing down on me from on high.
“Good. Well, with that in mind - and let me stress how I understand where you’re both coming from - but I think Rhoth has a point. He does know these lands better, and Lady Orlando did recruit him for this very purpose. Who knows, perhaps he’d take us in the exact same direction as you’d propose…but I think we should trust him on this one.”
Pearson lets the words settle. Through narrow brown eyes, which I consider to be unusually close together, I see the first signs of agreement, followed by compliance. And I get it all without having to manipulate him, although he suggests that I’ve done just that.
“You’re not in my head are you?” he asks suspiciously.
“No, I try not to do that unless I have to. You know, free will and all that. I’m just being logical. That’s my Savant side coming through.”
I smile and his thin lips curl up a little before going the other way.
“Fine. Rhoth, plot our course. We will work together on this. Your hunters are useful, but my hybrids can do things that none of you tribesmen can. I’m sure you know that.”
Rhoth nods.
“I’m aware of the things you people can do,” he says curtly. He turns to me. “Brie, well said. Good words. You speak well, girl. Now enough debating, and more walking.” His eyes turn to the skies, darkening ahead despite the early hour. “We need to move as fast as we can. I’m not used to travelling with such a group. Old and young…the Skullers, the Bear-Skins, the beast and the Shadows, they won’t care. All they see is food, weapons, trophies….you must prepare yourselves for losses tonight. It is inevitable.”
His words draw a close to the conversation. We know what we’re facing, but Rhoth knows better. Pearson may have travelled these paths, but only with strong forces of hybrids. This is an unprecedented situation, and will almost certainly draw in every beast and cannibal for a hundred miles.
Like a shoal of fish in the ocean, picked at by dolphins and sharks and birds, and all manner of underwater beasts, we are little more than a moving buffet. And later, when darkness falls, it will be time to feast…
The first few hours, however, are smooth. The lands are fairly constant, and only peppered with the woods and marshes that are more common towa
rds the west. We make good progress, passing several miles without intervention and without too many problems to deal with.
Yet, there are still a few.
One man gets caught in an old trap, his body snatched up in a net and flung up into the low branches of a tree. It takes a few minutes to cut him down.
Another falls foul of a slightly more beastly snare, stepping into a noose that quickly snaps and tightens around his ankle. The rope, fitted with razor-sharp shards of flint and bits of metal, cuts right into his leg, rendering him unable to walk. Again, it takes a little time to free him, and he’s quickly added to the ranks of those who will slow us down, a fairly large contingent that includes the very old and very young.
Each time, the entire ensemble needs to slow and deal with the problems. And each time, Rhoth looks on with an impassive suggestion in his eyes that these traps were once set by his own people.
“Perhaps,” he says when I take him to task on the issue. “We haven’t hunted these lands for a while. They might be old traps of ours…or perhaps others.”
“And these Skullers and Bear-Skins…where do you find them, exactly?”
His eyes spread north, where the towering mountains gather on the western side, and the earth grows wooded and dark right ahead, with sections of rocky outcrops and other more perilous routes to navigate lying in between.
“There,” he says. “The Bear-Skins live in those woods at the base of the mountain. They control a lot of land there in the low passes.”
“And the Skullers?”
His eyes darken.
“Tricky…they’re tricky. They move about more. Nomads. Cannibals. They enjoy hunting whatever they can find, and are always looking for new skulls to wear.”
“They actually…wear skulls on their heads?” I ask. The fear in me is obvious. I wouldn’t be human if it wasn’t.
“Ah yes, on their heads, on their faces. Some wear masks of wolves or bears or boars. Others like to hunt other tribes. I see them, and I wonder…is that an old friend of mine on that man’s face? They like it…the fear they give. We have to hope we pass through unseen.”
I barely breathe as he speaks. Every utterance from his mouth is an omen to dread. He looks back to the crowd as the afternoon hurries on.
“We’re too slow. We have to speed up, get beyond the woods. Your facility is a long way still.”
We continue on, working our way into a rocky section of land that requires more careful footing and navigation. Down and up we go, moving through little canyons, the lands turning to a labyrinth that forces the people into a bottleneck.
It lasts a mile or so before the earth flattens once more, and I see more relics of the past appear before me: the foundations of old buildings and cars and places where people once lived. I see tracks from old train lines, mangled metal wrecks that once passed electricity across the landscape, larger buildings in the distance, half eaten away but partially visible and standing, even after all this time.
I look out in wonder, letting my Hawk-eyes gaze on things that to everyone else must just appear as blurred shapes on the horizon. For a while, I forget my duties and indulge myself against my better judgement, enjoying the journey that, as yet, has gone mostly well.
Then, I remember what I’m here for, and continue to work back and forward through the crowd, updating the people on everything, trying to act as my brother might and show them, by example, that there’s nothing to fear.
Yet, there is. Even now, many people have begun to splutter behind their makeshift masks, the poison growing stronger in places and quickly causing problems. Those with weaker immune systems might already have sucked in a lethal dose, their bodies yet to realise that they’re dead already.
To try to alleviate the problem, I gather some volunteers to ensure that all proper gas masks are passed around, and those who are suffering worst of all get immediate access.
When Rhoth sees what’s happening, he shakes his head and says: “You’re just killing more of them. Once they splutter like that, there’s no going back. They’re weak, too weak for this world. They’ve lived too long in your big city…”
“Well what would you have me do?! Just let them die here in the wild?”
“No…they won’t die. Not here, not yet. They’ll reach the mines and die later. They are poisoned. There’s no going back from that.”
“And you? How the hell do you live out here in this…disgusting fog?!”
“I was born out here, sweet girl. We have no fear of the mist. Green is our favourite colour. It keeps the weak at bay.”
He’s not helping, so I leave him and return to the task. Yet the next time I see someone who’s seemingly healthy pass their gas mask to a spluttering old woman, I do wonder if I’ve just doomed them both to death.
Is he right? Is the old woman already dead? Might the man who gave her the mask now suck in a lethal dose of this stuff too?
I consider it, knowing there’s nothing I can do. And in my head I begin to wonder whether the same affliction might take hold of me. When a single cough works its way up through my throat, and past the crude covering across my mouth and nose, I wonder whether it’s the start of a steady downfall.
I wonder whether I, too, am dead already.
But I can’t wonder for long. Others need my attention. I find Sophie in the centre of the throng, also doing what she can to help. Maddox, hidden in the pouch attached to her chest, seems to be sleeping peacefully.
“Is he OK?” I ask. “Are you?”
She nods.
“He’s strong, like his dad. He’s OK, Brie. And don’t worry about the mini gas mask…”
Damn. I’d forgotten all about finding one.
“Oh, sorry. I don’t think they have them.”
“I thought as much,” she says.
I’m yet to hear her cough too badly. It’s a good sign.
I move off again in search this time of Drum. His position isn’t as safe as hers. Right now, those considered more vulnerable are keeping to the centre. The younger and stronger men and women have created a perimeter around them. Beyond them are those with firearms and means of protecting themselves.
Finally, around the flanks are the guards. Our sparse collection of hybrids take position at equal points. We have fewer than ten, and so they’re widely dispersed.
In the gaps are the soldiers who came from the underlands, perhaps two dozen of them. Drum, even as callow as he is, is part of that number. He’s not a soldier. I doubt that he’s even fired his weapon before. And yet still, there he is, right on the outside, tasked with protecting the inner circles of the pack.
Alongside them are Rhoth’s men, numbering over fifty. They’re an absolute godsend, and whilst they haven no enhancements, they know these lands almost as well as their leader, and they know just how to traverse them.
All of them are constantly watching, keen eyes looking out, searching for any alarming rustle in the woods and listening for anything suspicious. They may not be Bats or Hawks or Sniffers, but out here in this mist, their senses are attuned and modified to these conditions.
I spend a little time with Drum, but get the impression that my presence is only weakening him. He needs to concentrate, and my manner of behaving around him, like that of a worrying big sister, perhaps isn’t best among such company.
“Brie,” he tells me, that foghorn voice of his hissing out a whisper, “you don’t need to check up on me. I’m fine.”
He gazes around at the other soldiers lining the perimeter of the pack.
“Right, I know you are,” I say briskly. “But I’m not just checking on you…I’m checking on everyone. It’s my job, Drum.”
“Yeah, but I’m good. Other people need your help more than me.”
I’m fairly quick to catch on, and realise that he doesn’t want to look weak among the other soldiers. But despite his size, and the clear developments he’s made since reaching the underlands, I still see him as little more than a big kid who warran
ts special attention.
I leave him alone, though, although don’t tell him that I’ll be keeping an eye on him from afar. Returning to the front of the troop, I find Rhoth searching the distant skies and in tense conversation with Pearson. This time, though, it’s not the animosity between the two men that’s causing the bitter exchange, but the gathering band of black clouds that continue to surge towards us from the north.
“We have to press through those woods before nightfall,” Rhoth is saying. He sniffs the air. “Rain is coming. It will disrupt visibility. All of your hybrids with their special senses will be weaker for it…”
Pearson doesn’t disagree. He knows full well that rain, particularly heavy rain, can have a dramatic impact upon any Enhanced’s ability to utilise their gifts.
Hawks don’t see so well through it. Sniffers find the downpour dulls the other smells in the air. Bats struggle to tune out the battering of the droplets, making other sounds more difficult to assess.
Even Dashers are affected. During any deluge, their movements are easier for the enemy to see, the falling rain giving way as they rush through and leave a clear trail of their path behind.
All in all, rain is not our friend. It will weaken our most powerful agents, and serve to slow down the entire throng as well.
“How far are we from the other side of the woods?” grunts Pearson.
“About six miles,” says Rhoth. “We will slow even more in there with this many people.”
“Shouldn’t we circle around, take a detour?” I ask, joining the conversation.
They both turn to me. Neither seemed to realise I’d arrived beside them.
“Too far,” says Rhoth. His hand reaches out and directs my eyes around the horizon towards the east. “The woods stretch right across,” he continues. “To divert around would add dozens of miles to the journey, and put us into even more perilous territory. The Skullers hunt those paths. The route through the woods will be much quicker. But we must press on faster.”
Pearson remains in agreement. He quickly turns and marches away, passing messages down the flanks to his soldiers to, in turn, inform the rest of the troop that we have to pick up the pace.
