Epoch (The Templar Future Book 1)

by Lowry, Chris

  Reanna nudged Pip.

  “How does he propose to get us to your HQ tonight?”

  Pip shrugged.

  “I don’t want to fight the Mob. My revenge is on the Troopers.”

  “It’s his plan,” Pip said. “I’ll do what he tells me.”

  “You like living that way?”

  “My choice,” she answered. “Besides, he’s the leader.”

  Reanna hunkered down beside her, staring hard at the Templar resting in the corner.

  Near dawn, the Templar poked Bruce awake.

  “How much more, soldier?”

  Bruce rubbed his eyes, trying to force the fog from his brain.

  “Sorry sir,” he checked the monitor. “It’ll be done any minute.”

  He keyed a sequence on the keyboard.

  “This part of the program writes itself.”

  “Will it work?”

  “Like a charm. The Computer won’t know what hit it.”

  Bruce stretched his cramped muscles, rubbing his sore neck. He had slept with his head in his arms and was paying the price for it now.

  Reanna stirred at their voices. She raised her head from Pip’s shoulder.

  “Are we ready?”

  “Almost,” the Templar began turning over the heavy desks. “Help me.”

  Pip woke up and together, the three pushed all of the thick desks against the far wall, under the windows, forming a deep row.

  “Bruce, open these doors. Come with me.”

  He led them into the other classrooms. They dragged back armload after armload of loose chairs.

  “Scatter them,” he ordered.

  Soon, the floor was covered with a thick layer of chairs blocking the way to the desks turned with their legs against the walls, making pockets of space.

  “It’s a fort,” said Bruce, from the small path leading to the desks from the door. “We used to make something like this when I was a kid.”

  “And why the chairs?” asked Reanna.

  “Interference,” said Pip. “But from what? What are you going to do?”

  The Computer chimed.

  “Program’s done,” he held out the disc to the Templar.

  “You keep it,” he instructed. “I’ll need you to drop it in the Main Terminal.”

  Bruce nodded, tucking the disc into his shirt pocket and glowing with pride. He was needed.

  “I asked what are you going to do?” Pip demanded.

  “Go to the desks,” the Templar pointed to the wall under the windows. “Prepare yourself for battle.”

  He led Bruce to the hallway.

  “Do you remember the night I arrived?”

  Bruce paled.

  “I need you to open the doors.”

  Bruce shook his head.

  “What?” Pip screamed. “That’ll let the Mob in here.”

  “I know.”

  “We can’t fight the Mob,” said Reanna.

  The Templar pushed Bruce down the hall.

  “Be fast,” he turned to the women. “You will have to fight. How else will the Troopers come?”

  He shoved them up the small pathway toward the desks. Bruce shrieked and sprinted down the hallway.

  “They’re coming!”

  The Templar let him pass. He waited at the entrance to the path. The Mob swarmed up the hallway, churning over each other to reach him first, smaller bodies being run over and swallowed under the press of the mass behind them.

  He set his rifle against his hip and fired indiscriminately into them as they boiled forward. Bodies fell and were lost, replaced by another, barely noticed.

  Over the top of the chairs, Pip and Reanna lay down cover fire, adding to the carnage. They stood on the desks and fired in unison, twin daughters of destruction.

  The Mob smashed into the jumble of chairs.

  The Templar backed down the path, firing into the press of bodies and toppling chairs to cover his retreat. The furniture cracked and popped, twisting under the weight of so many bodies forcing against it.

  He reached the desks, a body made it through the press to hit him, knocking him down. The Mob surged forward.

  Bruce jumped over a desk and planted a shoulder into the body, sending it flying. He fired with his small rifle, giving the Templar time to scramble over the desk. Bruce leaped after him.

  The four held the Mob in the doorway., bodies piling up to clog the passage, and disappearing back into the crowd.

  “I don’t think this was a good idea,” Reanna screamed, replacing a power cartridge.

  “Keep shooting,” the Templar growled.

  The battle lust was on him, and it took every ounce of will to fight it down, hold it in check. He longed to throw himself into the press with abandon, ripping and tearing until he was no more. But he had other plans, work to be done and he had to suppress the urge.

  Instead, he picked each target to maximize the congestion in the doorway and dropped them.

  “Tell me again, why you did this?” Pip screamed, a rifle held in each hand.

  “Troops!” he screamed.

  A body hurtled across the top of the chairs, thrown by an unseen force in the back of the room. It crashed into Bruce, knocking him to the ground, clawing at his face. He screamed.

  Reanna bolted to his side, ripping the thing off of him and snapping it’s neck. But her rescue left a hole in the defensive line. The Mob pounded on the weakened area, putting through.

  The Templar herded his team behind him, using his massive body to partially shield them from the Mob as it pressed closer and closer.

  “You killed us,” Pip whispered in his ear. “I don’t know what your plan was, but we’re dead.”

  He winked at her, quickly glanced out of the window at slowly rising sun.

  “Your Troops will come,” he assured her and jumped into the fray.

  “Templar! No!” she lunged for his arm, but he was gone.

  The Templar was swallowed in the press of bodies, lost to her sight.

  She prepared to hold them back, but the Mob was no longer concerned with advancing. The front ranks turned back on themselves, clawing to reach the spot where the Templar disappeared. Pip took advantage of the distraction and fired into the presented side, pulling Reanna and Bruce beside her to fire blast after blast into the distracted mass.

  The Templar took but a second to release the rage in him. He no sooner landed in the forefront of the Mob, when he exploded, like a volcano, destruction raining down on all near. He ripped and tore, beat and shot. The press on him was too thick to damage him, crushing the wind from his lungs slowly, but he didn’t notice, so intent on killing them, he carried on without air.

  He didn’t move far from the wall of desks, hoping in the confusion that his men didn’t shoot him. The Troops would respond to the breach, as they did last time he was at the Academy. He only hoped his timing wasn’t off.

  The Mob was too much, too many. He was near collapse, the infection and battles past too draining on his weak body. He pushed backwards, worming between the crush and stopping when he bounced off of a desk.

  Unseen hands swiped his legs, he went down. They tore at him, ripping the loose shreds of clothing, scratching his exposed skin. An arm landed on his face, he ripped into it with his teeth, snapping the muscles and tendons. A body screamed in his face, he smashed his forehead against it’s head, crushing it to a pulp. It fell on top of him, shielding him from the others for a moment, until it was torn away and vanished.

  Bruce landed beside him. The young assistant was screaming and firing his small gun, the barrel so hot from plasma blasts it smoked and glowed white. The berserker was on him, that state of mind achieved in battle by so many men, that called for complete and utter destruction of the enemy. The Templar could control his, but could Bruce? His face was distorted in a grimace of hatred and rage, spittle flew from his lips.

  He reached down with one arm and jerked the Templar to his feet.

  Together, they rolled over the de
sks into a small enclosure protected by Reanna and Pip. Bruce alighted on his feet and didn’t stop shooting.

  The Templar shook off his weariness and stood beside them, a small island of three desks holding back an ocean of writhing bodies.

  The Mob turned from them, focusing on a new danger at the rear.

  “Troops,” Pip screamed.

  Beyond the top of the Mob, they could see the crimson flash of plasma bolts and glimmers of silver Suits hovering above reach as they fired into the bodes below.

  “It’s working,” the Templar cried. “Hold them off.”

  He leaped onto the tops of the desks and ran for the wall. Only a few bodies in the Mob noticed and tried for him. Reanna picked them off as soon as they made a move for him.

  He turned and raised his rifle at his team and fired. They ducked behind the desks, dragging Bruce down with them

  “What is he doing?” Reanna shouted.

  The window above them shattered with the blast. Sunlight streamed in, washing over their small island of desk. It lasted but a moment, and was blotted out by a fountain of bodies as the Mob used the new avenue of escape.

  The desk next to them shifted. Pip held her gun to the opening.

  The Templar poked his head through.

  “In here,” he said.

  He pulled them into tiny cubby holes formed in the upturned desks.

  “Hide,” he whispered.

  “We won’t make my ship,” Reanna said as she passed him.

  “Not in my plan,” he whispered back.

  He shoved Bruce into a small pocket close to him. The young man lay back, exhausted, the battle rage gone.

  “What are you going to do?” Pip asked.

  He lay a finger beside his nose, telling her to be quiet.

  She watched. He peeked around the edge of the desk, watching the Troopers clear out the room. They chased the Mob out of the window, following them. The last lone Trooper mounted the desk to jump through the opening. The Templar reached out for his leg and dragged him under the desk.

  He grabbed the gun before it could go off and scooted it to Reanna. The Trooper struggled, rumbling the desks. The Templar grabbed his neck and squeezed. The Trooper went limp in his arms.

  “Don’t kill him,” Pip looked on, worried.

  “How do you get this off,” the Templar struggled with the helmet.

  “Let me,” she moved beside him in the tight quarters and worked it loose.

  “You know him?”

  The Trooper was barely a man, his young face still soft and smooth.

  “He’s new. Last class, I think. I don’t remember his name.”

  “Strip him down, give Bruce his Suit.”

  She nodded, an idea of his plan forming in her mind.

  “What about me?” asked Reanna. She had pieced together the puzzle and knew what he intended.

  “You don’t know everything yet,” he smiled, chiding her. He put his finger against his nose again.

  “Oh dear,” a new voice said from the doorway.

  “It’s the Director,” whispered Bruce.

  “How are we ever going to clean this up? That Darwin has caused a lot of trouble for this place.”

  “Excuse me, Director,” a new voice joined him.

  “Mr. Gargon, I wish I could say I was pleased to see you again.”

  The voices moved closer to the desks.

  “I didn’t want to come here. We answered a stress call. How did they gain entry?”

  “I have no idea. Nor why they chose to attack this office. Have you found any bodies?”

  “Just Mob,” a thud sounded from the corner. “They left some of their dead this time. That’s odd.”

  “Odd. Why did they bring all these chairs into here? That’s what I would like to know.”

  “They brought the chairs in here?” Harry asked.

  “Who else? The entire room is in shambles.”

  “The door was unlocked, Sir,” Darren jogged up the hallway to join them.

  “Impossible. I locked it myself last night as I left.”

  “I see. Seal off this room,” Harry ordered the unseen Troopers. “Let’s take these bodies back to HQ for analysis.”

  “What should I do?” the Director called after him.

  “Fix the window before tonight,” he answered. “And double check the lock on your door this time.”

  The Director was left alone in the room. He moved a chair or two, then gave up. He closed the doors and locked them behind him.

  Pip watched the Templar.

  “What now?”

  He stood on the desk and peered out the window.

  “Come on.”

  “What about him?” she pointed to the young unconscious Trooper.

  Reanna put her foot on his neck and twisted until it snapped. Pip shoved her off him.

  “What was that?”

  “I’m here for revenge, remember?”

  She pushed past Pip and leaped out of the window, crouching below.

  Bruce followed her, almost mindless now that the battle was over.

  “He might not have been there,” Pip explained to the Templar as she crawled through.

  “But he might have,” he said, jumping after her. “We all have our reasons for being here. But we will work together.”

  He stared at her, assessing her.

  “Right,” she said.

  He led them to a small grove of trees, hidden from the normal public way.

  “Our next step is simple.”

  “You want me to put on the Suit,” said Bruce.

  “Not yet. You have a hover car?”

  Bruce nodded.

  “It’s a sport model two seater.”

  “You need to get us a bigger one,” the Templar instructed.

  “Me? How am I supposed to do that?”

  Pip tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Trade it in.”

  “But this is my baby. Do you know how long I’ve wanted one of these, how long I had to wait before I could get one? I just can’t-”

  “Bruce,” the Templar pitched his voice in the most persuasive mode. “It’s for the Team.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Bruce smiled sadly. “But I’ll trade my car anyway. Where should I meet you?”

  “Come back here.”

  “You can’t stay out all day,” Bruce said. “Someone will see you.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  The Templar slowly faded from view. Where he stood, a new tree had taken his place. Bruce looked for Reanna and Pip, but they were gone too.

  “That’s a neat trick,” he whispered to himself and walked away.

  “Hurry,” said the Templar’s voice, just over his shoulder. “I’m getting tired.”

  “I’m tired of this,” Nova stared at her scantily clad body in the full length mirror set up in her office. “I’m not going to do this now.”

  “You must,” Stephen stood behind her, admiring her new look, holding her uniform.

  “Now that we know about Webster, I think I should go in my Suit.”

  “There will be plenty of them there,” Stephen countered. “You look stunning.”

  She twirled around, admiring the way the sheer fabric shifted to accentuate the curve of her thigh, the scooped out back that plunged almost to her buttocks.

  “Where can I hide a gun?”

  “This is a fund-raiser. What do you need a gun for?”

  “Are you kidding? Have you ever been to one of these? The old men are brutal. The younger one’s are worse. And none are the least bit intimidated by my being Commander of the Troops.”

  Stephen clucked his tongue.

  “Dressed like that, why would they even notice?”

  She reached for the shoulder tie.

  “That’s it! I’m not wearing this.”

  He stayed her hand.

  “I was kidding,” he adjusted the strap on her shoulder. “You look magnificent. We won’t have to worry about our bud
get this year, and maybe next year too. After tonight, you can put your uniform back on.”

  He set her folded bodysuit in her chair and scooted it under her desk.

  “It’s only for a few hours,” he finished.

  She smiled at him.

  “You’re right. How long do I have?”

  “Everyone is arriving now. Shall we?”

  He held out his arm to her.

  The door slid open and Bram stepped through. Nova whistled.

  “Don’t you look spiffy.”

  He stood tall in a shiny silver Jumpsuit, decorations and commendations jingling on his left breast. The material conformed to his smooth dark skin, outlining the muscles etched on his back and legs. His sidearm was the only piece out of place. The worn handle had been polished, but no matter the amount of elbow grease applied, it looked used.

  Nova pointed it out.

  “Stephen won’t let me bring mine.”

  Bram covered the handle with his hand, as if Stephen would snatch it away.

  “I feel better with mine on,” he affirmed.

  “Me too.”

  She held her arm out to him.

  “I was just leaving.”

  He hooked his arm through hers.

  “Lead on.”

  “Are you leading us in like that?” Pip whispered.

  She leaned against the wall in the shadows of an ally, four stories above the ground. Her feet were planted in the hovercar, fighting for room on the seat beside Bruce. He looked uncomfortable and out of place in the bulky Suit commandeered earlier that day.

  The Templar stood up in the passenger seat.

  “Of course I am,” he answered.

  He wore the same torn battle gear from excursions on the island, the city, the escape. She had been so intent on teaching Bruce how to maneuver in his Suit, she gave no thought to how the Templar looked. He was scary, carbon streaks scored on the ripped fabric of his bodysuit, blood stained tears outlined wounds.

  “You’ll go unnoticed,” she remarked sarcastically.

  “I’m your prisoner,” he shot back. “If anyone asks.”

  “With guns?” Reanna touched the holstered weapons at his side.

  “No one will see,” he assured her.

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “I need you to stay with the car, keep it here for our escape.”