Captive: Book Five in the Enhanced Series

by T. C. Edge

  And now my mind, once again, reverts to my friends, trapped over in Outer Haven as it descends into panic. I pose the question: “What’s been happening in the city?” and see the smile drop straight off Lady Orlando’s face.

  “Our reports suggest that it’s getting desperate. People are looting, fighting in the streets. There’s civil unrest.”

  “I’ve checked in on Mrs Carmichael for you, Brie,” adds Zander. “She and the children are safe at the academy for now. You know how well prepared she is. She has stocks of food and water to last a while.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. Others might know too. They might come and try to take what she has.”

  “At an academy for orphans? I don’t think people are that desperate yet.”

  “You’d be surprised, Zander. What if the Disposables see an opportunity? What if they start spreading down from the northern quarter? I’ve seen them lingering around at night in the alleys. They’ve been coming for a while to mug and burgle. Now’s a prime opportunity for them to take what they can.”

  “The streets are under heavy occupation by the City Guards and Con-Cops,” says Lady Orlando. “But, as we know, they’re not exactly helping matters much, given their directive. The sheer scale of their numbers isn’t putting people off, and while many are being willingly taken to this new reconditioning facility, many others are being rounded up for their crimes and shipped to the REEF. Artemis is taking people left and right. If they’re not willingly giving in, he’s snatching them up by force.”

  I think for a moment, imagining the streets I grew up in so under threat, so squeezed of life.

  “I want to go and get them,” I say. “Brenda won’t last long with all this going on, and nor will the kids. They need to be given sanctuary…”

  “We have no provisions for that, sis,” says Zander. “Not for all of them. If we gathered up every family member and friend of our members here, we’d be too overburdened. In any case, your guardian seemed adamant that she wasn’t going anywhere. She’s keeping strong for her kids.”

  I know that about her. She’s stubborn, and not likely to run away from a fight. And Tess, too, is sure to be supporting her. I’ve seen neither of them since I left for the High Tower on my mission. I wonder if they know what happened. I wonder if they think I’m dead.

  I put the question to my brother. He tells me that he assured Mrs Carmichael that I’d be safe. I suppose, even then, he knew he was all set to break me out.

  “And what about Drum?” comes a further query from my lips. “And Sophie and Rycard?”

  “They’re still in the underlands,” says Zander. “Rycard has been helpful.”

  “And Drum? Has he been given a gun and a uniform yet?”

  “He’s joined up as part of our reserve forces, keeping a watch on the underlands.”

  “So, a sentry post then?”

  “More or less.”

  I don’t like it. If the Stalkers break through, he’ll be the first in the firing line. But what can I do? I have no power to tell him what to do. I have no power over anything here. I have to shield my mind from such feelings, mute the fear I feel for my friends.

  I have to be a soldier here, and follow orders.

  I have to comply.

  So, instead of kicking up a fuss as I usually would, I merely nod and say: “OK.”

  “And, how close are they to discovering your hideouts?” asks Adryan.

  Lady Orlando and Zander share a look.

  “They’re close,” says Zander. “We’re currently at Level 3 in our state of emergency.”

  “And that means?”

  “It means we’re ready to move at any moment. We have to be mobile and flexible. We have routes out of our main locations in the underlands that will give our people passage north beyond the city. But, few places are safe right now. With so much attention on us, some have chosen to return to Outer Haven…”

  “You’re kidding?” I say.

  “They think they’ll be safer there, more anonymous.”

  “And how do you police all that?” questions Adryan. “If these people know the routes into the underlands, then they’re risks to you if they’re found.”

  “You’re right,” says Lady Orlando. “They are. But we only allow people out if they’re adamant about leaving. In such a case, Zander or another of our manipulators will erase their memories of this place and set them out there with an empty head. Mostly, that alone serves to put them off the idea.”

  “But,” adds Zander, “it isn’t the worst thing. Yes, we’re trying to save people here, but with everything that’s been happening, it’s not easy taking care of so many and giving them refuge. We have to prioritise those who can fight.”

  The idea doesn’t sit well with me, but I can’t deny its logic. When the entire city is under threat, difficult decisions need to be made, and caring for the old and infirm who cannot contribute is a burden that, I’m sure, the Nameless could do without.

  “And, where beyond the city do the tunnels lead?” I ask.

  “There’s an old mining facility far to the north that we’ve been retrofitting for use as a sanctuary of sorts,” says Lady Orlando. “It will be safer for our people there. Getting there, however, won’t be so easy. It’s a long, long trek. As you’ve now met Rhoth, you’ll know the sorts of people who await us out there.”

  “He wasn’t so bad,” I suggest.

  “And he’s the best of the bunch,” cuts in Zander. “The Fangs mostly occupy the territory to the west of here. However, to the north, it’s the Bear-Skins and Skullers who dominate. They’re more feral, and far less cordial. And aside from them, Shadows crawl the lands north of here. We only have means of getting our people there on foot. It will be a buffet unless they’re properly protected, and right now we can hardly spare the manpower.”

  “Sounds like a catch-22,” murmurs Adryan. “What level do you need to reach in your state of emergency before you send people to the mines?”

  Zander glances at Lady Orlando. She’s been sipping on her whiskey with a consistency that reminds me very much of Mrs Carmichael.

  “Level 4,” he says. “It’s just a matter of time…”

  The room falls to silence. My mind swims with everything I’ve heard. Yet still, there’s much more to be said.

  But not here.

  Looking towards the clock, ticking quietly above the fireplace, Lady Orlando speaks.

  “It’s time, Zander. Go ahead and let them know.”

  Zander nods and moves straight to the door. Lady Orlando addresses us.

  “You asked earlier if we’re mobilising, Adryan,” she says, looking to the door and the large gathering beyond. “The assembly you saw in the church will help us determine just that. Come, we have a meeting to attend.”

  27

  Following Zander through the door, I hear his voice calling out for attention as the hundred-plus members of the Nameless all turn to see Lady Orlando emerge. A hush descends as she creaks in on her skinny old legs, and Adryan and I follow behind, moving off to one side as she scans the gathering.

  I do the same, and in the background see a couple of familiar faces. The first is middle-aged, topped with a balding dome and with sleek eyes hidden behind spectacles. I recall his name: Walter, the chemist who helps create the suppressor drugs that hybrids use to conceal their powers.

  It was he who Mrs Carmichael used to meet and fetch the drugs from; the drugs she fed me to keep my powers from manifesting. I wonder, now, what my life would be like had I never discovered the truth.

  If I hadn’t been involved in that attack by the Fanatics at Culture Corner, then I wouldn’t have been up on that stage in Inner Haven, on display for the whole city to see. Zander would never have recognised me, or found me, and I’d have continued on thinking I was just another normal girl.

  I wonder, too, how much impact I’ve had. How much I’ve actually contributed. Perhaps, by failing to kill Cromwell, I’ve done more harm th
an good. Perhaps it would have been better for everyone if I’d never been unearthed.

  Looking at Walter, I find his beady eyes looking right back. A warm smile lifts on his face, and a little nod of respect draws down his chin. I slide my eyes to his left, and see his bodyguard alongside him: Astor, the Hawk who, as far as I know, may also be a hybrid, staring right at the front, right at Lady Orlando with an intense glare that many of the people here employ.

  And there’s a tension in the air as the hush falls. People who had been sitting against the walls, or on old rotting pews, stand and gravitate to the front, to the little stage where Lady Olando stands.

  I find myself stepping off and out of the spotlight. Adryan comes too, leaving only Zander alongside Lady Orlando, a pace back to her right.

  “Good afternoon everyone,” she begins. “And thank you for all coming here today. As we are all well aware, times have grown desperate, and we find ourselves at a crossroad. As of right now, we are at a Level 3 emergency. I don’t have to tell you what will happen should we reach Level 4. Today, here, right now…we must consider our next course.”

  She allows a short break for her words to sink in. Everyone watches, waiting for her to continue.

  When she does, she opens up one arm and spreads it across the room.

  “All of you here have something to contribute. All are leaders within our cause. Some have recently joined. Others have been with us for many, many years. But we must all play our role in the war to come. And war it is, ladies and gentlemen. There’s no getting around that now, no hiding from it. The city is at war, and it is down to us to find a way to end it.”

  Again, a silence.

  Again, no one speaks.

  All wait for her to do so.

  Her eyes turn down to me.

  “We all know Brie,” she says. “We all know that her mission was unsuccessful. We all know, too, that she did everything she could to see it through. I failed her. We failed her. And it’s up to us to make this right. The opportunity to slay the snake in secret is gone. Artemis Cromwell knows we’re coming, and has been spreading his forces through the city. It is becoming a stronghold, and we are far outnumbered in strength of arms. We have to outthink him, ladies and gentlemen. We need to outthink the collective wisdom of all of the Consortium. That is our task.”

  As she speaks, I find eyes inspecting me. They come and go, glancing before turning away. The weight of my failure, laden on my back for many days, is beginning to ease. Lady Orlando is helping to spread the burden, spread the responsibility.

  And now, she’s turning all eyes away from me. She’s turning them to the future.

  They centre on someone at the rear. I follow her gaze and see a small woman, fairly young and perhaps in her mid 20s, with slit-like green eyes, sleek red hair, and a petite frame that makes her look totally out of place among the soldier-types occupying the space around her.

  Lady Orlando addresses this young woman directly.

  “Kira,” she says. “What’s your latest report?”

  The fox-like woman speaks with a smooth voice. She appears completely undaunted by the gathering, by the state of tension in the room.

  “The city is brimming, as you say, my Lady. In the last few days the patrols of Con-Cops and City Guards have exploded. Roadblocks are being set up. Anyone acting out of turn is being taken in. It’s fully under occupation.”

  “And the people?” asks Lady Orlando.

  “The people consider it for their safety,” says Kira. “The spokespeople for the City Guard are calling it a peace-keeping force, intended to make sure that the rioting is kept to a minimum with the lack of clean drinking water. Yet, they’re getting more desperate by the day, and more bold. It’s all playing into Director Cromwell’s hands, my Lady.”

  “Yes,” says Lady Orlando, addressing us all again. “Each day that passes, more slaves submit, willingly or otherwise, to Artemis’ doctrine. Our allies are shrinking. Soon, there will be so few to oppose him, so few to join our uprising. We will be strangled out of here. You all know how desperate this is. Kira is our eyes and ears in the city, but many of you have seen it for yourselves. Now,” she says, laying it on thick and turning to another part of the room, “what are your thoughts on this, Beckett?”

  A hundred people turn to the left corner. A gruff looking man stands there, tall and broad and decked out in rugged armour. He has a patchwork of stubble on his chin and similarly short hair to match, with a grimace of a mouth and narrow eyes in between.

  He looks to be in his early 40s, and his voice suits him. It’s short and direct, and deep enough to boom from the rear without needing to be raised.

  “My thoughts, my Lady, are to strike soon and strike hard. His forces are scattered. He has little idea as to the strength we possess. We cannot let him find out, and we cannot let things escalate. Now is the time to gather our strength and attack.”

  Lady Orlando looks to Zander, who takes a step forward to her side. Among men and women much older than him, his voice carries respect and obedience. His power exceeds all but the most gifted hybrids, of whom there are many in this room.

  “Do you concur, Zander?” asks Lady Orlando.

  He sways his eyes around and room. They land on the man called Beckett.

  “I do. Beckett is one of our most experienced leaders, and one of our strongest too. I defer to his greater wisdom and knowledge of this city. I don’t believe we can wait.”

  There’s a murmur of agreement through the room. Looking upon the gathering, I see a swell of strength and power. An ensemble of hybrids, cast out from the city and forced to fend for themselves, to live in the shadows. Biding their time for this moment.

  A moment that they have no choice but to seize.

  Beckett speaks again.

  “My Lady, we have been raising our numbers these last few weeks. Many hybrids have come to us from the wilderness, just realising the power within their blood. Cromwell has given them no choice but to come to us to fight. We have never been stronger than we are right now.”

  Lady Orlando turns to Walter.

  “Is this true, Walter?” she asks.

  The chemist nods.

  “Yes, Lady Orlando. I’ve been getting far fewer people coming to me for drugs these last few weeks. The hybrids are beginning to realise that they cannot live normal lives in Outer Haven anymore. Their gifts are returning, and manifesting. It’s as Beckett says; Cromwell’s doctrines are forcing them to come to us. If they don’t, they fear they’ll be found out sooner or later…”

  “But how many are able to fight?” asks Lady Orlando. “We need warriors. A hybrid is only valuable if he’s able to utilise his powers on the battlefield. Otherwise he’s just another body.”

  “We’re working through that now, my Lady,” booms Beckett. “We have our best people training and equipping them. But you’re right. We need proper soldiers if we’re to strike at Cromwell’s heart. His Stalkers will cut down anyone who isn’t up to the task.”

  “Numbers, Beckett,” says Lady Orlando.

  Beckett considers things for a moment.

  “We have at least a hundred powerful hybrids, perhaps another fifty if I’m being generous. Beneath that, we have hundreds more capable of fighting, weaker hybrids and Enhanced defectors. Then, there’s the rest.”

  “And the elite?” she asks, switching her eyes to Zander.

  Zander shares a look with Beckett. I can tell that the soldier is at least part Hawk, but will certainly be gifted with other enhancements too.

  “If we’re talking about those who can match the best Stalkers in a fight, maybe twenty,” says my brother.

  Another murmur ripples across the room. There’s some confusion as to whether that’s a good number or not.

  I find my own voice slipping out.

  “And how many Stalkers does Cromwell have?”

  Lady Orlando’s eyes drop to me, along with several dozen others.

  “Many times that number,” she
says. “According to Commander Burns, there are a little over three hundred Stalkers currently in operation.”

  A few words of concern hum through the high-ceilinged church. People turn to each other with worried eyes.

  “And, how much control does Commander Burns have over them?” asks a soldier in the crowd. “Can he just call them off to give us free passage inside?”

  “Regrettably, no,” says Lady Orlando. “The Stalkers don’t fall under Commander Burns’ authority. As Commander, he oversees the City Guard and all aspects of the city’s security, but its day to day running is in the hands of the new Deputy Commander, Quentin Black. Ironically, Leyton had more direct control in his previous position.”

  “Then who oversees the Stalkers?” asks the same soldier.

  “A man by the name of Colonel Hatcher oversees their operation. However, at times like this, it will be Artemis himself who calls the shots. Rycard, you have the inside line. Do you have anything to add?”

  I turn, quickly, to see another friendly face in the crowd, not too far from the front. Rycard stands there, his right eye covered in its patch, his handsome face still scarred and refusing to fully heal. He’ll carry them around forever, a constant reminder of Cromwell’s treachery.

  Before he can speak, Lady Orlando once more addresses the room.

  “For those of you who are unaware, Rycard was a member of the City Guard. He has very recently defected, and is up to speed with all current protocol for the security forces of Inner Haven.”

  Having caught everyone up, she hands the floor to him.

  “Thank you, Lady Orlando. I have little to add beyond what you’ve said. All I’ll say is that Cromwell will certainly be keeping his strongest Stalkers around him at all times. They will be guarding the base of the High Tower, as well as its summit. The City Guards, together with the Con-Cops, number in the many thousands. He’ll be able to use them as canon fodder, while keeping his most powerful bodyguards close. You say you have perhaps twenty elite hybrids, with a hundred or so in total. I don’t want to dampen any spirits, but I don’t see that that will be enough to break his lines…”