by TW Iain
“You’re not in the area alone, though.”
“That’s my concern.”
“It’s our district.”
Rodin took a breath, took a moment. “Not the time,” he said. “I’ll do what I can to help, though.”
Cobey watched Rodin for a moment, head to one side, eyes piercing. Rodin held those eyes, noticed how the man kept his hands close to his weapons. There was a blade sheathed on one hip, a holster on the other. He would have other weapons, in his jacket and trousers.
Then Cobey nodded. “Fine. Come on.”
Rodin followed the man along streets he now recognised, and they reached the open land between industrial units and houses. Cobey stopped, and the two guards spread out, scanning the area.
“Activity,” Cobey said, pointing to the houses.
Rodin had already heard it—hushed voices and the sounds of many people moving. But it wasn’t only from the houses. Similar noises came from ahead, and in the dimness Rodin saw shadows move. Could have been people heading into the industrial area.
Heading toward the Factory.
“He’ll be in the first group,” Cobey said. “Likes to be the centre of attention.”
Rodin nodded. No need for Cobey to mention the man’s name. “Plan?”
“Approach as a friend. Only two guards, see?”
“Makes sense.”
Cobey strode across the open land, arms swinging and head held high. The guards remained a few paces to either side, guns unholstered but aimed to the ground.
Rodin walked behind. He ran a mental check on his weapons. Blades on either hip, another in the heel of his boot, a couple of smaller ones in the seams of his trousers. Stiletto in his collar, lance stowed inside left pocket of his jacket. Screen to the right, above a couple of micro-Eyes. A roll of tripwire in a pocket low left. Basic medi-kit split between the rear pockets in his trousers.
Whether it was enough or not was unimportant. It was what he had.
The sounds of boots grew louder as they approached the buildings, and whispered voices echoed in the air. The sky was heavy with cloud, and the area was nothing but shades of grey. But the shadows moved, more distinct as they approached.
Cobey increased his pace, took a path around the back of some kind of gatehouse, through a broken fence. A few pin-pricks of light danced on the ground ahead—some of the mob were using torches.
A voice called out a halt. The tread of boots became a soft shuffle.
The mob was much as Rodin had expected, a loose collection of men and women, young and old. Some held guns, many brandished blades, a few wielded clubs—bits of wood and metal that they’d found around the old industrial units, no doubt. In the darkness it was hard to discern faces, but the mob gave off a sweaty heat, heavy with anticipation.
Cobey strode past those at the edge of the mob, flanked by his guards. Rodin fell back, close enough to watch but not within striking distance.
A figure stepped from the central throng and turned to the approaching Brother. He had long hair and a trimmed beard. The way he held himself fitted Irazette’s description perfectly.
“Well, well.” The man’s voice was strong. “Big brother’s sent the little one. You come to join us?”
Cobey shook his head. “You need to stop, Arivan.”
“We have. To talk to you. Then we’ll carry on.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you know you can’t stop us. Only two guards?”
“We’d prefer to settle this amicably.”
Rodin winced. The Brothers had approached this wrong. It should have been Jornas out here if they intended to talk.
Arivan shook his head, and some of the mob smiled. “It’s past time for talking. We tried that. Remember? After they pushed that army through, I came to you, wanted you to see sense. But you threw me out, didn’t want to know.” He turned to the mob. “They didn’t want to listen to reason. They don’t care about us. Right?”
Murmurings from the crowd, and ugly glances toward Cobey.
Rodin stepped forward. “What’s your plan?” he said to Arivan. And he ignored the frown from Cobey.
The man looked him up and down, assessing, his face giving nothing away. “I know you?”
“Question is, do you know who you’re up against here?”
Arivan waved a hand toward Cobey. “Him?”
Rodin shook his head, pointed further into the buildings. “Them.”
“We know what we’re doing.”
“So you’ve got all their exits covered?”
Arivan brought his hand round, indicating the crowd. “This isn’t everyone. Just the welcoming committee.”
“So you have others. Around this area? Any elsewhere?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You ask a lot of questions. This weasel,” and he nodded toward Cobey, who bristled, “wouldn’t listen to us, so why should we talk to a friend of his?”
Cobey shuffled forward, pushing his chest out. But Rodin stepped closer, cut him off. If the Brothers wanted Rodin’s help, he couldn’t let Cobey screw things up.
“Wouldn’t say I’m a friend.” Maybe a hint would help. “You know how there used to be three Brothers?”
Arivan nodded. “You the replacement?”
“I cut them down to a duo.”
Cobey tensed his shoulders—that was bound to touch a nerve. There were mutterings in the crowd. And Arivan’s eyes widened in interest.
“The one and only Rodin. Should I be honoured? Rumour is you’ve gone soft, can’t take it anymore.”
“You always trust rumours? I’d always heard people round here were only out for themselves, were a bunch of cowards, would run away at the first sign of trouble. Why else would they let the Brothers set up camp here?”
That evoked more mutterings, and a couple more blades were unsheathed. Rodin felt the heat from the crowd.
And Cobey had turned a fraction now, one hand closer to his hip. Ready to defend himself from an attack from his rear.
Arivan smiled. “Dangerous talk, Rodin. But a fair point. Still, you’re standing with the Brothers now, aren’t you?”
“Enemy of my enemy.”
Arivan placed a hand over his chest. “You consider us your enemy?”
Rodin shook his head, pointed into the buildings again. “Them. Always one step in front. They’ll be protected in ways you haven’t even considered. You’ll never get in.”
“Who said anything about getting in? You think I want to be scurrying round like a rat? No—we’re here to make sure they don’t come out. Ever. Right?”
That last word he said with a raised fist and a look at his mob. It elicited a cheer, loud enough to carry into the night.
But Arivan seemed unconcerned with being overheard. He beamed darkly when he turned back to face Rodin.
“How?” Rodin said. “Explosives? Destroy the few entrances you know about?”
“It’s a start.”
“And when they pop up from other places?”
“We deal with them.”
“You sure you can do that?”
Arivan nodded. “We’re legion, and we’ve had enough of being pushed around.”
There were more cheers, and someone fired a gun into the air. At least Arivan had the good sense to glare across the crowd at that.
Rodin shook his head. “It’ll never work. They’ll hunt down survivors, just to prove a point. You’re leading these people to their deaths.”
Arivan’s eyes darted to the crowd, to those closest to Rodin. In his peripheral vision Rodin saw arms rising, saw weapons pointed his way.
“You’re no stranger to death,” Arivan said. “But you stand there undefended, while my good people aim their guns at you. If anyone should fear for their lives tonight, it’s you.”
Cobey shuffled, shot looks at his guards. They raised their weapons cautiously, moved closer to Cobey. Rodin wasn’t sure if they saw the crowd as the primary threat, or Rod
in.
Rodin stood still, his eyes remaining on Arivan.
“One simple reason I’m still alive,” he said. “I choose my fights with care. You want to sacrifice yourselves like this, that’s your business. I intend to see the morning, though.”
He stepped back, still watching Arivan.
Cobey’s head spun, one way then the other, before glancing at Rodin. Hard to read his expression, but there was a dip of his head, and Rodin took that as a show of thanks.
Then he took a step toward Arivan. “Might not be his business, but it is ours. He’s right—you’d be an idiot to do this.”
Arivan’s smile grew cruel. “Why? Because it would upset your finances? What, you think it’s not obvious?”
“I could order my guards to take you out.”
The male guard spun his weapon round to face Arivan. But Arivan didn’t back away, didn’t make any move to defend himself.
“Remove the head to stop the body? But I’m not the head. That’s the beauty of our plan—we’re working together. You cut me down, and my friends will fight even harder. And if you put a bullet in my head, how many others can you kill before they kill you?”
The air filled with sharp clicks and muted shuffling. Those around Arivan raised their guns, fingers resting on triggers, barrels pointed toward Cobey and his guards.
There was a moment of stillness. Rodin felt his heart thud, felt the warmth of adrenaline flow through his body.
Cobey nodded, raised a hand to his male guard. The guard stepped back, lowered his gun.
“You’re a fool, Arivan,” Cobey said. “Rodin’s right—you’re leading these people to their slaughter.”
Arivan shook his head. “I’m leading them to freedom.” He turned, faced his people. “Right?”
The cheer was louder this time, and longer. There was laughter mingled in too.
And Arivan smiled. He’d won this round.
Without another word he walked on, between a couple of large buildings, along a cracked concrete path. The crowd followed, flowing around Rodin, Cobey and the two guards.
The man was charismatic. He knew how to play a crowd. And he was tough. Rodin almost admired the man.
Shame he was going to die.
- 25 -
Vanya ran along the edge of the roof, then jumped down to the next level. From here, it was only a short drop to the ground.
She’d watched, from the girders on a broken roof, as Rodin and Corby talked to Arivan. She’d seen the guns drawn, seen the fear in Corby and the firmness in Rodin. She’d noted the confidence of Arivan, and the hot spreading hatred of the mob.
When the mob had swarmed around Rodin, Corby and the two guards, Vanya held back, continued to observe. Corby grew more animated, Rodin remained calm. Then Corby stormed off, after the crowd, with his two guards on his heels.
Rodin had sauntered off, a roundabout route that still followed their general direction.
She dropped down next to him, as quietly as she could. He stiffened—at least he was alert.
“You tried,” she said. “Couldn’t do more than that.”
He didn’t respond.
From this position, the crowd were visible between a store and what looked like some kind of staff quarters. But the crowd had spread out, surrounding a couple of buildings.
“Looks like your new friend hasn’t given up yet.”
Vanya could only make out Corby by tracking the taller of his guards, but Arivan was easier to spot—even though he wasn’t tall he always had space around him, as if those following him were uncomfortable getting too close. Corby was in that space, though, gesticulating as he argued.
“Almost hope Arivan knocks him out,” Rodin said.
Vanya tapped her holster. “I could take him down if you think it would help.”
He shook his head. “Unconscious, he might get through whatever Authority are planning. Dead, he’d leave Jornas on his own, last surviving Brother. That’s not going to help anyone.”
That made sense, but it was unnerving hearing Rodin talk of keeping a rival—or whatever these Brothers were—alive.
“So, what now?” she asked.
“Wait. Watch. Nothing else we can do.”
Arivan moved off, arm waving, pushing Corby aside. His voice echoed around the buildings, a couple of words that Vanya couldn’t hear properly. What lights shone to the ground amongst the crowd died out.
Somewhere a bird called. A dog yapped, a short sound that ended in a growl. Some feral creature, not worth being concerned about from this distance.
The crowd shuffled. Arivan disappeared from view.
“We follow?”
Rodin nodded. “Distance, though.”
“I could go high, get closer.”
“I’ll keep low, back here.”
“We intervene?”
“Not going to fight when we can’t win. Just observe. See how Authority counters this. Learn what we can.”
“Right.” She felt like she should say something more, but no words seemed to fit. “Later, then.”
Vanya ran to the building on the left, pulled herself up on the roof and clambered across a thick pipe, climbed up the wall of the neighbouring unit. The roof was intact, and she padded across it, reached the edge and looked down on the crowd.
It had spread out now, a smaller splinter group breaking off. They headed to a squat building with a large metal door. From their actions, Vanya guessed they were laying explosives.
Over the roofs of nearby units, she became aware of more motion. Couldn’t see clearly—even with the enhancements to her eyes, she still needed light to see well—but there were more groups out there, all closing in, moving into position.
The group by the squat building retreated, Arivan amongst them.
Vanya shifted her position, looked down the side of the building. Rodin, at the far end, hurrying on. Must’ve seen something, but Vanya didn’t know what. Probably concealed by the next unit.
Vanya used a concrete drainpipe to climb down, moving faster when she felt how brittle it was. Then she raced after Rodin, scaling the next unit when she came level with the pile of pallets that reached up to a service door.
Corby was further on, and he was talking to others. He gesticulated, but it was having no success—this small crowd weren’t moving. Corby pointed back in the direction of the main crowd, and in the darkness Vanya knew the ones he was talking to were shaking their heads.
Rodin approached. It was clear he was trying to encourage Corby to leave, but the man was having none of it. He turned on Rodin, fists raised, and the female guard spun her gun in Rodin’s direction.
He raised his hands and backed away, shaking his head.
And then an explosion rocked the roof beneath Vanya’s feet.
The ground trembled. Heat rushed past Rodin’s face.
It was one of those moments when his body made decisions before his mind gave him any options. Despite the risk, Rodin darted forward, focused on reaching Corby. The crowd jumped, looked around for the source of the explosion, then surged forward.
Corby’s guards did nothing to stop them, let the bodies flow round them. But when Corby tried to follow, Rodin reached out, lunged, grabbed his arm.
“No point. Keep yourself alive.”
Corby shook, spun, glared at Rodin. “They can’t mess this up for us! I owe it to my brother.”
The female guard’s gun clicked—safety off. The barrel pointed at Rodin, a finger resting on the trigger. She stared at him with cold eyes.
Rodin released his fingers, let Corby slip away. Rodin stepped back, arms raised.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said.
But Corby was already off, following the group.
Another rumble shook the ground, accompanied by shouts and cheers. Ahead, flames reached into the sky. The target building must have been timber—no way metal would burn like that. Probably aided b
y old fuel.
Beneath the crackling flames Rodin heard gunshots. And then another explosion ripped through the air.
This one was further away, another building Arivan had identified as an entrance. There were more cheers, more cracks of gunfire as Arivan’s people celebrated.
But this wasn’t over yet.
The plan had its merits—seal the Factory, keep those inside underground. But there was always a way out. And Authority knew what was happening. They’d be prepared.
A fourth explosion boomed, toward the far edge of the industrial area, and a patch of the night sky in that direction grew darker, spread out, its underbelly glowing orange and red. The air tasted bitter, a combination of ash and fuel.
Rodin spun, analysing as his peripheral vision picked up shapes. They grew from the shadows, where they’d been hiding in wait, and now they raced between the buildings.
They ran without sound. Trained, then. And enhanced.
Warriors.
Rodin pressed himself against the nearest building, remained motionless as he watched. And listened.
The cheers became shouts, then screams. More guns fired, but no longer celebratory shots into the air. Now, they aimed their weapons at the attacking forces.
Authority responded.
They had to be warriors. Nothing else made sense to Vanya.
The jubilation in the crowd turned to confusion and anger. Vanya saw no details, but people fell. Gunfire gave her brief windows of light, freeze-frames that made no coherent picture.
The warriors pushed further into the crowd.
They wore body-suits, with masks that obscured their faces. And the suits must have been bullet-proof—how else to explain their progress against the barrage of gunfire?
Someone sent up a flare, and the flickering light showed Vanya the full chaos. Bodies lay on the ground. Some of the crowd surged one way, others raced to retreat.
Muzzle-flashes all around, but not only from Arivan’s people. There were flashes from the roofs of nearby buildings, followed by people from the Haze falling.
Vanya caught sight of Aviran, blade in one hand, short gun in the other. His mouth was a rictus grin, his hair flailing. The gun sent someone flying—friend or foe, Vanya couldn’t tell. And there was Corby, holding his own gun, firing sporadically, his shouts drowned in the cacophony.
