by T. C. Edge
My continued disrespect draws Zander’s voice into my head. I hear him whispering for me to cool my tongue and stop aggravating him.
I can’t. I’m having too much of a good time seeing the expression on his otherwise placid face. Oh, how he tries to hide it. It’s bloody well hilarious seeing him losing even a modicum of his perpetual cool.
For several moments, he considers it. Then, seeing that I’ve got him pretty well cornered, concedes. It’s a small victory for me, and goes some small way to satisfying my lust for vengeance against the man.
“Fine, have it your way, Brie. I’ll order the convoy returned here to release the prisoners once we’re safely at Haven. And if you’re so very keen on seeing them safe, perhaps you’d like to go with them?”
“Happy to…” I begin, rising to the challenge.
This time, Zander steps in.
“No, not wise,” he says quickly. “Brie needs her rest for the battles to come.”
I look at my brother, unhappy to be talked for. Again, his voice filters through my mind.
Stop it, Brie! he says. You’ve won. Leave it at that.
Fine, I say back, without admitting that I’m about ready to collapse from total exhaustion.
With my victory assured, we all move back out of the building and into the night. The first light of dawn is now on the march, the sky growing a little brighter and set to beckon a sunny new day. Yet so far from here, on the edge of the forest, I know the fires will still be raging, and the woods that call home to many people and creatures burning to the ground.
And beyond, the army of the Cure will be marching, still trekking across the wide plains. The orange glow will stretch out before them, creating the vast path of charred earth upon which they will travel. It is an omen of death, a black, lifeless road that will stretch for miles towards their final goal.
And when they come, several days from now, we have to be ready. Because if we fail, all men, women, and children within the city will perish. And our war between the Consortium and the Nameless, our fight for the future, won’t include either of us.
That future will belong to someone else entirely.
12
The journey back to Haven doesn’t take long, but the time is does take is spent rather uncomfortably. Not uncomfortable in a physical sense so much as a mental one. Having to sit beside Agent Romelia Woolf and opposite Director Cromwell is the sort of travel arrangement that nightmares are made of.
Along with Zander, the four of us sit in the rear of a car in the midst of the convoy of City Guards and Stalkers, a powerful grouping of soldiers if ever there was one. I find Woolf looking at me as we go, seemingly never-ending in her attempts to infiltrate my mind and discover my innermost thoughts.
In the end, her constant staring breaks me. I look right at her, thinking that I’d love to smack that smugness right from her ugly face. She sees the thought play out in my mind and merely lifts her horrible smirk a little higher.
“Stop. Staring,” I growl at her, finding my weariness constantly pressed to one side by my anger among these people.
She doesn’t. She continues to look at me, her expression completely flat but for the little curls in the corners of her mouth.
It’s so aggravating that I’m unable to help myself. The only thing that stops me from making good on my threat is Zander’s speed, his fingers quick enough to reach out and grab my wrist before my fist hunts down Woolf’s nose with the aim of permanently rearranging it.
“Now now, Romelia, stop antagonising our guest,” says Cromwell. “We’re all friends here now.”
And there it is again, that word that really doesn’t describe us at all. I can’t tell whether he does it just to piss me off, but it really does serve that purpose as much as Woolf’s staring black eyes.
I sit back and heave a breath into my lungs, and turn away from them both. Yet still, I can feel Woolf’s eyes on me even now.
The journey seems to last forever. Once again, I hear Zander providing some calming words in my head, but sometimes they do little more than annoy me rather than effectively placate me. I guess right now I’m just too tired to take any of this bullshit. Tired after battle, sick of seeing death, and worried that my friends among the Fangs have met their unnecessary ends.
It’s a cocktail that makes me unsuitable for public consumption right now. I need a quiet space to myself where I can sleep and recharge and try to set myself back in order.
This damn car is quite the opposite, sat here with the two people I want dead most in this world.
For the remainder of the journey, I stay quiet and merely look out of the thick glass window, refusing to re-engage. Meanwhile, Zander continues to operate his radio, getting updates from the city, while occasionally engaging in conversation with Cromwell. I marvel at his ability to put aside his anger and hatred and get on with the job. I guess that’s what he’s all about right now. It’s a skill I’ve yet to master and one, perhaps, I don’t want to.
Still, I’m fully aware that he detests the both of them just as much as I do. I mean, he’s been fighting all his life against Cromwell, and though he doesn’t yet know the truth of our lineage, Cromwell’s constant attempts to kill off the Nameless are plenty to engender a very serious dislike for the man.
And Woolf? Well, he didn’t have the same experience as I did with her, haunting my steps in the High Tower, trying to get Adryan to kill me, scuppering my assassination attempt at the final hurdle. However, just as with everyone else, he’s fully aware that she’s been a real thorn in our side all along, not only informing Cromwell of my aforementioned assassination plot, but also escaping our clutches at the church and getting back to the city just in time to warn of the destruction of the High Tower too. Really, if it wasn’t for her, Cromwell and all the rest of them would be dead.
Then again, in some strange twist, perhaps it’s good he managed to survive. OK, so it pains me greatly to even think that, but right now I can’t deny that it’s true. If he was dead, his Stalkers might well be running amok, and so would his Con-Cops, all of them causing havoc within the city. And then this army would arrive to finish us off. Without my grandfather’s help, it’s highly unlikely the city would survive.
And even now, that hangs in the balance.
I sit and muse on such things as the car rumbles along the dirt track, my mind busy enough to distract me from my companions as I gaze blankly out the window. Before long, the clearing that calls and end to the woods is appearing, and the grand city walls are coming into view.
The western gate sits open, ready to greet us, and several hundred soldiers appear to be gathered at the garrison and atop the walls. I imagine that this side of the city is most at risk of attack, and though we’ll have soldiers stationed elsewhere, the west will see the largest contingent.
The convoy quickly flows through the gate, and I finally decide to look at my grandfather’s face once again as we pass the threshold. There’s a hint of a smile there, some expression of victory. He’s back in Outer Haven along with his Stalkers. Yes, there’s a large threat heading our way, but in my mind we’ve just invited another enemy right through the door.
The convoy pulls to a stop, and the Stalkers and City Guards from the REEF spill out. Around us, the eyes of the soldiers of the Nameless appear particularly suspicious of this new alliance, just as mine are. I’m happy to see so many eyes mimicking my own. It makes me feel more secure knowing that there’ll be plenty of others keeping an eye on my grandfather and his men.
As Colonel Hatcher sets about arranging the Stalkers, I reiterate to Cromwell that the convoy needs to be sent back out.
“Don’t forget the prisoners,” I say. “Or do I have to tell Lady Orlando on you?”
He ignores me, and merely waves a hand to one of his minions to see it done. Sure enough, the convoy is quickly heading back to the west, just as my grandmother appears from her own vehicle from the east.
She steps out along with Adryan, and I fin
d myself moving straight for the comfort of his embrace.
“Are you OK?” he whispers softly, eyes equally tender and full of worry.
“I’m fine,” I croak, feeling suddenly like I need to be alone with him. Like a few nights ago, where I slept in his arms, and he shielded me from my demons. I need that now. I need him.
Lady Orlando is next to ask me the very same question. I nod again but don’t speak this time, feeling suddenly weak and emotionally fragile, as if my voice will break fully if set free.
She cups my cheek all too briefly, a moment of tenderness in full display of Cromwell and Woolf. It’s unusual for her to act as such without privacy.
Then she turns to her ex husband.
“Right, Artemis. We’ll get you and your people set up here in the western quarter. There are some nice comfortable tenement blocks that haven’t seen too much damage from the fighting. Your men and ours must liaise closely now. As you know, Rycard has been managing the City Guard, and will continue to do so under the leadership of Commander Burns…”
“That makes perfect sense,” says Cromwell. “No one knows the City Guard quite like Leyton Burns. Except me, of course. I’ll have Colonel Hatcher work closely with the both of them. It’s a terrible shame that Mr Beckett was killed tonight.”
“A terrible shame,” repeats Lady Orlando solemnly. “Zander will now operate at the head of our hybrids.”
She looks to my brother, who nods, his young shoulders carrying such a burden.
“I will try to do Beckett proud,” he says.
“You will,” says Lady Orlando, smiling at her secret grandson. “Any news of Rhoth yet?”
“Nothing,” says Zander. “I have faith that he’ll come…”
“I wouldn’t waste your energy thinking about a tribesman with no enhancements,” comes Cromwell’s voice. “Yes, these Fangs are fine warriors in the woods, but here in the city their skills count for very little. They are not used to urban warfare. It matters not if this Rhoth returns…”
“It does matter to us,” counters Lady Orlando harshly. “Life matters, Artemis, whether it is useful to you or not. She turns again to Zander and me, sidestepping Cromwell’s heartlessness. “The rest of the Fangs arrived safely some time ago. They are in the southern quarter being tended to by Rycard’s wife and several others.”
I smile at the thought of Sophie seeing to such people. Perhaps they’re even staying at her training house for girls seeking to marry up into Inner Haven. Such a concept seems stupid now. We have all been reduced to the foundational instinct of all living things – to survive. Nothing else matters anymore.
“Are they safe there?” I find myself asking. “Shouldn’t they be in Inner Haven behind the wall?”
“They were reticent enough to come into Outer Haven,” my grandmother says. “They’re safe where they are for now. If needs be, they can be transported further in.”
“All very fascinating, Cornelia,” cuts in Cromwell. “As I say, wasting your effort tending to such people isn’t where your priorities should lie. All current efforts should be focused entirely on destroying this horde who call themselves the Cure.”
“Artemis, you run your Stalkers however you want. But I will see that all people in this city are safe. After all, they’re the ones we’re trying to save.”
“Not a bunch of tribespeople we’re not.”
Lady Orlando holds up her palm, lets a long second of silence fill the air, and then speaks.
“I’m not discussing this with you. Your opinion counts for nothing here. We are allies in one thing, and one thing alone – defending this city. How I like to run it beyond that is nothing to do with you. And yes, before you say otherwise, it is me who is running this city, Artemis. You had your shot and did a god-awful job. Now it’s our turn…”
“Oh contraire, Cornelia. The city flourished under my guidance.”
“The city, perhaps. But not the people…” she says, before shaking her head to herself. “No, this isn’t a debate I’m having with you. As you say, we need a solitary focus right now. So when we speak, we will do so only about defending the city. Now, with that in mind, it’s time you set your Con-Cops to do something more useful than sit in the eastern factories and warehouses. They are wasted there, Artemis. There are thousands of them, and they will be extremely useful in the fight.”
“Oh, I agree entirely,” says Cromwell. “I shall set them new directives to defend this city from the invaders. They will work in accordance with the City Guard and Stalkers. But just keep in mind, Cornelia, that they operate under my design. If anything should happen to me, then they will revert to their default setting, as will the Stalkers. I would suggest it’s in your best interests to keep me alive and at full health. Perhaps letting me return to Inner Haven is a good idea…”
“No,” says my grandmother immediately. “You’ll stay here for now. Don’t worry, I’m sure your protective unit of Stalkers will keep you from harm.”
“For both our sakes, I hope so too.”
I listen to the exchange with a progressive drooping of the head and eyelids, my body hardly able to stay standing. Beside me, Adryan takes note and draws his arm around my waist to steady me.
“You should get some rest, Brie,” he whispers. “You’re not much use sleeping on your feet.”
He smiles warmly as the conversation draws to a close and we begin to disband. Cromwell, Woolf, and the Consortium head for their new digs, while Zander sets about meeting with Rycard and Freya to hear further updates on the city’s defences. My grandmother, meanwhile, stays at the front for a while longer, telling me, as Adryan did, that I need to sleep.
I don’t argue, despite my hatred of being left out, and quickly head back to Inner Haven with Adryan by my side. I find the inner streets at the core of the city busier than ever, all those still situated in Outer Haven continuing to be brought further to the centre for their protection.
And it seems, given the threat, that some are even choosing to fight, weapons being handed out for the reserve forces, untrained men and women of both the Enhanced and Unenhanced, the last line of defence should we need them.
I hope, of course, it won’t come to that. And I’m sure they do too.
I get my wish when I return to the City Guard HQ. Though a new day is dawning, and I’m sure Adryan has had about as much sleep as me, I know he can’t sleep. Yet he gives me some moments of comfort at least, lying beside me as I drop off, stroking my hair and warding off the shadows of my mind as I drop off to sleep.
It is the peace I need. Here, on the second floor, it’s all so quiet and still. And with Adryan lying beside me, coaxing me to sleep, it’s a little bit of heaven in a world that’s turning to hell.
13
I wake to good news.
Shaken awake by Adryan, I have no idea how long he stayed with me or how long I’ve been out. ‘A good few hours’ is all I get, and heading back outside, the shape of the sun, curving through mid afternoon, suggests I’ve had a long enough stretch of slumber to reinvigorate me. Still, though, I feel pretty groggy…
The news, however, is that a good proportion of our men from the battle in the woods have survived. Over the course of the last few hours, they’ve been coming through the gates in ones, twos and other little groups, and the final tally is that, aside from Beckett, another eight hybrids lost their lives. From a count of fifty, it appears that we fared marginally better than the Stalkers, who lost about ten.
In addition, it seems that Rhoth did indeed make it too. Along with West and Larsson, he and the vast majority of his hunters made it back. Apparently, Rhoth knows the woods far too well to be caught out, even by an outfit far stronger than his own. Escaping the battle, all the Fangs regrouped and set about taking an alternative route to the city, hence their late arrival. In the end, about ninety of the hundred made it, all of them now gathering in the southern quarter to be reunited with the rest of the tribe.
Word of the battle at the edge of the
wood has quickly spread throughout the morning. I find Tess and Mrs Carmichael at their usual posts in Compton’s Hall, the space now seeming to take on several more people as the central core of the city swells. They come to me seeking word on what’s going on and to confirm the latest reports, and I tell them without any veil over my words.
I don’t try to hide the fact that we’re under serious threat here. Yet it’s only to them I tell the truth, and not the kids who hassle me for information. It’s best, I know, for the youngsters to stay a little in the dark, if only to make Brenda and Tess’s job of looking after them easier.
As the day goes on, however, the sight of the horizon to the west, packed with a thick sheet of black smoke, is enough to set the city on edge. The woods continue to burn, the flames spreading fast and far through the night and all through the day, now growing ever closer to the western edge of the city.
Even here, in Inner Haven, the black swamp is just about visible, thickening and creeping ever closer with each passing hour. Soon, perhaps, the flames will appear too, and the fumes will begin to seep into the city itself, covering us all in a coating of soot and ash that will call a start to the now-inevitable siege.
All over the city, the people I care for have their posts. Here in Compton’s Hall, my adopted mother and oldest friend, and the kids who I’ve lived with for many years. In the southern quarter now, the Fangs take refuge, seen to by Sophie. In the HQ, Adryan has his post, alongside my grandmother. Yet such times call for her to be seen by the people, and to go regularly to the western quarter to speak with her old husband.
And my brother, along with Rycard and Commander Burns, moving back and forward across the city, arranging the defences, liaising with our counterparts turned allies.
A lot happens that day, much of it while I slept, and plenty more when I wake. I learn too that the Con-Cops have left the eastern quarter, and have now been divided up into their companies and battalions to be assigned to operate under the orders of the City Guards and Stalkers, and our own forces of the Nameless.
