by T. C. Edge
Keeping silent as a spectre, we continue on when we get a chance. But it seems that such silence isn’t enough. Here, with the streets a little quieter and further from the perimeter and the battles that rage there, a simple noise, out of turn, could be picked up by a passing Bat.
They have such men with them. Bats to listen for us. Sniffers to smell for us. Hawks to see us through the shroud. Moving faster, it seems we’re not accounting for Cromwell’s regular, unenhanced eyesight. We may be able to see better through this mist. We may be able to catch sight of obstacles with greater speed and efficiency as we stalk through the shadows. But Cromwell cannot.
And so it’s his leg that clatters into a piece of errant debris on the ground. His foot that catches and sends his body falling to the side, and banging into the open door of an abandoned, burnt out car. The door swings shut, his weight pushing it inwards, and clangs loudly into the dark night.
We stop as the sound echoes away through the streets. For a second, nothing seems to happen. And then, sweeping from the distance, voices lift, and boots slam, and soldiers come running.
“Damn it!” grunts Zander. “Move!”
He rushes to Cromwell’s side, and I move to his other. Together, either side of our grandfather, we lurch forward, pressing on with our speed and hauling the old man through the streets. Passing down a narrow path and exiting into a wider road, I spot one of the many shelters here that give protection against the toxic rain.
“Zander,” I shout, sending my eyes towards it.
He sees it too, and needs no convincing. We rush right for it, kicking the door open and moving down the stairs into the blackness below. I stop and stand by Cromwell, his face turning queasy from the sudden motion, as Zander quickly moves for the secret passage that gives access to the world below.
It seems we got lucky. Many of these shelters hold such doors, but many do not. And some that do have found themselves blocked and caved in by the recent fighting between our now-friendly forces, impassable and leading to nothing but dead-ends.
But not this one.
As the brick wall opens inward, Zander steps back and grabs hold of Cromwell, dragging him unceremoniously into the tunnel. I follow straight behind as our pursuers reach the top of the stairs outside the shelter, not knowing the city as we do and unsure of just where we’ve gone.
It gives us precious moments that are the difference between life and death. Pushing the door to the tunnel shut, we escape into the darkness just in time as the soldiers reach the opening. I can hear them banging away wildly as we move away, their weapons chattering and trying to break through.
They will. Soon enough, they’ll be right on our tails again. I’ve escaped through these tunnels before, in very similar fashion to this, and know just how these things work. In no time at all, we’ll be under the hammer. We have bought time, but minutes only. It needs to be enough.
As we drag Cromwell through the blackness, knowing full well he cannot possibly see down here, I shout out to my brother, asking where we’re going.
The shelter we entered, I know, was in district 5. Not the one we were headed for in district 6, but not too far away. I feel we have no choice now but to continue on. It seems our path is inevitable, as if written by the fates.
“This road leads to the main caverns,” calls Zander in reply.
“The waterfall?” I query.
“Yes,” he answers.
Our chat is cut short by the sound of pursuit. Echoing through the darkness, the pounding of boots on rock begins to flow our way, following behind a cracking explosion that makes it clear the door has been blasted apart.
The passage is narrow, too narrow to move at great speed in its early expanses. But soon it opens out, allowing us to move either side of our grandfather once again, pressing forward at a speed that will no doubt be extremely uncomfortable and nauseating for the old man.
Were our lives not in such peril, I’d enjoy putting him through it. But right here, right now, such trivialities are cast aside.
The passage soon opens out and begins to widen, and beyond, the familiar sound of rushing water begins to reach my ears. And the smells of vegetation, too, wafts up my nose, the air growing less close and stuffy, and scented with natural aromas that I once found so pleasant after enduring the rather less agreeable odours of the city above.
The main cavern is close now, vast and wide and spreading through the underlands, a secret garden down in the darkness that once gave me some respite from the dangers above. This passage is one I’ve never travelled, one of many that enters into the larger cave, ending in a slight drop that requires us to aid Cromwell in reaching the ground.
Zander drops first, hitting the uneven rock floor a couple of metres below, and I’m forced to hold Cromwell tight as I help lower his frame into my brother’s arms. It’s a level of physical contact I never expected or wished to endure with the man. Unless I’ve got my hands around his throat, that is...
I drop straight down right after, and we begin working our way into the grand space. The sounds behind us continue to grow, the enemy moving close, and Zander spreads his gaze around the cavern, considering our way out.
There are many routes that lead to dead-ends, and many others that are recently caved in and now obstructed. Zander’s knowledge of the place is encyclopaedic, yet he appears frayed and confused, the recent alterations to the structure down here scrambling his memory map.
His eyebrows lower and his movements grow nervous. The rushing of boots in the distance only serves to heighten his panic.
“There’s one guaranteed way out,” I say. He looks at me with doubt in his eyes. “Zander, we don’t have a choice. Maybe we’ve come here for a reason…”
He doesn’t believe such rubbish, and neither do I. This is nothing but a perfect storm, a coincidence. We’ve been forced right to where we were originally trying to get. Now, we only have one sure choice, and the only difference is that we have Cromwell for baggage.
Very heavy baggage…
“Zander!” I say again. “We have to go, now!”
The movement of the enemy grows ever louder. In mere moments they’ll be sure to emerge from the tunnel and hunt us down. Split seconds count, and Zander’s doubt isn’t helping.
It’s time I took charge.
So grabbing my grandfather, who continues to seem disoriented by the entire affair, I gallop forward with all my speed, taking the old man with me. Past rocks piles and pillars I go, surging around the side as I seek the source of the rushing water.
I see it, right ahead, the waterfall tumbling from the rock wall and entering into the pool of ice-cold water. It froths and seethes like a wild beast, ready to gobble up anyone foolish enough to enter its jaws.
I’ve done so before, and I need to do so again.
It’s time to take a dip.
I hear Zander babbling away behind me, but ignore him. I dash for the waterfall and quickly reach the edge, looking down into the pool and the river that flows away into the blackness beneath us. As soon as I step in, that current will take me where I need to go. It will take all of us to safety.
Or kill us in the attempt.
As my brother hurtles up alongside us, I consider leaving Cromwell here to his fate. He’ll die for sure, and who knows whether that will activate his remaining Stalkers and Con-Cops to fight against us. How would they even be aware of his demise?
Yet, I can’t do it. I can’t take the risk. If I leave him here, he’ll die for sure. And, well, jumping in the river, he could well drown anyway.
Either way, his fate is no longer fully in our hands. In fact, none of ours are.
With the soldiers now pouring into the cavern a little way away, we have no choice but to enter the maelstrom. And we have to do so now, before they see us, before they can consider following our lead.
So looking at Zander, I take a long breath, urging him to do the same. He has no love for water, and this is going to be some baptism of fire.
>
“Stay together. Stay afloat,” I say.
He nods, and I smile at him nervously.
And with our grandfather still between us, we drop into the raging foam.
26
The attack of the freezing liquid is enough to set my heart to stone. My insides feel like they’re locked in place, and my limbs feel like they’re being stabbed all at once by a series of prodding knives.
I hear nothing but a bubbling rush as my head goes under, and make sure to cling tight to Cromwell as we bob for a second as a three, before being sucked right down into the submerged tunnels.
I try to recall the various bends of the river, the various points where the water slows and we can reach the surface and draw breath, but find my memory abandoning me. I have no capacity to think clearly now, all my energy given over to the fight for survival that we all face.
We quickly get sucked through the first underwater portion, before being pressed back to the surface as the world roars again. Zander and I gasp for air, and I open my eyes to draw in what light I can. I see Cromwell’s head still under, and reach out to lift him higher. His old face appears, withered and run-down, though he remains conscious and alert enough to heave a mighty gulp of air into his lungs.
The river offers no respite. Sucked under again, we continue to flow further from the waterfall, further from the cavern. Above, the roof of the drowned passages, and the sides of the rock, claw at us with sharp edges. I feel my body dragged to the side, and desperately try to cling onto Cromwell as I go. He’s torn from my grasp and my side cracks against the wall, ripping at my combat gear and trying to tear at the skin and flesh beneath.
In the darkness, I open my eyes and find my Hawk powers limited by the white flow of water. I see two shapes ahead, still locked together, and kick hard to rejoin them. I reach them and grip at my grandfather again, and we enter into another cavern and kick together for the surface.
Once again, we break through and gasp, lungs burning and demanding to be refilled. My brother and I work in unison, kicking at the same time, keeping the old man between us. The initial surge gives way to a flatter calm for a moment, drawing us along in the murk, and I note the fear in Zander’s eyes, the desperation. I imagine mine must look the same.
The river takes us on, dragging us south beneath the city, taking us closer and closer to the wall and beyond. My limbs grow quickly stiff in the cold, and I think again of just how far the river goes, just how long we’ll have to endure this nightmare.
Then my memory wakes, and I remember the passage out. In the depths of the southern quarter, there’s a ledge that leads to a tunnel, and that tunnel leads back to the surface. It will, I know, be close to the fighting. It might just lead us into the heart of the enemy as they swarm through the southern breach and take control of the outer portion of the city.
My mind is split in two as we’re battered along, crashing into walls and having our clothing ripped and scraped. If we could kick for the ledge together, we could escape this torture and get back to the streets. We could try to find a car, head straight for Inner Haven and get to safety…
But no…no we can’t do that.
We have to get outside the city. It’s no good going back now. If we reach the ledge and get to the surface, we could very well exit into enemy held territory. We could all be killed right then and there. That won’t do at all. We have a job that needs doing, and however much of a gamble it might be, we have to try.
I battle with the two options as we go, until suddenly we reach the cave where the ledge awaits. I’m on the left, nearest to it. As we break the surface of the water, I hear Zander’s wild voice calling for us to make for land.
“Kick, Brie,” he splutters. “Kick!”
I look at the ledge, and recall how close I was to making it when I was down here last. I got a grip of the rock, but was dragged away by the furious current. I had no idea where the river would take me from there. I thought, at that moment, that I would die.
But this time, I know the ledge isn’t where we need to go. I have to trust my instincts. I have to take charge. I won’t let us abandon this mission for the sake of our grandfather. His life may very well be important. But there’s something bigger at stake here.
So as my brother calls desperately for me to kick and reach for the rock, I don’t. I kick the other way instead, doing so in secret so he doesn’t know, working with the current to keep us away from the water’s edge. His legs, powerful, churning through the froth, aren’t enough to get us all there alone. I deny him, and bit by bit, the water takes us away.
As my brother exclaims and roars out, depleting his stocks of energy, I shout for him to stop.
“It’s a lost…cause,” I call into the echoing, rushing chamber, spitting water that surges into my mouth. “The wat…waterfall…it’s close…”
I kick a few more times, and turn my back from the ledge as if to show I’m done trying to get there.
“Save your…energy,” I say. “Stop kicking.”
It’s only Zander’s efforts that are now keeping us from being swallowed back up. But slowly, he realises they’re futile. And as he stops the fight, we’re quickly drawn further downriver, my grandfather still staying quiet between us, just trying to breathe when he can, his old limbs unable to provide much horsepower as we drive our way onwards.
We’re close now, and I know it. At this point in my last venture here, I was all set to give up. I had no idea where I was being taken. I had no idea when the torment would end. Only when I reached the waterfall, well beyond the southern gate, and was spat out into the pool below, did I realise I’d made it.
Then, of course, I had plenty more battles to come.
This time is different. We need to get to where we’re going. We need to reach that pool and survive the thirty-metre drop. We need to quickly gather our senses and continue the fight. And we need to do it all while keeping our grandfather alive.
So on we go, battered and bruised, freezing and exhausted, tumbling beneath the surface before being thrust again to the top. For another few minutes, we suffer the ride, and I call out when I can that the opening is coming, that the end is near.
Then the light appears, though not as it was before. Last time, it was night, but the moonlight was bright, the end of the tunnel so obvious in the darkness. This time, the smog holds that light at bay, and above, the sky is filled with natural clouds too, the world hidden under several heavy blankets.
But, still, my Hawk eyes are enough to see the end. And the growing roar of the waterfall is another piece of evidence that our journey is about to conclude.
“Deep breath!” I shout. “Brace for the fall. It’s a long drop!”
I hold onto my grandfather even tighter than ever as the water and passage straighten out, and turn to see the grit in my brother’s eyes. He stares forward, ready for what’s set to come his way, the roar growing ever louder.
Then, with the water speeding towards its end, I see the faint signs of the forest beyond, now so different to before. It’s been eaten away, the fires still raging far off to the south as the inferno continues to spread to the distance. But immediately ahead, the woods are black, the world burnt, lit only with the embers of the dying flames.
It gives some shape to the world ahead as we reach the river’s end and the waterfall’s beginning. As I call once more for us to brace, I feel the world give way beneath us for a split second as we’re tossed out into the void. Down below, the black pool of water awaits, rushing up so fast I barely have time to shut my eyes and clench my jaw as the surface slaps us hard.
We crash and tumble, and this time I cannot hold on. I’m ripped from the others, the three of us split apart, churning in the froth for a few long seconds before I burst for the surface. I crash through, gulping air, and see my brother do the same.
But not Cromwell. He’s nowhere to be seen.
I share a look with my twin. Our eyes regain their power, darting left and right and scann
ing fast. He must be beneath the water. Without a second’s hesitation, we dive and search, kicking hard and moving quickly for the bottom.
Neither of us truly know how to swim, yet our instincts give us the necessary ability to do so. And our Dasher powers rise to the fore once more, the kicks of our legs and the clawing of our hands sufficiently speedy and powerful to have us rushing through the water like hunting fish.
Floating at the bottom, I see a shape in the darkness. I thrash for it and the form of Cromwell appears, eyes closed, body limp. I grab him, press my feet to the muddy floor, and leap with all I have, forcing us both to the silver surface.
We smash through the veil, and Zander quickly swims over, the two of us awkwardly paddling for shore and taking Cromwell with us. We reach the muddy bank, and heave him onto the sopping earth, his white suit sodden and covered in filth, his eyes still shut and body still.
Zander quickly leans in, setting his ear to Cromwell’s mouth.
“He’s not breathing,” he says. “I need to resuscitate him. He cannot die!”
I watch, exhausted, as I sit in the mud, wondering how it’s come to this. Wondering how I’ve just been forced to save the man who killed my parents, who led to the deaths of so many others. Wondering how, right now, Zander is having to bring him back to life, when he lies there, seemingly dead.
A large part of me watches and hopes my brother fails as he pumps at his chest, and sets his lips to the old man’s, breathing into his mouth and doing the work of his dormant lungs. I wish to stop him, hold him back, let Cromwell cling to death and not let go.
It’s his. He deserves it. Let him keep it.
But I don’t interfere, because there’s another part that needs him to live. A part that cannot be sure if his death will be our undoing. If he dies, right now, maybe everyone I love will follow. Maybe the entire city will be consumed in the hours to come.
So I watch, torn, shivering and sodden and entirely afraid of both outcomes. My brother pumps and breathes, growing ever more frantic and desperate. He isn’t torn like me. He doesn’t know what I know. He desires only for the old man to spit that water from his lungs and return to the world of the living.
