Defender: Book Nine in the Enhanced Series

by T. C. Edge

  All I can think is that we must have got him. The wind-manipulator must be dead.

  I’m wrong.

  It’s a sudden blast of air that proves it. From my right, the rush of wind is as strong as the explosion, pushing me straight back and off my feet. It comes from nowhere, completely out of the blue, bits of grit and mud and dirt coming with it. They spray into my face and eyes and momentarily blind me, and I instinctively call for Zander for help as I hit the floor, winded.

  I wipe my face clean and blink away the grime, setting my eyes in the direction of the sudden attack. The smoke ahead of me seems to have almost cleared entirely, but beyond it grows thick, hiding what lies within. I turn to grab my weapon, discarded to the side, and try to lift it and pepper the shroud with fire.

  I don’t get the chance. Another press of air comes, all that murk and gathered smoke rushing at me. It’s more violent this time, and with it larger bits of debris begin to spray towards me, stones and chunks of rock and wood, even blown off limbs that trail red blood as they advance.

  The wind continues to build, and my mind harkens back to when Kira was taken. I was impotent then in the face of a wind-manipulator. Assaulted from all sides and unable to lift my weapon in the storm. Soon, that storm became a tornado that was far too much for us all to bear. I cannot let that happen again. This unnatural weather needs to be quelled right here.

  I leave my pulse rifle where it is. It’s only weighing me down.

  I stay still, lie low, and gather all the strength I have.

  I look up, and focus on large bits of debris as they come – trunks and branches and bodies – and dodge any that get too near.

  And then, when I’m ready, I make my move.

  Through the furious wind, I set first to my knees, then move into a crouch, and then let my legs carry me forward. I utilise all the Dasher power I have, marching forward against the storm as I hear Zander’s voice calling for me. He’s lost somewhere within it too, off to the side of the camp in his own battles. I can’t rely on him here.

  I don’t want to rely on him either.

  The storm is growing fast, and my target remains hidden. But if I can’t see him, he surely can’t see me. I begin thrashing my legs as much as I can, working against the wind, scrapping forward with all I have until I reach the smog.

  It’s so strong now that I have to drop back to my knees. I use my hands to rip through the earth, all but crawling on all fours. I scrape and inch my way into the maelstrom, my strength waning, my lungs and legs and arms burning. I could so easily let go, be flung far and wide off into the blackened forest. I could let the torture end right here.

  But no. I won’t. I’ll never give up, never give in.

  It’s my duty to succeed.

  So with a final surge, I creep into the blackness and the swirling, battering wind, my body pummelled on either side, each hit threatening to loosen my grasp and have me spiralling off into the void. I claw on, and soon see his shape. See him there, arms aloft, turning them around and working this tornado to the earth.

  Only, no…it’s not a him at all.

  I see the long, flowing hair, and the curved shape of the hips. I see the silhouette of a woman, her power vast, and beyond a minor moment of surprise, feel nothing else at all.

  In fact, it spurs me on to kill this bitch.

  A fresh energy fills me, and with a last rush I reach her, crossing some odd threshold and entering into a world of total calm. About two metres all around her, there is no wind at all. It’s quiet, still, the heart of the tornado a peaceful place in the middle of hell.

  She looks at me, just seeing me crawl into her private domain from the corner of her eye. The shock is total, her eyes widening and lips parting.

  “How…” I hear her whisper in the sudden calm, her face not old but not young either. Just a normal woman with extraordinary gifts.

  Gifts I’m about to take from her.

  I draw my knife and stand, and move straight towards her. She seems to realise her end has come. Her arms stay aloft, as if inviting my knife in, presenting the target that I will not miss.

  I line her up and plunge the blade into her chest, cutting through into her heart.

  “Need,” I growl. “Desperation. The instinct to survive. That’s how…”

  A smile hovers onto her lips, and a sudden convulse brings a spit of blood dribbling over them. And as her eyes flicker and start to fade, her arms fall and the storm quickly subsides.

  And into the mud she sinks.

  30

  I turn straight around as the woman dies, and the rain of dust and debris begins to fall. The smoke floats off, thinning, and the clearing becomes clearer than ever.

  I can see it all now, the wreckage of the camp, tents destroyed and bodies burning. The sonic machine lies in a wreck, and the world goes silent and still. I blink soot from my eyes and see my brother, low on the ground, clamber uneasily to his feet. He looks around as I am, and sees that our work here is done.

  I rush straight for him, but find my legs giving way. I tumble and splash into a pool of mixed mud and blood, and feel myself lifted to my feet as Zander rushes over. He hugs me hard, both of us breathing loudly, before letting me go and pulling the mud and bundled fabric from his ears.

  I do exactly the same, and the sensation is glorious. It’s quiet, quieter than it’s ever been, quieter than the deepest of silences, even though the sounds of war in the city are still so clear. I smile wide and shake my head, and a laugh rumbles up through me.

  “Do you hear that,” I say.

  Zander listens.

  “What?”

  “Nothing...no wailing, no shrieking.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Hatcher. Colonel Hatcher…he must have disabled the other machine!”

  We look together to the north, still far from the city, and though the sounds of war are still clear, there’s nothing else to hear. The other machine, we know, would still be audible from this far away. Our Stalker ally must have got the job done.

  “I bet you never thought you’d be so thankful to a Stalker,” I laugh.

  My brother shakes his head, grinning.

  “Never,” he says. “Though, Hatcher’s a bit more than just a Stalker.”

  “Well, I guess we can thank our esteemed grandfather for his support. We wouldn’t have been able to do this without his men…”

  “No, I guess not,” grumbles Zander. “We should probably get back to him I suppose.”

  As we prepare to set off, I hear movement over near the tents. I turn to look and so does my brother. On instinct, I lift my pistol and he lifts his pulse rifle, and we guide them straight at the source of the sound.

  We step forward, gently and quietly, and from one of the wrecked tents, partially smouldering, see a figure crawl out. I prepare to fire immediately but Zander’s hand comes down on the gun, pushing it away.

  He shakes his head.

  “Not yet,” he says, and moves forward.

  I follow behind, tentative, and scan the crawling figure. It’s a man, dressed similarly to the woman I’ve just killed. His frame looks familiar, and for a second I tense up, stopping as Zander moves forward.

  And then I recognise him. I remember who he is.

  “Shoot him, Zander!” I shout immediately.

  My brother turns to me, confused.

  I lift my pistol and aim it at the man’s head, set to the pull the trigger. But as my arm swings into position, I feel my body suddenly lift from the earth, one of the strangest sensations of my young life. My feet rise off the ground, and I feel my limbs suddenly stuck in place, paralysed.

  I look at my brother, whose eyes have gone stark, and call out into his head.

  The Elemental! It’s the Elemental who destroyed the wall!

  He doesn’t need to be told. He knows full well already. With me still held in mid-air, Zander doesn’t swing his weapon as I did. He doesn’t stand his ground and try to kill the man, who’s now clamber
ing to his feet, and lifting a hand in Zander’s direction.

  No, my brother is too smart for that. In a split second, he disappears, dashing off out of range of the Elemental. I watch him speed away, and then feel myself tossed off to the side, crashing into the earth ten metres away. I land with such force that my mind goes muddy, and my eyes flicker, blurring as I watch the injured Elemental climb gingerly to his feet.

  I see the blood seeping from his leg, see him put his weight on one side of his body. It must have been as I thought. He must have come here to rest and regain his energy after destroying the wall. He must have been in the tent when we attacked, his leg injured by some stray bullet or shrapnel. But clearly, he’s got some gas left in the tank.

  He stands now, turning his eyes off to his left where Zander dashes, his frame leaving a trail of clear air amid the mist. Then he looks back at me, and raises a hand, and I feel my body fix again where it is.

  Dragging his limp leg, he approaches me, eyes glancing around the devastated camp and narrowing in anger. His lips form into a snarl, and I begin to feel the tremors in the earth, the muddy patch in which I lie starting to boil and froth.

  “Looks like your friend has abandoned you,” he growls. “Smart boy. You’re not going to be so lucky.”

  The ground continues to bubble, then starts to split. It breaks apart, and I feel my paralysed frame begin to sink into the filth, the fingers of the earth creeping around me, dragging me into the depths.

  “The earth is calling you, girl. Take a final breath now. It will be your last.”

  His fingers twist and coil, and the earth moves with them. Layers of mud and grime begin to wrap me up, covering every inch of me except for my face. He continues to slip forward, hauling his body along wearily, wanting to get as close as possible to see the terror in my eyes.

  And fearful they are. I have mere moments left until I’m completely consumed. Moments that, while terrifying, I know won’t be my last.

  Because in my head, I hear him. He speaks to me, comforts me, guides me.

  It’s OK, Brie. I’m here, he says. Keep him talking. Keep him distracted. I’ll be back with you momentarily.

  The dirt and filth continues to gather. It licks at my skin, creeping closer around the edges of my face, my body now entirely devoured and locked tight in the earth. But my eyes are still uncovered, and my nose and mouth too. And before they go under, I whisper through my lips.

  “You’re not going to win,” I say. “We have taken away your tricks. Our soldiers will overcome yours now, and you know it, don’t you?”

  I manage a smirk of my own, and see his eyes flash red.

  “No…oh no, girl, you are mistaken,” he growls. “Either way, you’ll never find out.”

  His evil grin returns, and the mud creeps towards my nostrils and up my nose. I try to blow it out but it just keeps coming. The Elemental’s smile doesn’t leave him. He doesn’t turn his eyes away. He watches, leaning closer, as his mind pulls the dirt and grime in whichever direction he wishes, filling my nostrils and then clearing them out, teasing the corners of my mouth.

  His sadism is his downfall. He is making a terrible mistake.

  To believe Zander abandoned me here to save his own skin…well, he doesn’t know Zander, and he doesn’t know me. Perhaps, in his world, such selfishness and cowardice is the norm.

  Not here.

  And as his smirk intensifies, I carve my own mouth into a look of calm as I hear my brother’s voice once more.

  It whispers quietly, comfortingly. I take a breath and my airways are covered.

  I’m here, my brother says. I’m right here with you.

  And as he says it, and the mud closes in, I see him appear as if from nowhere. Suddenly, he’s there, right behind the Elemental, his form taller and prouder, face handsome and young. His eyes glow bright, and in a moment of terrible realisation, I witness the flow of panic rumble across my torturers face.

  His mind may be powerful, but it isn’t quick enough to hold my brother back. Before he even knows he’s there, the knife is slipping across his throat, and the pain and fear is bubbling up through him. The gush of blood that comes next is a sight for sore eyes, and with only my eyes left uncovered, I see it all come frothing and spraying like a fountain from his opened throat.

  But Zander isn’t quite done. To complete the man’s ignominious death, he grabs him with both arms, summons his own consummate gifts, and throws him with a great deal of pace and power towards a nearly tree trump. His aim is perfect, and the Elemental’s body connects with a loud crack that tells of a splintered spine.

  Back broken, and body paralysed, he can merely lie there with his body emptying of all its blood, and watch as Zander quickly digs me out of my grave. His arrogance and failure are as all consuming as each other. He has lost. And his army will now lose too.

  Escaping the mire, I stand by my brother, drenched in filth and now wishing for the cool water of the pool not too far away. We watch the man’s body give out, and smile in victory as he takes his final, gargled breath.

  Two Elementals killed. The sonic machine destroyed.

  All in all, not a bad night’s work.

  31

  We have no time to bask in our triumph here at the camp. I have little time, too, to thank my brother for saving my life. Again.

  Such a thing has become the norm, yet my gratefulness remains profound. I hug him to show how much he means to me, how much I love. Yet no words are required. Really, there are no words to express my thanks.

  Turning our attention back to the little base here in the burnt out woods, we quickly check each enemy soldier to make sure they’re dead. Once that’s confirmed, we set off west, moving with as much speed as we can given the state of exhaustion that now grips us both with all available digits and limbs.

  Already, the night is starting to head towards morning. With the smoke clearing, the shape of natural clouds in the sky above appear, and the silver lines of dawn become visible off on the distant horizon.

  Moving through the brush, the sounds of war in the distance still rumble and chatter away, and without Zander’s radio we can only hope that they’re holding the lines and keeping the enemy from getting to the walls of Inner Haven.

  I have some confidence now, a burgeoning feeling that we’re gonna win this damn thing. Inner Haven is well protected, its walls similarly armed and bolstered and, given it’s size relative to the perimeter of Outer Haven, far easier to defend. The strategy was always to hold the outer walls until, in the event that they fell, pull back gradually through the city, fighting from the many security cordons and blockades along the way.

  The final stage is Inner Haven, and should it be needed, that’s where the final stand will be made. Yet, with the smoke clearing and the wailing gone, our City Guards and other soldiers will find their many gifts returned. It will, hopefully, have evened things out, if not given us a distinct advantage.

  After all, defending a city is far easier than trying to sack one. We have armaments and grand walls on our side, and far greater knowledge of the streets too. This fight is now ours for the taking. And right now, I want to get back to it as soon as possible.

  So on we press, rushing through the brush without the need to stay silent. With our eyes now unencumbered by the fading mist, and the thick network of trees burnt away and no longer obscuring our view, we see everything ahead. Together, our Hawk eyes scan and search as we hurry on, just in case some enemy patrol should have heard the fighting and come to investigate.

  The going is quick, however. Though we don’t use our Dasher powers, we still jog as fast as we can manage, keen to return to Cromwell and work out just what to do next.

  There are still many questions that need answering, and I’m sure, now that Zander knows the truth, we’ll have plenty to discuss regarding just what we do with our old grandfather. Most likely, my brother’s form of justice will be different from my own. Were it down to me, I’d execute the man as soon as
we got a chance. Zander is more level-headed, though, and as his ire begins to sooth, and his logical manner of thinking returns, he might just choose to take a fairer path.

  After all, without Cromwell’s help, we would have had no chance over the last few days, and the days to come. Does that aid, this pact of ours, absolve him of former crimes? His crimes are certainly manifold, and go far beyond those against my family. My desire for revenge centres on my parents, but beyond them, all those who have died in this war have done so due to him. And though we’ve killed many innocents ourselves, we’ve done so purely as a reaction to his terrible doctrines that go against the basic rights all humans, both Enhanced and Unenhanced, should have.

  That is all a discussion for another time, and Lady Orlando will no doubt have a very powerful voice within it. As far as I see it, if Zander and I want personal revenge, now might be the only time for it. We could enact our vengeance now, and pray that killing the man doesn’t unleash his Stalkers and Con-Cops and turn them against us. So sneaky is he, so shrewd, that I truly don’t know whether he’s telling the truth on that count or not.

  And, I suppose, that alone is enough to stay our hands right now. If we killed him, and returned to find our soldiers embroiled again in civil conflict, we’d never be able to forgive ourselves. Cromwell’s death, though something I greatly desire, is far overshadowed by the risk his demise might bring.

  No, we will continue to protect him, continue to save his life. In order to ensure the safety of our people, we have no choice in the matter.

  We press forward, and the sight of the cliffs nears, and the gentle sounds of the waterfall fills our ears. It’s a lovely sound, and the anticipation of dowsing myself in the clear water and cleaning myself of this filth is enough to set a giddy feeling inside me.