Ravagers [03.00] Deviate

by Alex Albrinck

  Wesley finally took his attention off his arm and looked at the children, then back at Mary. “To answer your question, I do understand now. And I can see why you’re protecting them.”

  “We need to make sure they survive, Wesley. And both of us will sacrifice our lives to ensure that they live.” Her eyes took on a more serious look. “We’ll sacrifice the lives of any who put them at risk as well.”

  It was a threat… but she needn’t worry. “So will I.” He stood up, slowly, and looked around. “I’m going to go outside and look around for a few minutes, see what type of plant and animal life we might be able to use as food sources beyond the obvious options in the ocean water.” His face turned grim, and he tapped the walls of the shed. “If this is here, I suspect we may not be the only humans on this island. If there are others here and they think we’re a threat, we’ll have to be prepared to defend ourselves.”

  Mary looked as if she wanted to argue. Instead, she nodded. “Be safe.”

  Wesley nodded and walked outside.

  He’d pulled off his boots and socks, having learned his lesson from his desperate sprint to the ocean earlier. Shoes didn’t offer much assistance on soft sand, and he enjoyed the sensation it created on his heels and toes. Wesley faced the ocean and turned to his right, spotting spongy grass leading from the beach area into the trees. He took a deep breath through his nose, detecting the sweet scent given off by fruits growing from trees. That was a food source. He listened carefully, noting enough chirps and squaws and squeaks to suggest alternative protein options to the plentiful fish available in the ocean. They’d need to find or build a small boat and net, potentially, but they’d have enough food here to give them the opportunity to create such tools.

  He blinked once more. How did he know how to do that? He’d known how to check the air for specific scents and listen for the sounds of various animals when he’d moved to his small cabin in the Hinterlands. He couldn’t remember learning those skills, though he’d demonstrated them admirably from his first day outside the walls. What, exactly, had he been in a past erased by the Voice, and only slowly reappearing in his conscious mind?

  He shook his head and turned to his left and started walking. He took a few steps on the soft, warm sand, noting how comfortable it felt, remembering the nap he’d taken on the lake island after his arrival. He laughed, remembering the small creature that had mistaken his open mouth for a potential home. It was funny now, but it had horrified him then. Still chuckling, he looked up.

  And stopped.

  His suspicion about additional humans on the island had been confirmed in dramatic fashion. He saw in the distance row upon row of gleaming white marble buildings, enough that he’d call the collection a town if not a city. He could see small human-shaped figures moving about between the buildings, giving him an idea of both the distance and the size of those buildings. Judging by both, this island wasn’t just populated; it was well populated.

  So much for picking an isolated spot for their escape.

  The beach between the city in the distance and the shed where they hid was also populated, but by sunbathers enjoying the idyllic conditions. Most were, at any rate. Many of the people rested on chairs set upon the sand, while others carried items on trays to those lounging. Wesley couldn’t tell if those moving were workers or servants or slaves. He slid closer to the shed at a slow pace, not wanting anyone there noticing the new arrival. Something about the scene set the hairs on the back of his neck standing, and a sense of deep foreboding formed in the pit of his stomach.

  He watched as one of those lounging in a beach chair took a sip of her drink, then threw it at the man who’d brought the beverage. The thick glass hit him in the forehead, and as blood seeped from the gash in his head he collapsed to the ground. The woman shook her head and raised her hand as she settled back into her chair, and moments later a new servant attended to her as others carried the unconscious man away. His eyes took in similar acts of abuse over the course of several minutes.

  Wesley felt sick. They lived in the most luxurious of accommodations in one of the most beautiful, scenic spots on the planet, with every need catered to by servants, and treated other human beings as expendable dirt. He’d not heard of such arrogance and total disregard for others since he’d last heard details about the higher ranking members of the Phoenix Group.

  Oh no.

  They were on an island surrounded by hundreds of miles of water on all sides, comfortably away from the most populated regions in the East, an island featuring luxurious accommodations for people who had no reservations about treating with abuse those they saw as their inferiors.

  He’d dropped them into an enclave of members of the Phoenix Group.

  Wesley twisted around the side of the shed and entered. The children were awake, looking refreshed. Wesley knelt down by both of them, glancing back and forth. “Thanks for what you did for me earlier.”

  Jill grinned. “You’re welcome, Wesley Cardinal.”

  Jack grinned as well. “Just don’t do that again, okay?”

  “Deal.” Wesley sat back and looked at John and Mary. “I think we’re safe from any impending Ravager attacks, but we’re on a heavily populated island. I’m pretty sure that a sizable percentage of the residents here are Phoenix or sympathizers.”

  Mary grimaced. “We should probably avoid those areas.”

  “Yeah.” Wesley nodded. “To our right is a pretty healthy forest, and I’m fairly certain there’s plenty of edible vegetation and game we can hunt. That can sustain the five of us for a while. We can also fish. So…”

  “So we’re moving into the forest.” John nodded. “Fair enough. Ready, kids?”

  They gathered up their bags. Wesley rummaged through the supplies in the shed and tossed a few in his bags. Then he strapped his backpack over his shoulders and picked up the other bags. He glanced at the Smiths, each of whom carried supplies. “Let’s go.”

  They left slowly, eager to avoid drawing any attention their way. Wesley held the door open as the others filed out behind him and moved to the forest side of the shed. Wesley closed the door slowly with his foot and moved around to join them.

  They’d taken two steps toward the trees when a loud whistling noise drew their attention.

  All of them looked up.

  Wesley put his bags down and held his hand up, shielding his eyes against the sun. The whistling sound grew louder, the noisemaker generating tremendous amounts of reverberation through the air. His eyes were drawn to a long, silvery cylinder streaking through the sky. Even Wesley, who’d heard enough to suspect that powered flight wasn’t a disproven myth, found it difficult to believe what his eyes beheld.

  He slid toward the ocean for a slightly better view, watching as the cylinder arced downward before accelerating into the middle of the throng of beachgoers a few hundred yards away. He turned away, as much from the sight of the raw carnage as for the sand blown up by the projectile, before taking off his pack and rummaging through it for his binoculars. He pulled them to his eyes and aimed them at the impact zone, twisting the knob for better focus.

  Many of the Phoenix and their servants had scattered a distance from the impact zone; more than a few vomited as they encountered body parts strewn along the beach, and Wesley didn’t blame them. It was quite the gruesome sight. He aimed the binoculars back to the impact zone, where the silvery projectile was embedded deep into the sand, only the tail end sticking out toward the sky.

  Then he saw movement on the cylinder itself. A dark oily mass leaked out, dribbling down the side until it landed on the sand.

  “Don’t move, don’t move,” Wesley muttered.

  “What?” John asked. “What do you see?”

  Wesley said nothing.

  The oily mass moved across the sand.

  A pair of men wearing the designated uniform of the servant class moved toward the projectile. Wesley didn’t know why; perhaps they were charged with removing the object and restoring
the pristine beauty of the sand. He wished with every fiber of his being that they’d stop, that they’d turn around, or that he’d be proven wrong in his assumption.

  One of the men knelt by the oily mass, puzzled, and mouthed the words “why isn’t it sinking into the sand” to his companion. He thought it was actual oil. He dipped his fingers into the mass and held the fingers up, staring.

  Wesley pulled the binoculars away as the fingers dissolved. They could hear the man’s screams arrive seconds later. He threw his binoculars back in the pack and tossed it on his back once more. “Change of plans. Head toward the trees nearest the ocean.”

  “What?” Mary said. “Wesley, what did you see?”

  “Ravagers,” he replied. “Someone sent a flying rocket full of them here to the island. They’ve already started to spread.”

  No further words were needed. The makeshift family veered left as they set a brisk pace toward the trees, grim looks upon each of their faces.

  Survival had just become much more complicated.

  —25—

  SHEILA CLARKE

  ELECTRICAL VIBRATIONS SLUICED around her body as she stepped through the portal, orders of magnitude stronger than the sensation she’d felt when moving from the lake island to Eden. The latter had been a minor disturbance, similar to the feeling one might experience when a limb “fell asleep” and tingled as it regained necessary blood flow. The move to the space-based Phoenix Headquarters was no minor limb-sleeping episode. She felt something akin to an electrical shock, and felt her hair stand on end, splayed out in all directions. Her eyes watered a bit.

  And then she was through, panting, sweating, and not eager at all to repeat the experience. But she’d have to go back through that door to return to the planet’s surface, or else remain behind here at the enemy’s stronghold.

  Sheila glanced around, finding herself inside a dark room. The scent of soap and industrial cleaners suggested it might be a janitorial supply closet, ideally one visited infrequently by the locals.

  Sheila turned and glanced at the door, realizing that there was a question she’d not asked Micah. Would the portal connection remain if she closed the door? She couldn’t risk leaving herself stranded, yet she couldn’t allow the enemy direct access to Eden either. She frowned, trying to logic everything out. When they’d moved to Eden, nothing suggested that the connection started only upon opening the door. But they’d not tried going back. Micah had destroyed the door on the lake side, and the light had gone out on Eden. She glanced up. The light above the door remained illuminated, the faint number 3336 readily visible in the darkened room.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Sheila pushed the door closed. She swallowed, then cracked it open once more. The familiar sights and smells of Eden remained visible. She breathed a sigh of relief and shut the door once more, then frowned. The door was out of place here, too easy for anyone to find and open. The light stood out, something a person with only modest curiosity would investigate. She couldn’t leave the door so exposed, especially without knowing just how long she’d be gone. She glanced around the room. Freestanding metal shelves were set in obvious aisles; moving any of them would cause too much noise, and anyone frequenting the room would recognize the altered pattern immediately.

  She needed to obscure the door and light without disturbing the room layout. After chewing on her lip for a bit, the answer came. She dispatched a small sliver of nanos atop the illuminated numbers, then sent a few more to mask the rest of the door, ordering them to match the wall coloring. That camouflaged the door quite well. She considered the doorknob, then used more nanos to fill in the gaps around the door, stretching and smoothing them out until it looked like there was little more than a minor bump in the wall.

  Satisfied with her handiwork, she turned her attention on masking her own presence. Practice on Eden made performance in space far easier, and within a few seconds she’d created her armored exoskeleton and rendered herself invisible.

  Remember, you can’t be seen, but you can be heard and felt.

  She moved to the exit door and paused at her own mental reminder. She couldn’t be seen, but anything she moved in her invisible state would be noticed. That meant if she opened the door of this small room into a larger space, people would see it. Yet how could she know with certainty if anyone waited outside without opening the door?

  As she considered her quandary, she heard a faint rattling sound. Her eyes snapped to the door handle, and she felt her heart skip a beat as the handle dipped down.

  Someone was headed into this room.

  She stepped back as the door opened, narrowly missing contact with the nearest freestanding metal shelving unit. An older man walked in, whistling a jaunty tune, and after flipping on the lights he moved toward a shelf in the second aisle. Sheila heard him move supplies around on the shelf as he searched for the specific materials he required. As he lingered, she realized she could head out without worrying about causing any door irregularities. But the door slid closed of its own accord, clicking silently. Sheila inwardly cursed her slow thinking; that would have solved the problem.

  The man completed his search and moved back toward the door, cradling the supplies under his right arm and using the left to turn the handle and slinging the door inward. He took a step out, and Sheila exhaled.

  The man paused, then stuck his head back into the room, glancing around. “Odd. Coulda sworn I heard someone breathing in here.” He shrugged, flipped off the light switch, and left. The door clicked closed behind him.

  Sheila waited thirty seconds until her pulse rate stabilized. Then she sent a few nanos from the bottom of her boots under the door. After the original overwhelming flow of visual and audio stimuli during the initial setup of her private swarm, the communication nanos filtered out every bit of data received. She now asked them to turn the visual images back on, but just for those under the door. She’d tried that on Eden; would it still work here? She closed her eyes and waited.

  Images filtered into her visual consciousness. She saw a wide, massive corridor with labeled doors lining both sides at irregular intervals. The transparent ceiling offered a breathtaking view of the planet below, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Micah hadn’t been kidding; they really were in space, gazing down upon the world below. She saw the silver floes of Ravagers glistening in the darkness, and saw the faint light rays from the sun peeking out from behind the brilliant, multicolored marble floating against the otherwise pitch-black backdrop. She focused on that for a moment before shaking her head. She had to focus. She looked around, moving her visual point of view as if she stood in the corridor, looking left and then right. She saw no one but the man who’d just departed. As soon as he was a significant distance away, she looked the opposite direction to confirm that no one would see the door, then turned the handle down gently and pulled the door open, slipped outside, and closed it as quietly as possible. She turned off the dispatched nanos and pulled them back to the bottom of her boots. Confident in her invisibility once more, she… had no idea what to do next.

  Micah said he hadn’t identified the location of the Ravager control server, other than that he suspected that it would be in the most heavily guarded part of Headquarters. She hadn’t comprehended before just how large this place was, though; finding “the most heavily guarded” spot could take ages.

  A commotion sounded off to her left. Sheila frowned, then set off in the direction of the noise. Commotions could mean fights and altercations. Those would draw the attention of security guards, and she could follow them back to where they’d come from. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it seemed a better option than wandering aimlessly.

  She walked along, noting that the walkway curved very slightly downward, meaning that someone walking before her would eventually disappear below her horizon line.

  It also meant that one would see others rise above the horizon line. She watched as a crowd of people rose into view, all facing a pair of men arguing i
n the middle. It wasn’t until she reached the edge of the crowd that she recognized one of them.

  It was Micah, disguised as the dark-haired man with the piercing green eyes. His combatant was a man who looked like a much younger Oswald Silver, though she suspected it must be a nephew of Silver’s or some other relation. Silver couldn’t look that young. She gulped. Too much had happened over the past several days for her to dismiss such an idea. If it looked like a younger Oswald Silver, it probably was a younger Oswald Silver.

  As Micah held the silver hand up and showed the crowd, Silver rose behind him, a sizzling anger in his eyes. Micah turned and called Silver by a different name. Sebastian.

  She didn’t know what it meant. But it was the final dagger he’d offer. Silver pulled out a gun, aimed, and fired. Sheila watched in silent horror as the hole appeared in Micah’s forehead, as the illumination that gave life to his eyes dimmed and went out.

  It took several seconds, but he fell to the ground with a dull thud.

  Sheila put her invisible hand in her invisible mouth to stifle the sound of the tears she fought back. Micah had intended to sacrifice himself for her; she doubted he’d meant for her to see that sacrifice, though.

  Silver lowered the gun, eyes still blazing. He deposited the gun in the camouflaged holster on the back of his left hip. He strode forward, stepped on Micah’s chest, and pried the fingers off his own prosthetic hand. He reattached the limb, grabbed the glove made of skin-like material, then shrugged. “No point bothering with this now.” He stuffed the glove in his pocket, the silver of his hand gleaming in the light.

  He finally noticed all the eyes staring at him. He pointed at Micah. “That man was a traitor, sent here by those still fighting against our plans to make the world a better place for all. His efforts at disruption have failed. We should celebrate his death.”

  One voice rose above the crowd. “Mr. Silver, that man said he knew you.”