“So what exactly am I supposed to do? I mean, besides wait to be consumed by this All-Eater of yours and hope that this...person...helps us?” Ejelano said aloud. By now he’d caught his breath.
YOU DO JUST THAT: SIT TIGHT. HE’S GETTING READY TO DO THE THING I’VE BEEN GROOMING HIM FOR. LET’S JUST HOPE HE GETS AROUND TO IT BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.
* * *
Chapter 42 – Tristan
Tristan was enraged.
Someone had reached into the Spire’s latent potential, and awakened its beastly, mechanical heart. They’d cast the electric shroud over the top of the facility and locked the gate, and unbelievably...unthinkably...it had been enough.
Overpowering his jailors had been easy for his people, once they had found their courage. They’d flooded in and released him from his unjust incarceration, visiting their wrath upon the guards. Once he’d been freed, they’d fled into the shantytown, concealing and gathering themselves for their next course of action. Tristan had sat with them, wracking his brain, trying to come up with something that would best serve his beloved Reclaimer.
It was then, crouching in the dirt and searching for guidance, that Tristan had received a message. The muddled voices in his head, usually so active, had silenced themselves, and one voice had risen above the others and spoken clearly to him.
It was one he hadn’t heard in a long time, but one he still knew well, nonetheless.
It had first found him in the Wastes, when he was young and alone and at the very brink of death, after those that made him had fallen. It had whispered seductively in his ear, confirming to him what he’d already suspected about his place and his purpose, and Tristan then had known that the voice was the very same from the tale his Prophet had told him about his encounter with the Reclaimer, the one that had pressed his father to the ground with hands unseen, on that distant hilltop overlooking the burning city. Indeed, it was the very same one who’d confirmed the Prophet’s importance, and foretold of Tristan’s birth. The voice had assured Tristan that he would not be a meal for the Wastes, all those years ago. It had told him of the existence of the great Dome, and pointed him in the right direction. It had bidden him to go forth and disseminate the Message to the people there, who were so ignorant of its promise. Then, it had fallen silent, but its words had infused him with the strength to continue on until the merciful day he’d spied the great gates.
And now, hiding in that rusty shack and surrounded by his followers, the voice had finally visited him again. It had told him that the end was close at hand, but that it could only arrive if he rose up and fulfilled his destiny. Tristan then received the vision of a great portal opening, and he knew what he had to do.
He would be the one to let the light in. He would be the one to open the gate.
He’d shared this prophecy with his flock, and their voices had risen with his in celebration of their collective purpose. They’d burst forth from the shacks with elation in their hearts, rushing on toward their goal, to clear the way for the entry of the holy one.
And then, as they’d pushed on toward the gate, Tristan had heard the blast, turned and seen the fireball bloom out from the office of his hated enemy, and he’d known that Gorman Wade was finally dead. The technician...Henry...the one he’d placed on the inside of their trust, had realized his own, ultimate purpose and sentenced the charlatan, the false one, to death. Tristan had again rejoiced when he’d beheld the encouraging omen, and thanked his lord for his generosity.
And what came next! The sky had turned dark, opened up, and the winged seraphim had come down, crying out victory! The very sight of them had rooted him to the spot! When he’d realized what was happening, the deepest joy he’d ever experienced filled him, for Tristan knew he was in the presence of the being that he’d lived his whole life for. At long last, his beloved Reclaimer, his lord and master, had arrived to deliver the faithful! He was actually here!
Yes, today was truly a day of miracles.
Of course, he’d been confused when the righteous flock had collided with the sizzling, blue bolts above, and the barrier, born of the minds of the wicked, had prevailed. Surely nothing that man could devise could compare to the glory of the Reclaimer? Why did his master wait, when he could throw down the unbelievers with but a single thought?
The answer came to him, as if someone had whispered it in his ear.
Of course.
He was being tested. His lord was waiting for him to prove his loyalty. He would be the one to mete out the punishment to those who would dare stand in the way—a true herald of the Reclamation! Tristan’s sense of destiny soared to new heights.
He and his followers were almost to the gate, now. Tristan peered around the last structure, and regarded the pitiful few gathered there with derision. His mind turned to cold steel.
The arrogance! The sacrilege! This affront could not, would not go unpunished. They would not be much of an obstacle, overcome easily by his superior numbers. He would serve his master’s will and trample them to the ground. Then, he would open the maw of the great gate and let the shining light of the inevitable burn this place clean.
He had only a few more steps to take, and the Reclamation could begin.
* * *
Chapter 43 – Samuel
There was still a torrent of people clamoring to get inside the relative safety of the Dome, and so Samuel and his father had to fight against the flow to push their way through. They were on the ground level, now, making their way through the corridors to the main entrance.
Something had happened outside, something that had sapped at the new power reserves. The interior lights had dimmed dramatically, and a vibration had gone through the floor that was strong enough to make him have to concentrate on his footing. The power disruption had lasted all of twenty or so seconds, and then abruptly, it quit. He didn’t know what would require such a huge draw on the generators, but the implications gave him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He was still supporting much of his father’s weight. No matter how robust Gorman might portray himself to be, the combination of the explosion, his injured leg, and his age had started to catch up with him. He was struggling to keep up, and his labored breathing drew Samuel’s concern.
“Father, you don’t have to do this,” he said. “I can—”
“No,” Gorman interrupted sharply, wheezing. “I’ll have Tristan know...that there are still those...who will oppose his insanity. And I will do it...personally.”
Samuel didn’t like it but, as with many sons, he could only tell his father so much. The only thing he could do was help keep the older man moving.
They hadn’t been able to take the elevator down, as he’d hoped. When it hadn’t responded to his call, the only explanation he could come up with was that the blast had crippled its function, somehow. With the easy route blocked off, he’d been forced to drag his father down the stairs.
As they’d made their way down through the levels of the Dome, he’d tried his best to recruit volunteers on the way, implored the passing faces to come and help them thwart Tristan’s intent, but the people were in survival mode, and mostly weren’t listening to him. They were panicking, and not even the commanding presence of Gorman Wade could persuade them. Somewhere between the explosion upstairs and the threat outside, their sense of community had waned.
Samuel pulled Gorman around the last corner, and then the door was before them. To his relief, the stream of the crowd had started to taper off, and their progress quickened. He noticed something in the faces of the last ones to enter, something more haunting and raw.
Fear has many appearances. One of them is the musing apprehension of the mere concept of danger, fueled primarily by imagination in the absence of the actual confrontation of such. Another is the more intense variety, the needle-tipped, jagged, wide-eyed sensation of having one’s fear manifest before one’s very eyes, wiping away all imaginary contribution with the naked, horrific presence of the thing. It w
as the latter that Samuel saw in the eyes of the last ones to enter the Dome.
These people had seen something. He reasoned that it was, very likely, the same thing that had shaken the structure and caused the power drain. Before, he was apprehensive at the prospect of returning to the courtyard. Now, he was downright afraid.
But Kelly was out there, and he wasn’t about to leave her alone to die.
Now that the clamor of human cattle-drive had dropped, he swept his hand radio up to his face and barked into it.
“Kelly! Kelly, pick up!”
There was a few tense seconds of static, and then her voice came over the air.
“Sam! I’m so glad to hear your voice! What happened? I saw the explosion...what about Gorman? Is he...?”
“He’s with me...it was close, but we both got out okay. It was Henry.... He was the traitor, all along. He came in with the rest of the explosives and...blew himself up. We got out, but he got the rest of the Council. They’re all dead.”
He could practically hear her shock through the white noise of the speaker.
“What? Henry?! That can’t be! We would have known! We should have known....” Her voice trailed off.
“We can’t worry about that right now. Tristan’s heading in your direction, and he’s got his people with him. There are a lot of them.”
“From where? Where is he?”
“Look north. They’re close...hiding themselves in the shacks. I’m coming to you...I’ll be there in sixty seconds!”
“Sam...if there’s as many as you say there are...we’re not going to be able to hold them back! There’s only a dozen of us!”
She was right. It was obvious that they couldn’t just leave the gate unguarded...Tristan could just waltz up, open it, and let that thing outside into the courtyard, and then all their lives would be forfeit. On the other hand, if they stayed to fend the fanatics off, they’d be slaughtered and the result would be the same.
He needed something to equalize the odds. If he couldn’t get any more people to come help, then he’d have to...to....
That’s it!
The idea practically slapped him in the face. It wasn’t much, wasn’t a sure bet, but it was better than nothing.
“Kelly, I’ve got an idea! Just sit tight!”
He switched the radio to the emergency frequency.
“Anyone who is reading this, get to the west gate! There are people out there who need help!”
He and Gorman emerged from the Dome’s main entrance, and he took a left.
“Where are you going?” his father asked him. “The gate...it’s the other way!”
“Tristan’s just going to roll over them if we don’t throw a wrench at him. We need to make a stop before we head over there.”
They didn’t have to go far, before the old vehicle bay came into view. Gorman’s eyes lit up.
“Ahh...I think I see...what you’re thinking....”
The bay had a large, retractable door on the front that extended the full length of the bay. It swiveled into the ceiling, serving as the main entry and exit for vehicle operators. There was a small console at the corner of the building that opened the door, and it was this that Samuel and his father made a bee-line for.
When they arrived, Samuel let Gorman support himself against the wall, while he hastily punched a command into the console. The door screeched to life, as the old motors pulled on the rust-covered chains that connected it. The bay door started to retract into the ceiling.
“Wait here for a second,” Samuel told his father. “I’ll be right back.”
“Believe me,” Gorman panted, “I don’t plan on...going anywhere.”
Samuel patted his father’s shoulder, ducked under the rising door, and proceeded to weave his way between the vehicles inside. He passed by the smaller quad-bikes and the six all-terrain buggies, lined up neatly in rows. He also ignored the explorer rovers, the heavier ones that used to be packed with provisions, that once upon a time had been used for survey missions into the Wastes. Incidentally, Gorman had been driving one of those when he’d happened upon a dying boy in the expanse of that great desert, twenty-eight years ago.
Samuel passed them all by, heading to the rear of the building. They were all too small.
He needed something bigger.
He found it in the back, standing silent and slumbering. An ore truck, the only one that still functioned as far as Samuel knew, with wheels that went up to his waist. The truck was almost three times as broad as he was tall. Long ago, the scoop in back had carried ton after ton of raw, extracted ore to the refineries, which now stood silent and dead outside the walls. Ever since they’d broken down, the truck had sat in the vehicle bay...all but forgotten. Samuel had started it up before—once—but had never actually dared to drive it.
Well, there’s a first time for everything.
He rounded the fender and yanked open the driver-side door, coughing on the dust that kicked up. He pulled himself up into the driver’s seat and examined the controls.
Lucky for him, getting the engine to turn over was easy. A simple push-button starting mechanism was all that was required to bring the goliath to life. He hammered it with his thumb, and was rewarded with an angry roar from under the hood, and a healthy vibration through the cab that told him that the truck was ready to go.
He grabbed the gear shift and depressed the lock button. Then he pulled.
The shifter didn’t budge.
Shit!
He assembled a checklist in his head of possible causes. Rust? Was the transmission broken...sheared off or cracked? His frustration mounted. Was the brave group at the gate going to die, were all of them going to die, just because he couldn’t figure out a fucking gear shift?
Then something tugged at him, from way back. Something when he was a boy, living with his family before the monster had come. Days spent working on that old truck with his father, his first father, learning about engines and machines.
You can’t just shift directly into drive. First, you have...to....
That was it. He silently cursed himself as an idiot for not thinking of it quicker.
He slammed his foot down on the brake, and then tried the shifter again. This time, it complied and smoothly slid down, passing through reverse and settling into drive. Samuel gingerly eased up on the brake, and was elated to feel the many-wheeled creature groan forward. He grew bolder and moved his foot to the accelerator, and the truck responded again, picking up speed. Samuel rolled out of the vehicle bay and pulled the steering wheel, angling the heavy vehicle over to where Gorman was still resting against the wall. His father looked up in surprise when he emerged. Samuel stopped, opened the passenger door, and Gorman awkwardly pulled himself in, sighing in relief when he settled into the seat.
“Didn’t know you were going for something so...visible,” he said.
“Oh, they’ll know we’re coming,” Samuel replied grimly. “We’re going to scare the shit out of that bastard.”
He lifted off the brake and hit the gas, hard. The truck lurched forward and threw them back into their seats. Off they went to the west gate, where he hoped Kelly and her group were still alive.
* * *
Chapter 44 – Samuel
As the truck thundered along, Samuel ground his teeth with impatience.
Please, just let us get there in time.
They sped around the base of the Dome. The shantytown flew by on their left, the shacks disappearing behind them into the cloud of dust that the enormous wheels kicked up. Samuel didn’t even pause to think when he turned the truck toward the internal fence, and barely felt it when the flimsy structure crumpled under the unyielding force of the rolling juggernaut he commanded.
He navigated the truck through the largest gaps between the shacks and habmods, until there was nothing between him and the towering, outside wall. He practically stood on the gas pedal and ran parallel to it, squinting into the distance for any hints of the west gate.
> He rounded a final cluster of shacks, and there it was.
He caught his breath.
Kelly’s group was still standing, and Samuel could see with great relief that not only was the entire group still there, but Seth Feron had arrived as well to bolster their numbers, if only to a small degree. They stood together: Kelly, Ethan, Nicole, Seth, and the ten other brave souls who had agreed to stand with them.
Beyond the tiny group, the snake had revealed itself. Tristan and his zealots had emerged from their hiding places, several hundred feet from the hapless gate defenders, and were advancing on them easily and without hurry. By their relaxed posture and lazy stroll, they looked to be confident of an easy victory.
“You were right, Samuel,” Gorman said beside him. He was peering ahead with unabashed fury. “You said we should have exiled him, and you were right. No, worse than that. We should have killed him on the fucking spot.”
He gave his father a sideways glance. Gorman only swore when he was really, truly riled up. Samuel approved.
“Well,” Samuel replied, “maybe, but if we’d done that, we wouldn’t have the chance to shove an ore truck up his ass.”
Gorman looked at him, and smiled.
Samuel had the pedal to the floor; he mentally urged the venerable truck more speed as they hurtled forward.
Kelly was the first to notice them. She turned, her attention shifting from the encroach of Tristan’s small army, and looked Samuel’s way with alarm. Her eyes went saucer-like when she saw the truck, and she gave out a yell to the others that Samuel couldn’t hear over the roar of the engine. One by one they all turned, their reactions mimicking hers, but by then she’d grabbed a couple of them by their shirts and started to pull them over to the wall, out of the way of the speeding vehicle. Seth did the same, calling out and shoving anyone close to him to safety.
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