The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  If they weren't enemies.

  Up ahead, Mads stopped at another intersection, this one with a sign bolted to the wall that read SECONDARY ACCESS MAINTENANCE CLUSTER BETA-9, and an arrow pointing to the left-hand tunnel. Mads turned. "Let's go," he said before rushing down the left-hand tunnel, Jester at his heels.

  Angie was about to follow when she realized Erin was standing still, facing their rear, staring at the darkness. She held an arrow loosely to her bow, the fingers of one hand holding the arrow to the string. Angie looked about, seeing the light from Mads's lantern moving away. In a few more seconds, they'd be in the dark, and even Erin couldn't see in complete blackness any more than she could. She knew from past operations that although the Seagraves had superb night vision, they still needed some ambient light.

  She gripped Erin's arm. "We need to go."

  "There's someone following us. Back there. Hiding in the darkness. Whoever it is, he's quiet, real quiet, but he's there."

  "He?" Her heart drummed. She heard nothing but a constant drip, drip, drip from one of the overhead pipes.

  "Maybe she. Maybe it. I don't know. More a feeling than anything else."

  Angie's head whipped back to the intersection. The light was almost gone. "We can't stay here."

  Erin, apparently decided, spun about, grabbed Angie's elbow, and pulled her along with her, rushing down the tunnel after the others. They took the left-hand corridor just as Mads and Jester were coming back.

  "Don't get separated!" Mads said hotly. He turned away and splashed off through the water, all three women hurrying after him.

  They reached a smaller tunnel, one in which they all had to scurry along like crabs. Angie was desperate to get out of the sewers now. She kept glancing behind her but saw nothing. The glass plate of her visor began to mist, distorting her view.

  "Fresh air ahead," Erin whispered.

  If so, Angie couldn't tell, but sure enough, within another hundred meters, they came to a gate with a thick metal chain wrapped around the bars, holding it closed. On the other side of the gate, Angie saw a wedge of dark, overcast sky.

  They had made it.

  Mads killed his lantern as Jester produced her key ring again, using it to open the heavy lock on the chain and then unwrapping it. She pushed the gate but froze when it squeaked in protest, the hinges rusted closed. Mads groaned, clearly unhappy.

  "Sorry, boss," Jester said. She produced a tube of something—grease, Angie thought—and rubbed the liquid over the hinges. When she tried a second time, the hinges were silent. She only opened the gates enough for them to slip through, and Erin went first without asking for permission, her bow ready.

  Angie followed, stepping out of the tunnel into a cesspool that flowed into a nearby stream. Erin removed her mask, and Angie did the same. The air was only slightly less foul near the cesspool, but with the wind blowing against them, they could at least breathe. It had to be late, maybe even nearly dawn, but the same cloud cover as earlier obscured the stars.

  Erin stared at the stream, surrounded by skeletal remains of animals. "Well, at least they built it downstream of the city," she said in disgust.

  Mads and Jester joined them, both leaving their masks in place. "You're north of the main city gate," he said, pointing to their left. "The access road is about three hundred meters that way. You want to avoid it. Even at night the Home Guard will sometimes patrol."

  Angie knew that. She had often planned the patrols, but she said nothing.

  "Got it," Erin said. "I know where we are."

  "Leave the gear," Mads said. "We'll bring it back. If you watch your footing and keep to the rocks, you won't leave a trail."

  "Always leave a trail," Erin corrected him, but they stripped away the protective clothing and folded them with the masks on top. Jester took them and stuffed them in a bag she had carried.

  "Well?" Mads said to Angie, waiting.

  "The Cloridine?" Angie answered.

  Mads removed his gloves, laid them on the ground, and then opened his coveralls, fishing about in a pocket. He removed a white plastic container the size of his thumb and handed it to her. She shook it, and pills rattled. It was too dark to read the label. "How do I know this is it?"

  "Come on, Angie," he said in an irritated tone. "I'm a businessman. A deal is a deal."

  She pocketed the pills. Then, against every fiber of her being, she undid her sword belt and handed it and Nightfall to Mads.

  He took the weapon quickly, stuffing it under his arm, and she died a little inside. "Pleasure doing business. I hope they help you find peace. I truly do. And I wish you both the best, but don't take it personally if I don't want to see either of you again anytime soon."

  "You won't," Erin said. "Ready?" she asked Angie.

  "Wait," Angie said, glancing past Mads at the dark tunnel. "Listen, Erin thought ... maybe there's someone or something that followed us."

  He turned and stared at the tunnel. "Followed us how?"

  "I didn't hear or see anything," Erin admitted. "More a feeling."

  Jester snorted, but Mads nodded, his eyes thoughtful behind his mask. "We'll be careful, maybe alter our route back. If there is something down there, it's gonna die in there. We're locking the chain behind us. You'll be fine. Good luck."

  "Thanks. You too."

  "We need to move," Erin told Angie. "I don't like being this close to the walls." She began to walk around the edge of the cesspool with Angie right behind her.

  "Careful, ladies," Jester whispered, amusement in her voice. "Don't get raped and eaten by Ferals, at least not at the same time."

  Angie ignored her and hurried after Erin, who was already at the top of the cesspool. When they reached the summit, Angie glanced back, but Mads and Jester were already gone, the gates closed again. The city's wall rose behind them, a dark shape in the night. The only light came from torches in the guard towers.

  "I don't hang much with other women," Erin whispered. "So maybe I'm not much of a judge, but she's a real bitch."

  Angie snorted, smiling for the first time in hours. "No, you've hit the target ... Longshot."

  In the darkness, she saw Erin's teeth flash in reply.

  They hurried away into the wilderness.

  Chapter 13

  Angie kept up as Erin stalked through the wilderness of the San Joaquin Valley, but within minutes, her breathing had quickened at the brisk pace. Despite the pace, she suspected Erin was holding back for her. Mostly, they traveled through scrubland with thick, thigh-high grass, but when possible, Erin stayed within woods of oak, pine, and fir, using the trees as cover. This close to Sanwa City, there were many roads and trails, but the women avoided them, knowing the Home Guard maintained mounted patrols. The last thing Angie needed was to be caught traveling with a fugitive and brought to Nathan in cuffs. Nathan might even confiscate the Cloridine, and she needed the meds, had paid far too dear a price for the pills.

  As the sky lightened with the coming dawn, they moved north, heading for one of the hidden supply caches Erin said her family had buried in the region. They neither saw nor heard anyone but hadn't expected to. People didn't go out past the walls at dark, at least those who didn't want to end up as a Feral bowel movement.

  There were hardened military outposts in the wilderness, and there was always a rapid-reaction Shrike helicopter forward attached to one of the posts in order to support the numerous walled farming settlements that provided substance to Sanwa City. Angie knew the location of each farming settlement; the posts, however, had likely changed in the last six months. But they weren’t only worried about hardened military posts and roads; sometimes the Home Guard would place a sniper detachment in the wilderness if they suspected Feral activity, and the two women could easily stumble into an ambush.

  Luck or Erin’s skill at woodcraft held out, though, because as the sun was breaking over the horizon, Erin led Angie into a dense copse of bigcone Douglas fir trees, the copse itself sheltered by surrounding hills and br
ush. The pungent smell of the pine needles was a welcome relief from the stench of the sewer that still clung to them, and birds chirped happily overhead, greeting the rising sun.

  Erin went straight to one of the pine trees, which looked no different from any of the others to Angie’s eye, and began brushing aside the dirt and needles near the tree's base, revealing a wooden plank some three feet by three feet. Erin pulled the plank free, revealing a hollow beneath in which were buried five backpacks full of equipment. Using her good arm, Erin hauled out two bags. Beneath the backpacks, covered in tarp, were five bullpup assault rifles, complete with tactical scopes. Erin hauled out two of the weapons, handing one to Angie. As Angie worked the action on the weapon, drawing it back and inspecting the empty loading chamber, Erin lifted out two sets of Home Guard magazine pouches, each holding six fully loaded rifle magazines. "I thought you said you kept clothing hidden away for after you ... you know, went wolf?"

  Erin inserted a magazine into her weapon and drew back the bolt, loading a round in the firing chamber. She put the weapon on safety and adjusted the tactical sling to her body so the weapon would hang near her hand. "There's clothing in the backpacks, as well as other gear. We never know where we're going to end up—naked, unarmed, and usually covered in filth, blood, and scratches—but at least we're always together." Her voice trailed off, and a look of sadness flickered through her eyes. "There won’t be anything in your size. I’m sorry. I suggest you get rid of whatever's too big and lighten your load."

  Angie loaded her own weapon. A light trace of oil remained on the weapon, and she wiped her fingers on her pants. It felt good to be armed again, especially out beyond the wall. She laid the weapon down and began to sort through the backpack. Erin was right, and most of the clothing she discarded as too large, but she kept some. Large was better than nothing. There were also plastic canteens filled with water, more rifle magazines, MREs, and essential survival gear: compasses, maps of the region, knives, fire-making gear, and a pouch of combat first aid supplies. Wonder of wonders, there were even camouflaged bivvy bags—waterproof protective sleeves that worked like a one-person tent—and rolled-up nylon Ranger blankets. Clearly, the weapons and gear had come from the Bunker, and all of it was worth a fortune.

  "Casey again?" Angie asked.

  Erin's eyes flashed with mischief, and she smiled almost shyly. "Actually, Jay and I stole this stuff. You'd never know it, but Pretty Boy is a wonderful thief."

  And Jay, the youngest of the Seagrave brothers, was a pretty boy, with long reddish-blond hair, a lean, muscular body, and a heart-meltingly shy smile that overheated her woman bits. Half the women in the Home Guard wanted to bed him and then tame the wolf within, while the other half just wanted to bed him.

  "And there are other caches hidden about the wilderness?"

  "A few. Like I said, Rowan is a bit of a survivalist nut."

  "Why no investigation?" The Home Guard kept meticulous stock of its supplies, especially ammo and weapons. She'd have heard of missing rifles.

  Erin shrugged. "To be honest, the quartermaster knows we stole it, and so did the old CO, and probably Marshal, too, but they're more than willing to look the other way, especially if it means they can keep a werewolf family on point during operations."

  That had the ring of truth to it. The Seagraves were more than worth the weapons and supplies. No other city or military force in the commonwealth could boast its own supersoldiers.

  "Look," Erin said as she stood and glanced about, "I'm going to watch our back trail for a bit, make sure we're still alone. You get some sleep. It's more than fifty kilometers to the Fresno Fey Enclave, and we can't move overland during the day."

  "What about you?"

  "I snooze on sentry." She grinned. "Don't worry. Anything more than a rabbit's burp will wake me. I'll get you up around five p.m. and snatch another couple of hours’ rest before sunset."

  "Is that going to be enough?"

  Erin waved her hand. "I don't need much sleep."

  Angie didn't know if that was true or not, but she was exhausted, even after sleeping all day. Terror did that to a body.

  Erin slipped away, disappearing into the trees. Angie drank some water, ate an MRE, and then set up her bivvy bag. Here in the hollow, covered by the trees, they'd be out of the sun, but it was still August, and it would grow beastly hot very soon. She removed her boots and then stripped down to her T-shirt and underwear, lying inside the bivvy bag, her Ranger blanket pulled up to her chin. In her hand she held the container of Cloridine. She shook out one of the purple pills, held it in her palm, and stared at it. She exhaled heavily. "No dreams." Then she popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed it dry.

  She lay back, her eyes closed, and was out within minutes.

  Angie bolted from the burning stable, running into the bush-lined courtyard that led to the main Norteno villa. In the darkness, she couldn't see the mission aircraft, but she heard their guns, saw the red tracers from the mini guns lighting up the night. The smell of gunfire and smoke was thick, an assault on her senses. She knew that running toward gunfire was insane, but that was where Nathan and the Seagraves would be. If she could reach them, she'd be safe. Nathan would bring in a Shrike to rescue her.

  A glowing translucent red disk several feet wide flashed into existence on her right-hand side, the air crackling with the sound of incoming rifle fire. Bullets ricocheted from the shield, showering her and the courtyard tiles with sparks and pieces of bullets. Her heart leaped into her throat as the squad of six Nortie soldiers charged at her, still shooting, their eyes filled with hate. She reacted by instinct, bringing her pistol up in a two-handed firing stance and aiming for the center of visible mass, just as she had done countless other times on the small-arms range. She fired round after round, pausing only to let her sights drop back down after each shot. When her pistol clicked on empty seconds later, two of the enemy soldiers were down, wounded, their legs and arms flopping about. The other four were almost on her. All this time, the Other had kept a shield in place, protecting her. She dropped the pistol and drew Nightfall.

  As the first soldier reached her, she cast Shockwave, hoping to, at the very least, slow one or two of them down, maybe even trip them. Instead, her spell slammed into the closest two, sending them flying back at least a hundred feet as if struck by a truck.

  She stood frozen in disbelief, as did the last two Nortie soldiers, but only for a moment before they charged forward once more.

  Training galvanized her, and she slipped to the side and slashed down at a bayonet attached to the end of a Nortie rifle, shoving it away from her. She needn't have bothered, as the Other created a new shield to block the wild rifle swing of the second attacker. She danced back, shifting her weight to her left leg and assuming a high guard before immediately cutting down and to the right in a snap cut called a Hauke, attacking from above like the bird of prey for which the attack was named. The puncture wound in her side hurt, but she ignored it as she struck down at the soldier.

  She felt the blow in her wrist and forearm, but it still came as a shock when her blade connected with his outstretched shoulder. Side-swords and rapiers were designed for stabbing, not cutting, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t do both when necessary. She yanked her blade back in a draw-cut, slicing into his shoulder, and he screamed and fell back, clutching at his wound and dropping his rifle. She stared stupidly at him, somehow unaware of what happens when you hit someone with a sword.

  In her defense, she had never had to before.

  The other soldier bolted away, followed by the wounded man, leaving her alone with the wounded, who were also crawling away. She ran, leaping over a row of perfectly trimmed bushes the height of her thigh, her heart pounding in her chest, her wound forgotten. She had just fought six men—six soldiers—and was still alive. Not only that, but she had easily bested them. She was a support mage, not a combat mage. This was impossible. And her Shockwave spell...

  Angie came to a sud
den jarring halt at the sight of an entire platoon of Norteno soldiers behind sandbag firing positions near the villa's entrance. They opened fire at once, hundreds of rounds of assault rifle fire hammering at the shield the Other materialized before her. She screamed, the air a violent storm of gunfire, and dropped to a knee, one arm over her face, cowering.

  Through her fingers, she saw one of the soldiers aiming a rocket-propelled grenade at her. She was about to die. There was no way her shade—no matter how powerful Char claimed the Other was—could possibly stop a grenade blast. Even if it did, the Other would deplete its mana any second now, and the bullets would shred her. Nathan wasn't going to save her after all. A small part of her had always known that he wouldn’t. Her consciousness ran, hiding from the onslaught, looking inward for safety.

  And the Other took control.

  As if of their own volition, her arms rose before her, her hands pointing at the Norteno soldiers. A moment later, flames jetted from her palms, twin streams of fire several feet wide, the flames twisting about like corded rope as they reached the closest soldiers. The man with the RPG flared up as the fire consumed him and spun away screaming. His weapon discharged behind him, the rocket going through a window of the villa before detonating in a fireball. She heard the screams as if from far away, like in a dream. Then, as if alive, the twin columns of fire snaked about, seeking new foes, going from one man to another, setting each on fire, running down the men as they tried to flee. When the last man burned, the jets of fire vanished from her hands, and her arms fell to her sides as she stood, speechless.

  The villa burned, the bushes burned, the barricades burned.

  The dead soldiers burned.

  Angie gasped, thrashing about in her bivvy bag, her mind a fog, unable to grasp where she was, only that she had killed those men again, burned them alive.