Ascendant: The Complete Edition

by Richard Denoncourt

  After a few frantic minutes of this, Reggie coughed and came back to life. Dominic had been on the verge of pounding the man’s ribcage to mush.

  “Dom,” Reggie said, his voice strained and rough.

  “Reg.”

  “Christ, what’s happening?”

  “They found us.”

  Reggie coughed and wheezed. “Yeah, guess so.”

  “I wanted you to know that”—Dominic paused, searching for the words—“I love you. Always have.”

  Reggie had begun to fade, but it was clear in his eyes that he understood. Dominic bent down and kissed his forehead. He kissed Reggie until the life went out of him, and then he got up, and when the pain hit him, he tipped his head back and screamed in agony as the flames roared behind him and the town hall collapsed with a sound like snapping trees.

  A voice called his name from down the street, Midas Ford running toward him with his doctor’s bag, shouting and waving. Dominic wanted to tell him it was no use, that he should go help the others. But he collapsed before he got a chance to speak.

  Chapter 17

  “Michael, get up. Come on, get up.”

  A sleepy blue haze entered Michael’s vision. He was back at the prison camp; where else could he expect to wake up outdoors with a pounding headache and the smells of wet leaves and pavement in his nose? The voice that had woken him—it sounded familiar, though not from his months in prison. It had sounded like—

  “Louis,” Michael said, coming fully awake. “What’s going on?”

  He jerked into a sitting position and gulped down air that tasted like smoke. His body felt damp. He inspected himself. Early morning dew, that’s all; he’d been out here for hours. Vulnerable. Alone.

  “Where’s Arielle?”

  Blake grabbed his arm and helped him to stand. The old man remained silent, except for the occasional rattling cough. Michael’s eyes were swollen and there were particles of dirt and bits of wet leaves stuck to one side of his face. As if he had passed out on the ground and just woken up.

  Michael studied his surroundings as Blake rattled out a few more coughs. The air was pungent with the smell of burning wood, and something else that he recognized all too well from his escape at the prison camp. It was burning hair and flesh. Was he imagining it? The throbbing pain in his head was brutal, like someone jabbing an ice pick into his skull.

  “Oh, no,” he said.

  “We’ve been attacked,” Blake said. “Come on. Let’s go find survivors.”

  Blake was already on the street, on his way toward the center of town, obviously trying to stifle more coughs. He looked haggard, pale, like he was near death.

  As Michael readied himself to run after the old man, the memory of the previous night came rushing back to him; the telepath from Praetoria, the one Ian had shot in the chest, the one they had thought was dead, had attacked Michael without killing him. But why?

  “Move it,” Blake ordered.

  “Wait.” Michael ran toward the front of the café. “We’ll take my bike. It’s faster.”

  The buildings in the center of town were no longer on fire, but the trails of smoke that leaked out of them were like stains against the bright morning sky. Traces of ash flitted about in the air. Michael coughed. The smell was that of a battlefield, complete with the stench of burned bodies and gunpowder.

  In the Hollows, which hadn’t been touched by the flames, Midas Ford and several helpers had put up cots and were tending to people out in the open. Many of the wounded were covered in pink burns, and many of Michael’s men had been shot. The healthy ones assisted Midas with the wounded. When they saw Michael they ran to him.

  “Tell me what happened,” Michael said, and he listened as they explained.

  Charlotte cowered in the forest and looked out over the town.

  After watching Dietrich die, her confidence had sunk. Now she felt nothing but a slimy fear in her gut, as if she’d swallowed a live octopus and it was squirming inside of her. The smartest thing would have been to leave Gulch completely, but how was she going to pull that off? She wouldn’t last a week out in the Eastlands, especially with her son blunting her ability.

  No. Wait for Warren. Warren said he would come to this spot as soon as he could.

  She checked William. He lay on his side nearby, curled up like a puppy and snoring softly. What would she feed him for breakfast? What if Warren didn’t show? How were they going to get into the People’s Republic now? The reality of her situation made her knees go weak; she had lost any advantage they had, all in one night, all because Dietrich had been arrogant with that stupid, extravagant flamethrower.

  A twig snapped nearby. She whipped her head around to search the forest, shotgun raised and ready. She might have been terrified, but her fear wasn’t going to stop her from blasting apart the first person who came after her.

  The sound of crunching leaves reached her ears, and then it stopped. No one was there—that she could see, anyway. Must have been a small animal.

  “Mom?” William said, looking around. Charlotte froze as her son’s eyes came to rest on something over her shoulder.

  A piece of metal clicked behind her. Charlotte spun around to see Peter and Ian’s faces closing in. One of them—Ian probably, since he was the quickest—kicked the shotgun out of her hands, and then her vision went dark as a black bag slipped over her head.

  She fell to the ground trying to break free, but the boys were stronger. She had been stupid. This entire plan had been stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “William,” she called. “William, help me.”

  “Mom,” he screamed, and then: “Let go of me. Mom!”

  Rage caused her to lash out with all ten fingernails. Peter caught her arms and twisted in a violent jerk, causing her to groan sharply. She knew his scent and the way he moved. Eli’s death must have changed him; he wasn’t the same boy she’d grown up with. Not at all.

  “You betrayed your own sister,” Peter said, “and now you’re gonna answer for your crimes.”

  They bound her wrists together with something scratchy, twine probably. Then they dragged her into town.

  “Who saw her last?” Michael said. He was in a total rage and shouting at his men. “Damn it, someone tell me who saw her last.”

  Blake put up his hands. “You can’t go after her, Michael. God only knows where they took her, and it’s certainly a trap to get you alone. Think about it.”

  They stood in a street leading to the intersection near the Matinee, where Midas Ford was tending to the wounded. The smell of burned flesh was everywhere. And Arielle was missing.

  Arielle and their baby.

  Michael tried to calm himself, but all of his techniques were useless. He had to think. If he were Harris Kole, where would he have taken Arielle? Obviously this was a trap to lure him out of the mountains, but if that was the case, why hadn’t they left any information, leads, clues as to where he should go? Or maybe they had, and Michael just hadn’t come across them yet.

  It was darker down this street. A cool wind blew up the length of it, rustling paper and sending a glass bottle rolling with a whistle along the gutter.

  Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “Someone has to know where they took her. If this is a trap, then they would want me to know where she is.”

  “Dietrich Werner is dead,” Blake said. “He was the man who orchestrated all of this. He’s the only one who knew—”

  “No. He had to have someone on the inside. Someone in town gave him the information he needed. That person will know what’s going on.”

  “And how do we find that person?” Blake spread his arms wide, a gesture of defeat that angered Michael enough to make him clench his teeth. “What we should do right now is tend to our wounded and stock up for the trip. Then we go to the NDR and rebuild our strength, and then we go after them.”

  “We can’t just let her die out there,” Michael shouted at Blake, his voice ringing off the dead stone walls. He pulled a pair of blac
k leather gloves out of his pocket and began with fumbling movements to slip them on.

  “What are you doing?” Blake said.

  “I’m going after her.”

  “You don’t even know—”

  “I’ll sense her presence, damn it.”

  Michael headed toward his motorcycle parked down the street.

  “This is what they want,” Blake called after him. “You’ll fail, Michael, and everything you’ve worked for will be for nothing. They have your baby, your DNA, a piece of you. Now all they need is for you to lose control so they can see what happens inside your brain during an episode.”

  “They won’t kill her,” Michael said. “Not if they need the baby.”

  “You don’t know these men.”

  “Enough.”

  “You have no idea—”

  “I said enough,” Michael growled at him. Blake went silent, and Michael could sense by the way the old man was shaking his head in disappointment that he’d given up.

  Blake had promised to keep Michael safe, but Michael wasn’t a boy anymore. His time at the prison camp had proven that. He was ready to take this fight into his own hands.

  He got on his motorcycle and glanced back at his men gathered on the street. They watched him, silent with disbelief, mouths slightly open as if they couldn’t fathom having to follow anyone else. Or maybe they were stunned at his stupidity and recklessness.

  “If I don’t come back,” Michael told them, “go east, take anyone from Gulch who wants to go. Spread the word of what happened here. Tell the people of the NDR that Kole is moving east and burning every town along the way. Tell them we’re at war.”

  The men nodded. From his side pack, Michael pulled out a black sweatshirt. It was the same one he’d worn to Gulch on his first day here. It reminded him of New Sancta City. He thought he could still smell his old home in the fabric.

  He slipped it on, and when the hood fell to his shoulders and he could see again, the first thing his sight registered was a tight group of four people walking down the street toward him.

  Peter and Eli, and they were dragging along a girl dressed in men’s clothing with a black hood over her head. William limped along beside them.

  Michael got off his bike and ran to them.

  “Pete,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “You chose a bad time.”

  “Yeah, I see that.”

  Ian forced the girl to her knees and tore off the hood, leaving her hair in disarray. Charlotte peered up at Michael, red-cheeked and breathing furiously.

  “She shot Eli,” Ian said, blinking back hateful tears. “She and Warren and that telepath from Praetoria—they teamed up, and she shot him, she just shot him in cold blood. He was unarmed!”

  Michael searched Ian and Peter’s faces and knew they were telling the truth. Sadness surged in him, and he did his best to conceal it where he could deal with it later. Eli had been his brother as much as any of them, as much as Benny had been. Again Michael had brought death to his family.

  Swallowing his rage, Michael hunkered down and took Charlotte’s face in his hands, roughly but not enough to cause pain. That would come later.

  “Where did they take Arielle?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You tell me where she is—”

  “Or what? I’m the one carrying your child now. Arielle’s long gone.”

  “She’s your sister,” he said in disgust. “You did this to her!”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Her face softened as she gazed up at Michael. “It was going to happen sooner or later. At least you have me. Arielle was weak, but I’m not. I’m str—”

  Michael drew his arm back and slapped Charlotte across the mouth. He had hit her hard enough to draw blood from the corner of her lip. Peter and Ian watched in silence. The entire block was silent except for Charlotte’s quiet whimpering.

  “I’m sorry, William,” Michael said to the boy, who was scowling up at him, taking shallow, angry breaths.

  Michael hunkered down and grabbed Charlotte’s jaw once more. “Tell me where she is. When I get back, I promise I’ll be merciful. I’ll take care of William and make sure he’s safe. Just tell me where she is now.”

  Charlotte sniffled, eyes swollen with tears. “I don’t know, Michael. They wouldn’t tell me where they were taking her. That’s the truth.”

  Michael studied her face. He thought for a moment, contemplated all the different reasons she might have to lie about this.

  “I believe you,” he said finally, rising to a standing position. His telepathy was useless around William, but he could tell by Charlotte’s helpless expression that she was telling the truth. Arielle was going to die. He was going to lose her forever. “I have to find her,” he said.

  He nodded once at Peter and Ian and made for his bike.

  “Not so fast,” a man’s voice said from the alleyway behind them.

  Peter and Ian swiveled to aim their weapons at the speaker. Michael had his own pistol out and cocked, ready to shoot.

  The man who emerged was Midas Ford, though it wasn’t his voice that had stopped everyone. He was dressed in a bloodstained apron and his hands were up. Behind him, Warren cowered with a hunting rifle aimed at the old doctor’s neck.

  “Give me the girl or the doctor gets it.”

  “Warren,” Michael said, his voice loud and commanding. “You’re outnumbered and surrounded. Shoot him, and you’ll be dead before he hits the ground.”

  Already Michael’s men were aiming at Warren, probably to look for a clean shot. Michael put up a hand for them to hold their fire. Warren was the wild card. He would know where they had taken Arielle.

  Michael was about to speak when Warren cut him off.

  “We’ll make a trade,” he said, his face grimy, the expression on it lacking any sort of amusement. He wanted Charlotte back—badly. “A trade so no one has to get hurt. You turn her over—”

  “And William!” Charlotte cried.

  Warren bared his teeth. “The girl and the boy, over to me, and I’ll let the doctor go on his way. Then I leave Gulch and you never see us again. How’s about that, Mike? Sound like a good deal? I save you the trouble of having to punish the girl and raise a crippled boy that ain’t your own.”

  “That’s not enough,” Michael said. “You want a trade, I’ll make a trade. Give me the doctor and tell me where they took Arielle, and you’ll get Charlotte. William stays with us. My men will give him a good home.”

  “No,” Charlotte shrieked.

  Michael wished he could silence her, but his telepathy didn’t work around the boy. Not one bit.

  William took hold of his mother and shook his head at Michael. He wanted to stay with her; that much was obvious. After everything, the boy wouldn’t abandon his mother. Michael understood that feeling all too well.

  “You want to go after your bitch?” Warren said, boring into Michael with his stare. “Go ahead then. They took her to the old Halpern Hospital in Gadlin, three hundred some-odd miles west of here. You’ll see a bunch of old signs for it if you pay attention.”

  Michael was on his motorcycle a moment later.

  “I’m going to let go of the doctor,” he heard Warren say to Peter and Ian. “I want your word you’ll put your guns down.”

  “You first,” Ian said.

  Warren pulled back his rifle and kicked Midas in the back, sending him sprawling into the street. Now free, Charlotte grabbed her son and ran to Warren. She looked back at Michael.

  “You’ll die out there—and you’ll deserve it. You brought all of this on us.”

  Michael scowled at her in disgust, eyes shifting from her to Warren and back to her. “You two were meant for each other,” he told her before starting the engine.

  He caught sight of her face. The words had made her wince as if at a terrible smell. Warren pulled her into the alleyway, toward a waiting truck at the other end.
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  Michael looked once more over his shoulder before taking off. He hoped William would look back. He wanted the boy to know the regret Michael felt at leaving him behind.

  But all he saw was the boy’s back. William had already turned into the alley after his mother.

  Standing in the street, Blake looked out at the faces of the NDR soldiers. One of them, the captain, stood before the rest.

  “Our orders are to go east,” the captain said.

  Blake shook his head. “He needs our help now more than ever. The hospital is sure to be fortified. They know he’s coming. If we don’t back him up, he’s dead. Is that what you want?”

  The captain made his hands into fists. Blake sensed the man’s inner conflict; Michael’s orders had been clear: go east. Now he, Louis Blake, one of their worst enemies in the previous war, was telling them to go west.

  Midas Ford approached Blake.

  “You can’t go,” he said. “You’ll leave the town wide open.”

  “This town is done for,” Blake said. “The people had their chance to follow us. Instead they chose to stay.”

  “It wasn’t their fault,” Midas said, his voice having risen in pitch with each word. His brown face was paler than Blake had ever seen it. Blake understood the old doctor’s greatest fear: he didn’t want to leave this town, not ever. Gulch had left its mark on him. He’d clearly given up on the rest of the world.

  But Blake hadn’t.

  “We leave a few men behind,” he said, looking out at the soldiers. “The majority of you will come with me. We’re going west to Gadlin, and we leave in twenty minutes. Bring all the weapons you can find.” He was about to turn away when an urge took hold of him, one he barely understood. He faced the soldiers. “For Michael.”