War at the Wall (The Watchers Trilogy, Book Three)

by T. C. Edge

  The entire place looks rudimentary, like it's only just been erected, but rigid enough to prevent escape. Even from this height, the faint sight of soldiers appears, standing guard outside. Other figures appear like ants within the walls. It's hard to tell whether they're guards or inmates of this terrible place.

  “Won't they see us up here, sir?” asks Jackson.

  “Possibly, but we're well camouflaged against the clouds above and the plane emits very little external noise. We're going to pass by and circle back around, though, just in case. We're looking for a suitable spot to land out of sight.”

  “How about there,” says Athena.

  I follow the line of her finger and see a small area of scattered woodland a couple of miles from the camp. The vast swathes of land surrounding it appear deserted and unused. This northern part of the region, I remember being told, was once farmed but, over the years, has become too difficult to cultivate. Like the areas of Fossor we passed through, long fallen into disuse, this area appears to have had its day and been forgotten.

  Now, though, one part of it has seen its resurgence in awful form.

  We pass by the camp and continue on for several miles, before circling back and gliding lower in the air. Gradually, we slow our speed until we're cruising at half pace and searching for a suitable landing spot. The area suggested by Athena appears to have taken the winning ticket. As we get lower, several clearings in the woods, large enough for us to land in safely, appear.

  “Perfect,” says Drake. “Well done, Athena.”

  Soon, the land is rushing up fast. Stein manoeuvres the aircraft expertly into position until we're hovering above the most suitable clearing. Down we go until the tops of the trees appear just outside the windows, and the earth thuds lightly beneath our feet as we land.

  The trees are widely dispersed, but there's enough of them to block out much of the light filtering in from the low sun. The door to the aircraft opens and the ramp extends down. The warm late afternoon air rushes quickly inside, and the light tweeting of birds and clicking of insects greets my ears.

  I look at Jackson, and he looks right back at me. The Grove sounded and smelled just the same.

  We step out cautiously, fully armed and ready for action. In this strange world, you just never know when a trap will be sprung, what a Watcher may have seen. The tension quickly dissipates, however, as a couple of minutes pass without incident. Drake lowers his weapon.

  “OK, we're alone,” he says.

  “So, what do we do now, sir,” asks Markus.

  “We wait,” says Drake. “We'll go in under cover of dark.” He looks through the trees, the big yellow sun peeking though from the other side. “The sun will be setting soon. Then we'll make our move.”

  Everyone settles in under the trees, their foliage sparkling as a light breeze flutters through the clearing. It's warm in our body armour and full battle dress, Stein suggests that we make ourselves comfortable for now, with no apparent threat looming. Drake, however, chooses to stay fully prepared for anything. Markus does the same.

  After gaining my father's consent, I take a short stroll through the woods, Jackson joining me as he used to not so far from here and not so long ago. He takes my hand as we go, two kids walking side by side without a care in the world. At least, that's what it might appear to be like to an unknowing passer by.

  We listen to the birds and insects, calling out their names as we recognise their chirps and buzzes and strange sounds. For a short time, I feel a weight lifted off me, my mind briefly freed of the endless, relentless turmoil raging inside. And then I think about why we're here, and the suffocating weight presses down on me again.

  The sun dips below the horizon, leaving behind a deep, blood red haze. By the time we return to the aircraft, the cover of night has all but fallen, the trees around us quickening the oncoming darkness. I see Ellie light up her torch as we enter into the clearing, but Drake is quick to request it be doused.

  “A single light in the dark is very conspicuous,” he says. “From here on out, no torches.”

  “How will we see?” asks Ellie. She looks up to point out the fact that the blanket of cloud above hasn't shifted, hiding the light of the moon and stars.

  “These Eden helmets have night vision installed,” says Drake. “Go ahead, test them out.”

  Ellie dons her helmet as Drake quickly teaches her how to activate the night vision. It's nothing but a click of a button on the right side of the jaw. Ellie exclaims loudly from behind the mask.

  “Wow! It's clear as day!”

  “That's the idea,” says Drake. “Everyone else, check to make sure yours work.”

  I put my helmet on, click the button, and see the world light up as bright as if it were the middle of a cloudless day. The only difference is the green tinge that covers everything.

  With the disappearance of the sun, the temperature drops quickly. Those who stripped out of their armour get themselves ready once more. Weapons are checked and re-checked, ammunition stocks counted, plans talked over.

  Then, with night falling fast, we go, leaving only Stein behind on the plane.

  Emerging from the edge of the woods, we get our first look across the plains. The land is just about rugged enough and hilly enough to offer us cover as we approach. After five minutes we reach a small ridge and see the light of the concentration camp blaze in the distance. Drake pulls out a set of binoculars.

  “A dozen guards outside the front gates,” he tells us. “Patrols beyond, walking in fours. There are three of them.”

  “So that's two dozen total? That's only half what we thought they'd be,” says Markus.

  “The others may be sleeping. Regardless, they appear to be normal soldiers. They'll be no match for us.”

  We continue on over the ground in the darkness, our progress covered by the heavy cloud cover above. Soon, we're getting close enough to inspect the soldiers outside the camp with the naked eye. They mingle casually, strolling here and there, as if what's going on beyond the gates means nothing. I feel my finger itching at my trigger as thoughts of Carson and Cassie enter my mind.

  We reach another small hill, the camp only a couple of hundred metres away. Ahead, the ground is covered in scrubland, with low grasses growing in numerous little tufts sprouting from the earth. Inch by inch, we make our way closer, staying low, until Drake calls a halt with us a mere hundred metres from the nearest soldier.

  We take our positions in a line, make sure our guns are set to silent, and hit the buttons to activate the telescopic sights. I look through mine and clearly see the faces of the guards on patrol. Their features are clear; the shapes of their noses, the colour of their eyes, the squareness of their jaws. As Drake's voice whispers down the line, I find myself focusing on just one. He's to be my target.

  “Troy, take one and two. Markus, three and four. Jackson, five and six. Link, take number seven. Cyra, you take eight. Ellie, yours is nine. Athena, ten. I'll take eleven and twelve. Got that?”

  One by one, we all confirm our targets. I look down the sight at the eighth man along, staring out into the night directly at us. For a moment, I think he sees me, before his eyes sweep across the landscape and continue to scan. He's young, perhaps in his early twenties, with a pleasant countenance. I'm glad he doesn't know that he's about to die.

  I hear my father counting down.

  “Three...”

  My finger hovers over the trigger. The little dot in the centre of my sight holds its position on the forehead of number eight.

  “Two...”

  I feel a bead of sweat begin to trickle down my cheek, tickling me as it goes.

  “One...”

  I take a breath, steady myself, and hear the line of guns to my left and right pop quietly, some once, others twice. Without thinking, my own finger squeezes in tandem. At almost exactly the same time, a red hole the size of an acorn appears on the handsome young man's head in my sights. His neck snaps back with the impact. His body cr
umples to the floor along with the other eleven guards nearby.

  “OK, up!” says Drake harshly.

  We all rise and begin stepping quickly towards the front gate of the camp. It takes us no time to cover the short distance. When we reach the dead guards, I avert my eyes from my target. I swallow hard, trying not to let the remorse affect me.

  This is war, Cyra. This is war...

  The main gate is made of wood, and locked only with a simple plank resting across it. Markus rushes forward with Jackson to lift it off. Drake pushes the door open, gesturing with his hand for us to split, as planned, down the two sides of the camp. Troy goes left, Drake right. I follow behind Troy with Jackson and Athena.

  We reach the first barrack on the left and take our position behind it. Across the camp, the other group mirrors our movement. The light of the patrols spread out into the distance. There are three of them; one working down the left, another the right, and a final one moving straight up through the middle of the camp.

  We shift forward, keeping to the shadows and using our night vision to guide our path. Soon, both teams are in position. Once again, we take aim at the respective patrols coming our way. Once again, I study the face of a man I'm about to kill.

  Through the comms in our helmets, I hear Drake's voice. This time, with four men to each patrol, we each get assigned a single one. We confirm our targets. Triggers are pulled. Eight more men drop dead to the earth.

  All eyes now turn to the central patrol. Further back in the camp, they appear unaware of what's happening. Then, suddenly, one stops in his tracks. He peers forwards, points, and then begins moving quickly towards the sight of the fallen guards on the right. We timed it to drop them when they were behind the cover of a barrack. Clearly, one is out in the open.

  “Take them out, take them out,” Drake growls down the comms.

  Jackson is first to take the initiative. Pacing out from cover, he drops to one knee and begins firing, shot after shot, with great precision. The two men at the back drop before the two ahead even know what's happening. Troy and Link's weapons join the party. The other two guards sink to the dirt.

  “OK, OK,” says Drake on comms. “Quickly, separate as planned. Barrack to barrack. Go!”

  Like a well oiled machine, we fan out, each of us rushing to the nearest barrack. I find myself at the third one up on the left. The structure is wooden, clearly newly built, but sturdy. The door is fastened with a padlock. I shoot it out and pull the door open. The stench that hits me is overpowering.

  I click the light on on my weapon and point the beam inside. What greets me threatens to turn my stomach. Wooden beds lined up, one after after, either side, in the same formation as the barracks themselves. The interior looks like a mini camp, each bed filled by a person, raggedly dressed, some looking frail and gaunt, others showing signs of beatings.

  Their eyes are wide and fearful. Arms rise up to shield faces from the glare of my light. When they see me, dressed as I am, they retreat into their shells, sinking backwards. Moans and whimpers of fear and distress ring out.

  “Oh my God...” I whisper to myself.

  On the comms I hear the same sentiment from the others.

  “Are you seeing this,” Athena says. I can hear the shock in her voice.

  “The helmets,” Drake says. “Remove your helmets. Show them who we are.”

  I tear the helmet from my head, toss it outside of the barrack into the dirt. Slowly, people being to see my face. They start moving forward, trying to get a better look at me. Hands reach out and touch me. A frail old woman falls into my arms.

  “It's OK, it's OK,” I repeat. “We're here to save you.”

  I search the faces.

  “Carson? Cassie?” I call out.

  I get no answer. I turn and storm back out into the camp. The people from inside follow. I hear my name whispered as I go.

  “It's her. It's Cyra Drayton...”

  Without my helmet, I've lost my comms. I rush along to the next barrack. Inside, more people are crammed together. More terrified eyes bulge from sockets. More beaten bodies creep from their shells at the sight of me.

  “Does anyone know Carson and Cassie Drayton?” I ask.

  I get no help from anyone.

  I'm quickly out and onto the next, rushing now. I go through the same process. And this time, when I ask the question, I hear a voice I recognise come from the back.

  Through the crowd, a face that was always smiling appears. But no longer. She comes forward, tears in her eyes, her voice cracking.

  “Cyra? Is that you?”

  “Amy...”

  Amy Appleby emerges from the darkness and comes towards me. We rush into each other's arms, her fingers gripping tight at my back, her head buried hard into my shoulder. She's shaking despite the humidity in the room, her body feeling lighter and scrawny to the touch.

  She pulls back, and looks at me in wonder.

  “How are you here?” she asks. “Have you come to free us?”

  I nod and smile, and her own face brightens a little with the familiar grin that she never seemed to lose. The crowd around us begin murmuring excitedly.

  “Amy,” I say. “Are my brother and sister here?”

  The smile vanishes from her face.

  “I...I don't know any more. They were.”

  “Where are they?” I ask urgently.

  “The building at the end of the camp...the big one. They were taken there. No one comes back from there...” she whispers, her eyes haunted, “no one...”

  “Thank you,” I say, kissing her forehead. “We've taken the camp, Amy. You're all safe now. Lead these people outside...”

  With those words I turn and rush once again out into the fresh air, escaping the sweltering barrack. Already, Troy has opened up the next one along. Behind, people begin to file out of their prisons, gathering in the open. I see Athena talking with them, bringing them together, explaining the situation. On the other side of the camp, more people spill out as the team work their way up the camp, barrack by barrack.

  I set my gaze on the far end of the camp and being running. I hear footsteps crunching on the dirt behind me. A moment later, Jackson reaches my side.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, panting.

  “The building at the end. It's where Carson and Cassie are.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw Amy Appleby. She told me.”

  “And my family?”

  “I don't know. You haven't found them?”

  “Not yet...”

  A hundred or so metres ahead, the warehouse looms. It appears more rigid and robust than the other buildings, perhaps used for a different purpose. A terrible thought enters my mind: this place is for killing.

  I run faster, my heart pumping hard. The sight of a large set of double doors emerges. Big metal locks run between them. We skid to a halt in front of the building, raise both our weapons, and shoot them out. Bullets hit and snap as the locks crack loudly, breaking off.

  Without a second's delay, I kick forward and the large doors open, creaking on their hinges. Beyond, a deep darkness appears. I shine my torch inside and the shadows melt away, revealing a long corridor.

  “CARSON! CASSIE!” I shout.

  The only reply I hear is the echo of my voice.

  We step inside and see doors lining the corridor, leading left and right. In the gloom, a final door reveals itself at the end, leading straight on. I set my sights on it.

  “Check these doors,” I say to Jackson, pacing forward.

  “What about you?”

  “I'm going to the end.”

  I rush on down the corridor, leaving Jackson behind. I reach the end and grab the handle of the door. I twist down and, to my surprise, find that it isn't locked. The door swings open, revealing more darkness beyond. I raise my gun again and point the affixed torch ahead as I step forward.

  I see bodies on the floor. To my left and right, a dozen or so men lie unmoving, sprawled
out in various positions. My face curls up in confusion. They're wearing soldier uniforms....

  These are guards from Eden.

  I pace onward a couple of steps in silence. Then, a sudden click sounds in the blackness behind me.

  I turn around and see that the door has been closed. And in front of it, a figure stands, his face lit up by the light from my rifle.

  The face of my old mentor.

  The face of Ajax.

  20 - The Turning Tide

  Ajax stares at me with those cold, slate eyes. His mouth lies flat, lips tightly closed together. For a brief second, he looks at me, and I look right back at him, the room falling completely silent.

  My finger hovers on the trigger of my gun. But it doesn't squeeze. I know there would be no point with him. I know I'm outmatched here.

  I hastily review him. His hands are bare, holding no weapons, empty by his sides. I see no gun holster attached to his hips, no weapon of any sort on his body. He wears only the same black suit he always did in the Grid, armed with nothing but the supreme gifts he possesses.

  “You're not going to shoot at me?” he asks, his voice suddenly interrupting the growing silence.

  “There wouldn't be any point,” I reply. “Just a waste of bullets.”

  He steps further towards me. I hold my ground, my eyes glancing to the left and right, at the bodies strewn strewn across the floor.

  “They were my men,” he says, tracing my gaze. “They came here with me.”

  I turn back to him, completely lost.

  “I don't understand...you killed them?”

  He continues forward, and I see his eyes darken with anger.

  “I was sent here to trap you,” he says.

  I recoil a little at his words, a fuming energy pulsing out of him, retreating into the darkness.

  “You saw us come here?”