by T. C. Edge
“Ah yes. You have a special task, girl. Always you have a special task. You will be the winning of this war. Good luck.”
I move away quickly as his weary smile fades, and turn my mind from finding Drum. He will be near, protecting another route. Seeing him in a manner similar to Rhoth is only going to weaken me.
I return straight to the strike team, my mind wavering. Zander spots me as he concludes his strategy meeting with the area commander.
“Where did you go?” he asks.
“Just…to see Rhoth.”
“You found him?”
“Yeah. He’s fine, and West.”
“And Drum?”
I shake my head.
“No sign. No time.” I turn my eyes to the tablet as the commander withdraws it, and brighten my voice. “So, you found us a good way through?”
“As good as it’ll get,” says my brother.
He pulls out his radio, and sets about making contact with the other teams. A minute later, all are confirmed as being ready to make their move. He turns now to the group.
“We’re set to go,” he says. “Stay silent as possible. Stay low and follow my commands. Silence your weapons, use nothing that will give away our position. If you’re spotted, take them out before they can call us in. We move straight south, then work around their rear. OK. Good. Now let’s do this.”
He turns to the first lane, and we move in behind him, Stalkers and Nameless alike. I steady my breathing as Zander glances to me, my pistol silenced and in hand. He turns back to the narrow lane ahead, searches forward, lifts his hand into a fist and, a moment later, opens it out and flicks his wrist forward.
And we go.
16
As a silent group of twelve, we flash like lightning down tight lanes, working in what shadows there are. The sky remains blue, however, casting light upon the world that we’d rather wasn’t here. Night would be better for this kind of mission. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of choosing when to strike. It is, quite frankly, now or never.
We do, however, have the fortune of distraction on our side. It seems somewhat serendipitous that, as we begin moving beyond our lines, the battle nearby at the main blockade grows louder and more fierce. Given the manner in which the Cure seem to fight, it’s a good bet that the same is true in the other three quarters. With any luck, their eyes will be blind to us sneaking behind their back.
Still, we have to be slick and smooth, speeding between cover should we stumble upon an enemy unit. All sentry guns down our chosen path have now been disabled, giving us passage through without them turning on us. They activate on motion and body heat, and little more than that. Sentry guns do not differentiate between friend and foe, as Zander and I discovered last night.
Operating at the front, Zander uses simple hand signals to tell us when to stop, crouch, and move off again. Despite being cobbled together at the last minute, we seem to mesh fairly well, moving efficiently and in tight formation. Further signals are given by my brother to those with specific augmentations. Those who can hear or smell far better than he can are tasked with ensuring the passage forward is clear before we move on.
The likes of Kira or Beckett would be quite an asset right now. Though I’ve never seen Beckett do so, I’ve witnessed Kira using her special power called the Sight on several occasions. Her many years operating unseen as a spy is a testament to her ability to sneak around like a ghost. And still I wonder sometimes just where she is, whether she’s alive? I can only imagine she’s not. The curse of the High Tower has taken her already…
We move on, encountering no one. Our group is able to detect possible enemy units early enough, giving us a chance to stop and let them pass, or move quickly before they arrive. I contribute nothing myself, and merely stick close to Zander’s back, deferring once more to the skills of those around me.
About five minutes in, a whisper comes down the line for us to stop. It comes from the rear, from a Stalker with the sharpest sense of smell among us. He has us all halting and crouching low against the wall of a tight side-street. Ahead, one of the primary roads cutting east and west across the southern quarter waits.
Zander turns back and looks at the man, and a dart of distrust cuts into me. I don’t much like our group being influenced by the nose of a Stalker. He might well be setting us up.
He’s not. At least, not on this occasion. Out on the wider road ahead, an enemy squad is moving, their footfall picked up now by our Bats after their scent was noted by the Stalker. They’re close enough to be heard above the din of war, mere moments from walking straight past the alley in which we hide.
All eyes quickly turn, searching for a place to hide. The alley is empty of cover. No bins are present, no doors whose frames might present space to gather. The alley is long, too, and though we could dash to the rear, we’d most likely be loud enough to be heard.
Zander has a decision to make, and he makes it quick. He turns and looks to one of the Bats, giving a gesture asking for numbers. The Bat shuts his eyes, listens, and then lifts and splays his fingers to demonstrate the answer. I have no idea what it is, but it doesn’t look great by Zander’s reaction.
A further flurry of orders come. The men seem to understand. Immediately, we begin hurrying as silently as possible to the edge of the alley. The beat of war drums on, louder and louder. I can’t understand my brother’s more complicated signals, but I don’t have to. He’s in my head, telling me what I need to know.
Two dozen soldiers. May be a recon team, or a search and kill squad. We’re outnumbered two to one. We need to take them out as quietly as possible, two soldiers each. We’ll have a moment as they pass before they see us. I’m taking the first two at the front. You take the next two. Do you understand?
His words come with a gathering intensity in my mind, yet are clear enough to comprehend. I nod to him and tell him ‘yes’, and he immediately sets about issuing his final instructions to the men. His fingers flutter, wrists twisting this way and that. All seem to grasp just what he’s saying.
When he’s done, we get low, crouching down in the shadows of the alley. Six at the front, six behind, all of us with silenced pistols. Beside Zander in the front row, I feel a pinch of concern knowing that there are two Stalkers right behind me, holding guns just inches from my head.
I shoo away the thought and think again of the enemy.
They’ll be here in moments, their footsteps, crunching on debris, now just about audible to me too. I take a deep breath and hold it in to keep my aim steady, holding my pistol with two hands and looking down the barrel to the alley’s wall on our right.
The sun is high now, the shadows narrow. There’s just enough shade for us to huddle in, cast by the tall building to our right. Then a stroke of luck; a cloud, a rarity today, sweeps across the sky on the breeze and wraps up the sun. The shadow darkens, and we fade into the murk, the bright light beyond the alley dulled to make aiming easier.
My breath still holds. I can’t let it out now. Another, louder crunch of feet sweeps around the corner, and I see the first sign of the men coming. They walk in no real formation, yet with a careful step. I seek out those walking in third and fourth place, the targets meant for me. They’re just about separated enough for me to spot them.
I stare in that split second with my enhanced vision, logging the two men’s faces. The rest of us do the same, a more difficult task for the non-Hawks among us. Yet the men are close enough for us all to deal with, the rest now coming into view. I see one swaying his vision to his left, down the alley in which we take shelter. My heart stops for a second as I think he’ll see us.
He frowns, blinking into the darkness.
Can he see us here, huddling so close? Can he see the twelve sets of eyes, picking out their men? A Hawk would, and would do so immediately. This man can’t be a Hawk, another Enhanced or another hybrid. But not a Hawk.
He slows his step slightly, his gaze still on us. The rest of the men move forward, al
l but a couple in view. The signal is Zander’s gun going off. When it does, we all must follow.
Time seems to slow, a second becoming several. The soldier takes a step from the group, and begins to lift his weapon suspiciously. The darkness must be hiding us enough to create doubt, yet his movement has drawn the eyes of others. Several turn now, and look at him. Then their eyes work into the narrow space, and weapons start to lift.
We have no choice now. It’s time.
Zander’s gun goes off, punching twice.
Pop pop.
Immediately, eleven others follow suit, bullets firing like puffs of compressed air and seeking their prey. They hit their targets, slicing through heads unprotected by helmets, cutting into hearts unprotected by armour. These men aren’t all as well attired as us, aren’t so dressed for war. We find gaps in what protections they have and exploit them to their deaths.
Twenty of the soldiers drop as one, some going straight to the floor, others grasping for a moment before following straight after. I hit my two targets, the first right in the forehead, the second in the neck. The former is one of the first to hit the deck, the latter gargles and grapples with his neck first as it spouts blood, before doing the same.
Four soldiers, however, manage to avoid killing shots. Either blocked by those ahead of them, or muddled during the count and ignored, they take a second to see where the shots have come from, little lights spitting from the darkened alley. In that moment of confusion, two of them are taken out as we enter into a free-for-all, every one of us now determined to drop them all.
The final two, however, are quick enough to note the danger, darting off down the road and out of sight. In a split second, several of us are on our feet and taking chase. My brother leads the pack, zipping from view as I stand and follow. I hurtle around the corner and see him firing as he rushes. His shots are successful. One of the fleeing soldiers makes acquaintance with the dirt.
There’s one left, the fastest of all. He hurries as quick as he can, shedding weight as he drops his rifle. I’m right behind Zander, hurtling along in his slipstream. I see the man turn left, moving further south and out of sight. We follow, reaching the alley. A flutter of dust tells us he’s turned again.
In my head, I hear my brother call out.
Go left. We’ll cut him off. He cannot escape! GO!
I notice now that we’re alone, the others having stayed back or too slow to keep up. I follow my brother’s orders and spin, twisting off down a side alley and working my way around. There’d better not be any further Cure units here or I’m more or less done for…
I put the concern from my mind, and navigate through several more lanes. I can still hear Zander in my mind, his pursuit taking him off in the other direction.
Work around in a circle, he tells me. I’m gaining on him, forcing him your way. Get ready. Get ready, sis!
I trust his instincts and knowledge of the streets. He must know somehow where the man is going. Can he sense it? Are his powers sensitive enough to tap into his prey’s likely route?
Whatever the case, he’s bang on the money. As his voice guides me along, I tumble out onto another wider street and see, in the distance, the soldier charging my way with Zander just behind.
I immediately pull up my pistol and take aim, my breathing hard and hindering my focus. The man sees me, and his eyes flick left and right seeking a way out. There isn’t one, no more roads to sneak down. It’s either straight at me, or back at my brother. He must assume that I’m the better option.
I fire.
The bullet punches and misses. I take a deep breath, hold it in, and go again. He dodges to the left just in time, and my round hunts down an abandoned vehicle instead, pinging off its metal surface.
He’s closer now, veering right and left, coming straight at me and pulling his own pistol. Zander’s not far behind, though unable to stop and shoot. This is down to me. This man’s mine.
I fire a third time, and a fourth, then several more times to make sure. I spread the bullets left and right, intentionally trapping the man in a terrible web. He’s got nowhere to go, moving left and going straight into the path of one of my rounds. It hits him square in the chest, knocking him off course and sending him tumbling into a pile of debris.
I rush straight for him, see the fear in his eyes. Blood spits from his mouth, and he lifts a hand as if asking for mercy. I don’t even consider it. My pistol pumps out another round, and this one inserts itself into his brain.
His eyes go blank as his neck snaps back. I finally let out my breath.
Then, lifting my gaze, I turn down the street and see Zander ambling towards me. He’s not going fast anymore. His movement is laboured, a grimace set to his face. A sudden realisation hits me as I see the blood dripping from between his fingers, clasped tightly to his side.
Panic and terror run through me.
I’ve just shot my own twin brother.
17
“Zander! Zander, are you OK?!”
I’m with him in a split second, my eyes all over his bloodied side. His hand continues to hold his flank, the blood seeping through his digits. The flow is strong enough to set a terrible pace to my heart.
I reach out, preparing to move his hand and inspect the damage. He holds me back.
“It’s fine, just a graze,” he assures me with a heavy grimace. “We got our guy. That’s all that matters.”
“Are you sure? It needs attention, Zander. Let me see, please.”
My pleading expression softens him up. He slowly dips his head.
We move straight to the cover of a building, creeping inside as I make sure it’s abandoned. It seems to be, on this level at least. The main foyer, giving passage to the floors above, tells of an upmarket tenement block. That’s no surprise here in the more affluent southern quarter.
I help Zander towards the concierge desk, and try to get him to lie down on top of it. He refuses, and merely leans against it. Only now does he remove his hand, still with a little coaxing, allowing the blood to seep a little more freely down his combat gear.
I’m no medic, but I’ve seen Mrs Carmichael take care of enough minor wounds to know a little of what to do. Hell, she’s had to patch me up several times recently. Yet this is a little more serious.
My first port of call is to try to mop up some of the blood. His clothes have soaked up a lot of it already, yet it continues to come. I remove my armour and upper layer of combat clothes. The shirt I have on underneath will have to do. I remove that too, before pulling my jacket back on, and start clearing his side of as much blood as I can.
Only now can I properly see the damage.
“How does it look?” asks Zander, a note of concern edging into his voice.
I take a closer inspection, and find that the bullet has gone right through, slicing a serious gash across his side. It is, however, away from any vital organs, cutting through muscle and nothing more. A heavy breath of relief escapes me.
“A flesh wound. Nothing life threatening,” I say.
“See. Didn’t I tell you,” huffs Zander, as if he never doubted it. His obvious nervousness tells me otherwise, and the throbbing note of worry pulsing from his frame.
“Yeah. Still needs stitching and cauterising to stop the blood. Here, hold this to it tight,” I say, handing him the bloodied shirt. “I’ll go and fetch the others. We have medical supplies with us, right?”
“Field supplies, yeah. I’ll come too. It’s fine.”
He steps back onto his full weight with a grunt. He looks anything but fighting fit.
“No,” I say. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a second.”
He takes my order without further dissension.
“Now hold that tight,” I say. “And don’t go anywhere…”
“Yes, sis. I won’t.”
I smile, and my smile immediately breaks.
“I’m…so sorry. I…”
“Shhhh. It was an accident. You took the guy out, nothing else mat
ters.”
“But I…I could have killed you.”
“Brie, stop. OK? Just stop, and focus. Go and fetch the others. We have a job to do. I’ll get on the radio and see if I can make contact with the other strike teams. This is a minor hiccup, nothing more. Got it?”
I cough away my burgeoning grief and self rebuke.
“Right. Got it,” I say.
I leave him there, speeding straight back out onto the street. I immediately note the heightening beat of war, filtering straight back into my head. With a loose check to ensure the path ahead is clear, I set off at a tremendous pace, working my way back along the route I travelled to get here.
By some good fortune, I cover the ground without encountering any further resistance. If I were being honest, I’d have to say that I’m hardly being careful, barely checking each street before I go speeding out onto it. By the time I return to where we left our squad, I find them separated once more into their two opposing groups of Nameless hybrids and Stalkers.
There appears to be a debate going on, their professionalism abandoning them as they stand in the open, talking rather loudly. They barely notice me until I’m close, before turning suddenly and lifting their weapons, ready to fire.
“It’s me, it’s me!” I shout, holding up my hands.
They settle quickly.
“Sorry, Brie,” says one of the Nameless soldiers. “Where’s your brother?”
“A little south of here. He’s been injured, and needs attention. Come, follow me.”
I get ready to move, expecting them to follow. Yet the break between the two parties appears a little more deep rooted. They all stand their ground, looking at each other suspiciously.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, stepping back in.
“The problem,” says the Nameless soldier, “is that the Stalkers wanted to leave you and Zander and get straight on with the mission. The rest of us wanted to stay and give you time to get back.”
He glares at the Stalkers as he speaks. The others do the same.
