New World Ashes

by Jennifer Wilson

  Triven oversaw the mechanical weaponry group while I split my time between the manual weapons and hand-to-hand combat teams. We focused on basics at first. Holding weapons, disarming and arming them, basic attack moves and self-defense, then we moved to more technical tactics like sparring and target practice. We corrected them where we saw fit and most were receptive to our advice. It was oddly satisfying to teach them skills that came so second nature to me. Very few rebels could wield a knife to my standards, but they were better than I expected. Even Triven seemed pleased by their knowledge and skills with the guns, stunners and bombs. I was even more shocked to see many of them could fight. Once I began selecting the pairs to spar, their real skills came out. When sparring, a person never fought their hardest when paired with someone they loved. But if I pit them against someone with better skills, then the lesser fighter always fought harder. We were careful to keep most of the blows to parts of the body that were easily hidden by clothing. While there was healing serum at the ready, it would be unwise to waste it on training. They were going to need as much as they could get in the upcoming weeks.

  Satisfyingly, there were even a few people who surprised me. Mae was one of those. Despite her thicker stature and age, she was surprisingly quick on her feet and packed a lot of power behind her punches. More than twice she earned a pleased smile from me. The less I saw of her chilly disposition, the more I could understand why Inessa loved her. I had learned we alpha-females rarely played well together, but we could certainly admire one another’s strengths. Thaddeus was another surprise. His skill with a gun outrivaled most of the snipers we had in the Subversive’s numbers. His calm demeanor and calculated shots made him a lethal ally. But he was lacking in hand-to-hand combat. While I was impressed with their overall skills, they were still far from ready for a war. Especially not where the Tribes were concerned.

  Time in the training room was moving like a blur, feeling much too short. We had been through three full rotations and three and a half hours when there was a collective groan of sympathetic pain from the room. Fiona had just laid out her third opponent. She looked at me, grinning like a shark through her ragged breaths. It was difficult for me to admit she was good, but she was. Fiona’s skills were honed to military precision. Against most opponents she would be deadly. She was confident too. If The Master had taught me one thing, however, it was that over-confidence was a fast way to get yourself killed. Only an idiot thought there was nothing left to learn. Still smiling, Fiona walked closer to the gathered crowd. Almost everyone had abandoned their posts and were now watching the hand-to-hand combat, drawn by Fiona’s unrivaled successes.

  As she drew nearer I tilted my head toward Mae, who was standing next to me. Making sure to speak loud enough for the entire room to hear me, I posed her a question. “You have plenty of the healing serum in supply, right?”

  Her brow furrowed as she answered. “Of course, but we—”

  “Good,” I spoke over her response.

  At that moment, Fiona drew level with us. Twisting to the side, my fist flashed out like a snake, smashing into Fiona's unexpecting face. She staggered backward as the room fell into utter silence. Blood began to pour from Fiona’s nose, staining her face and marring her white shirt. She doubled over in pain, grabbing at her gushing nose with both hands in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

  “YOU BITC—,” she began to scream behind her hands but I cut her off, stepping out of the crowd.

  “Have you ever fought for your life with a broken nose? Have you had to fire a gun or throw a knife while your tear ducts were opening like flood gates? How about when your airways are blocked off and you are choking on your own blood?”

  She stayed crouched, glaring at me over the top of her blood-soaked hands. The crimson tide was seeping between her fingers now. Unwanted tears were blurring her eyes. I leaned in as I lowered my face to her level.

  “Well, have you, sweetheart?” I smiled sweetly, baiting her. As predicted, she took the bait.

  Releasing her face, Fiona shot upright, bringing her fist up with the force of her movement. I twisted with her. The air flexed next to my temple as she missed her target. In the same movement, my left elbow collided with the side of Fiona’s head, sending her tumbling head over heels. Her long limbs curled and tumbled with trained precision. When she emerged from her calculated roll, a knife was now clutched in her right hand. The smug smile that had lit her face mere minutes ago had been replaced with a feral snarl. From my peripheral vision, I could see several people move to step in. Both Mouse and Triven were in the forefront, but I held up my fingers telling them to stop. Triven’s hands clasped over Mouse’s shoulders and they stayed put, as did the other concerned rebels. No one intervened, but each of the anxious onlookers had slipped to the front of the watching group.

  While these marginal movements happened, my eyes never left Fiona. Lunging like a cat, she closed the gap between us in two strides. Her hand flashed with quick short strikes, keeping the weapon close to her body and well under control, the blade of the knife whistling as it cut through the air. Though her attacks were well marked, I was faster. I easily danced away from the singing blade. It never even grazed the fabric of my shirt. The tighter she gripped the blade the more it began to slip in her bloodied grasp. Fiona’s face blazed red with fury. The more I eluded her, the wilder her advances became. With an erratic, powerful thrust she drove the knife toward my stomach.

  Pivoting outward, I twisted around her extended arm until I could feel her shoulder in the square of my back. Utilizing the impact of my movement, I brought my right elbow down into the back of her skull. The hollow sound echoed in the still room as Fiona went sprawling face first onto the ground. The knife slid from her bloody hand, clattering loudly across the floor.

  With intentional nonchalance, I turned away from her. Addressing those who watched us, I pointed blindly to the knife fallen from Fiona’s hand. “Rule one, never try to staunch your bleeding during a fight with your hands. Blood only makes your hands useless and slick.”

  Even without the collective intake of breaths from the watching rebels, I knew Fiona was on her feet again. She had the knife and was charging once more. I turned to face her just as she bore down on me, her arm thrusting to kill.

  Using her own momentum against her, I grabbed her wrist pulling her toward me. Twisting myself into her arm, I curled my back into her chest like a deadly lover’s embrace. I dropped my body and yanked her arm downward, flipping the woman who was nearly a foot taller than myself over my back. As Fiona’s body flew air bound, I clung tighter to her wrist, twisting the knife with ease from her still bloody hand.

  Air coughed from Fiona’s lungs as her body slammed into the floor. Her back arched in pain as she rolled to the side gasping for air. She wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

  I flipped the knife twice in my hand, feeling the weight. The only sound in the room was Fiona’s gasping breaths.

  “Rule two, fight with your head, not your heart or you’ll make stupid decisions that will get you killed.” I glanced at Triven and Mouse, both of whom I was willing to make stupid decisions for. Triven’s hands were still firmly clasped on Mouse’s shoulders, his own broad shoulders showing subtle signs of stress. Mouse was gripping Triven’s hands with equal intensity. While her knuckles were nearly white with anxiety, her eyes were alert as she took in my lessons. Fiona was stirring again. Unable to look into Mouse’s perceptive eyes any longer, I turned away. Several other rebels were now offering her assistance up, but she batted them away, wiping at her nose, obviously humiliated.

  “Get off of me!” She yelled. I raised the knife in my hand and the others quickly backed away, leaving her to fend for herself. Fiona glowered at me. With a flip of my wrist, the knife soared across the room. It imbedded into the mat with a dull thud, the hilt quivering between her legs. An inch higher and I would have hit her pelvis.

  I looked directly at Fiona when I spoke this time. “Rule three, The M
inister taught you how to fight for loyalty. Now you need to learn how to fight for your survival.”

  Leaving Fiona on the floor, I walked toward the outskirts of the circle. Several cries broke loose as a knife imbedded itself into the weapons stand less than a foot from my head. I traced its trajectory and found Fiona was no longer clutching her nose like a scorned child. She was standing proud, chest heaving with the effort to maintain her stance.

  I nodded curtly at her in approval. “Better. But next time, don't miss.”

  A flicker of a smile graced Fiona’s face as she nodded back.

  “Who has next match?” I called.

  To my surprise, over half of the room eagerly raised their hands.

  People slowly trickled out of the room as another hour passed. It was late and those of us left were growing weary. Despite her best efforts, Mouse had fallen asleep in the corner. Her tiny hands were clinging to a training baton as her head lolled against the bowed wall. Her lips murmured something unintelligible, her hands tightening on the baton. The sight tore at me.

  While nearly every rebel did their best to catch my eye as they left, I resolutely avoided them. I had already stupidly let too many people into my heart—my parents, Mouse, Triven, Archer, Arden, Inessa, Ryker… even Maddox. So many were dead and many more would follow. I didn’t want to feel the loss anymore. I was already too full of it.

  No. These people—these rebels—were allies, not friends and it needed to stay that way. The Minister didn’t need any more ammunition against me. And I certainly didn’t need the responsibility of their lives. I could help them learn to fight, but I was not the one asking them to fight. We were all safer if I kept them at arm’s length. It didn’t register until we were walking back to our room, with Mouse cradled safely in Triven’s arms, that even he was keeping these people at a distance. The charismatic boy I had fallen in love with was quieter here. More reserved. This place had changed both of us.

  “A lot of them are going to die, aren’t they?” I asked, secretly pleading with him to disagree.

  His honesty, however, was staunch as ever. “Yes. They are.”

  His arms tightened around Mouse as we unconsciously hurried our steps, furthering ourselves from those we knew were damned.

  25. PROCEDURE

  THIS GOODBYE WAS different.

  There were no heartfelt farewells. No wishes of good fortune.

  When we left Tartarus to come here, it was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. Now, however, the time for recon had passed. We were going home not to start a war but to be pawns in one that had already begun, making these goodbyes feel much more final. It was harder to feign optimism when both sides were aware of what lay ahead. Our mission was probably a death sentence and if we failed, theirs would mostly likely follow suit. If by some miracle we did succeed, half of these people could already be dead by the time we were reunited. Merely saying goodbye seemed inadequate when it could mean forever.

  While sleep was imperative, none of us slept very much. I could hear Mouse tossing restlessly in her bed, which we had moved back in. And while Triven never moved, his breathing never grew deep enough for sleep. I had clung to my father’s journal all night, my thumb sliding rhythmically over the worn surface as my mind raced. By the time a soft rapping came at our door, the three of us had already been up for the better part of an hour. Triven strode across the room and opened the door. Mae was standing in the hallway with a pile of clothing draped over her arms. She too looked like she had barely slept. Her round face was wan, the purple marks under her eyes deepening her already depthless eyes. Even her curly hair seemed extra unruly this morning.

  Triven stepped aside so she could enter. Mouse instantly moved to the woman, throwing her arms around Mae’s substantial hips. She smiled down at the child while speaking. “These are for you to wear. They are lightweight, but bullet-resistant at long distance. You three should eat before you leave. There is a very long day ahead of you…” She faltered. “Um… Ryker also informed me that he was not sure how easy it would be to procure food on your side of The Wall, so I added some extra nonperishables to your packs. Ryker will bring them in a bit.”

  Triven relieved her of the clothing. Mae blushed when he bent to kiss her cheek tenderly. “Thank you, Mae. You are too kind.”

  She pressed her palm to his cheek patting it sadly, as her other arm hugged Mouse.

  It was the least I could do since you’re probably going to die out there.

  She didn’t say those words, but she didn’t have to. We could all see it on her face. Despite Ryker’s bravado and many of the rebels’ confidence, Mae proved not everyone was so optimistic about the impending war. Like us, she could admit that people were going to die. Blinking away the tears in her eyes, she turned her attention back to the uniforms in Triven’s hands.

  “Get dressed. Then come upstairs for a bite to eat. Ryker should be meeting us soon and we will leave.” Her curly head bobbed once at the three of us and she swept from the room. An escaped tear had slid down her cheek as she left and her thick hands had fiercely wiped it away. Realization struck me, I actually liked the tough old broad.

  Ever the gentleman, Triven left to change in the bathroom, giving Mouse and I some privacy. I neglected my own suit to help Mouse with hers, carefully tucking my father’s pocket watch back around her neck. Unlike the flowy civilian uniforms we had become strangely accustomed to, these were practically skintight, fitting similarly to the soldiers’ uniforms. A long zipper sealed the back, stopping at the nape of the neck. The silvery-black fabric reminded me of the bulletproof undershirts we had worn when first coming here. This time at least, all three of us would be wearing one.

  Once Mouse was fitted in hers, I began to pull on my suit. I paused with the zipper halfway up. Mouse was sitting on her cot frowning at her new boots, her skinny legs swinging, knocking the soft rubber soles together.

  She noticed my staring. Too big. Ugly. She signed sticking out her tongue in distaste. I smiled at her and knelt to examine her boots. Her toes fell just a tad shy of fitting perfectly, but not much.

  “They’re fine. You will be too big for them before you know it.” My heart skipped as I said the words. I would do everything in my power to see that happen. “I like to wear mine a little big, anyway. More comfortable.”

  Mouse now beamed at her boots, proud to be like me. As always, it disconcerted me that she looked up to me so much. As if reflecting my thoughts, her hand shot out palm up asking for something. When I did not respond fast enough, she retracted her hand. Sliding her pointed index finger across the other, she then pointed at her boot. I understood.

  “You want a knife for your boot,” I said.

  She nodded, very serious now. I reached behind my cot and grabbed two small, white handled knives. “Then I guess it is a good thing I stole these from the training room last night.”

  I watched as she took the weapons and carefully placed them in her own boots. She seemed so much older than just a few months ago. I took her hands once she was done. “You are to stay by my side, unless I say otherwise. If I tell you to run, you run this time. Got it?”

  We both knew I was speaking of her defiance the night we first came to The Sanctuary. Shame swam in Mouse’s eyes as she nodded. Her fingers moved shyly. I promise.

  At that moment, a small rumbling sound emitted from Mouse’s mid-section. She flushed red and pressed her hands to her stomach in an attempt to staunch the sound. It merely grumbled again, causing us both to laugh.

  I kissed her swiftly on the forehead. “Go on up and get some food. I will be there in a minute.”

  Mouse threw her arms around my neck in a swift hug, and then ran out of the room. Her long brown hair whipped around the corner after her. Once she was out of sight, I pressed my face into her cot. I wasn’t sure what to feel. Joy? Panic? Fear? All of those things and more? I was almost certain I had a better chance at protecting Mouse out there. Here we were like trapped rats, but out there�
� that was my territory. In less than twenty-four hours we could be back in Tartarus. Or if things went not according to plan, I could be back in The Minister’s clutches. Either way, I would put a bullet in anyone’s head before I let them lay a finger on Mouse—friend or foe. I had made promises to the people here, but as my parents had proven, people break promises all the time. I knew Triven wanted to help the cause, but when it came down to it, I would choose him and Mouse over all of these people. I could only hope it wouldn’t come to that. Pushing away from the cot, I pulled on my own boots.

  There was a soft brushing noise of skin on metal as Triven’s hand grazed against the doorframe when he entered. My back was still turned as I gathered the last of our few belongings—my father’s things, pictures Mouse had drawn, a book Triven had become attached to. Chills ran up my spine as his fingers grazed the exposed skin on my back.

  “May I?” He asked.

  I drew my hair to the side, allowing him to zip up my suit the rest of the way. I leaned back against his chest listening to his heartbeat. It was steady as ever. His arms wound around my waist pulling me closer. Feather light, his lips pressed to my ear. Spinning in his arms, my lips sought his. For this one moment, I allowed myself to forget about everything else.

  Our mouths moved in feverish unison, never feeling satisfied. In that moment I knew no amount of time with Triven would ever be enough. Even if we had an entire lifetime to grow old together, I would still want more. And the sad truth was, we were not likely to get that time.

  Once we were both gasping for breath, I pulled away letting my head fall forward onto his chest as I clung to him. Triven pulled me tighter, feeling the same sense of impending loss. For now, this one moment was about us and nothing else. Because the second we left this room, everything in our lives would be overshadowed by war.