Excavating as far as I did into the city limited my options, given that we didn’t wish to enter the maze of bomb shelters, so I led us to the nearest place where I could feel that the surface was not choked by layers of decomposing concrete or interlaced with heavy metal piping. Using our scout for its designed purpose, I created a small vertical hole for it to slip above the surface. We saw that we were underneath a lofty sand dune encircled by some rickety skyscrapers. The bot was sent to investigate some of these thirty to sixty story buildings further and found that a mid-sized one not too far to the north fit our future needs. As quickly and stealthily as we could achieve it, we exited through the larger outlet I had warped and dashed out onto the dune, lit brightly by Ember’s deceptive light. I continued to warp the sand behind us to erase our footprints as we slogged through the open air, seeing as the wind was uncustomarily apathetic.
Using some broken sixth story windows, we infiltrated the chosen structure. Going by the few lingering desk frames that had not yet been wholly eaten away and the archaic equipment stashed inside some peeling office-arranged rooms, we were likely in an office building. We carefully climbed some decrepit stairs leaning unevenly against a deteriorating wall, having to leap over collapsed sections and scramble over rubble, and settled ourselves on the relatively stable fourteenth story (not including the stories buried under sand). After Hardy checked the higher levels of this house of cards, we satisfied ourselves with our choice. To top off our welcome, the captain had us place some explosive charges in the lower floors before we would seal the routes to our encampment as best we could. This meant plugging all major openings with warped sand and debris, and purposely toppling sections of flooring and staircases.
As we finished up our work with the trap, feeling like a handful of spiders arranging a web for a thousand flies, the live feed from the scout’s view from the top floor caught the first definitive sight of our inbound enemy. Half a mile to the south, hundreds of Ember’s imps were enthusiastically scouring the edges of the ruined metropolis. Their acts looked mad. Most ran unsystematically in some northerly direction, while others leapt into the dark interiors of any building in their way. I often saw random divisions of the imps come to a dead stop, in seemingly random places, and begin jumping up and down. They would then pause for a moment, in sometimes absurd poses, and restart their frenzied running—something I figured was their inelegant version of my vibration technique.
There were few exchanges of words within our assembly, whether said aloud or through wireless channels. All we did was silently wait for the inevitable. Even Dr. Oleson seemed warrior-like in her demeanor, as if she had recognized and accepted the fact that cold death could come at any time, and in a form she could not understand. I thought her courageous at first, coming close to pitying the person she had forsaken, the one we had found pointing the shaking gun at the closed underground door, but another attempt at reflection had me believing that perhaps she wanted to rejoin her husband in whatever form the Sacred gave our afterlife. As close as most soldiers are to the realism of death, following as closely as our own shadow, it’s not something I think most spend much time thinking about, not much more than a regular person thinks of their own shadow, at least. I had only given it a cursory contemplation every now and then. Even my time with Sadie had me thinking more about her worry over me than my worry over me. And as I saw the army of Ember’s original residents converging to our area, I found that death was still the furthest thing from my mind.
Chapter Fourteen
The star’s marked descent made the shadows longer and heavier, giving the mindless imps another few feet of stature. We occasionally saw disbanded groupings of Ember’s bats flying somewhere above or perched like indifferent gargoyles on a rooftop, but they weren’t large or near enough to pose an immediate physical threat. I had wanted to check the state of the lighthouse, but a mostly intact skyscraper was blocking the privilege. Down below, a handful of the probing imps passed our building over the next hour. There was no sign they had spotted us, but the growing groups began to creep closer to our cluster of high-rise buildings, increasingly concentrating themselves around the block. We believed they knew where we were and were bidding their time. What vexed us the most was knowing that at least one cloaked enemy had to have been the one to determine our location so expeditiously and was at that moment espying our movements from an unknown station.
In preparation for the battle, Vasilissa was conducted to defend the narrow, sand-buried road on the north side. Kiran and the shotgun toting Briannika were partnered to guard the more gaping south side, and Emory and I were held responsible for the eastern and western flanks, respectively. Each flank was fringed by sibling edifices, each of a higher standing than our own. Dr. Oleson was stowed away in a comparatively sturdy room in the middle of the floor, whereas the scout was instructed to keep watch over the most vulnerable entrance a floor below us. Meanwhile, the captain had marked an invisible line across the sands twenty yards from the building, waiting for the pawned bastards to cross it before sending us the signal to commence our barrage.
Strangely enough, Ember’s frantic army just managed to straddle that invented line and held the teeth-clenching suspense awhile longer, allowing more to gather by the precipice. In an unseen sign, the living salvo cut the thin threads of tension pulling at all of us, rushing our ramparts in a stampede. We countered with an assail of rifle-fired mortars, buzz sawing through the first wave of unarmored and unshielded beings like they were the sand sculptures of a child. The first two minutes of the battle were barely as challenging as an online game fixed to its easiest setting. Emory and I didn’t even have to enforce our flanks until the end of the second minute. It couldn’t last, of course. They gained ground with every inexhaustible wave and we were running out of grenades to mechanically hurl. What we were most concerned with was wondering when or if the security team would arrive to reinforce Ember’s creatures with modern technology, but they remained a no show for the time being. When several small groups of the army were able to infiltrate the building, the captain ordered everyone to head to the upper floors. As we hurriedly made our way up, we fired at any part of the churning legion we could see from the numerous unwalled spaces and absent windowpanes, knowing we needed another jump-engine to overload to make a dent in the mindless, uncountable mass.
On reaching the twilight lighted rooftop, I began to initiate our escape plan. Expending much of the vida I had left, I snatched the blushing sand being carried by the zealous wind and combined it with the piles already on the roof. Pooling the ropes of sand together, I began extending it across the expanse between our building and the building to the east some thirty yards away, or about ten yards too far for any of us to attempt an unassisted long jump. It was as the first strands of sand latched on to the other side that Ember’s bats united their purpose with those of their leg-based allies. Since I could not defend myself while warping the still fragile bridge, Vasilissa and Briannika were assigned to protect me and the crouching doctor. Kiran and Emory played it by ear.
The bats dove at us from on high, wanting to slam their bodies against us in a kamikaze raid. Most were unable to reach us alive and those that came close were dodged easily enough. The roof was so shabby in places, some of their crashes actually sent them into the building. Nevertheless, their impacts, combined with my attention on the budding platform, made it difficult for me to distinguish detailed tremors. In consequence, with the nearly complete sand bridge still as delicate as a running hourglass, I warned my comrades of several vibrations ascending from the west side of the roof when they were already about to reach us. Showing their trust in my words, the captain, Emory, and Briannika started their bombardment of metal slugs toward the ostensibly empty air in the referred direction. At the same moment the barrage began, Emory, standing closest to the danger, abruptly fell on his back and his body was dragged by an unseen force toward the edge of the roof.
Three of the cloaked machines e
merged from the hollow air when the projectiles of my colleagues found their solid marks a split second later. The nearest machine was implementing its burnished tendrils to keep a tight hold over Emory’s left leg. In an apparent attempt to prevent our slugs from pounding its cloned compatriot, the other two machines dashed in front of the one seizing Emory, successfully blocking the bullets for a short time. Emory himself still had initial control over his forelimbs and used them to continue firing at his stoic abductor. However, after just getting off a few rounds, his upper body was hampered by more tendrils springing from the same machine. Once I had braced the bridge enough to be sure it would stay up on its own, Vasilissa and I merged our volley with everyone else’s, seeing as the latest wave of annoying bats had been wiped out. If the machines had any other armaments besides their tendrils, they never had the chance to reveal them. They were not sheathed in military caliber armor, allowing our railguns to make short work of the first two bipedal apparatuses. Just as we were beginning to shell the captor, the tied up soldier issued a horrible yelp of pain that lasted for several seconds. When the cry ended, so did the functionality of the machine. The tendrils lost their grip, but Emory didn’t seem to regard the improvement.
He writhed on the ground for a few prized seconds, dropping his weapon and clutching his chest. Sounding like his throat was being squeezed, he said, “C-captain, I… I can’t… Fuck! It fucking hurts!”
“Uriel!” exclaimed Kiran. “Warp him across the bridge! We need to go!”
He was right. The army felt like it was only a couple of stories below us. I warped what I could of the wildly wandering sand and enveloped it around Emory, while everyone but the captain began crossing the bridge. I carried my distressed comrade atop my conduit with my best telekinetic grip, the captain giving us cover fire when the first surge of the creatures burst forth. It was difficult holding on to Emory. His desperate thrashing and twisting from the absurd pain loosened my hold several times, but I expended just enough vida to regain control over the earthen enchantment.
When I was halfway across eternity, the bastion-like draken made his way onto the sky bridge, giving a farewell blast of ruptured air to knockback some of the scampering creatures, hearing some of their giggling cries fade away as they fell off the roof. It was here he detonated the charges. Even as high as I was I could still hear and feel the belligerent percussion of the charges. The entire ill-fated building groaned deeply with disapproval immediately afterward. Those who had gone ahead of me had already reached the neighboring construction’s offices and were giving their support, but stopped when the charges were triggered, knowing wasting priceless ammo on our enemy was no longer necessary. Violent quakes shook some sand off my bridge, motivating me to flee a bit faster. When Emory and I had caught up with the others in the near replica of the previous building, the captain following close behind, I was able to turn around in time to watch the skyscraper start its dissolution. To make sure it posed no threat to the adjacent structures, we had strategically placed the charges to prevent the building from tilting during its demolition, so all it did was collapse straight down. One second had my vision crammed with an imp-filled roof and bridge, and the next one had the vision replaced by a blooming mist of dust and sand. Giving us no time to catch our breath was a wretched cry from Emory, who I had laid on the floor.
“What’s wrong, Emory!?” Briannika shouted above the rumbling if the dying tower.
There was no intelligible answer from him. He only continued to contort his body in painful looking angles, as if imposing a different sort of pain would lessen the one he was feeling, and disgorged beastly screeches that he sometimes gagged on like a renounced curse.
“What’s happening to him?” asked Dr. Oleson, standing as far back as she could without separating from our group. “This isn’t a hack, is it?”
Before an answer could be thought of, Emory’s body suddenly froze in place. The grimalkin was on all fours and gazing at the dusty floor in total silence. The unforeseen change instinctively had us pointing our weapons at him, taking a slow step back in the process.
“You there, Emory?” probed Kiran.
No response.
“Shit.”
Then, after what I was certain was only one of the many hour-like seconds this world had endured, something jerked Emory’s body upright, stretched his arms forward, and warped a concentrated whirlwind at an unbraced Briannika, bashing her through an enfeebled office wall. Just as the demented eyes of Emory turned to face Vasilissa, he was met by our bullets. Of course, his shielding was still active and the contemporary shell allowed him an unopposed second to leap at the eldrick. Before he could reach her, however, a more powerful influx of air pushed his inflight body away from Vasilissa and toward a peeling concrete column, slamming his body against it. We kept up the assault until the shield shattered and, following our captain’s lead, aimed for his chest-plated torso. While it was a stomach-twisting feeling for every last one of us, I knew it was probably the right decision to eliminate our friend-turned-threat. We were already helplessly surrounded by countless adversaries and had no way of knowing whether we could bring back the real Emory. Even as several projectiles found their way through his vitals and exited into the bleeding column, the demented Emory was able to stand erect and emit a yelp gurgled by dark blood and vomit before the flying blitz finally became too much for him. His body went limp and slumped back onto the floor with a thud. The three of us cautiously stepped up to his lifeless form, where we were joined by an uninjured Briannika a moment later. The piece of Hardy still in Emory’s suit indicated he was dead, but what could we believe on this planet? Being added to the abnormal was beholding the amount of blood pouring out from his wounds. His suit should have sealed most of the breaches and prevented that much blood from escaping, yet a sizable pool of a maroon colored liquid was accumulating on the floor.
“Scan him,” the captain ordered Vasilissa, never taking his eyes away from the reputed corpse.
She hesitated, something I had never seen her do, but she pushed past her apprehension and initiated her scan under our attentive watch, no finger or claw leaving the fringe of their trigger. At the same time, the scout was observing the outside world using all its available visions to pierce through the smoke, sand, and dust to conclude that most of the Ember army was scattering away from the area.
“I’m picking up a great density of foreign microtech in his blood,” said Vasilissa. “Going by the holes bored into his greaves, they were doubtlessly injected by those tendrils when they had a hold of him. There’s something else, but I’m not entirely certain what to make of it. The scan says there’s a lot more blood than there should be. It’s as though his body is still producing an abnormal amount of it, post mortem.”
“What does that mean?” asked Briannika. “Is he dead or not?”
“The blood is not circulating,” assured Vasilissa, “it’s just being produced at a remarkable rate inside his bone marrow. In fact, many of his long bones have significant internal fractures from the excessive pressure.”
“Hold on,” said the doctor, coming somewhat closer to us. “That description closely matches the status of many of the skeletal remains found in our initial discoveries.”
“That’s right,” said the eldrick. “Dr. Krauss’ journal also mentioned something similar.”
“So what happened to Emory is what happened to Ember’s inhabitants over a thousand years ago?” Briannika inferred. “Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”
“I know it sounds outlandish, but all evidence is pointing that way.”
Adding my own take, I said, “But if these cloaked machines are the cause of Ember’s demise, then it’s impossible that they came from Ispen.”
“Then we’re dealing with an unidentified enemy using unknown technology,” said Vasilissa, gathering our thoughts into a single conclusion.
“And using unknown tactics,” the captain inputted. “Whatever Emory underwent was not the
same as Brent’s. They didn’t simply hack him. Briannika, you said those tendrils were linked with those blood rods, correct?”
“Yes, sir. I suppose those rods could be the source of everything shitty happening in this fucking planet. That makes me extra glad I didn’t bring a sample with me. You don’t think those rods also gave Emory the ability to warp, do you, captain?”
“What?” the doctor asked, her eyebrows raised with surprised confusion. “You mean Emory has never warped before?”
“Emory’s family is too low a class to be trained in the privilege,” Briannika clarified. Her people had a close relationship with the grimalkins, having been the ones to make first contact with them.
“I was teaching him and Fife a little of what I knew,” Vasilissa said with a soft somberness as she stared at the ground. “But their progress was slow. I doubt those two could sit quietly through five minutes of anything.”
More to herself than anyone in particular, the doctor said, “But to suggest that those machines could somehow grant the warping ability… That’s practically blasphemous…”
“Blasphemous or not,” said Briannika, “it would be an intriguing possibility if we weren’t the ones experiencing this shit.”
“For now,” began the captain, “it doesn’t matter what those things are, what exactly they’re capable of, or where they came from, just keep focused. We have at least another day out here.”
Chapter Fifteen
There wasn’t even any time to begin thinking about what to do with Emory’s body, for a ghostly shadow blanketed our building for a few seconds until it completely passed over. Taking up a western slice of the sky, a skyscraper-sized object drifted gracefully above the city ruins. Like the stark shadow it produced, its hue was of a deep black, but it still seemed to give off the softest of glows that allowed it to just stick out from the begriming heavens. I attributed this smolder to the existence of a shield overlaying the ship. Its burnished silhouette was shaped like a prone capital-T, and I could also perceive that its central bar was fashioned into a spiraled drill. The tips of the upper crossbar encompassed the engines, which released a blue heat to the naked eye.
Ember's Echo (The Nimbus Collection Book 2) Page 13
