Anarchy: Children of The Spear: Book Two

by Rhett Gervais

  At the mention of Mary Beth, Rowen looked away, feeling like she had been kicked in her gut.

  “From your body language, I assume she’s dead. They must all be by now. I didn’t see them fighting.”

  Rowen could only nod, not trusting herself to speak. She could still see the look on her friend’s face as she died, the moment fresh in her mind, raw. Thankfully, they arrived at what was once the lab, much of Gibbs’ work still sitting on workbenches waiting for him to return. Approaching the first group, she saw that they were mostly shell-shocked teens her age, blank faces and tired eyes wandering into the broken remains of a place they considered a home. The lifeless bodies of their parents fallen at the tunnel entrance welcomed them back, having done their best to shield their fleeing kids, if only to give them a few more seconds. She closed her eyes, burying her scar-covered face in her hands, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. Too much had happened today. Too much was lost, and she didn’t think her strength would be enough to deal with it all. With a grunt, she dug deep, finding the tiny spark of anger that was always there, feeding it with the memory of everything that had happened. Her rage gave her focus, clarity. Sucking in a deep breath, her nostrils flared.

  Her thoughts returned to the moment as Arthur removed a med kit from his bag, motioning for her to climb onto the main platform. As a group, they moved to administer what little help they could, most of the injuries from the returning survivors being mostly superficial. By the looks on their faces, she could tell the real damage was deeper, emotional, spiritual. Despite his own injuries, her father was diligent in helping: a recovered Gibbs at his side, circling among everyone, knowing his presence was at least a comfort to most. Arthur, for his part, offered what aid he could while staying at her side. A pat on the shoulder, a small smile trying to reassure people not much older than himself that things would be alright, that they were safe for now. Rowen saw that despite being a stranger, his large eyes often filled with tears for people he’d only just met today. His desire to help felt real, but none of that mattered. They needed answers despite his kindness.

  “Listen, I’m glad you want to help, but I need you to tell me everything,” she said bluntly, her anger seeping through in her tone. “How did you stop the drones? Mary Beth and her brothers couldn’t do stuff like that. What do you really want, because while you seem to be a nice guy, no one would risk his ass coming into a war zone in an occupied city because he read a report about some abandoned troops.”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow, giving a comforting pat on the shoulder to the teen he was treating for cuts on his head. With a sigh, he stood, placing his hands behind his back. “During ascension, the priests and reverends make us into a better version of ourselves. It works differently for each person. I was always good with computers, machines—I had a knack for fixing things. After the change, I found that I could interface with machines, control them,” he said, moving away from the main group, motioning for her to follow. He continued in a low voice. “The more I practiced, the easier it got. I can control thousands of machines at a time now.”

  Rowen stopped, looking him in the eye. “So why don’t you just, you know, make it all go poof!” she said, wiggling her hands and miming an explosion as she spoke.

  He shrugged and continued walking. “Divinity Corps, it doesn’t make sense most of the time. The abilities we get are powerful, more than they let the public know. The war should have been over by now, but still it drags on. Team members aren't used to their full potential, vanishing, or retiring. The abilities I have are game changing. I could win us the war tomorrow if they put me on the front lines. Instead, I spent all my time assigned to recruiting missions like some errand boy, wasting my talents. A few days ago, I’d had enough. I knew I had to do something, so I raided the main data hub for the—”

  “How the hell did you manage that?” asked Rowen, scratching the long scar on her face.

  “Most of the corps were in Washington D.C. when it was destroyed, including me. We were evacuated to a place called Iron Mountain. It serves as a bunker for government officials in times of crisis, but also houses the main data storage facility for the country,” he said, his dark eyes drilling into her as she walked slowly beside the third rail. “They have secret servers, deep underground. They keep records of everything, scary stuff, bad stuff. I found reports, research on the crystal tower that they are building—actually, growing—in Central Park, the same type of crystal that’s taking over your friend’s body back there.”

  Rowen grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her directly. “Are you saying the government knows about the crystals, knows what they do?”

  Arthur shook his head. “Not entirely. Theories, mostly. They know they can be used as a power source, and that if someone is exposed too long, they die. There are holovideos, experiments they did with test subjects,” he said, his face darkening as he continued. “Most of the time, nothing happens. Sometimes they kill. I saw soldiers—kids—suffering in the most horrible ways, but some folks, like your friend back there, have a genetic profile that allows them to bond with it. The benefits are powerful in the beginning, but most succumb in less than a year. It's pretty painful at the end, from what I’ve seen.”

  She looked back, trying to see Gibbs through the crowd, her brow creased with worry. “That would give him about ten months. You turned off the crystal when you got here, couldn’t you just turn it off and remove it?”

  Arthur could only shrug. “I’m not sure it would work. Turning it off even for a minute knocked him unconscious. But maybe there is another—”

  “Hold on,” said Rowen, raising a hand to quiet him. Despite the dark, she could see a commotion in the small group of survivors, sparks of odd-colored light flashing among them, casting long shadows. She swore under her breath as her heart pounded suddenly in her chest. Unholstering her gun, she broke into a sprint, fearful of another attack. Getting closer, she had to shield her eyes from the bright light, streaks of gold and silver encompassing the entire group who stood silently mesmerized by its source. Arriving at the edge of the group, Rowen pushed her way past the outer circle, a tingling sense of warmth washing over her freckled skin. Standing at the heart of the group was a tall, broad-shouldered man, glowing like the sun—no, not a man—she couldn’t be sure. He was an odd mix of man and machine with an uncanny face and eyes that didn’t seem quite human. His plastic features were outlined with gold and silver, looking like a poor impression of a person. He wore a uniform similar to Arthur’s: black with a single stripe of yellow up and down its length but without the red collar.

  Rowen was about to speak when the glow around him faded, leaving her blinking at shadowy afterimages in the dark, the cold of the subway floor seeping into her bones once again. All around her she could hear gasps and sighs, murmurs of relief and amazement rumbling from those around them as they gingerly touched wounds that were no longer there, flexing limbs that should have been broken.

  Then, appearing like an apparition, her feet not touching the ground, was a tiny, narrow-waisted girl with small breasts, dressed all in white. Looking into her large blue eyes, Rowen felt a pang of sadness. The girl’s eyes were wide, bright with unshed tears as she stared past everyone, her focus on the small boy, Arthur. Without a word, the circle surrounding her parted to let her drift by. Rowen could see the girl’s hands tremble as she brushed past her. Her breathing was ragged, fast and sharp. Her rage was palpable to everyone who silently watched.

  Arthur stood waiting impassively, his chin held high, arms locked behind his back. Rowen watched her stop a few feet in front of him, both of them silent.

  “You’re going to die today,” said the girl, her voice a breaking whisper. “I’m gonna make it painful, just like you did for me. It’s the least I can do.”

  Rowen moved closer, seeing a frown run across Arthur’s face. It was so tiny Rowen would have missed it if she blinked, a subtle curl of his lips, his eyes growing bright at the sight of her. Then, just as quick
ly, he shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line.

  It all happened in an instant, each of them raising their hands, hers as if to strike. Arthur raised an eyebrow and a sharp, choking gasp escaped the girl’s throat as she tumbled onto the subway platform, her heels clacking loudly. She looked back and forth at her open palms, blinking in confusion. Rowen jumped in her skin as she screeched, her wail echoing painfully in her ears. The girl’s face flushed bright red as her fist hurtled toward Arthur’s face, only to be caught, almost gently, by him, only inches from striking him. Rowen could see a shudder run through the girl’s body as she stumbled back, ragged sobs rattling from her small body as Arthur released her hand.

  He bowed his head, his words so soft Rowen almost couldn’t hear them. “I’m so sorry, Gwen, but not today. Today, I need you. Today, we’re going to end the war.”

  Chapter 17: Someday We’ll Be Together

  May 2076

  She had done a bad bump once, at a party, not long after she and Brandon arrived in Ann Arbor. Someone had cut the coke with something abrasive. They never found out what it was but it burned like hell, each breath full of stabbing pain, causing her nose to bleed for the rest of the night. Whatever Arthur had done to her was a thousand times worse. Her lungs felt like they were filled with tiny shards of glass, each breath more painful than the last. She stumbled hard as she fell, her legs weak like she had just run a marathon. It took every ounce of her strength to stay upright, not wanting to be on her knees in front of her former friend.

  Memories flooded her mind as they locked eyes, small flashes of what had been, the way he shook the snow from his curly hair the first time she saw him. The laughs and late nights talking about nothing on long plane rides, holding him while he cried after the times the major-bishop had come for him. She remembered his last birthday, not so long ago, giving him her grandfather's medal, teasing him about still being a virgin, like he was the strange one and not her. Then she was there again, back in the server room, facedown on the cold concrete drowning in her own vomit, the pain of him walking away, leaving her alone to die. She felt like she had never left that room, that she was still on the floor waiting for him to come back and save her, apologize for being a little shit. But he wasn’t coming back. Her Arthur, who was kind and comforting, was gone. All that was left was what the major-bishop had turned him into.

  She was just about to fall, her vision going dark, when she felt hands going around her waist and her arm suddenly draped over a shoulder. Gwen turned to see a redheaded girl, the one whose face was a mess of scars, holding her. With her other hand she leveled some sort of pistol at Arthur. Gwen sighed, feeling a swell of pity for her, knowing the bullets wouldn’t do much to him. Arthur gave the weapon a bland look, confirming her thoughts. Somehow he’d won again. She had come here to break him, to make him pay, and now she found herself at his mercy just as before. Would he leave her to die again, drowning in a tiny pool of her own spit and vomit, or would he at least have the courage to finish her this time?

  “I think I’ve had enough of you today,” said the redhead, holding her gun a little higher. “I don’t care what your plan is or what you think you can do to help, but your little games stop now. Fix whatever you did to blondie over here or you lose a kneecap.”

  He only shook his head as he took a step forward. “I told you before, guns don’t—”

  She flinched when the redhead fired a single shot, the booming gun sounding like a cannon next to her ear. Gwen’s jaw hung open for a moment before she smiled with a twisted sense of satisfaction. Arthur’s knee buckled beneath him and he fell, his eyes wide, face a mask of shock, wailing from unexpected pain.

  “Next shot goes in your head if you don’t stop this now,” said the redhead, taking aim once again. Arthur nodded, his breathing short and fast. Gwen smiled, seeing something she never expected to see from him. Fear.

  Like a needle in her vein, Gwen felt a sharp jolt as she could breathe again, the dank subway air flooding her lungs, the throbbing pain fading to memory. With a growl she gently pushed the girl with the gun aside, frowning down at the boy that had caused her so much pain. Gritting her teeth, she grasped him by his throat, lifting him effortlessly above her head, her eyes boring into his.

  Her blood boiled, and her face went red as she choked him, her heart thundering a joyful sound, watching him struggle, legs flailing, his hands pounding futilely against her iron grip around his throat. All she had to do was squeeze, just like he had done with the major-bishop, and he would be punished for everything he had done. She could be free of him. Her pain would be gone.

  Before she could, a gentle hand suddenly touched her shoulder ever so softly, pulling her back from the brink. “Killing him won’t fix it. It's not worth your soul,” said a quiet voice calling her back from her anger. “Don’t be like him; be better,” said a voice she knew so well. The voice that had comforted her through the pain of what Arthur had done to her, the voice that had coaxed her back to life when she had given up all hope. Uriel was right. She was better than him. She held him aloft for a few moments more before letting her anger subside and letting him fall into a heap on the floor in front of her.

  Gwen turned around, giving Uriel a grateful smile just as the redhead stepped between them. “Hi! I’m Rowen, welcome to New York,” she said, looking between Arthur and herself. “I think there's been enough killing today. Whatever beef the two of you have, you can kill each other tomorrow. I promise.” With that, she turned away, heading back to see to her people, motioning for the two of them to follow.

  Gwen frowned at Arthur, a shudder running through her. She could see confusion in Arthur’s face, a line appearing on his forehead as he stared up at her. He clearly had questions. She had only one. Shaking her head with disgust, she turned her back on him, following after Rowen.

  “They were going to kill you!” he screamed after her, his voice hoarse from her squeezing his throat. “You’re only alive because of me!”

  She turned back to see him struggling to stand, his teeth bared. “Oh, fuck you!” shouted Gwen. “You’re like every other piece of shit guy I’ve ever met. You say you love me, but the minute I don’t put out—”

  “Do you even know what I had to do to save you!” said Arthur, pointing at her. “I sacrificed everything for you, over and over again. They wanted to let you die, said it would play better in the press. That idiot Rodrigo you brought with you, who you probably think is so sexy, Uriel and I found him standing over you, trying to lobotomize you.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat as she thought back to that day, remembering the haunted look on his face, the sudden rush to have their relationship be more.

  Arthur stood on one leg, bent over trying to catch his breath. “The only reason you're alive is because I loved you, you ungrateful bitch.”

  Gwen began to laugh from deep in her belly, her shoulders shaking as tears came unbidden to her eyes. She felt like she was losing her mind. Fighting for calm, she forced herself to breathe. “For the smartest guy in the room, you’re an idiot. You didn’t do it for me, you did those things for you. I’m sorry about what happened, but I told you the day we met that I don’t need you. Real love doesn’t work that way. I won’t fuck you because you let a bunch of old men run a train on your ass!”

  “You just don’t understand; it wasn’t like that. I saved—”

  Gwen walked back, taking him by the shoulders and looking him in the eye. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You made your choice, just like I made mine. Maybe I led you on a little, but it’s not my fault you don’t know anything about women. Sex is transactional, love isn’t.”

  Arthur stared hard at her, his gaze unflinching. “I am what I am, but you’re afraid of love, terrified of it. Even when everything you did screamed that you loved me, you refused to admit it or do anything about it. You could have killed me the moment you saw me. I know how fast you are; I should be dead, bu
t you gave me a chance to stop you.”

  “You’re fucking high or delusional…or both,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t give a shit anymore, I never did. You were just a toy to play with, someone to pass the time.”

  She could see him flinch as her words hit home, his eyes going wide then narrowing, wondering if what she was saying was true. She didn’t know herself, but she wanted to hurt him.

  “Hey!” shouted Rowen, walking back toward them, a small army in tow. “I said you could kill each other tomorrow. For now, my father wants us all in the situation room. He has a plan. We’re getting the hell out of this dump once and for all.”

  Chapter 18: Young minds fresh ideas

  May 2076

  Arthur sat alone on the floor, his small body pressed against the cool subway tile in the back of the CIC, absently rubbing freshly healed knee, grateful for Uriel’s presence. He watched and he listened just like the major bishop had taught him, contemplating his next move. Things had not gone like he planned and now his vision was in jeopardy. He sat banished to the corner while they shouted at one another, amazed at how they argued. Rowen’s father was nominally in command, having promptly told that pompous idiot Rodrigo to shut it when the Italian had tried to spin it that Cardinal Washington’s orders somehow included the New York unit. The Square Jawed man had the ultimate say in what would happen, for now, and like a good commander in the field he asked for opinions, tactical overviews before he would lay out the mission.