Ren blinked, struggling, kicking to get Brad off-balance, his head ringing. His breath caught in his throat as Emma moved towards them, a focused frown on her face, black slicked down her chin. “Emma…run…”
Brad’s fist rose and came down in one smooth, powerful motion. Light flared in Ren’s eyes, a lance of blistering pain shooting down his face, through his head. Something wet trickled into his eye. Emma shouted, tinny and garbled in his ears.
He blinked again, shaking his head, numb and dull, hazy murk clouding his vision. Something pushed against him. A shrill cry cut off, leaving behind an awful silence.
Emma. He wiped a hand across his face, smeared wet down his cheek and his fingers came back bloody. He tried to get up, leaning heavily on one arm, but a hand pushed him back down to the floor. He lay there, trying to blink away the blood in his eyes, cotton in his mouth as he tried to swallow.
“W-Why,” Ren whispered, his hand flailing at the man’s…no, wait, Brad’s…leg as he moved past him. Light flickered on the wall, shadows swimming on the ceiling.
Brad stopped. He shook his head as he looked down at Ren. “I’m taking her home.”
▪▪▪
Emma strained against Brad, or thought she did. But she felt so weak, the salty tang of blood on her tongue, everything happening so slowly, the echo of her breathing loud in her ears.
He tightened his grip on her wrist, and led her through the doorway, out into the dark and the mist and the rain. She glanced over her shoulder, back into the room.
“Protegam eum,” she whispered, and then her lips froze. Protect him, that’s what she’d said. Right?
Dad lay where he was, one hand clawing at the floor, trying to drag himself up. Orange flame licked at the wall behind him, smoke starting to rise. Blood trailed down his face, one eye swollen and red. He opened his mouth, called out to her, but she could barely hear him.
She couldn’t hear him over the voices. Eddies of lilting, formless sounds, triumphant as they swirled in her mind, and then anxious, expectant strings of whispered words. She tried to close her eyes, to force the voices into silence, but it was like she was caught in a flood.
Her head pounded, one voice rising over top of the others, dominating. It sang sweetly to her, told her everything would be okay. All she had to do was listen, and follow, just for now. Just until she was safe. And the voice was so familiar, so soothing, like a warm, soft blanket.
Emma wanted to close her eyes, just so she could hear the voice better. But the rain came down, dripping down her neck, her boots squelching in the murky, wet sand. She shivered in the chill air, the fog sifting over the ground, like it reached for her.
Brad led her north, staring ahead into the fog. Emma’s foot bumped against something, and she stepped over it. She glanced down and realized she had almost walked right into the body of the Blessed who had been guarding them, or part of it. She clenched her hand into a fist, and tore her eyes away. She felt sick.
The guard tower loomed ahead, a corner of the squat building appearing out of the fog, but no one stood guard. Rainwater dripped from the metal railing, and streamed down the cracked walls. Somebody’s hand clawed at the mud, and wild eyes stared up at her, begging for help, or death, or maybe both.
She heard a shout from behind, and the man picked up his pace, Emma struggling to keep up with his long stride. Hurry Emma, the whisper in her mind sang. Hurry home, my Emma, so I can see you. Others picked up, chiming in, calling her home. Festinate, they said over and over. They wanted her to hurry, too.
A loud crack sounded behind her. “Brad!” someone shouted. “What are you doing?”
Brad stopped in his tracks. He pushed Emma back to one side and turned to face the voice, but not before Emma saw the smile spread across his face.
“Hello, Rachel.”
▪▪▪
Rachel sprinted towards the smoking building, her mind racing, water splashing with every step. Lightning flashed, far off to the west, casting the surrounding mist in an eerie light. The rain had slackened, falling now in a steady drizzle. She’d not seen a storm like this in years, definitely not since everything had well and truly gone to shit.
She shifted on her feet, scrambled up the ramp, and pressed her back against the wall. She turned and peered past the edge of the doorway, looking into the room, one hand on the pendant at her neck.
Smoke covered the far side of the room, drifting to the ceiling, billowing towards the open air outside. Flames crackled and hissed along one of the walls, licking at the scorched, peeling paint.
Someone struggled forward, crawling on hands and knees by one of the beds. Rachel cursed, and jumped through the doorway. She leaned down and grabbed Ren by the waist, pulling him up onto his feet. She draped one of his arms over her shoulder and led him outside. He leaned against the ramp, sputtering and coughing, blood streaming down from a nasty gash over his eye.
He looked in rough shape, but he’d live.
“Where’s the girl?” Rachel asked. She glanced back into the smoky haze of the burning room, but if the kid was in there, she was doing a damn fine job of hiding. “Where’s Logan?”
Ren shook his head, spitting out a gob of blood. “T-Took her.” He pointed out towards the fog. “Brad…B-Brad took h-her.”
Rachel opened her mouth, closed it. That couldn’t be right. Brad had gone missing. He was probably dead.
“Stay here,” she said. She swung over the railing, landing with a splash in the muck, and jogged north, her eyes scanning the field in front of her. What she could see of it.
The mist swirled away for a moment, the mud, sand, and standing rainwater stretching out before her, and Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. A body lay in the drowned sand off to her right. She thought she saw a second a few feet away, but realized that it was two halves of the same body.
Logan.
Rachel crouched, her eyes narrowed as she looked out. Her hand shot to the pendant hanging loose from her neck and she whispered the name.
Sanctus flagellum.
The scourge flashed in her hand, the whip-like chains wound into a loop. She moved north, staying as quiet as she could, her gaze focused ahead. She twitched at the shadows as she ran, ready for something to leer out at her, ready to sweep the scourge out, the touch of the whip a searing reminder of what she was. Pinpricks tickled the back of her neck, her heart thudding against her chest.
A shape moved, not far off, and then she caught the sight of a second, smaller shape. She felt sick, a knot forming in her stomach, because she knew who it was. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but then why did it feel like it? If she’d have been closer, or reined him in before he took off, or if she’d have circled that old farmhouse instead of following him, maybe he’d have come back with her.
Ren hadn’t been wrong. Brad was back, only not how she’d wished.
“Brad!” The guard shack came into view through the fog, and she paused there. “Brad, that you?”
The man stopped. He turned around, shifting the girl so she stood behind him. His smile turned Rachel’s skin cold.
“Hello, Rachel.”
“What happened to ya?” Rachel asked, nerves jumping, her hand clenching. She spread her feet and held the scourge by her waist, tensed and ready. “Blessed and all, this don’t seem right.”
“I’m taking Emma where she’ll be safe,” Brad said, motioning back at the girl. He looked back at Rachel, his eyes wild and intense, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I found her, Rachel.”
“Who, Amy?”
Brad’s smile widened, his teeth showing in the dim light. He shook his head. “No. Her.”
Rachel nodded. Something bad had happened to him, but the thing was, he hardly seemed to be Brad at all. He’d taken the girl, beaten Ren in the process, and sliced poor Logan in two.
Enough talk.
She stepped to the side, then lunged forward, darting low. She lashed out with her left hand, the scourge whipping outward in one smooth
motion.
The point of the scourge glinted as it slashed across, Brad ducking under the whip. He sprang forward, hissing a word, and the Blessed’s sickle appeared in mid-swing, the curved blade gleaming as lightning flashed in the distance.
Rachel whipped the scourge back and dove to her left under the sickle. She rolled over, water and muck splashing over her side, and swung the scourge just over the mud. The chains whipped around Brad’s leading ankle. He bared his teeth, setting his jaw against the holy fire coursing through the scourge, and Rachel yanked hard. Brad’s foot swept out from under him, and he fell back, his shoulders driving into the mud with a wet squelch.
Rachel flicked the scourge, loosening the end, and drew it back, but Brad was already on his feet again, the sickle weaving in front of him. Rachel had to suppress her own grin. The fucker wasn’t smiling anymore.
They circled warily, each looking for an opening. Rachel saw the girl out of the corner of her eye, a few feet away, her eyes dark. “Emma, go help your father.”
Brad paused, his gaze shifting past her. He lowered the sickle by his side and stepped back. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”
She felt it then, sliding in behind her, a chill running down her spine. She spun around, the scourge whipping out, the tip lashing at nothing but air, the mist parting from the whip’s thrust. A gasp escaped her lips at the sudden, excruciating pain in her side, under the ribs. A hand grasped her wrist, claws digging into the skin, and the scourge fell from her fingers.
Hot, fetid breath washed over her, and she retched. She turned her head, afraid because she knew what she was going to see. “Gri…Grigori,” she whispered. She struggled, squirmed, but the demon held her fast, her side going numb. Something cold slipped out of her flesh and she shuddered.
“Too much rain,” the demon hissed in her ear. “Not enough salt.”
▪▪▪
Emma.
Ren tried to take a step and nearly fell over. He leaned against the railing and blinked, trying to focus. Mist and shadow everywhere, the smell of smoke on his tongue, something burning. Pounding in his head, down his face, one side so swollen and sticky with his own blood that he could barely touch it.
He heard a faint cry, and he spun towards the source, out in the darkness, wincing at the biting ache of his body. So this is what fighting feels like.
Ren set his jaw, biting down on his tongue, using the pain to spark a sense of clarity. He had to move.
He held onto the railing and took three lurching strides down the ramp before pausing. His vision swam, rain trickling down his hair, fog swirling over the compound. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and breathed deep, ignoring the shudder in his ribs. “Steady,” he whispered to himself. Steady. It was just pain. No matter how it seared, or clawed, or ached.
He opened his eyes, one barely a slit, and grit his teeth. He took a step, then another, his hand trailing the wet railing. Behind him, the fire surged, smoke billowing from the open doorway. He cleared the ramp, his boots clinging to the waterlogged sand and mud, and turned north, following Rachel’s embedded footprints.
Every step hurt, every footfall brought a tremble to his lip, but he kept moving, one step after another. He focused on that. Just take a step, then worry about the next one.
He focused on his feet, and the pain dimmed, always there, but fading like the sunlight. Move, concentrate on that step, and everything else fell into place, pain or not. Everything hurt, so what was one more step?
Until he stepped into a watery footprint much too large. He stopped and lifted his foot. Blood had spattered over the mud, and channels had been dug through the muck, slick and wiry like someone had been flopping under the rain.
Or fighting.
The rain lessened, revealing the corner of the squat building, where others had stood watch. Now it stood empty, barren, no one standing vigil, watching over the compound. He didn’t know where they had gone, wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
He heard it then. “Hey.”
Ren whipped around, wincing, searching for the source of the voice.
“Hey. Ren.” Little more than a grunted whisper.
He scanned the ground for the voice, and spotted a lump a dozen feet off. A hand waved meekly at him, the fingers trembling. Oh, no.
A corner of Rachel’s lips curled up as Ren crouched beside her, but a shudder shook her, and her attempted smile shifted into a hissing grimace. Her other hand pressed against her side, a dark stain spreading down her wet shirt.
Ren put a hand on her shoulder, and lifted her bloody hand. It didn’t look good. He swallowed and ripped off a section from the bottom of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine.” He pressed the cloth to the seeping wound, and put her hand back down on top of it. “Hold that there, okay?”
“S-Sorry…” Rachel’s eyelids fluttered closed. “They t-took your k-kid.”
“Where’d they go?” Ren asked. He shook her gently by the shoulder. “Rachel? Rachel!”
Her arm fell into the puddle that surrounded her. Her hand shifted, a finger pointing out, towards the north, and the dark silhouette of the trees in the distance. Her breathing slowed, and her other arm slumped forward, her hand sliding off the bloody rag.
Ren cursed, and pressed on the wound himself. He turned and screamed for help, his lungs burning. Emma needed him, but so did Rachel right now. He wouldn’t leave her, not like this.
He held his hand over the bloody rag, his other hand moving towards her neck. She was alive, her pulse weak but steady.
His fingers brushed her necklace, a spark running down his hand, and he looked up, checking to see if anyone was coming.
He reached down, his fingers trembling as his eyes caught the pendant lying against her skin.
▪▪▪
Kevin heard the cries, the shouts for help echoing throughout the compound. He flung away the body of the cannibal, the Ashen man’s burnt flesh still steaming. Lahat sizzled and hissed in his grip, blue flames surging along the blade.
The other invaders had fallen back, slipping away under the cover of the fog, darting into the trees. Gunfire rattled off in spurts, tailing off as the remaining Ashen ran.
He saw painted skin, caught flashes of bared, yellowed teeth, crude weapons glinting as the heavy clouds lifted, patches of the late afternoon light shining through. Bodies lay scattered in the mud, a couple still moving, reaching out for help as if it would come. As if they deserved it.
Kevin wasn’t the miracle they were seeking. Especially seeing faces he recognized, their dead eyes glazed over, staring into nothingness. People he’d helped here in Haven, who’d given him their trust.
No, any of the damned Ashen that looked at him would get a different sort of help.
It felt like a thousand cuts marked him, blood-lined wounds running across his arms. His ribs ached, and he knew once he took his shirt off he’d find several bruises.
He’d worry about them later. He ran past the trucks, stepping over more bodies, and he paused when he saw her. Releasing his hold on Lahat, Kevin couldn’t help the sigh of relief as he moved towards her.
Sam.
She stood by herself in the open field west of the trucks and their debris, her head down, her shoulders sagging. The bodies of Ashen lay clumped together around her feet, a half-dozen more strewn in the mud nearby.
Kevin slowed as he neared her. He reached out uncertainly with a hand. “Sam, you okay?”
Sam turned towards him. Tears streamed down her dirty cheeks. She looked down at the palms of her hands, dried blood crusting her fingers. “I…I don’t…I wanted to die.”
She smiled, or tried to, her hands flying up to cover her face as she broke instead into a quiet, shaking sob.
“Shh, now, Sam.” Kevin wrapped his arms around her, and she cried against his chest, her shoulders heaving. “Shhh. It’s okay…”
He held her, consoling her as best he could, but after a minute he stopped talking. The silence was probably more eloquent. And it kept
him from yelling at her, shaking her by the shoulders for taking such a stupid risk.
“Kev!” A gruff voice shouted from behind him.
Kevin turned his head and motioned with his head at the man that approached. “Anderson. We okay?”
Chuck Anderson looked ragged, his green fatigues ripped at one shoulder, blood and mud streaked over the front. A sharp, thin cut ran across his cheek, the skin around it red and swollen. He hadn’t cut his hair in years, and his black and gray mane ran down past his shoulders, his gray beard tied into a knot at his chin, braided hair dangling loosely.
“Okay, but just,” Anderson said with a curt nod. “Lost a few, but the bastards are running back to wherever they came from.”
His brow rose as Kevin let go of Sam. She stepped away, sniffed and rubbed her eyes.
Kevin shook his head slightly. Don’t ask. “All the posts check in?”
“All of ‘em except for Evie. She’s on riverside.”
A sick feeling passed through Kevin’s gut. Evie had been stationed on the eastern edge of the compound. The Ashen had hit them on the western flank. Shit.
“Okay, I’ll go.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and guided her towards the veteran Blessed. “Anderson, make sure the rest are all accounted for. Need to clean up, repair any damage, ASAP. Got me?”
“Roger that,” Anderson said.
“Sam, you okay to help him?”
The young woman sniffed again and nodded. “Damn right I am.”
“Good. Be back soon.” Kevin left them to it, and moved towards the interior of the compound, nerves jumping at him. He had the uneasy feeling that he knew what he’d find.
The rain still fell as he ran, a drizzle that felt good on Kevin’s skin, the cool water running down his back, down his bare arms. He moved past the two towers, men and women on top of the walkway scanning the fields surrounding the compound. One of them had fallen in the attack, and now lay half-submerged in the mud, the grimy barrel of a rifle peeking out. Kevin averted his gaze from the pool of blood mixing with the muck and stared at the smoking ruin ahead.
Flames belched a dirty smoke from the shack, heat washing from the roof in a murky haze. A hundred things ran through his mind, wondering what he might find when he reached the building. Whether he’d find Ren or Emma there, whether either one of them would be alive. If the Ashen attack had been planned with them in mind, or if they were somehow involved.
Ash & Flame: Season One Page 11
