I'm ready as he charges and I feint, moving out of his way at the last second, leaving my foot stuck out so that he trips. His face hits the ground hard and the sound of his chin smacking the rock makes me wince, but I don't stop to feel sorry for him. As he cries out in pain, I grab Jasmina's hand, yanking her to her feet, and together we launch ourselves at him, Jasmina wrapping her thighs around his legs as I pin his arms to the floor. He wriggles and jerks beneath us, lifting his head as high as he can off the ground, trying to head-butt me from behind. It's laughable really, the guard blindly throwing his head back, like a petrified horse.
'You okay?' I yell over my shoulder to Jasmina, who faces my back. It's a bizarre position we're in, both straddling the guard's spine, me at his head, her at his feet – but it's working.
'Never better.' She grits her teeth with the concentration of keeping her thighs tight. As our guard lays pinned, I take the opportunity to scan the surroundings. I can't see Vlad or Patrick, they must be behind us, but I spot Anne and Ikraam as they struggle with their guard; another woman, shorter than me and with long, spindly limbs, but what she lacks in height, she appears to make up for in strength. Anne and Ikraam look hassled; at least five times I watch one of them hurtle through the air, coming to land on their backs or their fronts with a sickening crack.
The teams have begun to merge; once or twice I spot Jared amongst the throng, and a few other faces I know weren't in Vlad's group. It's impossible to tell who's winning; for hundreds of feet, all I can see are blurry, moving bodies. Limbs fly out at every angle, the sky seems to rain hurtling bodies, and all around are the sounds of determined shouts and painful yells.
A dark figure to my left streaks past me, launching himself off the ground, coming to land on the shoulders of a black-clad guard. All at once, he's thrown off, and the guard – completely unfazed – raises his foot and brings it down hard on the sprawled Rebel's stomach. I hear a terrible yacking sound and watch brown curls splay as the guard draws his foot back, launching it downwards to connect with the Rebel's face. As his neck twists at a bizarre angle, I catch a glimpse of blue eyes.
'Asil!' I yell, though I know it's no good. I glance around frantically, searching for Jack, but he appears to be alone. The guard doesn't let up, not even for a second. His foot has barely grazed Asil's cheek before he grabs my friend's arm, hauling him to his feet. The guard takes a step backwards, stoops low, then yanks Asil's arm, slamming him on the floor like a rag doll. It's like nothing I've ever witnessed, the guard using Asil's arm like some kind of lever, smacking him to the ground over and over. I'm ten feet away and all around me is chaos, but even from here, the sound of Asil's body cracking against the hard stone makes me feel sick. 'Asil!' I cry out, feeling as though if he could just hear my voice, just hear his name, it might make the torture more bearable.
The guard tires of his game, and he throws Asil to the floor once more before kneeling on his chest, pinning him down. He punches Asil's face again and again, his hard knuckles cracking against bone. Asil's feet twitch with every blow, and even though his legs are free, the pain is enough to keep him down.
Jasmina somehow knows what I'm going to do even before I do it. At the slightest twitch of my legs, she places her hand on my arm. 'Eve, don't!' She doesn't have to tell me why; Vlad's warning rings in my ears as I watch his brother being pummelled. Choose one guard. Just one. I don't need any heroics. Don't try to do more than is being asked of you.
But watching Asil beneath the guard, hearing the crack of bone against bone, knowing there's no way Asil will be able to free himself and that however long this attack lasts will be how long my friend's torture goes on is too much for me. I have to disobey Vlad. I have to.
I wrench myself free of Jasmina's grip and give the guard beneath me a powerful elbow to the back of his head. 'Keep him down!' I yell at Jasmina, already halfway to where Asil lies. The guard doesn't hear me coming, he's so engrossed in his violence, and as I run, I assess how best to get him as far away from Asil as possible. My friend needs time to recover, to let the pain subside, and I need to hold his guard off for those few moments.
The man astride Asil is huge, over six feet and built like a brick shit house. His shoulder muscles ripple beneath his black uniform as he lays into Asil, jerking left and right with the motion. My legs aren't strong enough to land a kick like Vlad's, and one good punch might knock him sideways, but it won't send him flying as I need it to. I'll have to use my whole body like a speeding bullet and simply crash into him. It's not strategic but it's the best I can do. I gain momentum as I run; there's not enough distance to build up to my maximum but when I reach him, I'm a blur, and I shoot my arms out, literally pushing him off Asil, my hands outstretched as they come into contact with the side of his stomach.
The unexpectedness of my attack is more important than my strength, as I realise when the guard, loose and relaxed, safe in his power over Asil, wobbles sideways, turning his eyes to meet mine with a look of sheer surprise. I kick out at him as he flies through the air, landing my foot in the centre of his stomach, giving him an extra shove. He comes to rest with a loud crash fifteen or so feet away, and I use the precious seconds before he rises to pull Asil up, stepping forward to shield him as he recovers. The guard loses little time, rounding on me and sprinting. I brace myself for his impact, bouncing on the balls of my feet, but before he reaches us, strong hands shove me aside in the direction of Jasmina.
'Go, Eve! I'm okay!' Asil doesn't turn to look at me as he hones in on the guard, apparently completely recovered and ready for another fight. He probably won't last long without a partner, no doubt I bought him little time, but at least the dreadful sound of his cheekbones cracking has stopped.
I scour the crowd for Jasmina, peering through the masses of moving bodies. She's not where I left her, which means the guard has broken free, but I'm not worried; we pinned him down within minutes – we can do it again. Finally I spot her, between the two largest boulders, her dark hair mashed into the snow as the guard presses down on her windpipe. I fly towards her, using the heel of my boot to hit the guard's temple. Jasmina scrabbles to her feet and our fight continues.
I'm not sure how long the battle has been going for when we finally pin our guard down again, using the same technique as before. Again I glance up, and this time I see less standing bodies, most of them pinned to the ground, one or two Rebels sitting astride them. I allow myself a small glimmer of hope; I can't see what's going on around the other side of the mountain, but our half appears to be almost covered. Some of the Rebels who were chosen not to fight have been called up for help, Zoe and Natalia each have a guard pinned with another Rebel, which tells me everything has not gone as smoothly as planned. But no matter; as long as the guards are all down, it makes no odds who's holding them.
Vanessa's familiar shout echoes in the distance, and I spot her blonde head jerking wildly in our direction. 'Stacey, go! Free the prisoners!'
Stacey, standing on the sidelines as the others fight, jerks into motion, sprinting towards the centre of the two giant boulders, lugging a silver case with her. The other revivers and the fighters chosen to tackle the guards inside move to follow her, but Vanessa's words seem to have done something to the writhing, fighting guards. The knowledge that the Confined may soon be released seems to give them an added burst of strength, and all at once several of them break free from their captors. A flurry of motion causes chaos as those who have lost their guards try desperately to re-capture them. The guards collectively sprint in Stacey's direction, as though their lives depend on it, and as I push down harder on my chosen guard – who also appears to have been given a boost – I see Stacey's expression of terror when she realises they're aiming for her.
Most of them are dragged back down, but two determined guards reach Stacey even before she's made it past the boulders. They slam into her, punching, kicking, even biting in an attempt to stop her gaining entrance to the Confine. The case is flung twenty feet away and l
ands with a clunk in the snow. She stands no chance against them and with little fight, she's flung over one's shoulder, defeated.
'The rest of you, go!' Vanessa cries desperately. 'We need their numbers! Free them!'
The group of revivers and fighters left move forward, hesitant at first, but then with blurring speed. Once again the pinned guards make a break for it, joining those who are already standing, picking off the revival team one by one. They're outnumbered, though, and those who manage to dodge the free guards keep going, hurtling towards the Confine as if nothing else in the world matters. Those of us whose guards are still pinned look on as they near the boulders marking the entrance, our fingers tightening on our quarry as we silently will our comrades to succeed. If they can just free some of the prisoners, revive them, give them enough time to come out and fight with us, the guards will stand no chance.
They're almost there, just a few more feet; those in front are well ahead of the guards even as those behind are still being knocked off course. One of the cases goes flying, spilling its contents onto the snow. None of the blood leaks, but the guards will quickly realise that without those cases we can't progress, and it will be far easier for them to rip the pouches than to capture us.
Just as I'm trying to figure out what to do, a sound in the far off distance catches my ears. It's faint, and impossible to locate with all the noise around me, but it sounds like a herd of cattle stampeding. I'm still focussed on the old Rebels taking the lead, almost at the boulders, but as the stamping grows louder, I'm distracted as I attempt to source the sound.
It's to my right, somewhere near the neighbouring mountain – Mount Kamen – and it's growing steadily closer. Glancing around, no one else appears to have heard it yet, but within seconds, I feel Jasmina tense behind me.
'What's that?'
'I don't know,' I shake my head, craning my neck to see over the heads of a dozen other couples lying on the ground. My guard takes the opportunity to attempt a break away, but I tighten my grip on him, securing him beneath my weight before straining my ears again.
A few things happen at the same time, each as significant as the next. The leading old Rebels, the ones with the case, step past the boulders and into the entrance, but as they do, three guards tackle them from behind and the case is dropped to the floor. They grapple and scramble for it, but the guards pin them down, kicking and throwing punches in any direction. At the same time – or perhaps because of this – my guard manages to scramble free and he launches himself out from underneath mine and Jasmina's legs. We topple sideways, clutching each other for balance, as, finally, the rest of the Rebels notice that not-so-faraway sound.
I try to ignore it and re-capture my guard, but suddenly he stops, cocking his head to listen, and I watch as his shoulders relax. His actions throw me off and I stop chasing him. When he turns, he's not bothered about my presence. He's staring past me to the source of the noise.
The stampede is now so loud it's impossible to ignore, and even the guards lying on the floor have lifted their heads to listen. We stare as one towards the larger mountain, where the thumping grows louder and closer with every passing second. The guards stop fighting to break free as I notice a large purple cloud appearing from behind Mount Kamen. It seems to be moving, inching in our direction, and the stamping sound appears to be coming from within it.
It's at that moment I realise, the purple cloud is not a cloud at all, but another sea of bodies, marching in perfect formation towards us. They don't run, they walk with precision, never once stepping out of their close-knit ranks which appear endless.
They round the mountain, mere blobs in the distance, a burst of colour against the white snow. As they grow closer, I notice a spattering of yellow just a few feet in front of them, also moving blobs, but with much more speed. I glance at Jasmina, but she doesn't look at me; she's too focussed on the yellow and purple marching towards us. The others, Rebels and guards alike, appear to have forgotten where they are. It's as though someone's pressed the pause button; none of the guards try to break free, and none of the Rebels try to gain access to the Confine. I almost want to shout at them, to remind them why we're here, but something about the expressions on the guards' faces stops me. They look... relieved.
I spot Vanessa amongst the crowd, still crouched on top of her guard but with her grip slack. She, too, is staring in the direction of the oncoming horde, but she doesn't look relieved. She looks bewildered. There are one hundred, maybe two, purple ranks plus the yellow people a way out in front of them, running full pelt to or away from something. They spread out, twenty or so yellow blurs darting down the hill, and something about their movements makes me uneasy. They remind me of something, but I can't think what. There's a sickening desperation in their run, the way their legs can't quite keep up with their bodies, the way they lean forwards as though every second counts. They're close now, close enough to see their faces. They each wear the same expression, and the sight of it fills my stomach with a sickening dread. Their eyes are bright and determined, focussed on us as though we're their whole world, and their mouths are gaping open, flapping in the wind as they run. Their chests heave up and down, the way a dog pants, and their nostrils are flared scarily large.
I don't know who they are, but something deep inside my mind, some voice I had no idea even existed, is screaming at me to run. They look, to me, like monsters, like every trace of humanity has been wiped from their features.
I glance over my shoulder, daring to take my eyes off them for a moment, and the first face I see is Vlad's. To my horror, he is standing shoulder to shoulder with a guard, and neither of them even seem to realise it. In that moment, I know something has gone terribly wrong.
As the yellow people near us, every guard in our vicinity takes a step backwards. Jasmina grabs my hand. Someone shouts 'What shall we do?' but gets no response. And then the yellow people are on us. They snarl and snap, cutting between us, ignoring the guards but snatching us up. One of them grabs Zoe and crushes her in his arms, holding her like a giant would hold a butterfly. Her face screws up in pain and her mouth opens but no sound emerges. Jasmina is whipped out of my grasp, bundled between two muscled arms, but before I can even turn to look at her, one of them grabs me. Unlike Zoe, I'm grabbed from my front and the yellow Immortal crushes my face against his chest. As my nose slams hard against the yellow fabric, I can't breathe and pain explodes behind my eyes. I fight against him, trying to prise his arms apart, but his grip is like solid rock. I use my feet to try to kick him off balance, but it's like trying to knock down a skyscraper. I've never encountered someone so strong, never been held by someone who feels as though he could crush the life out of me – if I had one to crush. As I writhe in his grasp, I take a glance at his face, and for the first time in a long time, feel mortal fear. He's not even looking at me, his pale eyes are fixed forward, but, as he gargles strange, guttural noises, I finally realise what he reminds me of. What they remind me of.
Zombies.
An unfamiliar voice sounds somewhere behind the zombie holding me, and I'm wrenched around to face the speaker. The purple Immortals have stopped, still in their large formation, each of them tensed and ready. One of them has stepped forward, a tall man with grey hair. He looks a little like Sir Alec, especially when he regards us with a vaguely amused expression. 'I want the leaders of this Rebellion to step forward immediately.' He repeats himself, his eyes roaming. Spread out across the plane, our two forces face one another, still and unmoving. The Confine guards, I suddenly notice, have stepped aside, as though this has absolutely nothing to do with them. The purple leader's face splits into a wide grin, his eyes focussed on a point over my shoulder. 'Vanessa Foxton,' His voice is quiet but every Rebel hears it. 'I was told you'd be amongst this rabble. Step forward.' He commands.
I peer around the zombie in an attempt to spot Vanessa, fighting against his snarls and tightening grip. I can't see her, but I can see some of the others; they're glancing at one anothe
r, silently asking each other what to do. There are only twenty or so of the yellow zombies, so most of my friends are still free, and I wait impatiently for them to pull themselves together and launch another attack.
The sound of footsteps in the snow is amplified by the eerie silence, the crunch crunch of heavy boots making their way past me. I peer at Vanessa as she walks slowly towards the purple leader, her head held high, her fists clenched tight. Any moment now she'll give the order. Any moment now the fight will resume. 'Who's working with you?' The purple man lowers his voice, speaking only to Vanessa. She remains silent. 'Who's working with you?' The man repeats, clenching his teeth in irritation. Vanessa's legs are wobbling slightly, but if the purple man notices, he doesn't say anything.
'I am,' A sudden, familiar voice sounds a few feet behind me. I don't turn as Vlad's footsteps crunch in the snow, following Vanessa's. The purple man watches him closely, his brows knitted in concentration as Vlad walks confidently to the front. 'Vlad Katak. I'm the leader of the Rebellion.'
'Vlad Katak,' The purple man's face suddenly clears, and he raises one eyebrow in surprise. 'You're the leader?'
'That's right.' Vlad nods curtly. Anyone who didn't know him wouldn't hear the slight wobble in his voice, wouldn't detect the underlying fear in his otherwise upright posture. But I do, and it unnerves me. How long are we going to drag this out? The purple army was unanticipated, granted, but there's still more of us than there are them.
The Gray Institute_Rebels' Hell Page 37
