Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series)
Page 26
In a few minutes, the rest of the rebels were free. The last three from each group dragged the larger weapons in bags behind them.
Everyone moved to those bags and started gearing up. They had only four dozen rebels to fight several hundred pirates above. There was no way they could win by themselves, but they weren’t the only part of the plan. She just hoped the other groups didn’t screw it up.
“Listen up,” Ravan said, and the rebels looked at her. “This is the heavy oils distillation room, it’s unused, which means no guards, but it’s not going to be that way from here on. Two floors to the top, and there will definitely be kids working the refinery. We have to get there without setting off any alarms, so move low and quiet and only when Holt or I say.”
No one dissented, they only seemed eager. Everyone crept past the huge pipes that ran from the big Coker and Hydrocracker tanks. Ravan and Holt reached the heavy steel door out of the room. Both gripped their Berettas, their rifles slung over their backs. It was too cramped in here for large caliber right now, but that would change fast.
Holt winced as he leaned against the wall, and she studied him carefully. He’d gone through a lot of punishment, and clearly wasn’t 100 percent.
“I’m fine,” he told her, sensing her stare. Ravan just nodded. She trusted him to know his abilities, but he would no doubt be slower than usual. Still, she’d take a slow Holt Hawkins over pretty much anyone else.
Ravan gripped the door. It groaned open, and the sounds of machinery burst in. Pumps shuffling, steel stretching on heating tanks, the clanking of gears against gears, all of it loud and jarring. All the better. The sound would help conceal them as they moved.
Ravan and Holt pushed into the room, ducking down behind more pipes. Inside stood the huge hydrotreater tanks, filling the room with their girth. Something didn’t seem right, though.
“Not as hot as I remember,” Holt observed, voicing her thoughts.
“Maybe they’ve got it running low yield,” Ravan said. “Take left, I’ll do right.”
Holt moved off, disappearing around a bend in the pipes. Ravan did the same and saw three kids standing near the tanks. They weren’t guards, they were workers, clothes stained with soot and oil, but they were armed and could alert other pirates inside the Pinnacle.
Ravan moved in, keeping out of sight by a batch of pressure valves. She couldn’t see Holt, but it didn’t matter. He’d know what to do, they’d always worked well together.
She gave it another second … then twisted one of the valves above her head.
Steam erupted in a hissing geyser, and she had a glimpse of the three workers jump in surprise before they were obscured by the cloud of super-heated vapor.
One. Two. Three, Ravan counted.
Then she covered her face and rolled right through the steam. It stung, but was over fast. When she emerged, the workers hesitated. It was their mistake.
She chopped one in the throat, sent him to the ground. The second lunged for her, but she whirled out of the way, then shoved him headfirst into the metal pipes. He fell too.
Holt appeared and grabbed the third worker around the neck, squeezing, choking off the kid’s air as his arms fumbled. In a few seconds he ran out, and Holt let him fall to the floor, out cold.
He looked at Ravan, smiling. “Always wanted to try that.”
Ravan spun the pressure valve closed and sealed off the steam. “Works better when you don’t squeeze the windpipe.” She felt the anger soften again at his voice, at the casual way he had of disarming tension. She wanted to stay mad at him, to remember he couldn’t be trusted with her feelings, but the walls were crumbling again. She would hold out as long as she could.
Ravan motioned for the rest of the rebels, and they poured into the room. Everyone moved around the hydrotreater tanks toward a stairwell that climbed up the far wall, then poured into the refinery’s central chamber, where the huge blending tanks sat, each a hundred feet in diameter and made of thick steel. It was here the various oils and naphtha produced by the refinery were blended into gasoline, Faust’s greatest treasure, and what had kept Tiberius in power all these years.
They rounded the sides of the tanks, spreading out … and came face-to-face with the room’s occupants.
About twenty of them, a dozen guards and the rest workers, but all of them armed.
Ravan’s rebels outnumbered them, but the problem was, the second the shooting started, the hundred or so guards outside would come running in, and that would be that.
Everyone drew their guns on everyone else and froze. Ravan searched the crowd of Tiberius loyalists one at a time, until she found the one she was looking for. They locked eyes … and Ravan shrugged. “Well?”
The kid stared back … then he and the dozen guards spun and slammed the ends of their rifles into the workers, dropping them to the ground in a heap, and just like that the standoff was over.
Ravan smiled, staring at her old crew warmly. They were all here, not one of them had stayed on Tiberius’s side once she’d called. It meant a lot, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t mess with them a little. “You hesitated, Marcus, having second thoughts?”
“Hell no, boss,” the kid said, and the others nodded. “It’s no fun without you.”
“Three days on your own, and you go all soft on me,” she said and started moving again. “Line up, we got work to do.”
Ravan’s men joined the rest, shaking hands, nodding. Holt kept quiet and apart, followed along as they flanked the big double doors that led outside onto the Pinnacle platform.
“What’s the plan?” one of Ravan’s men asked.
“We wait,” she replied.
“For what?”
The big doors vibrated as an explosion rocked the platform outside. Then another one, this one accompanied by yells of alarm. Gunfire echoed outside, sounds of battle.
“For that.” Ravan studied the rebels, about sixty now with her old crew joining up. “We’re outnumbered, but they don’t know we’re here. Hit as many as you can before they regroup, then take cover and wait for the cavalry.”
“When exactly’s that?” one of her men asked.
“Whenever it feels like it, Jackson,” Ravan replied. “You in a rush?”
Everyone smiled back, even Holt. “One. Two. Three.”
Holt kicked open the big doors and rushed outside with the others. He was limping, but he moved just as fast as everyone else. Memories of him standing on that gas valve with primed grenades entered her head. As conflicted as her feelings were right then, the thought of losing him was a tangible fear. He’d done nothing but hurt her … but that didn’t change the fact that he was more important to her than probably anyone else on the planet. Besides, if he died … what would have been the point of any of this?
Ravan pushed the thoughts away and lunged after him into the chaos.
* * *
HOLT DASHED INTO THE fighting, and quickly wondered what he was thinking. He planted himself against a cabled stack of barrels and flinched as explosions flared all around the platform and Rogan West’s gyrocopters streaked through the air, dropping bombs, right on time. Still, it felt good, oddly, caring whether or not a bullet took his head off. He felt like he was coming back to himself, albeit slowly, and probably never again like he’d been, but it was something. It showed things could change.
To take advantage of it, though, he’d have to survive the next few minutes.
Holt stared up through the metal rungs of the giant flare tower and watched the gyros circle. One of them took a blast of gunfire, wavered, then fell and crashed out of sight.
All around him, the rebels pushed onto the platform from the refinery, guns blazing. The pirates on the other side didn’t see it coming, and more than two dozen were cut down before they figured it out.
Still, they returned fire brutally, taking cover of their own. Holt saw six rebels fall before they could get behind something.
“We got a problem, go figure.” Rava
n ducked next to him, slamming a new clip into her rifle. Gunfire echoed everywhere, gyrocopters roared past, bombs detonated.
She pointed past him, to the rear of the platform, the part that faced out onto open desert. No one was there, all the fighting was up front, which was part of the plan. What wasn’t part of the plan were the lines of metal storage containers that had been put there. Two lines of them, eight each, blocking the entire rear edge. They were new, they hadn’t been there last night when the plan was made, probably part of some kind of storage runoff. The Menagerie had gotten lucky.
“Splendid.” Holt sighed. If they didn’t clear a path through those things, the rest of the plan was screwed. He studied the containers, looking for possibilities, and saw the only thing that looked like an option: an old, rusted forklift near the far end.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ravan asked, looking at the same thing.
Holt nodded. “Just like Tucson. You have rope?”
“Yep.”
“Who’s driving?”
“You’re the cripple.”
He started to argue, but she poked him in the ribs and he groaned in pain. “Fair enough.”
Ravan smiled … then seemed to stuff it back down. Holt could see the cracks forming in her walls where he was concerned, and the fight to maintain them. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing.
“Get ready,” she said, then glanced at the rebels around them. Two more fell from hits, and the circling gyros were almost out of bombs. The battle was about to take a bad turn.
Holt took a deep breath … then darted out from the barrels. He heard bullets buzz through the air around him, and pain shot through his legs and ribs as he ran, but he ignored it. He made the distance and lunged inside the old forklift, slamming into the seat with a groan. Bullets sparked all over the cabin.
“Hurry!” Ravan yelled, pointing into the desert.
Holt looked, but knew what he would see. Giant plumes of purples and blues that marked the sails of the Wind Rift. It was about half a mile away, closing fast. Olive had it right on schedule.
“For once I wish someone would be late,” he yelled back, gripping his Beretta.
“Quit whining.” Ravan ducked through the gunfire toward the rear of the forklift, pulling a length of thin-gauge rope from her pack. As she did, Holt aimed at the back window of the vehicle and shut his eyes. His gun flashed, the glass exploded outward.
Ravan jumped onto the back, tossed in one end of the rope. Holt grabbed it and wrapped it around his waist, tied a quick barrel-hitch knot and pulled it tight. More bullets slapped into the forklift. The gyros roared over, banking hard to the right, headed back to the Machine Works, out of bombs. It meant if they didn’t clear this landing zone for the Wind Rift, the whole thing was over.
“Hit it!” Ravan yelled, firing and hanging off the rear.
Holt cranked the forklift, shoved it into gear, and stomped the gas. The machine jumped forward and Holt aimed it for the nearest pair of containers, stacked one in front of the other. There wasn’t time to lift them off the platform, he’d have to take a more direct approach.
The machine slammed into a container at full speed, the twin teeth of its loader punching right through the metal, and the wheels kept spinning. Sparks shot out from under the containers as they were shoved forward along the platform.
A second later, the first one cleared the edge and fell. Without the extra weight, the forklift lurched forward. The second container was about to go too.
“Ravan, go!” Holt yelled. He heard her leap off, but he didn’t look back, had to keep the wheel straight.
The second container tipped over as it was pushed off the edge … and the forklift whined as the back wheels lifted up. Its teeth were stuck in the side of the container, it would be pulled right over with it, and Holt watched the world upend, felt gravity start pulling him down …
He groaned as the rope around him went taut. As the forklift fell, he stayed in place, pulled right through the back window he’d cleared earlier, watching the machine and container crash violently into the ground below.
Holt just hung there, suspended off the edge of the platform. He could hear the gunshots from back where they’d been, could see the Wind Rift barreling toward him.
Above him Ravan appeared, staring down in amusement.
“Remind me again why the ‘cripple’ gets this job?” Holt asked.
“Because it amuses me,” she answered.
The giant Landship sailed closer, almost on him. Ravan lowered her hand. Holt took it, scampered up and over the edge, right as the huge ship shuddered to a stop against the platform. The gangplank crashed down in the gap left by the containers.
Holt, exhausted, watched as a hundred rebels, led by Rogan West, poured off the Landship, running forward onto the Pinnacle, rifles ready, most already firing. He gave Holt a wink as he dashed past with the others.
Holt and Ravan didn’t follow. They just sat down and leaned against a container, watching as the Menagerie broke and ran, seeing they were out-positioned. When they were gone, West and his men hit the stairs, sweeping upward through the numerous shops and living quarters along the flare tower, clearing them, completely dominating the Pinnacle … and taking very few prisoners.
Holt looked at Ravan. They’d pulled it off, in spite of everything. “Guess we still got it.”
Ravan studied him back wearily, though there was a softness behind her eyes. “If you say so.”
Holt watched her gaze drift down to his right wrist and the half-finished image there.
“You can make the top half a different color,” she said quietly. “Or … make it into a gryphon or … anything else.”
“I still don’t understand why.”
“God, you don’t see anything but yourself, do you? You don’t see me or how I feel. That you’re the only person who ever made me want to be something besides what I was.” She looked up at him, and there was pain in her eyes. “You brought out parts of me I … was scared to let myself have, feelings I had no business with. Everyone—everything—else in my life I put there to keep me alive. You were there … because you made me feel alive. Do you ‘understand’ now, you idiot? I love you. I always have, and that tattoo was supposed to mean something. Now I’ll have to look at it every day and know it’s not for real, that you did it … because you had to, not because you wanted to.”
The admission was startling. As long as he’d known her, as much as they’d shared, she had never expressed as much sentiment and emotion to him as she just had. His chest tightened, he felt feelings rise, old ones …
He could see it in her eyes, the hope he would say what she wanted to hear. He knew the words, knew the way to restart their journey, one that had meant something to him once, but as much as he might want to, the sad truth was, there was a part of him he hadn’t yet let go of. A part of him, regardless of what he knew to be true … still, somehow, believed Mira was alive. That she was still here. It was like he could still feel her, out there, and it was unfair. Not just to Ravan, but to him too. Why wasn’t he allowed to just move on?
For all those reasons, Holt couldn’t tell Ravan what she needed. Someday maybe. Maybe even someday soon, but not now. Not yet.
Ravan held his gaze a moment more, then turned away and shook her head. She stood up without looking at him, hefted her rifle, and moved to join the others.
“Don’t take that tattoo,” she said as she moved off. “Don’t you dare.”
Holt watched after her, but she never looked back.
27. TERMINUS
MIRA HELD ONTO THE EDGE of a train car, letting the dizziness pass. The Assembly were in her head, and it was worse than it had ever been, but that might be because in her grief and guilt she’d stopped fighting them. They ripped through her mind, the feelings of desolation and loneliness, their eagerness for her, replacing her thoughts with their own, and that was just fine, because right then, she didn’t want her own thoughts.
As she walked, she caught glimpses of the White Helix on the old train, watching interestedly. She wasn’t surprised: they enjoyed conflict, and they probably had a sense of what was coming.
Mira rounded the side of a tanker car, and saw what was left of the Wind Trader fleet assembled near the eastern edge of the yard. The charred wrecks of the rest, dozens of ships, lay where they’d burned into ashen heaps after the attack.
There were only eleven left. What had been the Wind Trader fleet, one of the most amazing creations on the planet, was decimated, a way of life was gone, and it was Mira’s fault. Still, it didn’t change what she had to do. She moved toward the assembled group of Captains nearby, watching as their crews loaded the last of the supplies and making ready to depart.
Dresden was amid the others, and he studied her intently. He, like the White Helix, probably had an idea what was coming as well, but she was unclear which side he would eventually end up on. He had just as little reason to stand with her as the others.
“I need to talk with you,” Mira announced, and her voice was firm and unwavering, in spite of the projections in her head. “All of you.”
The Captains turned with a mixture of emotions. Some saw her as a villain, who had overseen the destruction of their way of life. Others, a compatriot, who had been through hell with them and played a role in any of them getting out alive. All of them were wary.
The projections from the Assembly swelled. The world spun, but she forced herself to keep her eyes open, to say what she needed to say, to not show weakness.
“I want to ask you to stay, to help me finish this.” Their reaction was a foregone conclusion. Most turned away in disgust, the rest studied her in genuine dismay. To them, there was nothing left to “finish,” it was already over.