by J. L. Lyon
“What about the main Silent Thunder force?” Derek asked. “What direction are they headed?”
“West,” Marcus replied. “Their trajectory suggests they will eventually turn north. If I didn’t think it would be suicidal for them, I would say they are making for Corridor Prime.”
“Prime is still a long way from here,” Derek said. “And like you say, going there would be suicide. More likely they intend to eventually come around, head back east.” Unless there is something there they need, he thought. Why had they risked so much to go into that library? Had what they found there proved so valuable they were willing to take an even greater risk? If they only wanted to cross the Corridor there were easier ways than straight through its most fortified point.
“As you say, Grand Admiral,” Marcus said. “They are nomads, after all.”
Derek paused. Two targets, two different directions. A prudent leader would perhaps go after the more dangerous, larger force. But he did not care for prudence at the moment. He wanted Grace Sawyer. And if Liz was with her, so much the better.
“I’m placing you in command of the Spectorium,” he said, though after the shrewd smile on the other man’s face he quickly amended, “Temporarily, Specter General, don’t get any ideas. I will empower you to one end only: to pursue the main force of Silent Thunder.”
“And then what, sir?”
“Harry their forces west,” Derek ordered. “If they try to turn back, block their path. As much as possible, keep them moving west. Eventually we will crush them against the wall of the Corridor.”
“We have no way to counter the tactics we saw on the ridge,” Marcus said. “If we catch up to them, or if they decide to turn and fight…”
“Never let them gain the high ground,” Derek replied. “Without that, the tactic is useless.”
Marcus nodded, though Derek could tell he was not satisfied. “And you, sir? Where will you be?”
“Here, with four of our best trackers. I’m going to find her, Marcus. I need to end this.”
“Sir, I feel compelled to remind you of our orders concerning the Persians—”
“Don’t,” Derek spat. “Just do as I have asked. Every moment you waste here is more distance between us and Silent Thunder.”
“Yes, Grand Admiral,” the Specter General made to exit the tent.
“And Marcus? If I hear even a rumor of you attempting to take the Spectorium back east, I will not give you a chance to explain yourself. Do we understand one another?”
“Yes, sir,” Marcus swallowed hard. “We do.”
16
LIZ SETTLED DOWN ONTO the cold ground, thankful to have escaped the biting wind. Her heart palpitations continued to sound like a drum in her ears, and she knew it was not only because of the adrenaline. The clock was ticking on her life again, just as it had when she had been out here alone. Now, at least, she had some help.
The adrenaline had made her strong enough to complete the trek across the open plain into the nearby forest, and partway in they had discovered this cave. It would protect them from the elements, though the Spectorium would eventually find them if they stayed too long. All the more reason to heal up as soon as possible.
She rose to her knees and removed the shirt she had taken, the back now soaked with blood, and tried to turn back to examine her bandages. The dim light of the commander’s Spectral Gladius was only enough to see shapes and silhouettes, yet still she could tell it did not look good.
“What happened to you?”
Liz turned to see that Grace had paused in her attempt to build them a small fire and was now staring at her bandaged back. She averted her eyes quickly at Liz’s uncovered chest, which made her smile, “Sorry, I didn’t have time to find more underwear.” She crossed her arms to cover herself. “There. Better?”
“It’s only us here,” Grace said. “I just wasn’t ready for it, is all.”
“You still have your modesty, then,” Liz said. “I’ve known plenty of girls like you: just as modest with other people’s bodies as you are with your own. I didn’t grow up with the luxury of that choice, unfortunately.”
“It’s not just modesty,” Grace said. “It’s respect; respect for your privacy; respect I wish I had been given in that slaver’s cell, or when they paraded me into that courtyard with barely anything on but a rag.”
“At least it was a pretty rag,” Liz said with mild condescension. “Imagine being one of the only girls in an orphanage full of boys taught to take whatever they wanted. Trust me, I have sob stories, too.”
The rebel commander looked at the ground, and through the eerie white light Liz saw her embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t be,” Liz said. “I’m not…at least, not anymore. Those experiences made me who I am. Plus, you can bet that those boys are all now a great deal sorrier than I am. In some cases, I made sure of it.” A spike of pain pulsed in her back, and she breathed in sharply. “I could use your help, Commander…if you’re up to it.”
“You saved my life out there,” Grace replied. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“There’s a needle and thread in the pack.” Liz laid out the shirt she had just removed—clean side up—and laid down on her stomach. “I need you to stitch me back up and replace the bandages. I think I broke the wounds back open in the fighting.”
“Let me finish the fire. I’ll need light, and we both need heat.”
Liz remained still as Grace returned to her task, hoping not to inflame her wounds any further. In the rush of battle they had hurt, but then there had been more pressing concerns. Now, however, in the dark and quiet of the cave, there was little else to think about.
Thankfully she did not have to wait long. In true Wilderness-born fashion, Grace had a decent fire going within minutes despite the lack of materials. Warmth spread across her skin, the first time she had felt the sensation while awake since her departure from Rome. Since then she had spent half her time unconscious, the other half freezing to death.
Grace knelt over her and searched through the pack, pulling out the supplies she would need to tend Liz’s wounds. Once she had everything organized on the ground, she reached for the bandages and paused, “Ready?”
“Yes,” Liz sighed, and braced herself. “Just get it over with.”
Grace pulled on the bandages, and fire ignited Liz’s entire backside. Wounds had broken open and bled, then dried in the cold to her skin, acting as a sort of glue that ripped away as the bandages came off. She bit down, attempting to stay strong, but couldn’t stop the groan from escaping her lips. Grace did not slow or stop peeling them away. Apparently this was not her first time.
The fire had not yet completely banished the cold, and the air bit into her wounds and added an extra level to the pain. Grace paused to examine them, and Liz heard her sharp intake of breath, “Are these…claw wounds?”
“Unfortunately,” she said. “I had a run-in with a pack of starving lions before I got to your camp.” Liz heard Grace getting the materials ready to do her work, but she kept her eyes forward. Somehow seeing the instruments made the anticipation of pain even worse.
“How did that happen, exactly?” Grace asked, obviously measuring her words.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Liz said. “After my fight with the lions I wandered, wounded and cold and alone, until I could go no more.” She winced as Grace removed the torn stitches from her skin, but her mind was elsewhere. For as long as she lived, she would never forget the encroaching darkness of those final moments…ones that she believed, at the time, were her last. She went on quietly, “The last thing I remember was a shadow…then I woke up in your camp just moments before the attack.”
She felt a subtle pull as the needle punched through her skin, and ground her teeth while Grace went through the motions of sewing up her wounds, “Whoever brought you in, they did not tell me.”
“Maybe they didn’t know me,” Liz said.
Grace hesitated, “Maybe. But that
doesn’t answer the question of why you were wandering the Wilderness alone so close to our location. Where is your army?”
Liz understood the underlying question: is the Conglomerate here, and has the civil war come back to the north at last?
“They are not my army,” Liz replied. “Not anymore.”
“What happened?”
“I had a deal with the emperor: one year of service in exchange for passage to Domination Crisis Eleven. He went back on his word, tried to force me to stay…so I fought my way out of the Hall of the Citadel, got to a Halo, and made a break for it. We were shot down, and next I knew I was over your Wilderness. They pushed me out with a parachute and meager supplies.”
Grace’s motions were rhythmic now, and despite occasional sharp pains Liz could sense tension leaving her muscles, as though her body recognized it was out of danger. But the commander continued her soft interrogation, “Why bring you here, of all places?”
To let me die slowly, she wanted to say. The words hung on the tip of her tongue, the introduction to the story she had been thinking up ever since waking in the camp. But for some reason she hesitated. Gavin had given her one opportunity for redemption: insert yourself into Silent Thunder as if you were one of them. We will contact you when the time comes.
Assuming a Conglomerate victory, she would no longer be an outlaw, but she doubted Sullivan would ever give her what she truly wanted. Everything that man told her was a lie, and all he ever did was use her. In the short time she had been with Grace, the woman had proven far more trustworthy than any Conglomerate official. That meant she had to make a choice. Gavin had sent her here as a spy, not expecting her to make it. But she had, straight to Sawyer herself. He would not pass up the opportunity to use her, and though as a soldier trained by the World System she understood it, she grew tired of all the positioning and lies.
The truest thing she had seen in a long time—a sight she would probably never forget—was the vision of Grace, wounded beyond the ability to actually fight, marching straight into the line of fire to protect her people. She had never seen any leader do that. Ever. The leaders she had known sent their people to die. They would not shed a single drop of their own blood for those they deemed beneath them.
If she had to follow someone, it seemed clear who the better choice would be. And it was her last honest option.
“I was succeeded by General Bryan Gavin,” she said. “He offered me forgiveness for my actions in Rome if I would find you, and use our shared grief to gain your trust. They want to use the rebellion to distract the World System while they come up from the south.”
“What ‘shared grief’?”
Liz paused. For some reason she had expected Grace to know about her history with 301, but now that seemed foolish. 301 would have been the only one to tell her, and that was unlikely. Still, it left her in a predicament. So far she had not seen the rumored coldness of Shadow Heart, but once she admitted the truth of her relationship she expected that to change. Unfortunately, she had backed into a corner with no way out. This was her only connection to the commander, her only chance at gaining her full trust.
She answered quietly, and with some reluctance, “301.”
Grace jerked at the reply, and the needle pulled hard against her skin. She cried out and bared her teeth, but forced it back down. At least the woman hadn’t stabbed her with it…yet. “What about him?”
Liz sighed, still holding on to a shred of hope, “Did he never mention me?”
“Of course,” Grace said. “He spoke to me about everyone in Specter.”
“I was the one who got you out,” Liz said, wishing she could see Grace’s face to get a read on her emotions. “That night, when he snuck you out of the palace…I was the one who set off that Crippler.”
Another moment of silence passed, and then Grace continued to sew her up, “I see.”
Strange, Liz thought, how a person can speak volumes with only two words. She could sense Grace putting the pieces together. Trusted enough to help 301 commit treason, admitting a struggle of grief at his death…but Liz did not go on. She had gone out on the limb a little ways, and now needed Grace to come to her. There was no need to get pushy.
“One of the soldiers along the perimeter saw that I was a woman. Without that explosion to distract him, we would never have made it out. It seems I owe you thanks for that as well.” She raised the scissors and cut the thread from the needle. “But then again, I suppose you didn’t do it for me.”
“No,” Liz said honestly. “I did it to get rid of you.”
Grace pulled bandages from the pack and began to unroll them, “You succeeded then…for a time.”
“It didn’t matter. I was already too late. Whatever happened between the two of you during your enslavement, it changed him. He was no longer the man I once knew.”
“Earlier you spoke of an orphanage,” Grace said as she pressed the bandages against Liz’s back. “I assume that means you grew up in the Capital Orphanage, with him.”
Liz swallowed hard, remembering that little boy: her closest friend, “I did.”
“Were you close?”
“As close as you can be to another human being in a place like that,” she smiled. “He was my rock, then. He always tried to protect me, though most of the time I wouldn’t let him.”
There came another long moment of silence, and then, “Did you love him?”
Liz sighed. Somehow Grace had managed to make her just as uncomfortable as she imagined the commander herself must feel. It was an interesting skill, one she would need to watch out for. “When I was young I thought I did, so I tried everything imaginable to push him away. After a while I realized I don’t really believe in love. Companionship, yes. Affection. Attraction. Satisfaction. Those are things I understand. But love, not so much. Still, when I heard he was dead…” her voice trailed off and she had to clear her throat. “Well I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Grace smoothed out the bandages along their edges, perfecting their adhesion to her skin, “It matters. Better to learn from the truth, not run from it.” She zipped up the pack and sat back, leaning on her hands, “You’re all set. Wasn’t as bad as the bleeding made it look. Only one of the wounds broke open during the fight.”
“That’s good.”
“But you still lost a lot of blood. Chances are good that we’re both going to crash from the adrenaline highs very soon. We can rest here for 24 hours, then we need to head west.” Grace activated her Spectral Gladius and then turned off her diamond armor, using the blade to stand as she had back in the camp. “I saw a stream nearby. Let me have those clothes and I’ll go wash them. You should wear one of those body warmers you packed.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Liz asked. “Going out there in the cold and the dark, with lions and other predators…not to mention Derek Blaine?”
“You can’t travel in just a warmer,” Grace said. “And you can’t walk around smelling to the high heavens, attracting every predator we pass with the stench of your blood. It won’t take me long.”
Liz pursed her lips in a thin line, then sat up. She lifted the disgusting shirt she had been lying on and handed it to a Grace with a grimace.
“Pants, too,” Grace said. “They’re soaked red all the way down the leg.”
“You want me to freeze to death?”
“You want to get eaten?” Grace retorted.
She rolled her eyes and removed the uniform pants, then reached immediately for the pack to get the body warmers. She had had quite enough of being naked in the Wilderness in the middle of winter. She was halfway into the wetsuit-like material before she noticed Grace was leaving.
“You never did say,” Liz said, stopping her. “If you loved 301.”
Grace paused, but did not turn, “Do you even need to ask?”
“No,” Liz thought. “I guess not.” She stood to zip the warmer up the back, and ventured on, “If you ever want to, you know…talk…a
bout him… I don’t mind. We each have parts of him in our memories, pieces that might help us understand why he did what he did. I know you don’t know me, but…we both knew him, felt something for him. And to tell the truth…I miss him.”
Grace said nothing, but going back over her own words Liz realized how much she herself wanted that conversation. 301 had shown Grace a side of himself that she had never known, a side she was desperate to learn more about. Perhaps if she did, she would understand why 301-14-A had died.
“Just…think about it. Please.”
Grace remained silent, but then gave a nearly imperceptible nod. Afterward, she continued on her way to the mouth of the cave, leaving Liz alone by the fire with nothing but her bittersweet memories for company.
17
THERE WAS NO TELLING how long the skeletons had been there. Exposed to the elements a human body could decompose at an exponential rate, to say nothing of animals who would scavenge for food wherever they would find it. Could be months. Could be weeks. The same, however, could not be said for clothing.
It was soiled and torn, ripped to shreds in some cases, but there was no mistaking the shape of the Spectral Cross on the breasts of the dead. These had been part of a roaming Silent Thunder band, dead now for some time. Likely they had fought alongside them in Alexandria, grieved with them at the death of Jacob Sawyer, rubbed shoulders with them on the stairs of the Communications Tower. But after the evacuation they had all gone their separate ways, abandoning their dreams in the face of certain defeat.
“We have the count, sir.”
Commander Aiken tore his eyes from the bones at his feet and turned to his lieutenant commander, one of the few left in his band who had once fought under Jonathan Charity. So many of the others had succumbed to despair or the perils of the Wilderness, while still more had died in Great Army raids or within Alexandria itself. At least half of his men were young, born after the fall of the Old World. They had joined to make a difference with their lives, believing they would become part of a legend. But in times like these, in this graveyard of heroes, Aiken wondered if they wouldn’t all have been better off living quiet lives in the wild.
