Zenith Rising

by Gavin Zanker

  ‘These are dangerous times,’ the Mayor said, turning to face the Captain, ‘and I am surrounded by enemies on all sides. It’s becoming difficult to know whom I can trust.’

  ‘You know I wouldn’t… you know I’m loyal,’ Ellington said, eyeing the gun pointed at him. ‘I’ve served you for years.’

  ‘I believe you are loyal as long as it serves you.’ The Mayor stared with a glow in his eyes Ellington had never seen before. Was it desperation? ‘Fortunately for you, Captain, I still have a use for you.’ The pistol vanished somewhere under the Mayor’s silk shirt. ‘Another opportunity to remove Samuel will come, we just need to bide our time. So let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Is that understood?’

  ‘Of course, Mayor Reinhold. I’m your man until the end.’

  CHAPTER 34

  THE QUARRY DWARFED Aiden’s expectations. Rather than just a small mining operation, it was a huge basin almost a kilometre across, surrounded by moors of bracken and low shrubs. A wide slope covered in thick, white dust spiralled down with plateaus where clusters of buildings stood, beside them rows of quad bikes. At the bottom of the quarry, a set of gallows had been erected beside a cave entrance. Two limp bodies swung from the ropes, a warning for anyone foolish enough to enter.

  ‘Looks empty,’ Travis said as the group stood looking down into the quarry from behind a screen of bushes. ‘Just like I told you.’

  ‘Not completely,’ Aiden said. ‘There are a few stragglers down there. What happens when they see us walk in?’

  Travis stuck his tongue into his cheek. ‘Hard to say. They might ignore us, they might raise an alarm, or they might charge at us screaming a bloody war cry. It could go any number of ways.’

  ‘You’re a great help,’ Woody said. ‘I’m really glad we brought you with us.’

  Everyone looked drained and on edge after a few sleepless nights in camp, expecting to hear that disturbing clicking out in the darkness.

  ‘I see you’re all tired,’ Woody said. ‘I know you want to quit. But we made it this far, we can make it a little further. We’ve got people relying on us back in the city. Not to mention a fat payday when we get back. So dig deep, lads. We pull this off and we’ve got a hero’s welcome waiting for us.’ A murmuring passed through the group as they straightened themselves up. ‘The place is a ghost town right now,’ Woody continued, ‘so we’ve got that going for us. The way I see it, there’s only one plan here: we walk in there, casual as you like, until someone kicks up a fuss. When that happens, we break out the guns and fight our way towards the entrance. Once inside, we stick together and we don’t stop until we find Samuel and put a bullet in his head. Let’s end this thing right here and now.’

  The group let out a few enthusiastic grunts and claps as they all nodded in agreement.

  Patrick had barely said a word since the Falls, but remained stuck to Aiden’s side as usual. ‘How are you holding up?’ Aiden asked him.

  Patrick nodded, his face looking much older with the dirt and a few day’s growth on his cheeks. ‘I’m good. Ready to do this. For my brothers, and the people back home.’

  ‘For the people back home,’ Aiden repeated, patting his shoulder in a puff of chalky dust.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Woody asked, keeping his voice down as Aiden studied the quarry below.

  ‘There’s not much cover between here and the entrance,’ Aiden said. ‘If things get messy, we’ll be exposed.’

  ‘There’s the buildings, and a few boulders scattered around. But you’re right. We’ll just have to move fast.’

  ‘Hands up!’

  Aiden whirled around to see someone emerge from behind a nearby tree. He wore a short, patchy beard beneath a shaved head, and there was a crazy darting motion in his eyes that spoke of fear and abuse. He carried a hunting spear the length of a man, with a metal tip that glistened in the sunlight.

  ‘We don’t let Outlanders into our camp,’ the man said, furrowing his brow and dropping the point of his spear a little. ‘But you don’t look like Outlanders. Who are you and what are you doing out here?’

  Woody took the initiative, stepping forward and flashing a smile. ‘We’re here to join up.’

  The man squinted as he scanned the group. His mouth fell open as recognition dawned. ‘You’re Travis Kendrick. What are… what’s going on here?’

  ‘What he said. I’m bringing in new recruits,’ Travis lied smoothly. ‘So I need you to walk us into the quarry so we don’t get shot.’

  ‘I… I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  The man paused, a dark look settling on his face. ‘Because that’s not how Faithful are created. They’re chosen by the Divine Bishop. You should know that.’

  As the conversation played out, Aiden suspected this wasn’t going to go well. He started sidestepping his way around the man. The spear snapped around to point at him. ‘If you take another step, I’ll impale your windpipe on this.’

  ‘All right, let’s calm down,’ Travis said, raising his hands and taking a step forward.

  ‘Back!’ the man said, his voice rising to a shriek. ‘You are not recruits. You are unenlightened. All of you are unenlightened!’

  Before the commotion could attract more attention, one of the Syndicate men fired their rifle. The Dawnist pitched to the ground, his weapon clattering against a rock as the gunshot echoed around the quarry. Flocks of birds took flight from the trees nearby as the sound faded away.

  Aiden railed against the Syndicate man who held the smoking rifle. ‘Are you a goddamn moron?’

  The man’s satisfied smirk was replaced by puzzlement. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘He was going to give us away.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Woody said, shaking his head, ‘you just announced to the entire quarry that we’re here.’

  ‘Time to move then,’ Aiden said, turning his anger towards the quarry. ‘Right now.’

  Woody nodded and unclipped the radio from his belt, extending the aerial. ‘Come in Brentford, can you read me? Over.’

  The radio hissed and popped static like rain on a campfire until someone replied. ‘Roger that, Woody, you’re coming in loud and clear. Over.’

  ‘We’re in position and ready for Operation Ruckus, repeat, we are ready for Operation Ruckus. Over.’

  ‘Copy that. Give us five minutes to get things rolling here. Over.’

  ‘Will do, Brentford. Leave a light on for us. Out.’

  Woody put the radio away and grinned. ‘Now things get interesting.’

  CHAPTER 35

  WHILE EVERYONE CROWDED around Tim, Rico fidgeted at the back of the crowd of Wickets — one of the oldest and most respected street gangs in the Rusts. A few years older than Rico, charm came easily to Tim. He had led the gang with his effortless camaraderie for the better part of two years now, even managing to keep the Syndicate gangs off their turf. Naturally, Rico looked up to him. Even now as those bald weirdos were trying to steamroll their patch in the Rusts, Tim kept his cool, giving out orders with a sly smile that inspired the lads to rush off and get things done.

  ‘Rico, where are you?’ Tim asked, bringing Rico out of his thoughts. He stepped forward and puffed out his chest. ‘Ah, there you are. While these Syndicate lads are busy causing so much trouble around the city, I want you and Bill to split off and head down Dunklin’s Way. We got wind of a group of baldies coming this way and we might be able to get the flank on ‘em, but we need some eyes over there first.’

  Rico nodded firmly. He was one of the youngest members of the gang, and determined to prove himself to the older boys. He hefted his notched cricket bat over his shoulder and motioned to his childhood friend Bill. They ducked through the hole in the fence, climbed an old ladder zip-tied to the platform, stepped around the crusted bird shit on the roof of the Rat’s Arms, and dropped down on the other side of the street. Bill tapped him and pointed at the north side of the canyon where gunfire started erupting across the city in flashes of light and clouds of smoke
. There was no fighting here yet and if Rico could do anything to keep it that way, he would. He hated the idea of bullies walking through his neighbourhood, pushing people around and acting as if they owned the place.

  The night the Dawnists had taken over the city, barely a week ago, Rico had been heading over to his mum’s house to fix her makeshift radio that was on the blink again. She liked listening to it for company; said the woman who read the news sounded like a nice lady. Rico wasn’t sure why, but it seemed to make her happy so he spent what spare tokens he could scrounge together to keep that old radio working. On his way over there, he had stumbled headlong into a group of five of the bald psychos. For breaking the curfew, they had beaten him for sport. Once they were done, they just left him in the alleyway to bleed. When he came around, he checked in on his mum through the window before limping home, too ashamed to let her see him in such a state.

  ‘Let’s move,’ Rico said, pushing Bill along with one hand, his bat in the other. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  They jogged down a set of stairs that led onto Dunklin’s Way, only making it a few steps onto the street before a group of six Dawnists emerged from an adjoining platform. Rico and Bill skidded to a halt, their faded trainers skating over the riveted metal. The Dawnists froze for a second, shared a look with each other, then charged.

  Rico turned and raced after Bill who was already hauling himself back the way they had come. There was no way they could win that fight outnumbered. Rico’s legs burned, still sore from the beating, as he sprinted through the twisting alleyways. They started down a back alley, but swerved away as they caught sight of a couple more of the baldies.

  ‘We’re cut off,’ Bill said in a panic. ‘There’s no way we can get back to the Wickets.’

  Rico pointed at Old Frankie’s chicken farm at the end of the street, pushing Bill forward. ‘We’ll hide at Frankie’s. They’ll never think to check there.’

  They dodged through a few small gardens, ducking under low hanging pot plants, and hopped the wire fence into Frankie’s yard, startling a lot of the hens as they ran. They fell up the plank into the chicken coop before collapsing against each other, chests heaving. Bill had never been much of a runner, and his lungs sounded like a couple of wet paper bags as he struggled for breath. Rico tried to shush him, but was too out of breath himself.

  A moment later, footsteps crunched over the hay-strewn yard. Bill grabbed Rico’s arm and squeezed. Rico winced and pushed his friend’s bony fingers away. Someone made a clucking noise outside the coop. ‘Come out, come out, little chickens,’ a voice said. ‘We know you’re in there.’

  A surge of adrenaline and fear pulsed through Rico as he stared at the daylight that filtered through the opening. The memory of the beating coming back to him, the mocking laughter as he had been pummelled senseless in that alleyway not five minutes from his own home. No one had the right to do that to him, not in his own neighbourhood. He gritted his teeth as the heat of anger built up inside him. He gripped the cricket bat in his hands, reassured by the weight. He held it up and nodded at his friend, but Bill shook his head and cowered further back inside the coop with the confused chickens.

  This was it, this was Rico’s moment — he could get his revenge and send these bullies packing at the same time. Tim would have to stop giving him the poxy lookout jobs then; he’d get a chance at some decent work so he could finally afford a new radio for his mum. He took a few quick breaths and stepped down out of the coop. There were two Dawnists stood waiting, both standing heads taller than him and sinewy strong. The rest must have given up the chase.

  ‘I guess you aren’t a coward after all,’ one of them said.

  Rico stepped towards the men, brandishing the bat. ‘You don’t belong here,’ he said, his jaw muscles tensing. ‘Get out of my home.’

  The men looked at each other. ‘I think he wants to play a game.’

  ‘I think you’re right. Let’s show him how to score some runs.’

  Rico instinctively swung the bat as the men strode towards him. He connected with the first and the baldie went down. Hard. But the other charged into him, causing Rico to lose his grip on the bat. It fell to the metal floor with a hefty thud. The baldy was on top of him now, raining punches down. Rico could only hold up his arms to protect his face in the wake of the larger man’s relentless aggression. His arms were batted away and a few blows connected with his head, rocking his vision and sending him slipping into a hazy unconsciousness.

  When Rico opened his eyes again, he felt drunk. Like the time last year when he had gotten into his mum’s cider and made himself sick all over her living room. He looked around and found he was sat propped up against the fence siding of the yard. Bill lay slumped against the coop, unconscious.

  ‘Ah, he’s awake.’

  ‘You little shit, look what you did to my head,’ the injured man raged, holding a bloody rag to his temple.

  Rico managed a smile. It had been a solid swing — Tim would’ve been proud. The smile faded as his world spun; he put a hand on the cold petal floor to check he wasn’t falling.

  ‘Oh you think it’s funny?’ the man hissed. ‘How about we see if chickens can fly?’

  ‘Make it quick,’ the other man said, glancing warily at the pockets of gunfire still flashing across the canyon. ‘We’re needed elsewhere.’

  The bloodied man stepped up to Rico with teeth bared. ‘Unenlightened filth,’ he spat. ‘We’re going to remove your kind from this city. When we’re done, there’ll be none of you animals left.’

  Rico frowned. He wasn’t sure what the man meant. He had showered this morning, with soap even. He tried to sniff his armpit to see if he smelt but found he was suddenly in the air, being lifted by the front of his shirt. The blurred face in front of him snarled, like an angry egg.

  Then he was falling backwards.

  The egg disappeared and Rico found himself looking up at sky. Then the underside of the city. It was a beautiful place in its own way — a messy patchwork of rusted metal. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. He smiled as the wind roared around his head and the city grew smaller. He had stood up to those baldies. Now Tim and the rest of the Wickets would have to take notice of him.

  CHAPTER 36

  GUNFIRE PEPPERED THE scree-covered slope around Aiden. He sprinted ahead, dropping to his knees and sliding up against a car-sized boulder for cover. Travis followed right behind him, but tripped and ploughed straight into Aiden’s shoulder. The ex-Dawnist picked himself up and grimaced apologetically. There was a brief lull in the gunfire; Aiden peered out to see a stick-like object arcing through the air towards him.

  ‘Get down!’ he yelled as he ducked back behind the boulder and covered his head with his arms. An explosion rocked the ground, sending fans of earth high into the air. His ears rang but he was otherwise unhurt. He looked over to see Travis’ lips moving. ‘What?’ he shouted. ‘I can’t hear you.’

  ‘I’ll cover, you take the shot,’ Travis mouthed as sound gradually returned to the world.

  Aiden grasped his rifle and waited for Travis to start shooting before resting his AK-74 over the boulder. The first Faithful fell as Aiden’s bullet pierced his forehead in a halo of blood. The second screamed at the sight of his comrade dying and jumped up, firing wildly in their direction. A bullet ricocheted off the rock beside Aiden’s knuckles, bouncing up and grazing his arm. He recoiled, ducking back behind cover.

  ‘We need backup,’ Travis said. ‘Where’s Woody?’

  Aiden waved towards the rim of the quarry in the hopes that it would attract Woody’s attention. Sure enough, a few seconds later, a flash of light came from the long grass above them; the frenzied Faithful up ahead fell beside his friend.

  ‘What can you see, where’s everyone else?’ Aiden asked as he reloaded his rifle.

  Travis shook his head. ‘No clue. I can’t see anything from here. They must be pinned behind us. I’m not sure splitting up was a good idea.’

  ‘We didn�
�t have a choice,’ Aiden growled. ‘We don’t have time to wait around, we have to get inside. We keep moving forward.’

  On his signal, they hopped over the boulder and ran towards the stack of crates. A hundred metres or so ahead, past the cluster of buildings and down the slope, lay the entrance. Aiden was so close to getting inside the compound, his spine tingled with anticipation.

  Then he saw it.

  A group of twenty Faithful boiled out of the cave entrance, carrying a variety of firearms. Aiden shot immediately, dropping a couple before they returned fire. He ducked down, pushing his cheek into the gravel as bullets splintered the crates. After a moment, the gunfire let up, and Aiden peered through the ruined crates to see a few more go down by Woody’s rifle. Realising there was a hidden sniper, the Faithful scattered to find cover.

  ‘We need to keep pushing!’ Aiden said. He glanced sideways to see Travis clutching his blood-streaked arm.

  ‘I’m hit!’ Travis rasped through gritted teeth.

  Aiden reached into his pocket for a bandage when more gunfire sprayed across their position. He dropped his head again, coughing as a maelstrom of white dust and wood shards filled the air above him. When it had passed, he heard a cry. He looked sideways to see part of the slope had given way and Travis was slipping towards the edge. Aiden reached out but wasn’t fast enough to catch him, and the ex-Dawnist leader disappeared from view.

  Aiden scrambled towards him, his rifle scraping across the ground as he fired blindly at the entrance. He peered over the edge of the slope to see Travis lying on a heap of rubble below. He had been lucky, sliding with the debris rather than falling down the almost sheer cliff to his death. As Aiden was trying to work out how to get down to him, a group of Faithful ran towards the downed man and surrounded him. Before Aiden could level his rifle, more gunfire snapped the ground around him, throwing up scree, and he was forced to roll back behind the remains of the crates.