Zenith Rising

by Gavin Zanker

  They joined him and the rest of the Syndicate men as they fought a retreat. Julian’s black suit was ripped and streaked with splashes of crimson by the time they reached the top of the stairs.

  A scream of pain caught his attention and he turned to see Woody drop to his knees a short distance away. Julian sprinted towards him, cutting a path through a couple of already-wounded Ravagers with his axe. He reached the smuggler to find Orlen already there, kneeling beside his friend and propping him into a sitting position. Woody’s arms were slashed to ribbons, his belly torn open. Seeing some of his red innards falling to the dirt, Julian looked away and swallowed hard.

  Woody reached out a shuddering hand towards the pistol at his belt.

  ‘No, Woods,’ Orlen said, weakly trying to stop him.

  Woody patted his hand before grasping the pistol, hugging it to his chest. ‘Be good, old man,’ he said with a shaky smile. ‘Don’t let them take our city.’

  He took a slow, shivering breath before putting the gun under his chin. There was a muted flash, lost in the battle still raging around them. Orlen dropped his head, his face wet with tears as Woody slid back, limp on the dirt.

  ‘Orlen, there’s no time,’ Julian barked as Ravagers streamed towards them. But it was already too late; they were cut off from the stairs. He wrenched Orlen up by the arm.

  Without a word, Orlen hefted his weapon and screamed. He ran at the Ravagers, the momentum of his hammer dragging him forward as it arced through the air, shattering bones. Julian hefted his axe and joined the raging alcoholic as they fought their way towards the stairs. The Syndicate men were just barely holding the position and, as Julian and Orlen reached them, everyone turned and retreated down into the city.

  The redoubt was lost.

  With blood thundering in his ears, Julian descended the steps, his senses shocked into numbness from the violence and death above.

  CHAPTER 59

  THE DAWNIST IN the khaki trousers grew increasingly nervous as he led Aiden and Hitch through the corridors of the inner compound. By the time they came to a door marked with the number two, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

  ‘This is it. I ask you don’t tell him what I did in bringing you here. It would hurt me more than you could imagine.’

  ‘No need to worry about that,’ Aiden said, much to the man’s relief. ‘You’re coming in with me.’ The Dawnist’s face fell, but he didn’t protest. He knocked on the door and someone inside called for them to enter.

  Aiden found himself in a cosy living area: a burning fireplace cast a warm, yellow glow over the room, a dining table stood at one end, a set of filled bookshelves and a small office setup at the other. Sat on a rug by the fire was the Syndicate-turncoat, Malcolm. With him was a young girl who looked no older than eight, giggling as she stacked a set of wooden blocks. The older man’s face carried more lines than Aiden remembered.

  ‘Aiden?’ Malcolm’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I would ask you the same,’ Aiden said, flexing his fingers around his pistol, ‘but I already know where your loyalties lie.’

  ‘Sir, I’m sorry, I tried to stop—’ the Dawnist began, but Malcolm held up his hand and smiled gently.

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be reprimanded for this. You may leave us.’

  ‘But sir, this man is dangerous!’

  ‘No more than anyone else in this place. Go now, and tell no one what happened.’

  The man looked puzzled, but bowed his head and did as he was told, closing the door behind him as he left.

  ‘Nice chap,’ Aiden said. ‘Are they all as brainwashed as him?’

  ‘Most, it seems,’ Malcolm said.

  Aiden glanced at the young girl. ‘Is that your daughter?’

  Malcolm nodded. ‘It has been many years since I saw her. I have missed so much of her life.’ He gazed at the girl, a warmth in his eyes that matched the fire behind him. ‘I know you have no reason to believe me, but I see my mistakes so clearly now. What I accomplished wasn’t worth the price.’

  ‘You mean betraying the Syndicate?’

  ‘You of all people must know the Syndicate are not the saints they’re made out to be. But no, I meant helping my son take over the city.’

  ‘Your son? You don’t mean…?’

  Malcolm smiled almost apologetically. ‘That’s right, you know him already. Samuel. Samuel Benson.’

  Aiden frowned, struggling to put them together as father and son in his mind. ‘Your last name isn’t Turner then?’

  ‘No, Turner was my city name. Just a little irony.’

  ‘So you helped Samuel by sabotaging the Syndicate all this time?’

  ‘It was a dream of Samuel’s to create a sanctuary for the deserving, a safe place in the harsh world we have found ourselves in. I could find no fault with his reasoning, and the enthusiasm he carried was… contagious. So we devised a plan and set to work bringing about a change of power within the city.’

  ‘You make it sound almost admirable. You know how many people have suffered at the hands of the Dawnists already?’

  ‘I would wager no more than under the corpulent Mayor Reinhold, or the self-serving dealings of the Syndicate.’ Malcolm shook his head. ‘But it doesn’t matter now; the church we started has become a boot heel to grind people into subservience, no better than what we set out to replace. And my son, my poor Samuel, has become a shade of his former self, twisted by the power and unthinking adoration of his followers. In truth, I should have seen the change in him when his mother passed.’ Malcolm sighed as he looked into the flames. His voice took on a solemn tone. ‘If you are here to… end things, I ask you do it away from my daughter.’

  Aiden had come here with no qualms about wiping out anyone remotely responsible for his misery, but he realised that sat in front of him was just someone trying to make the world a better place for their family. He saw only a tired, old man with a life of regret, and a young girl with a possible future. He holstered the pistol and shook his head. ‘I’m not here for that.’

  ‘In that case, let me introduce my daughter, Sasha,’ Malcolm said, his face creasing up in a smile as the girl knocked the blocks over and started giggling.

  ‘I lost some of the most important people in my life because of this place,’ Aiden said, as much to himself as Malcolm.

  The old man’s smile faded. ‘A lot of people have. That’s why I cannot support this organisation anymore.’

  ‘You know why I’m here,’ Aiden said, part question, part statement.

  ‘To put an end to all this.’

  ‘That doesn’t bother you?’

  Malcolm looked pained. ‘Samuel is my son, but I can no longer defend him. He has chosen his own path.’

  ‘Then I need something from you. I’m looking for someone in particular, two people actually. The man that brought me here said you have access to records of everyone who passes through readjustment.’

  Malcolm nodded. ‘My position gives me access to all the archives.’ He stood and moved to a corner of the room where a desk and series of large filing cabinets stood. ‘What are their names?’

  ‘Kate,’ Aiden said, the word catching in his throat. ‘Kate Fielding.’

  Hitch padded over to the girl beside the fire causing Malcolm to tense. ‘It’s okay,’ Aiden assured. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a child.’

  ‘Sometimes I think animals are more human than humans,’ Malcolm said as he rifled through the files in the cabinet. Aiden watched the young girl, Sasha, as she ruffled the dog’s fur. Hitch licked her face in response, causing her to squeal in delight.

  ‘Here she is,’ Malcolm said, pulling out a file.

  Aiden’s heart skipped. ‘She’s still here?’ he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  ‘It seems so.’ Malcolm scanned the file looking uncomfortable. ‘But you should know… readjustment changes people. I doubt she is still the person you remember.’

  ‘What did you do to h
er?’ Aiden said, his insides knotting.

  ‘I did nothing,’ Malcolm said. ‘I had no part in the readjustment project, it was all done by Samuel in my absence.’

  ‘Please just tell me where she is,’ Aiden said, his eyes misting.

  Malcolm took out a pen and wrote down directions on the back of the file before handing it over. ‘Who is the other person you are looking for?’

  ‘You remember Leigh? Zachary drugged her and snatched her from the Brentford.’

  ‘I heard that Zachary had left the Syndicate and arrived here with a child; I had no idea it was Leigh. I never could get over my dislike of that man; he had no sincerity about him. If you follow the main corridor deeper into the facility, you will find Zachary in the viewing gallery. I warn you though, Samuel is inside the compound. He is a dangerous man and never travels alone. If he finds you, he won’t think twice about murdering you for standing in his way.’

  A low concussion passed in the distance, dislodging a puff of dust from the ceiling.

  ‘The city is falling already,’ Malcolm said, steadying himself on the desk.

  ‘The Ravagers are attacking in force,’ Aiden said, gesturing Hitch over as he started whining in confusion. ‘I doubt there will be anything left soon.’

  ‘Here, you’ll need this.’ Malcolm picked up a key from the desk and passed it to Aiden. ‘My master key; it’ll open almost every door in the compound.’

  ‘What will you do now?’ Aiden asked, pocketing it.

  ‘We will leave the city behind, me and Sasha. We will try and make a fresh start, somewhere without the painful memories and mistakes.’ Malcolm smiled grimly. ‘I wish you luck, Aiden. You’re going to need it.’

  Aiden nodded at the old man, feeling pity as he turned to leave. ‘And you, Malcolm.’

  CHAPTER 60

  AS JULIAN REACHED the base of the steps in Oldtown, Faithful and residents were scattering in all directions; a cacophony of panicked shouting and thundering of boots sprinting across bowed walkways. ‘Stop, don’t run,’ Julian tried to call after them, ‘we need to hold the stairs!’ Most ignored him, but a few, finding their bravery, turned back. He was proud to see most of his Syndicate men standing their ground.

  ‘But there’s not enough of us,’ one of the Faithful complained, eyeing the steps fearfully, his faction loyalty forgotten.

  ‘Then we hold as long as we can,’ Julian said so that everyone stopped to listen. ‘We’re the last ones standing between those bastards and the people we care about. You want to see them tear our city apart?’ A few men shook their heads. His voice rose into a bellow. ‘I said, do you want to see them destroy our homes? Our loved ones? Everything we care about in this world?’ The men picked up on his tone and a roar spread through them as they raised their weapons above their heads. ‘Then we hold here! For the city, and for the people!’

  A few hardy residents heard Julian’s speech and joined them, grabbing pitchforks, metal piping — whatever weapons they could find. As the group grew larger, more curious people approached, swelling the number of defenders. Julian spotted Grace among them, a tiny figure pushing her way to the front.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, taking her aside. ‘You have to get out of here. Now.’

  ‘I wanted to see what was happening,’ she said. ‘I wanted to help—’ She glanced past Julian at the stairs and the colour drained from her face.

  Following her gaze, he saw the Ravagers racing down the steps towards them, falling over each other in their rush. He shoved her away. ‘Get to the Brentford,’ he ordered, ‘take as many residents as you can. When the line breaks, we’ll get everyone we can back there. If we need to, we’ll use the tunnel. Run!’

  Julian watched her disappear through the crowd, realising how many people were depending on him: real people, faces he recognised. He turned to Orlen who was sat, slumped against the wall beneath some Dawnist graffiti. ‘You need to get up now,’ he told the grieving man, offering his hand.

  ‘What’s the damn point?’ Orlen muttered. ‘We’re all dead already.’

  ‘For Woody,’ Julian said, his voice resonant and clear.

  Orlen looked up at him, his weathered face betraying a desperate rage. After a beat, he stuck out his chin. ‘For Woody,’ he repeated as Julian helped him up.

  Julian hefted his fire axe, spinning the haft in this palms and feeling its reassuring weight. The Ravagers were almost upon them now, barrelling down the stairs in a screaming mass of hate, gnashing teeth, and broken, stabbing blades. He took a deep breath, looked up to the grey sky and made a silent prayer to whoever might be listening.

  Then he raised his axe, and stepped forward to meet the invaders.

  CHAPTER 61

  FOLLOWING THE DIRECTIONS drawn on the back of the folder, Aiden came to a set of double doors and stopped. After so many years of searching, of not knowing, the moment had finally arrived. If Kate really was in there, would she want to see him again? Would she even recognise the man he had become? He pushed the thought from his mind. He told Hitch to sit and wait, then unlocked the doors before he had time to lose his nerve.

  The room was almost an exact copy of the other he had just seen: magnolia walls, wilting plants, a contrasting rug. There was only one person inside, sat in a wooden rocking chair. She was skeletal thin, her head held no hair, and her eyes were unfocused. But it was her.

  It was Kate.

  Aiden took a fast, juddering breath and glided over to her. He knelt down beside the chair as she gently rocked back and forth, reaching out and touching her face with the blade of his finger. She didn’t react to his presence, but he noticed her lips were moving. He leaned in closer.

  ‘Better wrap up before you go out,’ she said, her voice barely louder than a breath, ‘it’s cold outside. Oh, you’re always worrying. I don’t always need a jacket. It’s bracing out there; the cold makes you feel alive. You should try it sometime, Aiden.’

  Hearing her voice again was too much for him. Aiden sank against her, losing the will to even hold himself upright. Tears rolled down his cheek as the emotional walls he had spent years building crumbled like a child’s sandcastle in the tide. His arms gently encompassed her frail body and pulled her close, feeling her heartbeat against his chest. ‘Kate,’ he whispered. ‘Kate, my love, can you hear me?’

  She didn’t respond. She just kept murmuring to herself, staring at nothing as she wandered in a maze of memories. Her lips curled into a slight smile. Seeing that smile broke Aiden again and his body shook uncontrollably as he fell into her again. Her arms wrapped around him and patted his back, her touch as light as the whisper of tissue against skin.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘If you don’t like onions I won’t put them in the sauce again.’

  Aiden pulled back and wiped his face with his sleeve. ‘Kate, can you hear me?’ She continued to smile but she didn’t focus. Her gaze passed through his chest, ending somewhere in the past.

  He hung his head and wept for her. For him. For them both.

  After all this time — all the doubt, and pain, and misery, and self-hatred — he had found her. But he couldn’t take her with him; her mind was gone from the torture, gone to a place she could never return from. He knew he couldn’t leave her like this, he had to help her the only way left to him. He drew the old folding knife with shaking hands; the gift he had given her in another life, the instrument he had used to kill the man who abducted her and started them both down this path. He ran his thumb along the wooden handle, feeling the deep grooves where she had scratched her name. He flipped the razor-sharp blade open and touched the cold metal against the exposed skin of her thigh. She didn’t flinch.

  ‘Kate,’ he said softly, touching her chin. ‘I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m just going to talk anyway; I’m going to hope you can recognise my voice, and know that I’m here with you.’ As he talked, his vision blurred with tears. ‘Remember our home in the forest? Our private place away from the world? Rem
ember the big kitchen that you bugged me about having for so long? It’s still there, it’s all still there, just waiting for us to go back. Would you like to go back? With me?’

  She didn’t answer. He ran the edge of the blade across her inner thigh, nicking the delicate femoral artery there.

  ‘Remember how I always used to leave the cupboards open,’ he continued, ‘and you would get so annoyed that you’d leave the lights because you knew it bothered me. Remember… remember when we were together? When we were happy?’ A gentle dripping splashed the floor. He held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair and skin. ‘I never let go,’ he whispered, kissing her forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.’ His body shook as the words fell out. ‘I love you, Kate. I will always love you.’

  Her lips came to a stop. Her murmuring faded to silence. He laid her head back against the chair, releasing his grip on her as the light vanished from her eyes.

  The knife clattered against the tiled floor. Aiden stood, wiping his face with his white sleeve, smearing sticky blood across his wet cheek. He gasped for breath as the rawness wrenched at his insides. He wanted to fall to his knees, to lose himself to the darkness. Instead, he forced himself to stand and stare. Only once he was certain the memory was burned onto his brain forever did he let himself bow his head and close his eyes.

  A strange calm settled over him then. The flurrying release of all his emotion left him strangely empty; no guilt gnawing at him anymore, no fear of what might happen. Just a tiny, blue flame remained.

  A flame of revenge. A flame just seething, waiting to flare and burn the world down around him.

  The man who had caused this was somewhere in this cursed maze of corridors. And so was Leigh. He had to rescue her from this nightmare. He wouldn’t let this be her fate as well, not while there was still life inside him.