Shoving his way between the gathering men, Liam clawed his way to the center of the increasingly tense standoff. At his side, he spotted Kathryn plunge a hand into the pocket of her dress. And, for once, he was glad to see she’d disobeyed him.
“What’s going on?” Andrew repeated loudly, emphasizing each word. He stepped forward into the center of the impromptu circle as well, placing himself between Jenn and the man with whom she’d been arguing.
Then, arms folded across his chest, that man stepped forward as well.
“The Mayor wants to see that one,” he said, nodding at Jenn.
“Does he now?” Andrew said. “And just where might His Excellency be?”
“In his office, I expect. And yes, those are his orders.”
“You must have good ears to hear him all the way out here.” There was no humor in Andrew’s voice, only a flat, unyielding coldness. “I tell you what, we’ll go straight there after I report to the garrison.”
“Be my guest. But the girl comes with us.”
“Then you’re welcome to tag along.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, Sergeant,” growled the man. “And I’m certain your Colonel doesn’t want to hear about your men causing problems for the Mayor. Again.”
Liam expected Andrew to waver, or perhaps redirect the conversation with another steely-eyed joke. Instead, he growled and stepped forward to plant himself inches in front of the man.
“The Occs are lucky to have you here, hún dàn,” Andrew growled. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
The guard’s head jerked forward suddenly and Andrew staggered. It was not until he turned and Liam saw the blood leaking from his nose that he realized the first blow had already been struck. Before he could react, however, those surrounding them beat him to it. The guards had sidearms in hand in a split-second. And, from the corner of his eye, Liam could see the militiamen leveling rifles with identical quickness.
“Oh, you got a pair on you,” Andrew snarled. He straightened, raising his fists. “How about—”
“Stop!” Jenn barked, startling Liam as much as anyone else. She pulled free of his arm and dragged Andrew back. “It’s fine, I’ll go with them.”
“No!” Liam shouted, stepping forward. He managed only a single step before a scalding glare from Jenn stopped him in his tracks.
“Liam, I’ll be fine,” Jenn said evenly. In the tense silence, her voice seemed unnaturally loud. “Go with Andrew and look after the others. I’ll find you after.”
“Fuck that,” Andrew said. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “I’ll go with you.”
“Jenn—” Liam began.
“Liam,” she interrupted, emphatically. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
A chuckle from the foremost guard drew all their gazes. Jenn’s willingness to cooperate, along with the blow against Andrew seemed to have filled his pride to bursting. He practically swaggered forward, hands on his hips.
“All right, that’s enough,” he said. “Time to go, girl. Quietly.”
Jenn lunged, as fast as Liam had ever seen her move. A multitude of vines erupted from the back of her armor, enough to actually hold her aloft. Others seized the man, spinning him to face his men and holding the point of a steel javelin to his throat. So swift were her movements that by the time any of his men could react, she had already released him and lowered herself back down to the ground.
“Let’s all go quietly,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
Liam stood motionless, hands balled into fists at his side, as he watched Jenn walk away. She was surrounded by four of the gate guards, each of whom had a hand on their holstered pistol. That sight alone made him want to charge after her. It was only the steady presence of Andrew a few feet behind her that kept him from doing just that.
His unceasing stare was not lost on the others. Kathryn continued to hold his hand, staring up at him with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression. Nora and Julie approached as well, touching him and offering reassuring words that he did not even hear. It was only when Jenn had disappeared among the shantytown mess that the sound of an unfamiliar voice managed to break through the fog.
“She’ll be fine, kid. The sergeant won’t let anything happen to her.”
Liam nodded slowly. Around him, the militiamen were shouldering their packs and weapons, casting guarded, resentful looks at the gate guardsmen who had remained behind to resume their work. Had it not been for the backlog of onlookers, Liam suspected that things might have escalated once more. Instead, the men set off down one of the larger streets that followed the curve of the wall.
Casting a final look in Jenn’s direction, Liam stumbled after them. He felt as though he’d been impaled through the gut and it took all his willpower not to turn around and sprint after her.
“Liam?” Kathryn whispered as they walked.
“Hmm?”
“Kathryn promised,” she said. “No fighting.”
“Yeah.” He snorted quietly. “Thank you.”
Kathryn squeezed his hand and held it tight.
“Jenn safe,” she said. “Andrew not bastard.”
Liam nodded, but said nothing. Much as he appreciated Kathryn’s attempt at reassurance, he was in no mood to be cheered. To the contrary, he was in the mood to fight.
If anything happened to Jenn, he would burn New Lewville to the ground.
***
Contrary to Liam’s first impressions of the city, New Lewville’s slums did not go on endlessly. In fact, after only a few hundred meters, they gave way to larger, sturdier buildings of wood; it was only the haze of eye-watering smog that created the illusion of distance.
The militia garrison stood less than a minute’s walk beyond the artificial boundary, a stone’s throw from the wall itself. It was a large, if rather inauspicious structure—two stories, made of faded brick, and surrounded by a rusted, chain-link fence that had been braced with wooden planks. Something about the garrison’s boxy, utilitarian design reminded him of the Institute to an almost uncomfortable degree.
“I’ll tell the Colonel you’re here,” said one of the militiamen.
Liam turned, intending to thank the man, then yelped a curse as he discovered Damien standing barely a foot behind him. His outburst drew laughs from the other militiamen and even a wide, wolfish smile to the Hunter’s face. Stepping past Liam, Damien leapt vertically and effortlessly cleared the fence—despite the open gate barely a meter away.
“Sorry, kid,” said the same militiaman. “The bastard’s done it to all of us. Only seemed fair to let him have his fun.”
Liam said nothing in reply and swallowed hard as he waited for his racing heart to slow. His expectations for New Lewville had been few, but they certainly had not included getting pranked by a Hunter.
“You coming?” asked the man.
Still, Liam did not speak. He did, however, stumble through the gate and follow after the cluster of soldiers.
“He lives in the city?” he asked in a hushed voice as they neared the brick building’s main door. “Doesn’t that cause problems?”
The militiaman he’d addressed glanced at him, then at Damien. The Hunter had flopped down on the dirt, evidently determined to nap in the late morning sun.
“Sometimes,” the man said. “But he doesn’t go out alone, so it’s not too bad.”
Stepping forward, the man caught the open door from the soldier ahead of him and gestured Liam forward.
Liam complied, absentmindedly dragging Kathryn along.
The inside of the garrison looked, if anything, even more like the Institute than its exterior suggested. Rows of desks housed cartographers, craftsmen working to disassemble rifles, and dozens of other functionaries whose purpose was lost on him.
He spotted Julie and Nora taking seats to the right of the entrance and moved to join them. Adam was seated on his mother’s lap and looked around at the barely controlled c
haos with a mixture of awe and nervousness. The sight made Liam grin; it was a feeling he knew all too well.
Thoughts of Jenn spoiled his smile a second later. Rather than sit, he guided Kathryn to the unoccupied chair and stood close by. There, he scanned the crowd of militiamen for anyone who might have been in charge.
Unfortunately, no one stood out to him. The militia gave the impression of an unwieldy, self-directed machine. If there was purpose behind its activity, it did not make a show of it. Compared to the obvious, brutal discipline he’d seen among the Occs, Liam wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or worried by the difference.
From the corner of his eye, Liam saw a figure approaching and turned.
“Liam?” asked the man, in the tone of one who already knew the answer.
Liam eyed the man. Broad-shouldered, tanned, and wearing a patterned uniform that looked almost new, the man certainly looked the part. And, judging by the smile he wore, he was not at all put off by his guest’s roadworn appearance.
“That’s right,” Liam said. Imitating Scott with no small amount of self-consciousness, he offered his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Colonel.”
The man’s smile blossomed as he grasped Liam’s hand and shook it.
“It’s Sergeant Woods, actually,” the man said. “But if you’ll follow me, you can meet the real thing.”
A chuckle behind him made Liam turn to find Nora and Julie smirking at him. Kathryn grinned too, though without the knowing look in her eyes. Scowling, he turned his back on them and walked away.
Woods led him through the maze of desks to a small, private room in the far back corner. Liam had missed it during his initial inspection, no doubt thanks to the crowd of bodies between him and it. The door was closed, but Woods rapped his knuckles on the frame and opened it without waiting for a reply.
“A visitor to see you, Colonel,” Woods announced.
The woman seated at the desk looked up sharply and nodded to the man.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” she said.
Too surprised to do otherwise, Liam stepped forward and actually flinched when Woods shut the door behind him. Cursing his nerves, he stood there, hands folded in front of him.
“Not what you were expecting?” the Colonel teased gently. Her skin was darker than any Liam had seen before, and the contrast made her grin particularly noticeable. “That’s okay; you’re not the first person to be surprised. Please, have a seat.”
Liam did, grateful to have something to do with his hands. Sitting, he grasped the arms of his chair and blurted out, “They took Jenn. The men at the gate.”
He started to say more, but the Colonel leaned forward and cut him off with a wave.
“So I heard. Let’s get introductions out of the way first, though.” She cocked her head. “I’m Colonel Natasha Ryan. You can call me any of those, or ma’am. And you are?”
“Liam.”
“Liam,” the Colonel repeated. She waited, then added, “That’s it?”
“The Occs called me Fuyuan.”
“Country? No, that doesn’t… healing?” the Colonel said. She frowned. “You’re enhanced?”
Liam nodded.
“So is Jenn,” he added quickly. “Those men at the gate. They noticed and said that the Mayor—”
“Heaven help us,” the Colonel said. “That bastard is going to ruin this city before the Occs even get here.”
“They’ll be here soon,” Liam said. He gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to make his knuckles ache, if only briefly. “We got separated from Scott at the river, but he said—”
“Scott? Who is Scott?”
“He’s with the militia,” Liam said. He gritted his teeth, more in frustration at how poorly he was explaining the situation than impatience—though he had both in abundance. “A lieutenant, I think. He helped us destroy the Institute.”
“He must be one of the Advance Scouts. I’ve never met him.”
The room fell silent for a moment. That silence was abruptly broken as the Colonel pushed back her chair, rose, and began to pace the length of the room. She moved slowly, methodically, but the fingers she drummed against her chin were anything but.
Watching her, Liam couldn’t help but be surprised all over again. Not only was Natasha the exact opposite of how he’d envisioned a Colonel, she was also remarkably petite. He suspected she was of a height with Kathryn, despite being at least a decade older. Perhaps two.
“You destroyed the Institute?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Uh…” Liam racked his brain, struggling to count the days. “Twelve… fifteen days? Something like that.”
The Colonel cursed softly and ran a hand through her hair. It was cut short, the remains woven into tight braids that clung tightly to her scalp. She continued to pace.
“What’s wrong?” Liam asked, when he could no longer bear the waiting.
“This isn’t retaliation,” the Colonel said. “If it was, it’d take the Occs months to move troops up to the DMZ. A planned offensive means there’ll be twice as many of the fuckers and command has just been sitting on their asses this whole time. I’m not expecting reinforcements for at least two months.”
“Colonel…” Liam began slowly, weighing his words. “It sounds like you’ll need every man you can get.”
“Oh? You noticed that, did you?” the Colonel snapped. Glancing at him, she sighed. “Sorry, Liam. I didn’t mean—”
“Jenn can get us across the river with her enhancement,” Liam continued, undeterred. “There’s a dozen militiamen with Scott. I can bring them back to help defend the city.”
Natasha studied him for a moment. For a time, she looked as though she was considering his offer, then her eyes narrowed.
“If that’s true, why isn’t he with you?” she asked.
“There was… a fight,” Liam said. “We were in a hurry and Scott asked some Runners to help us cross. They betrayed us and things, well, got loud. I wanted to go back for him, but there were kids with us. Scott’s kids.”
Natasha nodded slowly, expression softening. Again, she began to drum her fingers on her chin, but slower than before.
“How many Occs did you see on the way here?” she asked.
Liam wanted to lie. From the question alone, he could already sense the outline of the answer Natasha would give. But, under the circumstances, he could see no way out that would not selfishly risk the lives of thousands.
“Hundreds,” he admitted.
She looked away, masking her reaction except for the almost imperceptible slumping of her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Liam,” the Colonel said. “I can’t spare anyone to help you. If you decide to find Scott, I wish you nothing but the best of luck. But I need the militia here to help defend the city.”
Liam sat perfectly still, unable to shake the feeling that he was slowly being swallowed by his chair. The weight on his shoulders seemed be dragging him further down into it by the second.
“Scott is in the militia,” he said.
“He is,” Natasha said. “And his help would be welcome. But for all we know, he’s dead already. And I can’t risk more men searching for him. Not when the Occs could attack any time.”
“I’ll find him.”
“I pray that you do.”
“Then what about Jenn?” he said, standing before he knew what he was doing.
Natasha looked at him then, a hint of knowing amusement creeping into her features.
“Sergeant Gomez went with her, yes? She’ll be fine.”
“That’s not good enough.”
He expected the Colonel’s expression to darken at his rudeness, but instead, her smile only grew. Coming around the desk, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the office door.
“Trust me, Liam. Andrew is a smart man; she’ll be fine. Sergeant Woods will get you an
d the others settled in the barracks. If Jenn isn’t back in an hour, I will personally go with you to see the Mayor. Okay?”
It wasn’t okay, but Liam sensed the inevitability in the Colonel’s words. Nodding, he allowed her to show him out.
Rather than close the door behind him, however, the Colonel hesitated in the doorway.
“Liam,” she said, quietly enough that only he could have heard. “If… if you decide not to go searching for Scott, come speak to me again. I have an idea. Another way you might be able to help him—and us.”
Then, before he could inquire further, the door shut.
Chapter Twelve
Jenn carried herself proudly as the men marched her through the city. She could feel the countless eyes watching her, the most heated of which belonged to the man she’d threatened. He followed close behind her, hand on his holstered sidearm. That fact might have bothered her under ordinary circumstances, but the sound of Andrew’s heavy footsteps alongside the man’s kept her nervousness at bay.
She couldn’t explain precisely why she trusted the militiaman. No doubt it had something to do with Julie’s trust in him. Or perhaps it was simply the way he’d stood up for her at the gate. In any case, she was more than willing to entrust her safety to him.
For the time being, at least.
The city was far filthier than she had ever imagined. With each step, she could practically feel the dust and the grime clinging to her vines, drying them. Not so dry as to render them non-functional, of course, merely that it took slightly more effort to control them. She kept them tight against her sides and back; partly to shield them from the smoky air and partly to avoid provoking her rear escort further.
She felt a slight twinge of relief as they left the slums behind and moved into the city proper. That relief was short-lived, however. Though the air was marginally cleaner, the buildings had grown tall and smooth. If she was forced to fight or flee, there would be nothing to grip, no way to escape the narrow, refuse-lined streets.
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