Fogbound- Empire in Flames

by Gareth Clegg

  “Simmons, get your lazy arse over here, they’re leaving.”

  He turned and fired another two rounds at the figures huddled behind their inadequate cover, smiling as he picked out a grunt amidst the splintering wood. He ran to join Fletcher, noticing for the first time the distance to the track below them. It was at least ten feet to the train roof. Their landing zone on top of the carriage was only a few feet wide if they didn’t want to fry on the central electrified arm.

  There’s a chance we might not die. He turned to Fletcher. “We can do this.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he replied, hoping his features weren’t betraying his thoughts.

  “I think we’ll break our bloody legs and either be electrocuted or fall to our deaths screaming in agony.”

  “I’m not sure you would get on with Bazalgette,” Simmons said half to himself. “He’s more of an optimist.”

  “What are you blabbering about?”

  “Nothing important.”

  Shots resumed from the Black Guard troops, arcs of electricity struck the rearmost carriages and flew around the gantry. Simmons and Fletcher climbed down the side of the gargantuan structure to hang down, trying to minimise the drop. As the first carriage clanked under them, sparks flying from the rail, Simmons released his grip.

  His right leg hit the roof and gave way. Simmons flung an arm out grasping for anything to stop his slide off the edge. His gloved left hand caught on something sharp, but he gripped, ignoring the pain that shot into his wrist. His legs dangled out into open space, and as his foot clattered into the carriage window, he saw Fletcher falling towards him. This is going to hurt.

  Her knee dug into his bicep, and he grunted through gritted teeth. His hand felt as though he’d thrust it into a furnace, and his brain screamed for him to let go. His grip weakened as darkness welled around the edge of his vision, but then his arm wrenched upward, gripped by Fletcher from above. The pain fled for an instant. As his sight returned, Simmons noticed movement at the rear of the train as a dark uniformed figure pulled itself onto the last section’s roof.

  Grating metal sounded below as the door opened and hands grasped and supported his feet. The carriage clanked over the cogs drawing them up the incline and sparks flew as they crossed each section of the overhead rail. They bounced off his jacket, leaving tiny black scorch marks, as he pushed against whoever had hold of his boots. The grip on his arm strengthened, and he slowly shifted upwards.

  As they left the protective cover of the warehouse roof, the gale struck them, sending the whole carriage lurching. “Watchman,” he shouted, at the telltale sting of Bazalgette’s device, but the gusting wind stole his words. Fletcher struggled to hoist his weight, ignorant of the black shape approaching leaping between the carriages.

  Simmons felt the drip of something hit his face and saw a smear of red liquid on his lens. His wrist was damp, and as he twisted to get a better grip, a few more droplets fell, torn away by a violent gust into the dark void around him.

  The officer made his way onto the adjacent carriage and sauntered towards Fletcher, who was still unaware of the threat. Simmons shrugged the rifle from his shoulder, catching it awkwardly, then flipped it to get his finger inside the trigger guard. He grimaced as they jolted across another cog and peered up at the approaching figure. The officer spotted him fumbling to keep hold and pulled a short sword from his belt. A deft flick of the wrist and it expanded to twice the length with a click, audible even through the growing gale.

  Fletcher’s head spun as she heard the sound, but it was too late. The pocket watch glinted in his other hand, and in an instant, he vanished.

  As the officer appeared with his blade ready to plunge into Fletcher’s neck, his sneer transformed at his premature return to the time stream. A gasp escaped his wide-eyed stare as the barrel of Simmons’ rifle rose over Fletcher’s shoulder and into the man’s face.

  By instinct he tried to pull back from the weapon, but not before Simmons squeezed both triggers. Surprise, he thought.

  The hammers fell, driving their force into the firing pins of the heavy calibre rounds. Click, click. Disbelief, then realisation flooded him. He hadn’t had time to reload before they leapt from the gantry.

  The officer regained his composure and steadied himself to strike. Simmons slipped as Fletcher released his wrist. Another sharp stab of pain tore through his hand. Then he was falling again.

  As he fell back off the carriage roof, Fletcher whipped her foot out from under her, striking the man in his knee which crumpled with an audible crack. He staggered to his right with an angry roar. As his blade crossed the centre line, electricity arced from above, engulfing his body in a burst of sparks and flame.

  Simmons smiled at the almost poetic justice as he fell away from the scene into the void that would soon become solid ground.

  Pain lanced through his knees as he swung upside-down below the train. Strong hands gripped his ankles and then calves as Blake heaved him upwards. Somehow he’d kept hold of his rifle strap, the Holland bouncing wildly beneath him.

  Simmons felt his heart thundering in his chest as he was hauled into the safety of the carriage. He lay there on his back, trying to get his breathing under control.

  “Feared we’d lost you there, Simmons,” Lynch said. It was the first time she’d sounded concerned throughout the evening.

  Blake blew out a huge breath. “Let’s not do that again. Next time I might not be able to keep hold of you.” He sat leant against the wall beside the still open door, his breathing heavy.

  “Thank you,” Simmons replied. It seemed inadequate, but he had nothing else at that moment.

  “Is he all right?” Fletcher’s voice called from above, her head and shoulders poking through a hatch in the roof.

  “I’ll live,” Simmons said, giving her a tired wave.

  “Thank fuck for that. I thought I’d killed you.”

  “No, still here.” His left hand throbbed, and now the adrenaline was dipping, the pain returned. Blood seeped from his glove down his sleeve.

  Lynch noticed the damage and rummaging through her pack. “Let me look at that.”

  “Right, if nobody is dying down there, make a space,” Fletcher said. “The stink up here is worse than Blake’s arse.”

  The clanking continued overhead as they maintained their steady rise. Fletcher lowered herself and dropped to the carriage floor. The squad watched as Lynch patched up the tear in Simmons’ hand. It was a nasty ragged cut, but after being able to move his fingers, Lynch seemed happy there was no permanent damage.

  “You should’ve seen that bastard’s face,” Fletcher said. “When I kicked his knee out, it was a proper picture. And you?” she said, orienting on Simmons. “Balls of steel. Bluffing him with the rifle like that when you knew it was empty. He nearly shat himself.”

  Simmons smiled, not wanting to spoil her enthusiasm for his inspired plan. The squad broke into laughter with Fletcher until they left the riser onto the electrified rails. Then it was all back to business.

  Curtis motioned from the controls for Lynch to join him. While they discussed where they would disembark, the team prepared for their exit over the outer walls. Rope and climbing gear appeared from packs.

  40

  Simmons led the way towards the water’s edge where Isaac was waiting as planned. The whole operation of getting the team onto the wall and then rappelling down with an unconscious body had gone like clockwork.

  They were off and moving through the rubble-strewn cobbles before any of the guards realised what had happened. Sirens sounded shortly after and spotlights scoured the streets, but by then there were rows of derelict buildings between them and the wall.

  Lynch equipped the young girl with a fog mask and dosed her with something to keep her unconscious. It made sense. Trying to explain what was going on just wasn’t worth the effort, better to carry the sleeping package, even if she was the Empress.

  They progressed west
along the river, and then the engine cut out. For a moment, Simmons thought there was a problem until he felt the boat turn, coasting towards the bank, silent except for the gentle lapping of the Thames around them.

  With his usual aplomb, Isaac brought them to a stop where they could disembark. It was only a short walk to where they had entered the abandoned underground station before, and the squad disembarked with their precious cargo.

  Simmons offered Isaac a hand securing the boat. They jogged to catch up with Lynch and team who crept between outcrops of rubble and the remains of buildings. They stopped, each member dropping to a crouch. Simmons slowed and kept low as he covered the last few yards to join them. “What’s happening?” he whispered.

  Lynch looked up. “Turner says there’s been organised troop movement around here.”

  “Black Guard?”

  “That’s what he thinks.”

  “How many?” Simmons asked.

  “Difficult to say, but enough to cause us a problem.”

  “Damn. So what now?”

  “Blake, Turner, Fletcher. See what you can find near the station entrance, then report back.”

  The three of them disappeared into the darkness in silence, leaving Lynch and Curtis with the Empress. Simmons took up a position where he could keep watch in case any of the troops were still about.

  Ten minutes later, Turner appeared out of the night. “We watched a couple of Black Guard sentries at the entrance and were just about to take them down when a pair of officers joined them from within. The usual saluting and fawning you’d expect, but they didn’t seem interested. Headed off to the east with a heavily built civilian.”

  “Maddox,” Simmons said.

  “Yes, I’d say so.”

  “I knew he was up to no good. Damn him.”

  “We’ve more pressing issues at hand,” Lynch said. “We need to take the Empress to ArcNet, to safety.”

  Simmons nodded. “Agreed, but if he’s brought the Black Guard here, it’s treason.”

  “We’re walking a fragile line regarding moral high ground,” Lynch replied. “Turner, get back and clear access to the station. I want to walk straight in and down to that platform. You, Blake and Fletcher need to make a path. Go.”

  Turner didn’t even reply, he disappeared around the corner and was gone.

  Lynch picked up the young girl, swinging her over a shoulder, pulling a Mauser pistol from her belt.

  “I have to leave,” said Isaac.

  Simmons turned to shake his hand, and the older man smiled. “I’ll be back, just got a favour to do for a friend.”

  “Right,” Simmons said. “We’ll catch up on your return.”

  Isaac waved as he headed towards the river. A few seconds later, the engine purred to life, and the boat pulled into the main flow.

  Simmons checked his rifle and then hustled to walk alongside Lynch. It only took them a few minutes to reach the station, and as they approached, Simmons heard the distinct click of the communication buttons they used.

  “It’s clear,” Lynch said. She crossed the area of open ground before the deserted entrance. Blake appeared from behind the doorway and motioned them in.

  “Report,” said Lynch.

  “Sentries neutralised. Turner is scouting the stairwell, and Fletcher is keeping an eye out for any more targets.”

  “Right,” Lynch said. “I’ll call her in. You head forward to support Turner. Simmons will—”

  “Simmons will stay here and put down that treacherous mad dog,” he said.

  “We need you to—”

  “No. I can’t allow him to get away with this,” Simmons said. “Your team is more than capable of getting the Empress to safety. My being with you won’t make any difference to that. In fact, I’m more of a liability to your operation as it stands. Let me do what I do best, hunt down crazed animals that are too dangerous to leave running free.”

  She wasn’t happy, but he could see that Lynch realised he wouldn’t change his mind about this. “If this is really what you want?”

  “It is.”

  “Look after yourself, Simmons. Don’t go getting heroic, shoot the bastard from a distance.”

  “That’s the plan,” he replied, accepting her handshake. “You take care of the Empress.”

  “That’s the plan.” Lynch smiled, tapped her communication button three times, then turned heading for the stairwell.

  Fletcher almost bumped into him at the entrance as she bustled in. “Simmons, you’re going the wrong way. Stairs are over there,” she said, pointing past him.

  “I’m headed after Maddox.”

  “Aye, of course you are,” she said. “Didnae take much to spot the bad blood between you. If it wasnae for that Rosie lass, I think we’d already have been tearing your hands from each other’s throats.”

  “Did you see where he went?”

  “Aye, out to the north-east, some buildings look in half-decent nick over there. That’s where I lost sight of him.”

  “Thank you, Fletcher.”

  “It’s no bother. Just a word of advice.”

  Simmons cocked his head, waiting for her to continue.

  “Dinnae let him dictate the game. I get the feeling he’s canny one, you shouldnae to go toe-to-toe with a thug like that. No disrespect, but you are getting on a wee bit. You’re no the prime stag anymore, so don’t try to be. Be the hunter that takes him down from five hundred yards.”

  She slapped him on the shoulder. “All the best, Simmons. I hope we see you again. I’ve still got to finish that story.”

  He smiled as he walked out into the early morning air. It was cold and damp. The terrain was crisp underfoot, and the sky was showing the faintest hint of light. Perfect hunting conditions.

  They assembled a team of technicians and equipped them with weapons. As they left to search the tunnels, Raphael called out. “More sensors are down, and I’m getting reports of multiple intruders.”

  “Do you have any details on numbers?” Nathaniel asked

  “I can’t be certain, but between fifty and a hundred.”

  “Shit,” Callam said. “What about the other sectors, Raph?”

  “No signs of activity in one or two, though signals were intermittent over the past week.”

  “So what are you telling us?” Nathaniel replied.

  Raphael’s joints whirred as he oriented his ruined features to face him. “Just that we cannot rely on any signal coming from there.”

  Callam shook his head. “Great. Another problem we don’t have time to fix.”

  Nathaniel surveyed their makeshift wiring from the previous day. In the red emergency lighting, it looked ugly. “We need to prioritise. So let’s work with what we have and ignore what we can’t repair now. Is it possible to get word to Lynch and Simmons?”

  “There’s no way to communicate with her squad while they are outside ArcNet,” Callam said. “We can speak with Peterson’s team in the tunnels, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  “I have a list,” Nathaniel said. “Six items from yesterday need urgent attention. If we don’t resolve those, we might end up with system failures from any significant power fluctuations.”

  “Right,” Callam said. “Let’s get cracking on those until we hear from Peterson. Raph, keep us informed if we lose any more sensors or if any alerts trigger in the other sectors.”

  “I am already monitoring for…” Raphael sagged in the wires that supported his system, his voice slurring to a stop.

  “Raph! Raph, are you all right?” Callam shouted, rushing over to him.

  Nathaniel followed, all thoughts of the systems in need of attention gone in a flash. If Raphael failed, they would lose power to the core, plunging them into darkness.

  Callam checked the primary feeds into the ArcAngel’s body. “Raph?”

  “…any unusual activity from all three sectors,” Raphael continued, his voice returning to normal speed like a newly wound gramophone.

  Callam he
ld up a hand. “What just happened to you, Raph?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You cut out for a few seconds there.”

  A few more whirs sounded as the ArcAngel turned to look down at where Callam was inspecting his power feeds. “I’m not aware of any period offline.”

  “Perhaps you should perform a diagnostic. Cross-reference your internal clock with ArcNet.”

  “Very well.”

  The ArcAngel’s eyes dimmed while he sat motionless for ten seconds. “I have completed the primary analysis and can find no prob—”

  This time it was an instant cut-off. Raphael’s head sagged, and the blue lights showing energy transfer to his metallic frame died.

  “What the hell?” Callam said.

  Nathaniel checked the nearest console of dials and gauges. Needles flickered as power levels failed. “We’re losing the core, and all the systems Raphael was controlling are failing. We need him back online in the next few minutes or the new circuits will overload, which could lead to a full cascade failure of ArcNet.”

  Simmons approached, keeping to cover as the sky brightened to a dull grey. As Fletcher had mentioned, the buildings seemed in reasonable condition and had once been a factory with warehouses around it.

  The tracks left by Maddox had been difficult to follow; the man knew something of sticking to the rockier ground, but Simmons was a seasoned hunter, and the two Black Guard were easier to spot. He picked up the telltale traces that showed their recent passage.

  He’d travelled about a mile from the underground station entry, but had taken his time, staying alert for any signs, but so far nothing. As he circled the buildings, he found no further tracks heading away. So they were still here. What are you up to, Maddox?

  Wary of traps or an unexpected welcoming committee, he stalked between the warehouses towards the factory at their centre. Quarter of a boot heel left its imprint on a patch of softer earth. It looked like Maddox had headed straight to the central building.