Skye City: Survivors of the Plague (The Darkness of Emmi Book 2)

by R. D. Hale

  A few streets later, we come to an unarmed man in a military uniform, roaming the estate alone. He freezes upon spotting us, and I rejoin the mechanoid's side, noticing what looks like a detached parachute farther down the road. He is not wearing a helmet, but his messy blonde hair suggests he recently was. Water is welling in his eyes and his stubbly mouth is gawping. I guess he is coming to terms with the fact he is still alive, while considering how best to keep himself that way.

  'H-hello there,' the pilot says, probably wondering whether we are rebels. Ordinarily, we would hardly look like a threatening bunch, but how else would teens get their hands on a combat mechanoid? 'Don't worry, I'm one of the good guys,' he says as though we are the worried ones in this equation.

  'San Terian Airforce?' Smig yells. 'Good to find one of our own. Why don't you come here? You can use the mech to contact base, then help me escort these kids home.'

  The pilot slowly approaches the mechanoid, his gaze shifting, and as he comes close, a huge metallic leg flicks out at lightning speed. The pilot explodes, splattering the mechanoid, and us, with blood. Smig laughs maniacally as I wipe my face with my sleeve and step over the gore.

  Dynah

  'Did you really have to kill him, Smig?' I glance to the bloodied dome of the mechanoid as we leave the pilot's body parts in our wake.

  We continue along the road of grey sludge and every clanking footstep now grates on my nerves.

  'No, I could've left him to kill our allies,' Smig says and I do not quite know what to think, or how to feel. Guilt and self-preservation are cancelling one another out, and I put the shattered pilot out of my mind. Why dwell on the fate of an enemy?

  We reach a recent battlezone where bodies litter the road, and the grey sludge is sprinkled with glass and shells. All of the deceased are soldiers with contrasting uniforms, but I see no dropped rifles. It would seem retrieving weapons is more important than retrieving humans, but it would be difficult to respect the dead when your focus is killing.

  The buildings are bullet-riddled – old-looking terraced houses with garages, occupied by the wealthier Level Three Citizens. Houses like this were built after the nuclear war in the nineteen-sixties – The Dust War between Anatolia and Nyberu. Officials say that war did not get out of hand, that only small tactical nukes were used, but they are radioactive, of course, and the dust changed the sky. The Great War of the twenty-twenties was when things got crazy. Nyberu dropped bigger nukes. Anatolia dropped anti-matter bombs which they claimed were ethical. Half of our country became a radioactive desert, a no-go zone. Good job Anatolia is so vast. They say a smaller country would have become uninhabitable.

  And now these houses built after one nuclear war, which survived another, they are being ruined on the brink of a third. Our species does not learn.

  As we pass the spiked fence of a school with missing windows, I gaze down the road at an approaching lone figure. 'Do not shoot,' I say to Smig as we come closer, and I see enough to confirm the figure is a small, slender female. I unhesitantly run towards her, confirming my hunch is correct – Dynah has returned to the fold. I fling my arms around the neck of my living, breathing miracle, then my thoughts turn to the next miracle.

  'You're okay! I'm so glad to see you! Where have you been? Why are you alone? Have you seen Arturo?'

  'I-I..'

  'Oh, no, it's not bad news–'

  'No, I don't have much news. I… I'm exhausted. I need to rest,' Dynah says as the others finally catch up.

  The telepath does not even react to the sight of the mechanoid as though this is normality now. I imagine the Rebellion have been relying on Dynah's assistance. Her lack of news could simply mean she was so distracted by fighting, she missed the opportunity to contact my brother, but the last thing my sanity needs is another mystery.

  'We could hide in that school building over there. It'll give us shelter for the night, get us out of sight. We have plenty of supplies,' Smig says.

  We head for the locked iron gate of a primary school which looks nicer than the one we attended. Schools like this are hardly well-funded, but still considered more than somewhere to herd the riffraff. Our school yard never had a fence to protect us, just a short wall which made our escape easy. Interesting that non-live-in schools have a higher standard of security, even though the risks are lower.

  'Stand back and cover your ears,' Smig says and the mechanoid opens the gate with a swift kick. The sound pierces my soul as the lock flies off, and the gate swings wildly. The metal bars are now bent at the middle.

  We cross the yard to the fire escape of the hall, and Smig uses the same tactful approach to open the door, breaking it to fragments. 'Hold on, this thing's too tall.' He clears the bricks above the door with a couple of punches, causing cracks to extend upwards, making the structure unstable, but unstable buildings are hardly unfamiliar.

  Smig pilots the mechanoid across a shiny wooden floor and the others cautiously follow through the debris. I look above to ensure the wall is not about to collapse as I pass through the doorway. Smig stands the mechanoid in the corner of the hall and it crouches, then the cockpit opens. He jumps out beside climbing apparatus, then joins the gang.

  'Let's find a room that doesn't have a gaping hole in the wall. We need to keep warm,' I say and we pass through a pair of double-doors.

  We wander through the school corridor, passing children's paintings which decorate the walls. Some artworks are unidentifiable, others are less abstract, portraying sunshine and rainbows and birds and trees. All happy things, apart from one – some rebel has painted fire and demons.

  These innocent kids just wanted the world displayed in this corridor, pleasant and pretty and joyful, but hell has been thrust upon them for no good reason. It seems humans start off smart, kind, and reasonable, but turn cruel and selfish as they get older. The correct word is corruption, I guess.

  We walk into a staff room with intact windows and spongy orange chairs, and we lay our bags on the floor, then sit down. My feet are freezing so I pull off my wet boots and socks, finding two pairs of dry socks in my rucksack. I put them on, then reluctantly put my wet boots back on, because we must be ready to move at any given moment. Slouching, I spot a notice board with a picture of a smiling stick figure and the words: To my favurit teacher. How sweet.

  The staff room contains a sink, fridge, microwave, and other appliances, but Smig flips several switches, confirming no power. All we need is a perpetuator, but really, who cares? In all likelihood, we will not be staying for longer than a day or two.

  'Wow, Dynah, how did you end up here, all by yourself?' I gaze admirably at my petite friend who is now dressed in rebel clothing – combat trousers, leather boots, and a bulky boyish coat. She is the least plausible soldier you will ever meet and also the most fearsome.

  'There was a fight. We won. As the others were celebrating victory, I sensed your presence. I needed to rest, but couldn't miss the opportunity to find you so I left alone. I wandered through the streets, hoping I wouldn't encounter enemies because I lacked the strength to fight again. I spotted the beacon of light, headed towards it, and eventually found you,' Dynah says.

  'The beacon of light? You mean from the phoenix? So you don't actually control it?' Smig says.

  'The phoenix is my elemental, a manifestation of my energies, but I wield limited control over it,' Dynah says.

  'So it has a mind of its own?' Smig says.

  'I really don't know. I just know it's useful. I wish for it to appear, and sometimes it does, sometimes it does not. Sometimes it just appears of its own accord, but it always helps,' Dynah says.

  'So what about the rescue, Dynah? I heard you were separated from Arturo and Myla,' I say.

  'I was captured in Orbital City. Turbo and Anguson rescued me, but then the self-destruct sequence was somehow triggered. As we were escaping, we found Arturo and Myla by sheer luck. We fought together, made it to the escape pods. Arturo and Myla couldn't make it into ours before the doo
rs closed, but there were others available, close by. I believe we cleared the area of enemies. It would've taken seconds for them to escape. I can only assume they did, but I haven't been able to sense their presence. They must've landed far away,' Dynah says.

  'Well, I'm reassured to hear that. You've gone through so much for us, Dynah. Thank you,' I say.

  Dynah is blinking heavily and she does not respond, almost as though she did not fully hear my last sentence. Those superpowers rapidly drain her energy and she needs recovery time. She curls across two chairs and closes her eyes, so I remove a small, thin blanket from my rucksack and place it over her body.

  'We'll need to get the other supplies from the mechanoid,' I say and we head into the hall, collecting our bags. Then we eat, laze around, stare at the walls, use the toilets, freshen up at the sinks, and breathe. We are still alive, and maybe Arturo and Myla are too, which just leaves Nelson in the dead-zone of my mind. I lack the audacity to ask for the next miracle, fearful fate will perceive me as greedy so I simply tune him out. I must be turning inhuman.

  I nap for maybe an hour, but my head hurts too much to allow proper sleep, and I awaken to find Smig has left the staff room. I climb from a blanket which cannot quite keep out the cold, and I sneak through the corridor, hearing chatter. I enter the hall where Smig is standing at the mechanoid which is crouching with the cockpit open. He is talking to someone over the radio.

  'Now I have your co-ordinates, I'll aim to be there within twenty-four hours,' Smig says.

  'Be where?' I say.

  'I have to go,' Smig mutters into the radio, then turns to face me. 'Back where I belong, of course, on the frontline. I told you, Emmi, I need revenge. We have the upper-hand now. Those other attacks, let's just call them teething problems,' Smig says.

  'Teething problems? Your friends are rotting in an industrial estate and you'll be next. I was thinking now is the time to head to the Citizen girl's house. It's close to the inner-hub. Bex was talking about her, says we could stay there,' I say.

  'That might be a good idea for you guys. So far, San Teria has kept the hubs protected. All the fighting is taking place in old town and the slums. Your only problem will be getting in. The roads are blockaded by tanks and mechs. You'll have to be clever, if you're gonna get past them,' Smig says.

  'I'm sure we'll come up with something. We've managed to keep our wits about us so far, but you, Smig? You seem to be losing the plot. What's going on?'

  'I'm just embracing the moment, Emmi. Fear won't get the better of me again. Win or lose, live or die, I plan to enjoy myself.'

  Lesson Time

  After waking in the morning, I wander along the school corridor, wondering where the gang have gone. I glance through door windows until I reach the bottom of the corridor and see everyone gathered inside a classroom. Entering the door, I rub my eyes at the sight before me. Smig is standing at a chalkboard with a badly scrawled alphabet, including some backwards letters. The others are sitting on chairs so tiny, I cannot understand how they have not collapsed. Smig points to the letters, one by one, naming them, and the gang eagerly copy.

  'What on Eryx is going on here?' I say.

  'Please take a seat, Emmi, you're disturbing my class!' Smig says, and I pull a tiny chair from a tiny desk, almost tumbling as I sit down. The chair is barely big enough for one arse cheek. 'Now repeat after me… Q…'

  'Erm, that's a P!' I say as Smig points to the wrong letter.

  'Silence, Emmi, or you'll get detention!' Smig says and I mouth What the hell? as the class continue to recite the alphabet, getting some letters wrong. The exercise takes me back to our school days, and for a moment it seems as though Miss Parish is standing before me, and I am surrounded by forgotten friends.

  This was the time before I was orphaned when I actually liked school: One, because I had one of the few nice teachers, and two, because I still had a mother to return home to. In my second year, I became one of the live-ins and my world fell apart.

  Losing a mother so young meant I had no concept of stability, no dependable role models, and nobody to show me love. I spent the following years expecting disruption, but not fearing it, because my situation was already so bleak. I was never allowed to be expressive which is why I adopted a happy-go-lucky act after I ran away. The illusion was nice while it lasted, but the darkness was always lingering below the surface, waiting to emerge.

  'Well done, class. Now who's ready for painting time?' Smig says as the gang proudly finish reciting the alphabet. 'Yeah!' Smig rummages through the supplies cupboard, then places paper, paint pallets, and brushes on each table. He fills pots with water at a sink and places them on each table, too. 'Okay, now paint!'

  'Erm, paint what?' I say.

  'Anything you like… Hang on.' Smig collects a withering spider plant from the window sill and places it on the teacher's desk. 'There, you can paint this if you like.'

  I shrug and dip my paint brush in water, then proceed to paint the spider plant as best I can. But it turns out spider plants are not easy to depict, and my effort becomes a spectacular mess. It resembles my bed hair in the morning, only green and yellow.

  Smig strolls among the tables, making snide comments, and gets to mine, saying: 'Wow, Emmi, this is the worst one yet!' I hiss and then he approaches Dynah, saying: 'Holy crap, this is how it's done. A-plus!'

  The gang climb from their tiny chairs to view a photographic depiction of not only the spider plant, but the cluttered desk and the bearded idiot who was sitting behind it before judging us. The masterpiece took her about three quarters of an hour, tops.

  'How did you learn to do this?' I say and Dynah just shrugs.

  Scoop sniggers as he points at my picture so I grab the water pot from Dynah's table and fling dissolved paint over him. Scoop gasps and stiffens, then grabs the pot from my desk and flings the contents over me, soaking my hair. I run to the tap and fill my pot, flinging it in Scoop's direction and soaking several others. Within seconds, everyone is flinging water, apart from Smig who carries Dynah's masterpiece across the classroom to safety.

  'Okay, that's enough now. I'm freezing and even more minging,' I say and Bex turns off the tap, tipping a pot of water down the sink.

  We place our pots on tables and Smig splashes through our puddles, approaching us with a stern gaze. He deepens his voice: 'I'm very disappointed in you lot, especially you Dynah. I thought you were my star pupil.'

  'Oh, shut up!' I snap. 'You're the worst teacher I've ever had, and that's saying something.' Everyone laughs as dissolved paint dribbles down our faces. I glance to my painting, and the paper is now soaking and bubbling, but I had no artistic potential anyways. Still, it was my creation, my spectacular mess, and I feel dismayed it was ruined.

  'Hey, guys, remember when we were in school and we had a huge f-food fight at dinner time? This reminds me of that,' Oscar says.

  'Yeah, Arturo threw a potato at Scoop who threw one back and hit Jamie Middleton, and before we knew it, everyone was joining in. The teachers got so mad. The head mistress lined us up in her office. There was like thirty of us, and she was yelling, but what could she even do?' Bex says.

  'What was her name again?' I say, picturing the stumpy old woman with messy grey hair and a perma-scowl. She was constantly whining and her voice could shatter glass. I swear her aim was to make Primary School as miserable as possible, and I used to wonder why someone who hated children ever took the job, let alone rose to the top. Perhaps the education authorities reward cruelty.

  'Mrs Bamburgh,' Bex says.

  'Oh yeah, she was ghastly!' I shudder.

  'Hey, I have an idea.' Smig leads us from the classroom and through the corridor to the hall at the opposite end of the school. He pulls the climbing apparatus out from the wall and locks it into place. Then he climbs the bars and dangles from the top by his legs, revealing his pastey belly.

  'I remember when Mrs Hindmarsh used to make the class dance in PE, but me and Arturo wouldn't do it, and we'd c
limb the apparatus and refuse to come down. Good times!' Smig says.

  The boys join Smig on the climbing apparatus and Bex swings on a rope as Dynah spectates. I slide open the door of a storage cupboard which contains crash mats, benches, a spring board, vault, and other equipment. I carry a basketball into the hall, saying: 'Hey, Dynah, I'll teach you how to play.' I dribble and throw the basketball which bounces off the board, just missing the netless hoop, then I pass to Dynah, saying, 'Give it a try.' Dynah shoots a hoop from way across the court. 'Okay, Dynah, why don't you teach us how to play?'

  The boys jump from the apparatus and we play basketball without following the rules because we do not actually know them. We play boys against girls, and Dynah scores almost every time she gets the ball, making our opponents look foolish.

  The boys get too rough so I sit beside the mechanoid, hoping the telepath loses patience, but she remains calm, and humiliates them at a game she has never played, moving no quicker, but a damn sight smarter, and displaying robotic hand-eye co-ordination. Bex helps her out by 'accidentally' tripping the boys on occasion, but other than that, the game is pretty much one against three. The boys would need at least another three to stand a chance, including someone who can actually shoot.

  School Fight

  After the boys get well and truly thrashed at basketball, we spend a while playing gymnastics, almost killing ourselves on the springboard and vault, and then we return to the staff room to rest. Finally, I get around to providing the update I was reluctant to provide. Dynah was not the one withholding information, I was.

  'We returned to the Enclave. There was an attack. There were dead soldiers everywhere. The place had been abandoned. I dunno what happened to the other telepaths,' I say and Dynah breathes heavily in the next chair, appearing ready to stand, eager to return to the fight.