Ethan reaches across to shake both men’s hands. “Nice to meet you.”
Our compartment falls silent during the ride up the valley. Ethan studies a holomap of the area’s topography, but I can’t tear my attention away from Will. He’s a palpable presence. A magnet. This man I thought I’d never see for two long decades has suddenly invaded my armored vehicle.
The men around us begin to engage in small talk. I ask Will and Ernie about their families and they ask about mine. We mention the latest news from home. But mostly I just look. And look. And look. The mission drops away and I’m back in 56 reliving a thousand forgotten moments—hoeing vegetables together, one garden after the other, just to make the time go faster—soaking our blisters in the sea after a long run—cooking the first meal of spring over an outdoor fire—until the vehicle grinds to a halt and the hatch flies open.
We pour into the scenic valley with a frenzied blur of activity. Officers shout orders. Soldiers form companies. Men jog forward into position. I stick by Ethan, who’s in constant contact with the other officers on his holoband, and lose sight of Will when he’s swallowed by a cloud of gray-clad soldiers. And beneath the chaos, at the back of my mind, I sense a vague hum that I can’t hear but I can feel.
“I want drones in there now,” Ethan calls. “I want video feed showing exactly where everybody is. Perkins, take your men left over this ridge. Johnston, Rader, go around to the right and circle them from the back. McKinney, we’ll enter the valley directly. The dusters will bring the fog ahead of us. Have your gas masks ready. We’ll go in and clean up whatever’s left. Understood?”
There is a murmur of agreement among the officers.
“You have thirty minutes to spread out to your locations. Then wait for my signal.”
The men disperse rapidly. Ethan and I stand alone at the head of the valley. One company of soldiers, perhaps two hundred men, waits in formation behind us. The silence feels ominous. Not a sound comes from the settlers or the Bruelim in the valley.
“Ethan, there’s a portal nearby.”
His head jerks up. “You see one?”
“No, but I could feel it the moment I stepped out of the AV. It’s close.”
“Where?”
I point. “In the valley.”
“You think the Bruelim are heading for it?”
“Probably. I think they’ve been summoned here.” I remember the feeling too well, the uncontrollable need to obey.
He’s quiet. Thinking. “So why travel hundreds of miles? Why not use a portal in one of the cities? Up until a few days ago, we had radiation readings from every one of them.”
“I don’t know.”
He knocks his fist against his forehead and I see the frustration oozing out his pores. “Trying to read Bruel strategy is like trying to understand the thoughts of a shark. It’s impossible to get inside their heads. I’m tempted to pull back and let every one of them disappear through the portal, but that would alert whoever’s on the other side to what’s going on here.”
“But if they’re really being summoned, there’s already an element of communication going on. And Emerson’s been here for weeks, and he hasn’t gone through it.”
Ethan’s jaw clenches. “I don’t want you going anywhere near that valley. Understood?”
I nod.
The video feed on his holoband goes live. Suddenly, we’re looking down on a much smaller warzone than I had imagined. About one hundred and fifty men crouch in a boulder-strewn area partway up a slope. The Bruelim are spread out below them, approximately double in number. Both groups brandish an assortment of weapons—knives, pitchforks, clubs, as well as a few guns. At the moment, neither side is moving.
“McKinney,” Ethan says. “You got a feed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get those civilians out of there.”
The company behind us springs to life, jogging up the valley as a cohesive unit. I have no idea if Will and Ernie are among them or if they’ve been shifted to another area. Within a few minutes, the company shows up on the feed. Their sudden appearance spurs both sides of the standoff to action.
I can hear the gunshots though the holoband before they travel to us in real life. At the sight of the reinforcements, those Bruelim with firearms pop up from their cover and take shots at the approaching Military.
“Hold your fire!” We hear McKinney’s amplified voice boom over the holoscreen. “Citizens, you are ordered to withdraw.”
After a few moments of hesitation, the mountain people obey without too much urging. They begin picking their way up the slope and vanish into the forest. On Ethan’s holoscreen, I spot seven men contorted in positions of death.
Then the camera zooms in on the Bruelim, and for the first time it sinks in that we’re not fighting hardened soldiers. These aren’t the terrifying figures I fought in the dark of the chemical factory silo or the criminals I imagined inside the grain elevator. They’re teenage boys. The Wills and Ernies I went to school with. They’re ragged and thin and tired and eminently pathetic. Despite their recent lawlessness, my heart goes out to them.
“They’re disregarding orders,” Ethan mumbles. “Firing on civilians and Military. They’ve given us justification to wipe them out.”
I recoil at his words. “Ethan, look at them. These are kids. You know they can’t help what they’re doing.”
“They’re Bruelim.”
“I’m Bruel.”
He stares at me. “Jack, we don’t know that these guys will ever rehabilitate.”
“And if I hadn’t come around, you would have killed me?”
His fingers clench into fists and the cords stand out along the back of his hand.
“Ethan, these boys have been genetically manipulated and dropped here as infants. They’ve been treated horribly by their own people. As much as we’re able, we need to give them a chance.”
I see the battle raging behind his eyes. Finally he sighs and punches his holoband. “Send in the fog.”
We don our gas masks, and within seconds we have a visual on three aeropods bearing down on the valley. They pass low, each of them dropping three small canisters that fall into the video feed. They look like gallon paint buckets scattered among the Bruelim. As soon as they hit the earth, they burst into vapor clouds that cover the area with a thick white blanket.
“All troops move into the valley,” Ethan pulls his mask away from his face and shouts into his band. “Be ready to clean up as soon as vision clears.”
Ethan and I begin jogging toward the battlefield. I pull the feed up on my own screen and check it occasionally as we run. I catch glimpses of movement, but it’s impossible to see what’s happening within the smoke. Our forces have taken shelter behind the boulders as they wait out the gas. It takes five tense minutes for the air to clear. By the time our vision returns, most of the Bruelim lie prone, knocked out by whatever was in Caedmon’s potion. Perhaps two dozen still stand. When they see the soldiers moving in, they abandon their positions and bolt, scattering in all directions.
Ethan pulls off his mask. “Round them up!” he tells his officers. “Don’t let any escape!”
The troops spread out immediately, encircling the fleeing boys. I hear one gunshot followed by a sharp scream, but most of the fighting is physical. Fists, clubs, boots, gun butts. By now, Ethan and I can see the action live. The trained and well-fed soldiers carry a distinct advantage. It doesn’t take long before the battlefield is strewn with unresponsive teenagers.
One of the armed Bruelim makes it past McKinney’s troops and runs toward us. Ethan draws his pistol and moves to intercept his path. The boy fires wildly. Ethan drops him with a hit to the shoulder and approaches cautiously, gun still drawn. “Drop your weapon!”
While he’s preoccupied, I spot a figure running across the valley, perhaps a quarter mile away. He’s slipped through the noose of soldiers and flees alone toward the forest. No one else has seen him—except the person manning the drone’s
camera. The boy’s face appears in the feed, and I recognize him immediately.
Emerson!
I rip off my mask and sprint in his direction, aiming for the tree line where our paths will converge. The gap between us narrows, but there’s no way I can reach it before he does. He disappears into the woods. I enter right behind him. I’ve lost visual contact, but I can hear him crashing through the underbrush ahead of me, loud as a charging moose.
My bulky armor slows me down. Just inside the trees, I yank on the straps and let it drop. My breath comes hard at this speed, but I keep it regulated. In, out. In, out. I know how to navigate the woods silently and efficiently and soon pull within sight. The deeper in we navigate, the more insistently the hum sounds in the back of my mind.
I hang back, gun drawn, and Emerson begins to slow. His breath comes ragged. His lungs heave. After another quarter mile, he stops and props his hands on his knees, bent over and gasping. The soiled bandage still covering the bullet wound in his left arm is clearly visible. I draw to within twenty yards and gently call his name. I don’t want to spook him. Just bring him back. Alive.
“Emerson.”
His head jerks around. “Jack.”
It takes me right back to calculus class.
Then his eyes narrow as he spots my firearm. He hasn’t forgotten I’m the one who gave him that wound.
Slowly, I slide the gun back in its holster and raise my arms. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say. “I just want to bring you someplace safe. If the soldiers catch you out here, they won’t hesitate to shoot you.”
He watches me cautiously, his lungs still heaving.
“I can promise you shelter. And once we get you out of here, we’ll try our best to free you from whatever is controlling you. I know it’s not your fault. I can hear the hum too.”
I don’t know if my words are getting through to him. If he understands he’s being manipulated or if he even cares. But I can’t let him go. I can’t let him die. I know this boy. And before the change happened, I liked him. A lot.
I take a few steps nearer, closing the gap between us. “Just come with me, Emerson. I’ll walk out with you. You’ll be under my protection. I promise.”
He rises to his full height, his breath coming easier now. “Jack,” he says again and takes a step toward me. “You hear it?”
I smile. “Yes, I hear it. And I’m going to help you get free of it.”
He moves forward and I back up, still encouraging him but maintaining some space between us. I’m confident now that Caedmon’s magic potion has freed him from his mind control. “That’s it. Let’s get out of here.”
He follows me nearly to the tree line. I speak to him of school, of Galaxy Quest, of calculus. His answers sound normal, if slightly disengaged. But I’m so encouraged that I let my guard drop. I’m totally unprepared when he springs at me, knife in hand.
I leap back, barely avoiding the blade.
“Emerson,” I scold sternly, eyeing his knife. “Stop. It isn’t you doing this.”
He lunges again. I anticipate the move and dodge to one side, giving myself room just as Captain Chase taught me. I could draw my gun. I could end this now. But I don’t. I can’t. This isn’t a monster who deserves death. It’s a boy who needs healing.
“Put the knife away, Emerson. For Markay’s sake, put it away.”
His eyes flicker at the mention of her name.
“You remember her, don’t you? You were in love with her once.”
He swings again, a clumsy strike that I avoid easily.
“She loved you too. She still might, if she understood the truth.”
Another swipe. Another dodge. This time I punch Emerson’s knife wrist with a sharp jab, but the weapon doesn’t dislodge.
“Isn’t it worth finding out?” I ask.
He hesitates, as if part of his brain is considering the idea, but the stronger portion takes over. He takes swing after swing. They’re unskilled, but Emerson is much larger than I am, he’s strong, and the thrusts come fast and furious. I’m hard-pressed to keep dancing backward, and I get no further opportunities to dislodge his weapon.
Emerson stabs from my left. I leap right and strike out with a kick to his leg, but a lucky twist in his follow-through catches my bicep. I gasp as the blade tears through flesh. He drives his advantage. I trip and go down, roll to the left, and barely avoid the blade. I roll again and scramble to my feet, but Emerson catches me by the hair and yanks me to his chest. With one arm pinning me in place, he presses a thumb into the wound on my arm until I scream in pain.
“That’s for shooting me,” he hisses. “And this—”
I slam my head backward into his nose. He grunts, and his grip loosens enough for me to wrench free. I run half a dozen steps, slip the gun from my holster, and whirl. I aim for his heart.
Emerson stops with his hands in the air. “Drop the knife,” I call out.
He advances a step, a smirk on his face. “You won’t shoot.”
“I shot you before.”
“In the arm.”
I aim for his shoulder. That stops him. But when I don’t pull the trigger, he takes another step.
I grip my gun with both hands to control my shaking. I realize now that Emerson is too far gone for me to get through to him, that any further attempts I might make will be in vain. But I also know that he is still Emerson. That somewhere deep inside, he’s still my friend.
His smile turns confident. He walks toward me more boldly, palming the weapon in his right hand. I take a step backward. And another. I have to shoot. I must shoot. But I can’t do it.
I catch movement in the trees behind him. My eyes shift ever so slightly. A large figure, moving silently through the trees.
Emerson catches the flicker of my eye. He half turns, but it’s too late. Will bashes him in the head with the butt of his rifle. Emerson drops to the ground like a rock, the knife spilling from a lifeless hand.
My arms drop, the gun pointing to the ground, and I feel tears spring to my eyes. I look down at Emerson’s broken body, and all I can see is the smiling boy who cheered me on during my cross country meet. I cover my mouth with one hand, and a sob catches in my throat.
Will tears the bloodied sleeve from my uniform and uses it to bind my wound. “Why didn’t you shoot?” he asks quietly.
“I—I knew him.”
“Jack, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “You probably saved my life.”
He lifts my chin, looking me over with a critical eye. “You all right?”
I nod. I glance once more at Emerson then look away. “Get me out of here, Will. I’ll send someone back for him.”
He drapes an arm around my shoulders and we cover a dozen yards in the direction of the battlefield when Ethan bursts through the trees. He takes in the scene at a glance, eyeing Emerson’s body and my bandage and lack of gear. He addresses Will in a rock-hard voice. “Go back to your company, guardsman. I’d like to talk to my partner.”
Will gives me one more quick scan. I force a smile and tell him I’m fine. Of course he sees right through it, but a captain has given him an order. With a final, lingering glance, he strides away through the trees and I face Ethan’s wrath alone.
“Where’s your armor?”
“In the trees.”
“Why isn’t it on you?”
“It was slowing me down.”
“And why were you chasing Emerson when I expressly forbade you from entering the battlefield?”
I don’t bother to remind him that he is my partner, not my father, because technically, at the moment, he probably has the authority to boss me around, just as he commanded Will. “I thought I could win him back.”
He takes in my bloody sleeve, the mashed-in side of Emerson’s head, and he can read the scene well enough.
“He deserved a chance, Ethan.”
“Not at the cost of your life.”
“He was going somewhere. He wasn’t just running. He w
as heading somewhere specific. And I think I know where.”
“The portal?”
I nod. “It’s strong here.”
“No.”
“Ethan, we need to see it. At least try to find out why he was going there.”
“No, Jack. Let the soldiers finish up here. I’m bringing you home.”
“The soldiers won’t find it.” I cross my arms, unmindful of my wound. “And what would Willoughby say if we got this close and didn’t go on?”
“Jack, you’re—”
“I’m fine,” I snap. “My head doesn’t hurt at all.”
He hesitates.
“Ethan,” I plead. “I won’t leave again. Trust me.”
He considers for a long moment before finally nodding reluctantly. “All right.”
“It’s this way.” I pass Emerson without looking at him and lead Ethan north. I don’t need to see the portal to locate it. It draws me irresistibly through the woods, over a small stream, and right against the side of a steep slope. “There,” I say, pointing to a circle of shimmering blue light. “It sits directly in front of that crevice in the rock face, almost as if it’s guarding it.”
“Can we fit behind it?”
I approach hesitantly. I’ve had nothing but bad experiences with these things. “Yes, there’s room, but barely. Hug the wall.”
Ethan takes the lead, clicking on his holobeam.
The temperature drops significantly. Cold air wafts out the mouth of the crevice. “It’s a cave,” Ethan says, shining his beam inside.
We enter cautiously. Ethan has to twist sideways to fit. The passage turns sharply. Within a few steps, the narrow opening widens enough that we can walk side by side, though the ceiling begins to descend. The floor is strewn with fallen rock that clatters as we pick our way over it. Another twenty yards, and the cave opens into a wide, high chamber that swallows the beam of Ethan’s holoband. He pauses to sweep it across the open space. A bat flutters overhead, and I can hear the slow plop of dripping water. I feel vulnerable standing here in the dark. My imagination conjures up bears and snakes and the long-forgotten remains of some early explorer.
We don’t see them right away, tucked back in the darkness where the beam barely penetrates. Ethan spots them first. Bodies. At least two dozen laid out together on the far side of the chamber. All strong young men. Bruelim. I gasp when he points them out. “Are they dead?”
Recompense (Recompense, book 1) Page 31