by Brenda Poppy
If you looked closely, you could see differences, errors in the copy. His edges were blurred and fuzzy, and if you concentrated long and hard, you could almost see through the shell to the man within. But it was good enough for their purposes, and Coal was more than happy to use his skill to take down the very man he was impersonating.
Coal was their key to getting through the barricades. Armored guards still manned every entrance and exit to the lower tiers, now acting as a damn rather than a provocation, keeping the poor in place in preparation for the day’s brutal festivities.
These cronies, the lowest in the Peace Force pecking order, would be surprised when Cross turned up to temporarily relieve them of guard duty, but as he was their superior, they wouldn’t be able to refuse a direct order. That would give the Lunaria enough time to trickle down tier by tier, putting operatives in place on each level.
Since the element of surprise was key to their plan, the original officers would need to be back in place when the real Cross started his campaign. So it was imperative that they tread lightly, raising no suspicions as they went – and harming none of the real officers along the way. Or, at least, only a handful. That was where Ansel came in.
Ansel was their backup plan, their muscle in case Coal failed. Accompanying Coal and posing as his right-hand man, it was his job to “clean up” any situation that got out of hand. If any suspicions arose, if any officer failed to comply with their orders, they would face Ansel’s fire. Then the Lunaria would place their own members at the post.
It was a dangerous plan, as Cross might spot impostors in a minute and just as quickly have them dispatched, but it was the best they had. And, as their last resort, hopefully they’d never have to use it.
Burn watched as Coal and Ansel walked steadily into the darkness, starting their descent. She felt butterflies come to life in her stomach as the house gradually emptied and her turn approached. She wished now that she had more time, a few more minutes to mentally prepare for all that was to come.
Maybe she should have given a speech, she thought belatedly, a rousing soliloquy to bolster the troops and raise their spirits. She could have used such a morale boost, something to convince her that they stood a chance in such a mismatched fight, and she imagined that the rest of the Lunaria felt the same. But, instead, there’d been only a hushed gathering as each member learned the plan and their part within it. No moving words or inspiring homilies. Just: “Good luck. Stay safe. Try not to die.” Encouraging words, indeed.
With a nod from Hale, who was manning the door and would ultimately bring up the rear of their company, Burn and Scar readied themselves and walked out into the pre-dawn gloom. They kept silent as they moved, but their footsteps still echoed from the walls and platforms above them, sounding too loud in the otherwise still streets.
Each group took a different path to their destination, spreading out through the city’s streets and alleys like a spiderweb of spies. The sisters moved briskly, trying to keep their pace above a walk but below a full-out run. The cold and the excitement spurred them on, however, and more than once they had to slow each other’s quickening gaits.
Eventually they came to the first checkpoint. Burn observed with a rush of relief that Coal and Ansel were there and that they were alone, with no dead soldiers or fire damage surrounding them. The sisters darted through the gate, sending a curt nod to the faux guards as they passed.
Coal gave a quick smile in return, and Burn found it strange to see such an uncalculated expression pass over Cross’ face. She had almost gotten used to the disguise, but decided then that it would never be something she could stomach for more than a few minutes. Cross’ body brought with it too many memories and too much pain, no matter whose soul was inside it.
Having fallen behind, Burn now trailed Scar on the way to their temporary hideout. Each team had a predetermined place to wait as the rest of the Lunaria made their way onto the tier. Once they were all in place, some would stay behind to guard the level while others would press on, down and down until they reached the bottom of the city.
That’s where Scar and Burn were headed: to the depths. They’d pieced together that the main campaign would be waged at the bottom of Kasis, where disease and pollution raged rampant and the poor and defenseless would be the easiest to wipe out. So that was where the Lunaria was focusing their efforts, stationing their most powerful troops throughout the area.
The others, situated above them, would be fighting any additional units and clearing the way for innocent citizens to flee upward. Their plan was simple: to stop Cross before he set off the ManniK, freeing the people before taking out the army that had been tasked to kill them. What could possibly go wrong?
Waiting in the shadows for their signal to move was agonizing. Fired up by the movement, Burn wanted to keep going, keep moving. But instead they sat, the seconds ticking by like minutes and the minutes like hours. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins faded, leaving her drained.
She looked across to Scar whose face was unreadable in the darkness, wondering – not for the first time – if they would both make it out of this alive. Burn didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to consider the possibility of such a grim fate, but the thought kept worming its way back into her mind.
“Scar?” she whispered to her sister, who was seated across from her in the narrow drainage tunnel. Scar moved her head slightly to show that she was paying attention, but she didn’t speak. “You don’t have to do this, you know. There’s still time to leave, to go home. No one would think less of you.”
Scar tilted her head, an odd expression on her face. “Of course I have to do this,” she said, like it was plainly obvious to everyone but Burn. “Cross took our dad. He’s seeded the city with hate and revulsion for our kind, especially people like me. And he almost took you. What kind of big sister would I be if I let him get away with that?”
Burn felt a lump rise in her throat. She swallowed it down, trying to get control over her emotions – and failing miserably. So instead she simply reached across the space and took her sister’s hand, squeezing it.
“If anything happens…” Burn tried, then found herself unable to continue. “I love you,” she finally managed to get out.
Scar nodded, squeezing her hand in return. It was enough.
A short while later, a crackly voice came through the comms. “Everyone’s clear,” said Ansel in a low tone. “Moving on to the next level.”
It took only a few minutes for them to travel to the next barricade, then the whole process began again. Wait. Hurry through the streets. Cross the blockade. Hide. Wait. Repeat.
They were down to the second-last barrier when their luck ran out. Maybe the officers saw through Coal’s disguise. Or maybe they knew something the Lunaria didn’t. But either way, they declined to vacate their posts, even for a few minutes. With time running out, Ansel made his move, encompassing the area and the people within it in a quick but deadly ball of fire, burning them to a crisp within seconds.
Burn tried not to look as she passed through, but it was difficult to block out the scene. Two crisped bodies being dragged away and hidden. Smoke billowing around them. The stench of burnt flesh.
Thankfully, they passed the last barricade without incident. Burn felt her skin tingle as she once again descended into the bowels of the city. The smell and the haze and the atmosphere of discontent clung to her, forcing her mind into places that it didn’t want to return. She stuck close to Scar, fearing that they’d get separated in the smog and be unable to find each other in time.
The trek to their post wasn’t a long one. They were situated in the middle of the city, as far up as they could go without hitting the next platform. Burn found the building without trouble, and the two climbed a rough metal staircase along the side to reach the top, three floors up. There, they set themselves up to watch.
They were the sentinels, the eyes and ears of the operation. Well, mainly the ears. The L
unaria were counting on Burn’s gift to discern the Peace Force’s movements through the city, to detect where Cross sent them and how many men made up their ranks. Her gift made her a good spy, but an even better general, allowing her to direct the Lunaria through the city like a conductor at the stand.
Atop their perch, the pair watched – and listened – as the others took their places. The world was just starting to awaken, and the first signs of life were appearing throughout the city. People began to emerge from their makeshift dwellings and started going about their day, blissfully unaware that it might be their last. People ate their breakfast, kids played in the road, and the world went on the same as it always had, giving no signs that today would be any different than the day before or the days to come.
“Is everyone in place?” Burn asked into her comms, taking up the mantle of leadership for their ragtag misfit militia. Affirmative replies trickled in from all sectors, crackling through her headset one by one.
“We’re all set here,” came Hale’s voice, the last to check in. He was situated at ground level in the heart of the city, the likely epicenter of Cross’ attack. With his strength and combat know-how, he had volunteered to lead the front line into battle.
Burn’s heart constricted as she considered how much danger he and the rest of the combat forces would be in once everything kicked off. She prayed that it would go smoothly, that they would be able to circumvent the massacre with minimal bloodshed, but she knew better than to expect that outcome. Cross wouldn’t accept defeat easily. If it was a bloodbath he was after, he’d do everything in his power to bring it about.
Burn slid down against the half wall that bordered the roof, dropping out of sight of the street. The noises from the city were growing, and she concentrated on the sounds she was searching for: marching feet, the clatter of weapons, Cross’ cold voice barking out orders.
Once again, the waiting felt like torture. Her mind replayed everything that had led her to this position, this place. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from envisioning the future – friends and allies lying dead in the streets, their sightless eyes staring out at a scarred battlefield drenched in blood.
Nearly an hour passed as they waited, tucked into the shadows in the depths of the city. And then she heard it: footsteps, marching in unison, making their way downward. Hundreds of them, far outnumbering the Lunaria’s forces. It was time.
Chapter 24
Burn signaled the troops, alerting them to the imminent arrival of Cross’ men. She listened intently as their enemies descended, spreading themselves out across streets and levels, setting their traps.
Their movements were well-coordinated and precise, honed by years of training and guided by Cross’ firm hand. Down they came, one army with one aim: to do as much damage as they possibly could. In a fair fight, the Lunaria wouldn’t stand a chance, with most of them possessing no formal training and only an odd assortment of miscellaneous weaponry. But, then again, they didn’t intend to fight fair.
“They’re coming,” came a short burst, this time from the faux guards they had put in place one tier up. The static from the comms seemed to fizzle throughout Burn’s entire body as she readied herself for her part in the deadly drama.
For the first time, she wished she were on the ground with the rest of her comrades, preparing to fight alongside them. She wanted to get her hands dirty, to channel the anger and frustration and helplessness she felt into concrete action. But she knew that with her gift, her place was above it all, choreographing this dance of death.
The Peace Force was getting so close now that Burn could just make out the short, barked orders that were driving them on. “March. Left. Straight on. Halt.”
“They’re getting into position,” Burn informed her squadron. “They’re focusing their attention on the center of town, just like we planned.”
It was a good sign. It meant they might be able to stop the massacre before it even began, blindsiding the Peace Force and swiping their ManniK before they had a chance to set it off – and set off a war along with it.
Burn peered above the half wall, adding a visual aspect to the soundscape in her head. She couldn’t see any troops yet, but she knew they were there, hiding behind walls and crouching around corners. Waiting for the signal.
“GO!” she heard from the ground, kicking off a flurry of movement. Almost simultaneously, Burn released her own signal, urging her troops onward.
That’s when the darkness fell. Brindle stole the light from the street, causing a flood of blackness to drench the area around them. Automatically, Burn’s goggles switched to night mode, a feature which Scar had installed on all of the Lunaria’s eyewear.
But even with her goggles tuned to the darkness, Burn couldn’t make out the action through the dense morning smog. She knew the plan by heart, though, and listened with bated breath as it began to unfold before her.
As Brindle continued to hold back the light, Dormaline would use her gift to run straight for the center of the city, through walls and buildings and people, grabbing the ManniK as she blew past and taking it with her through the safety of building after building. Shaw would be there too, a safeguard in case of open fire, and his skin would block the girl as she fled, protecting her from harm. The Lunaria occupying the other levels would do the same, using their own gifts to steal away the ManniK before it could be released. That was the plan, at least.
Burn heard the small footsteps as Dormaline ran, heard her grab something, heard a shot fire and then another. Then the darkness lifted as Brindle’s grip on the light slipped, and Burn saw the aftermath of what had taken place. An officer on the ground. Shaw standing above him. Dormaline and the cannister of ManniK nowhere to be seen.
A sharp trill of hope went through Burn as she realized that their plan had worked. They’d stopped it, held back the enemy before they could harm a single soul. They’d won.
And then Burn’s heart, which had been floating in her chest, dropped like a stone. Five more officers, each carrying a cannister exactly like the one the Lunaria had just stolen, walked out into the street. Burn barely had time to shout an order before the soldiers dropped their loads, sending clouds of mist into the air around them.
“Masks on!” Burn screamed as the ManniK rapidly wafted through the streets, finding every alley, every home, and every person within them. The Lunaria had planned for this, adopting masks with superior filtration to protect themselves against the aerosol threat, but they could never be completely safe from it. If their masks slipped or were damaged, or someone knocked them off, they’d be at the mercy of the drug and the rage it spawned, adding yet more crazed mutants for the Peace Force to put down.
Burn instinctively reached up to secure her mask, making sure it was tight and immovable against her face. Then she checked on Scar, who was standing immobile at the wall beside her, watching with horror as the drug began to take effect on the citizens. She didn’t even flinch as Burn tested her mask, tightening it as far as it would go on her sister’s head.
Then Burn turned her attention to the ground. The Lunaria had abandoned their hideouts and streamed onto the street, positioning themselves for a war on two fronts – one against the Peace Force and one against the citizens they’d just poisoned.
The people of this tier, with their ragged clothes and thin masks, coughed and doubled over as the drug-infused smoke entered their systems and took effect. With a scream of rage, a man in a dark blue tunic ran toward the Peace Officers, his arms raised above his head in preparation for an attack. A shot rang out, loud and clear, and the man went sprawling backward, a deep red fluid gushing from his chest. And then all hell broke loose.
The people in the streets turned on their neighbors and friends, grabbing anything they could find to use as a weapon. They advanced on the Peace Officers and the Lunaria alike with no concept of friend or foe, enemy or ally. They were blind, the rage consuming their thoughts and their reason, leaving them as
empty shells bent on destruction.
The gifted among them fared even worse, as the ManniK heightened their aggression and strength, creating monsters out of men. They began tearing signs and light posts from the street, hurling them into the crowd and pinning people to the ground. Others picked up their friends and neighbors, holding them over their heads before chucking them in any direction they saw fit.
The Peace Force rallied, shouldering their guns and preparing to fire at will into the crowded street. And the Lunaria stood between them, with an army on one side and a riot on the other, danger pressing down on them from all directions. With no other choice, they began to fight back.
Thick brown ropes started growing from the ground, wrapping themselves around officers and residents alike and binding them tightly, their arms and legs trapped against their bodies. It took a moment for Burn to realize that they weren’t ropes at all, but vines, and that Ramus was controlling them, calling them forth from beneath Kasis’ surface.
As he worked, Innoxia searched the ground, combing the battlefield for souls that had already been lost to the war. One by one she crafted her own army, positioning the dead like a barrier between the soldiers and the people they were supposed to protect.
“Take cover!” Burn yelled through the comms as she heard the Peace Force give the order to fire.
The first volley of shots rang out and more citizens began to drop, the drug suppressing their fear of bullets and death. Innoxia’s wall of corpses held back most of the fire, taking more damage than any living person could handle, but they weren’t invulnerable. As they dropped, Innoxia worked fervently to replenish their ranks, drawing from the ever-increasing pool of bodies littering the road around them.
Meanwhile, Shaw was taking a more personal approach to battle. Knife in hand, he walked through a hail of gunfire toward the soldiers, his skin impervious to their bullets. By the time they realized that their guns had no effect on him, it was already too late – his knife had already slashed their throats, sending them to the ground in a shower of their own blood.