Assault or Attrition

by Blake Northcott

  “I’m so sorry,” Brynja added softly. “We both are.”

  “That doesn’t matter now,” Kenneth said, glancing out the broken window. “Millions are waiting for your execution.”

  “So what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I’m going to change their minds.” As he said the words it seemed impossible. But I knew, without any reservations, that he would pull it off. After everything I’d done to Kenneth and his family, he was still willing to do what he felt was right.

  “I know I don’t deserve your help,” I admitted.

  “You’re right,” he said. “And I’m not doing this to help you. I’m doing it for her.” His eyes trailed over to Brynja. “She’s finally stable, and she deserves a second chance. As far as the Red Army is concerned, she’s as much a god slayer as you are. As long as they believe they’re on a crusade to avenge Sergei Taktarov, she’ll never be safe either.”

  “I’m just glad to have you back,” I said. “And Kenneth, I will do anything to make this up to you. Just name it.”

  My words were immediately followed by a second hail of gunfire, this time coming from multiple shooters. Additional police patrols were arriving, and the death toll was rising.

  With a burst of blue energy he exploded out the window, knocking Brynja and I off of our feet.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Media helicopters swarmed the skies while rioters, now in the thousands, rumbled below. The dissidents were undeterred by the increasing police presence: a SWAT team formed a wide perimeter around the parking lot, and reinforcements were pouring in.

  Chants of “Avenge, Destroy, Rebuild” roared throughout the ever-expanding mob; fists pumping, flags waving, guns brandished openly in an act of defiance. They wanted blood. The first phase of their credo was about to reach its completion, and the promise of a new savior was moments away from being realized.

  They no doubt expected Valeriya’s henchmen to drag me from the hospital to face justice. I would probably have been expected to appear remorseful and penitent, or possibly ashamed that I was responsible for the death of the second coming.

  I tried to imagine their surprise when Sergei Taktarov appeared instead; a glimmering spectral figure hovering high above, pulsing with raw energy. A vibrant blue light surrounded him, but that small detail was the only give-away. Kenneth’s re-creation was pitch-perfect, right down to the last detail. As far as the live crowd and the millions watching around the world were concerned, this was their savior: Russia’s Son had risen from the dead, just as his sister had prophesized, and he was about to launch a revolution.

  “I have returned,” Taktarov boomed. His voice was a thunderclap that resonated across the city, as if amplified by a thousand speakers. “Although I can remain on this plane of existence for only a short time.”

  The screaming mob fell silent. Guns clanked to the pavement, flags lowered; every eye was transfixed on the floating apparition. Some were recording the event on their wrist coms, but no one spoke a word. Even the SWAT team had discarded their shields and batons, awestruck by Taktarov’s presence.

  “My sister,” he began, “promised you an age of renewal, and that my presence would be the catalyst. She was mistaken. Saddened by my passing, Valeriya gathered an army – all of you – in the hopes of avenging my death. She had no plans or desire for a revolution to follow. She was grief-stricken, unable to cope with my death. Please do not blame her...those with the purest intentions are often the ones whose judgement is most clouded.

  “Do not blame Matthew Moxon or Brynja for my death. They are not ‘god slayers’ any more than I am a god. And do not mourn me, or seek retribution. Vengeance leads to darkness, which will further decay a world that can ill-afford any further corrosion. I died of my own arrogance...I know that now.

  “I have not returned to lead you; I am here to deliver a message – nothing more: do not carry out acts of violence in my name. Do not lash out with hatred, bigotry and anger, passing the responsibility of your own thoughts and actions onto a man who wishes for nothing more than unity.

  “I have made mistakes. I revelled in my own youthful arrogance, and I took lives with impunity; if I truly did possess the powers of a god, I would go back and change it all. But the past is the past.

  “Let this be the advent of a greater future. Not of a revolution, but of an era where wealth and material gain are no longer the sole benchmarks in human achievement. This way of thinking has bankrupted our world in every way possible.

  “I will not be returning. My time has come to an end, and my presence is not required. You have no need for a leader – only each other.”

  A blinding flash appeared like a lightning strike above the stunned crowd. When my vision cleared Taktarov was gone, and The Living Eye was back in the hospital room, standing at our side. Brynja and I felt the rush of wind as he returned through the shattered window, but never saw his entrance.

  Valeriya was in the fetal position, tucked tightly into the corner. Her arms were bound at her back by Kenneth’s straightjacket, knees pulled into her chest. A wave of golden hair blanketed her face, but couldn’t conceal her tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks and dripped to the floor. She was broken. The sound of her brother’s voice – even though it wasn’t truly his – had opened a floodgate in a way that she couldn’t have anticipated.

  “What happens to her now?”Brynja asked.

  The straightjacket dissipated into sparkling blue dust. She stood on shaky legs and wobbled to the window, resting her shoulder on the sill. She stared listlessly at the crowd dispersing below.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Kenneth replied, gently stroking her hair with a gloved hand. “She’s just a child. She needs help.”

  “Where will you go from here?” I asked.

  “Away.” Kenneth turned towards me, and his mask disappeared as our eyes met. “I don’t hate you, Mox. But I can’t forgive you. Don’t try to find me, and never ask me for anything else.”

  A million words lodged painfully in the back of my throat. I wanted to thank him for saving me, for saving Brynja; for freeing us from a lifetime of running and isolation. And I wanted to ask – no, to beg – for his forgiveness. To say something so pure and genuine that Kenneth would have no choice but to stop and consider my words for even a moment. And possibly, one day, reach a point where forgiveness was an option.

  I remained silent.

  My unspoken words turned to cinder in my mouth as Kenneth sailed from the window with Valeriya in tow, disappearing into the ashen sky.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It was nightfall when the TT-100 blinked back to the sky above the South China Sea. We were guided down to Fortress 18 by a pattern of lights that bordered the hoverpad, where Bethany and Peyton nervously awaited our arrival.

  McGarrity was rushed to the infirmary by a team of medics. Brynja and I gave him a cursory examination before loading him onto the jet in Thunder Bay; tearing away his blood-soaked shirt, we discovered that one of the bullets fired by Valeriya’s henchmen grazed his ribcage, apparently missing every major vein and artery (an educated guess, based on the fact that he didn’t bleed out). And the second round struck his left shoulder, leaving a small opening in the soft tissue, but causing no permanent damage. Despite the gruesome appearance of Steve’s wounds, we were assured he was in no real danger.

  Peyton threw her arms around my neck as soon as I stepped off the ramp, and even offered Brynja a quick hug. I’m sure it was a reflex – Peyton was a hugger. To my surprise Brynja responded with a warm smile, and offered a little squeeze of her own. It’s amazing what happens when someone steps off of an aircraft: whether you’re returning from a sun-drenched paradise or a blood-soaked battlefield, all is forgiven the moment you’re reunited.

  Bethany escorted us into the primary building, which featured the same stark color palettes and minimalistic design as Fortress 23. We followed her down a long narrow corridor to the media center, and collapsed onto a
circular couch. After consuming the snacks and refreshments that Bethany insisted on serving, we dimmed the room and illuminated a holo-screen in search of information about the events that took place in Thunder Bay.

  There was no shortage of media coverage. Every simulcast feed, in every language, was covering the ‘resurrection’ that took place less than an hour ago. Although news anchors and commentators discussed the same event, there was no clear consensus as to what actually occurred, or what it would mean to the world.

  Some believed it’d been a religious experience; that there truly had been a resurrection of biblical proportions, and the message Kenneth had delivered under the guise of Russia’s Son was now tantamount to scripture.

  Skeptics blew off the display as nothing more than an elaborate hoax, like the cleverly-edited viral videos that have been annoying viewers for decades. One particularly annoyed commentator claimed that he’d been able to spot wires attached to Taktarov’s shoulders where he was elevated, creating the illusion of flight.

  New age physicists debated the prospect of an afterlife that, for the first time, could be quantified and measured. More traditional scientists simply noted that in light of recent discoveries about superhuman abilities, we had a great deal to learn about the universe and its laws. Rules that were once thought of as rigid were becoming infinitely more elastic as new discoveries surfaced. If there is a life after death, we hadn’t yet seen any proof, but several experts wouldn’t dismiss the possibility that evidence could be gleaned from studying Taktarov’s reappearance.

  And some even mused that the entire event was staged by the government, all in an attempt to quell the rising tide of violence; and that if this was a pre-meditated, scripted event, it was a brilliant one. Thanks to Taktarov’s rousing speech, the looting, riots and worldwide backlash was beginning to dissipate. Rotating through one simulcast after another, from Moscow to Tokyo, Auckland to London, we noticed that every city shared a common theme: massive crowds dispersing without incident, just as they had in Thunder Bay. We never witnessed a single act of brutality carried out by peacekeepers or riot police – there was no need. Everyone was leaving of their own accord. People returned to their homes, leaving the streets littered with protest signs and makeshift weapons. Even firearms were discarded, left for local law enforcement to collect.

  The flickering embers of the Red Army were fading to black before our eyes, and peace had been restored. Even if a spark of the movement remained, it was clear that the raging wildfire had been extinguished.

  ***

  The next morning came quickly. A brilliant yellow sunrise spilled into the media room through wide-open skylights, warming my face. I’d fallen asleep in a lounge chair, and Brynja had passed out on the couch, sprawled haphazardly across Peyton’s lap. But it wasn’t the sun that woke us: it was the painfully cheerful sound of Bethany shouting, “Rise and shine, people!” before asking how we preferred our eggs, and if we’d like milk, tea or juice with our meal. I’d been awake for exactly six seconds and I was already exhausted. Bethany had that effect on me – it was like being followed around by the world’s most enthusiastic flight attendant.

  By the time we’d eaten and stepped onto the hoverpad, McGarrity was already there. He was dressed in a crisp new t-shirt, runners and jeans, and was freshly showered and shaved. Seemingly no worse for wear, he polished the glimmering TT-100 with a rag, whistling a tune as he buffed the hull. I had no idea what kind of painkillers the EMTs had given him after they stitched his wounds and operated on his shoulder, but they must have been amazing. I made a mental note to ask for a bottle of whatever he was on the next time I stopped by the infirmary.

  “How are you feeling?” I shouted, strolling across the tarmac.

  “Pretty awesome,” he replied without turning around. “I saw you three catching up on your beauty sleep, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I appreciate the gesture,” I said with a smile, motioning towards the TT-100, “but you don’t have to polish my jet. I’m rich – I can pay someone to do it for me.”

  “I’m not polishing your jet.” McGarrity turned towards me, tucking the rag into his back pocket. “I’m polishing my jet. I won it in The Spiral, remember?”

  “You did offer it to him,” Brynja was quick to remind me.

  Before I could protest I remembered that the TT-100 could teleport, meaning McGarrity could be far, far away from me in just a matter of minutes. Possibly all the way on the other side of the planet. “Well, I hate to see the old girl go,” I said, patting the freshly-polished hull, “but she’s all yours.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he said hastily, swatting my hand away as he yanked the rag from his pocket. “Fingerprints!”

  “So where do you go from here?” Peyton asked.

  “Wherever I’m needed,” McGarrity stated proudly, straightening his posture. “As a superhuman I have a duty to protect the innocent, and fight crime wherever it may be.”

  We all stared at him for a moment, unconvinced.

  “Or I’ll take a long vacation and get drunk on a beach,” he conceded. “This is what – January? I hear the Bahamas are pretty sick this time of year.”

  “Well, you’ll need someone to help try and pilot this thing,” Brynja added. “And if anyone could use a tan, it’s me.”

  “You’re leaving?” I asked. This was the first she’d mentioned her plans – although it’s not like we’d been afforded much time to discuss our futures since battling our way through The Spiral.

  “I figure with this much cosplay talent,” she said, gesturing towards herself, “it’ll go to waste hidden inside one of your fortresses. I need to hit the convention circuit and share my gift.” Brynja smiled and glanced towards Peyton. “And besides, if I stick around here, the princess will just keep hugging me.”

  “I might,” Peyton said flatly. “I have a hard time controlling it.”

  Brynja wrapped her arms around me and her lips brushed my ear. “I have to leave,” she whispered, her voice laced with a thread of sadness. “You know it has to be this way.”

  “This isn’t the end,” I thought, staring into her eyes as she drew back. “I’ll see you again soon.”

  Her lips curled at the corners. “You’ve always been a shitty liar.”

  I shook McGarrity’s hand, gave Brynja one last hug and sent them on their way. I stepped back and wrapped an arm around Peyton’s shoulder as the jet hovered into the sky, blinking away in a swirling thunderstorm of purple streaks.

  We had a million things to do. My sister, niece and nephew needed me in Canada. Gavin was still lost somewhere in the Dark Zone. And with the discovery of more fortresses scattered around the world, I had a lot of investigating to do, and multiple loose ends to tie up. But before we got started, I had to tell Peyton something that had been burning in my mind for months.

  She turned to me and flashed a knowing smile. “Whatever you have to say, it can wait.”

  “What?”

  “You’re afraid to tell me something,” she said, pulling me close. “I know when your big fat brain is working overtime. I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears. It’s okay, really. We have people who need us now...you can tell me later.”

  I shook my head and averted my eyes. “No, I really can’t.”

  She placed her hands on the sides of my face, gently tilting my head until our eyes met. “Say it, then.” She gazed at me with a sense of hope and optimism that penetrated right to my heart. It was a brilliant light that shone through the darkest moments, never dimming, no matter what the circumstance.

  “Even though I’m here, I just...” I took a deep breath, trying to summon the right combination of words. How do you explain to someone that you have only a short time left? “I don’t know if I can give you the kind of future you deserve.”

  “I don’t need you to ‘give’ me anything,” she replied with complete confidence. “Don’t get me wrong – I love you. And in your own idiotic way I know t
hat you love me too. But I’m my own person. I was doing fine for a couple decades before I met you, and I’d be doing fine even if we never met.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen...” I sighed heavily and trailed off. The words never spilled out...I tried to force them, but they never came.

  “No one does,” she said. “But we don’t give up on the things we want. We just keep moving forward.”

  One level after another we fought through The Spiral, never knowing what awaited us below. We didn’t know how it would end, or how we’d escape when the water rose and the darkness swarmed in around us – we just kept fighting until we found a way.

  Five years, five months, five weeks – I had no idea how much time I had left. But having a brain tumor or not, it didn’t really matter – because in reality, no one knew. Everyone who died in The Spiral had woken up that morning thinking – knowing – that they had the rest of their lives to look forward to, and just a few short hours later their futures were torn away. My mind drifted to Doug, Chandler, Mac, and everyone else who’d died in The Fringe. They’d all lost their lives without a moment’s notice.

  I wasn’t going to spend my final days worrying about how many of them I had left – I was going spend each one filling it with as much life as I could.

  End of Volume Two

  Epilogue

  Partial transcript from the BBC News Simulcast ‘The Daily Express’

  Hosted by Liam Beckett, April 2042

  Liam Beckett: “Devastation in Moscow as an explosion rocked the Kremlin just moments ago. Three of the palaces and one of the cathedrals have been completely destroyed, and the death toll is expected to be in the hundreds. We are being told that the President and his staff have been safely evacuated amidst the chaos.