Parley, trap, demand for surrender? Really, did it matter?
“Cullen. Withdraw to the doors. Give your launcher to Brody, and tell her it brakes.” A light moment to break the tension, “Not So Little” Brody did tend to squander her strength.
“Make sure you close the doors and protect Breen.”
“Curtis. Set up half way back to the doors and prepare to cover our retreat,” Kimraig said as he glanced to the two Crosser Troopers forming a small barricade of their own just in front of him. He nudged Smith, the one closest to him and continued.
“Join Curtis, he will need your shield.”
“Not liking this Kimraig, back of my neck is itching. Not feeling support from behind us.” LaJay was nervous, though no more than he was.
“Breen just opened the doors. She is standing there without anyone supporting...hummf.”
LaJay’s voice cut off to a strangled gargle.
Kimraig turned just as she collapsed behind him; a dart had torn her neck away. Her fiber shield teetered up, protecting them both. Another dart partially penetrated the woven layers...the shield fell. He counted each hit, three. Another moan from in front as the Crosser, Davis, went down with a dart in the back of her skull: four. Smith, her companion, followed as number five.
He saw the two largest Ergots stagger as two more missiles found their shields. They did not go down. The entire horde, large and small seething shapes surround the two Little People.
Six darts thrown, two remained.
“You are hitting us,” Kimraig shouted back to the double doors. “They are here to parley. They want to talk.”
Kimraig looked toward the Little People and understood. Breen did not want to talk. “Down,” he yelled towards the blobs moving toward him. “Down!”
He hunched behind LaJay’s crumpled form and risked a glance at the double doors. Marta down on the floor, head severed from her body, blood everywhere. One spear thrower on the ground as Cullen was first through the double doors into the safe room.
He saw Sala pushed through the doors, a trooper on each arm. A look of startled horror blotted her face. Was she an unwilling pawn? Or an excellent actor?
Breen standing in Battle Armor, a hunter’s bow, about to draw back maximum distance, aiming. Ah, she had known something he had not because she had one hidden. She did not have enough strength to bend the bow—a familiar form behind her, helping.
Turning saved him for the moment. Breen’s first arrow caught him high in his left shoulder, just missing the lung. The force spun him backwards dropping him flat. He struggled to sit up. LaJay’s shield was there...not going to happen, too heavy.
Breen actually gave him a mock salute as she notched a second arrow, let fly just as he rose on his elbow. She turned to disappear behind the double doors.
The second arrow shattered his sword-arm shoulder.
Did not see this coming, she finished me off so the Ergots could clean up the mess. Well that explains her distance from me the last few days. He chuckled against the pain.
I bet she will be sorry I forgot to tell her about those big heavy doors we had to open—leading to the “sweet spot.”
Blood stained the floor. She thought that little room was the spot.
The rank little beasts were on him. There were harsh whistles and grunts, gaping maws and spittle and sucking. He lay there where the second arrow had sent him. He was numb, unable to fight as the two little people reached him. He found an iron pry bar near his hand but no strength to lift the weight.
He could not see. There seemed to be hundreds of the small beings around him and flooding toward the double doors. They started to drag him back to the barricade. More and more of his conscious mind slipped away. Two little children swimming in and out of his vision, or dreams, their mouths not moving yet partial, soft, reassuring words forcing into him at a higher level than any telepathy Kimraig had endured. It was as if he was speaking to himself.
“We had nothin...to do with this. Help...only.” Finally, these little voices spoke in unison. “Relax with Our Friends...here to help you...not...”
You are not blocking me now, are you Hunter? Breen taunted him with her telepathy. Only a fool lets a lover take him down like this.
* * *
“Nothing, there is no water or supplies anywhere on this floor?”
“We found nothing, Mistress Breen.” They had all voted to be equal, but Brody-1 would call Breen, Mistress, and the members of her battle group by their correct titles—until her Mistress corrected her.
“Kimraig assured me there were supplies for all of us in this room. He was adamant.”
“We are still checking the floors below but everything was stripped long before we arrived.”
Brody-1 glanced around the room that Kimraig had promised would hold the key to their salvation...as good a trap as there ever was.
“Any sign of Yates?”
“The one positive thing, we found nothing of him, or his two companions. He must have made good his escape before the attack, and headed back for reinforcements.”
She crouched discreetly back from Breen who was sitting with her back against the wall.
Brody-1 leaned forward. She was not looking forward to this next bit.
“First choice, if we leave now we have enough food and water to get us back home. Two; staying in this building we will have, long side, about a day and half before the water goes.” Brody continued when there was no response.
“Three; we can go up to all the floors above hoping to find something, maybe rain water from leaks. With this option, water will be gone in one day, which includes short rations.”
Mistress Breen had supervised the search in this room, so there was no way anything could remain hidden. The floor bore marks of their inch-by-inch pounding. Two windows had been broken out, and the building face given a careful look.
That was a waste of time. Brody-1 knew Mistress Breen had broken them because she was afraid of the huge slab doors slamming closed trapping her in a vacuum. She refused to die like their small occupying force.
“Seems I was a little hasty with my new hunting bow,” Mistress Breen chuckled. She had to fight giggles that would make her sound like her mentor, Mistress Ann.
She glanced around the room seeking approval or at least recognition from Leader Sala who had not spoken since Breen’s decision to eliminate Kimraig had entombed them in this room. She would not have her lover much longer it seemed.
“We must return home.” Mistress Breen ended her reign as the 6th of Six with those words.
“Arrange transport for me down the stairs. That dark elevator shaft will not do.”
“Yes Mistress, I will assemble a few of our remaining troopers at each level. Hunter Curtis will need relief from your weight. I am sure he will carry you down the first flight.”
Brody worried about her Curtis. He had not been the same since he had helped his mother pull the bowstring that killed the old Hunter. She was not happy with anyone just now. Following orders was all she could do.
“Brody-1,” Breen stopped her before she could leave.
“Yes Mistress?”
“How large is our force?”
“We number ten, including Leader Sala. All of us suffer wounds. Two will not make it back.” Brody delivered her Battle Group’s status as if she were reading a book.
Only Leader Sala noted the pain clouding the deep pools of her eyes.
“Carry on,” Breen said as she turned away, plotting to cover this failure. She did not bother to look to Brody-1—a handy traitor to blame.
The trip down the stairs squandered most of their daylight. “The former 6th of Six,” as grumbling Trooper’s called Mistress Breen, had to lay flat on each landing. According to her, the pain needed to stop. If they had lowered her down the elevator shaft on an improvised stretcher, an additional hour of warm sun would be in their pocket.
Finally, they breached the ground floor. Brody-1 collected everyone in de
fensive position and made a quick check on water supplies. She had ordered strict rationing when she knew it would be a longer trip than necessary. Even with that restriction, water was dangerously low. They had cleared the Annex, no need looking for water there.
“Hunter Cullen, form a reconnaissance patrol on the perimeter,” she said as she signaled two Troopers.
“You two, join Hunter Cullen.” She leaned down to Cullen’s ear and whispered. “Do a quick ‘look around.’ We will hold up on the ground floor through the night. No surprises, understood?”
Her lover’s twin grinned, eyes twinkling just as his brother always did before the two of them managed to get themselves caught up by a good brawl. As the three headed out the door, Brody-1 turned back to her Mistress. She did not see Leader Sala follow her lover’s brother.
Hunter Cullen did see her, and thought of reminding her it was dangerous here, but she appeared to want only a few rays of fading sunlight, before she turned back to the dubious safety inside.
He had to make this quick. The sun was already down past the top stories of several remaining multi-story buildings. Their stolid presence cast long, deep shadows along the rubble-strewn street. Keeping to the open area, shields at ready, they made a quick patrol.
That hunting bow and the dart throwers made him nervous. Attacks from a distance had become a certainty rather than a slow lazy flight of a spear or a quick thrust of a sword—no more up close and personal. Ground mist from the right stopped them; best turn back.
He found nothing.
They all bedded down in the short hallway within sight of the road back home. With this small force, they would not put up much of a fight, especially with so few capable of standing for any length of time. It would be a long night.
At almost full light, Brody-1 woke to the familiar whine of solar powered SHORTS pulling to a stop in front of the entrance.
Yates, you sure took your time getting here. She heard one ramp bang down and knew they were ready to load. The second would wait their arrival. Safety first, the open ramp would leave that unit vulnerable. The other, closed up tight would make a hasty retreat for home—should trouble arrive.
As she herded everyone toward the street, she realized running on energy reserves would not last long. Mistress Breen moaned slightly as two troopers carried her makeshift stretcher quickly up the closest ramp. Hunter Curtis climbed in with her. His anger just seemed to simmer instead of his usual storming at things he could not control. Retreat was no friend.
Brody-1 could hear that old Kimraig. “He will learn, unless real life kills him before I do.”
She had bristled at the thought of him even considering taking his son’s life. As it turned out, her Curtis and Mistress Breen murdered him first, taken by one arrow in the back, another when he was down.
The memory of that sight left a sour taste in every new moment.
Brody-1 and one haggard trooper helped the two badly injured in behind Mistress Breen. She turned to look for Leader Sala and saw Hunter Cullen coming out of the shattered entrance.
“Cullen, go roust Leader Sala, we do not have all day.”
“She is not in here. Look out there.”
“We will not wait for her,” Brody-1 responded after calling her name twice. “I will round her up. Cullen, join your brother and get back home. ”
Good, she thought as the ramp hinged up and locked in place, then moved out of sight.
Do not wait, kept running through her mind as she watched them leave.
Fine, Brody-1 thought, she and Leader Sala would return alone in the second SHORT, leaving seven with Mistress Breen. At the second unit, she remembered there would be no loading without that ramp.
“Yates, open this ramp or I will rip you in two, maybe three pieces.”
She pounded on the back panel, willing it to open. Leader Sala could fend for herself. No response. Irritated, she started around to the driver’s side.
With no warning, the ramp dropped down, aided by the weight of a double line of a dozen soldiers running as the dust settled. One line moved to surround the SHORT, while the other split into groups. Two groups of four then split off to guard their parameter.
Total surprise had Brody-1 stumbling to her knees. She was not prepared when four spear points nudged her back to the ground.
“Since you called me several times, I am here. Please surrender your weapons.”
Leader Sala strolled casually down the empty ramp. Her head was bare, with her soft curls arranged close to her scalp. The worn traveling clothes she had worn yesterday replaced by a soft brown jumpsuit. A bright blue scarf, crisp, neatly knotted, was looped around her neck.
Brody-1 released her grip on her sword, letting it settle the inch or two to the roadway. She did not suffer delusions. She was more than the best at fighting, but not against this overwhelming force.
“The two knives at you back also Miss,” ordered the soft male voice connected to the brown spear shaft with its point digging intently under the stacked armor plates covering her heart. No jumpsuit, he wore brown battle gear—light weight, made for running.
She tipped slightly to the side and felt her knives leave their soft sheaths.
“For now, you can keep the two small stilettos under your uniform,” he said with a grin.
For the first time, she looked at him as he stepped back. She could pick him up under one arm and carry him away, then stuff him in her kit bag when she was done with him. Pale eyes, soft as the voice attached to that spear. Unlike the spear, those eyes made her heart race. They flitted softly over every inch of her...ignore those eyes.
“That is David Proctor, the Commander of our Army. Please call me Sala or Director. As of yesterday, I am no longer a Leader,” she said as she reached to help the huge woman rise.
“Are we under arrest?”
“No. You are my prisoners. Prisoners of war.”
Instead of taking the offered hand, Brody-1 edged away on her elbows.
“You have joined the Crossers?” she asked. “How could you. We would have smelled it on you.”
“Did you smell Crosser on David?” Sala smiled as she would with a small child.
“Yes, he is Crosser by birth. Now we are a joint venture called The Blue. We must head home. I will explain everything to your team when we arrive.”
Sala spoke into an almost invisible C-link connected to the high collar of her jumpsuit. In seconds a third SHORT appeared, quickly backing into place alongside and dropping its ramp.
The security force helped load the upright Brody-1, confined in chains and led up the ramp with the much smaller David making sure she did not stumble. As he settled her onto the hard bench seats, the back ramp slowly closed leaving the two of them alone.
Why am I afraid? Brody-1 asked herself. She had the answer instantly. When she was a child, being in small spaces were a way of life in Middle Level of Number 1 Building. Her mother had wanted to keep her a secret so she could raise her herself, so there were countless very small hide-holes, to stash a small child. Brody Rose had escaped her mother and sought the roving bands of child snatchers. Anything would be better than those small spaces. Luckily, she wound up with a wet nurse in the Battle Group’s trainings rooms.
“It is a little tight for me in here,” David said when he had her settled. He moved to the center of their metal tomb and, with only a small amount of noise, opened hatches; flooding their small space with morning light, and a cross breeze.
First things first, she reached for her water bottle: gone. “I need water,” Brody demanded.
The small man ignored her as he removed the chains from her ankles and set them aside. Next her wrists, the chains quickly following the others. He looked up at her from his position. After a moment he stood.
“I need water,”
He ignored her again. “Your small knifes are behind my back. I will turn and you will retrieve them,” then he spun ever so slowly, offering the twin hilts to his prisoner.
> “What is the downside here?” she asked, water forgotten.
“No down side for you, only for me.”
“Which is...?”
“Very simple, I will not see where you keep those stilettos hidden.”
“I could kill you before you blink.” Ignore those eyes
“Maybe...”
She snorted. This little male seemed full of himself. She reached forward with her left hand and watched his muscles ripple before she placed her fingertips against his spine. With her right hand, she retrieved her two knives. As she sat back, she knew one thing—he had seen, without looking, every move she made.
She watched him uncoil and slide to the seat across from her, then turn half way to face her while flashing that disarming grin she was sure he thought would work with anyone.
“I must add a small tidbit to Sala’s statement. I was not born a Crosser. Informed physicians in your own Number 2 Building dumped me in the basement when I was two weeks old. I did not cry, as a healthy baby should. David and Elise Proctor, my father and mother, raised me as their own. I bear his name: David Proctor.”
Maybe he is right about that grin. Brody edged away.
“One other thing; I will call you by your family name, Brody Rose.”
She heard him, but his lips had not moved. How could he be in her head? Only females, Queens and above in rank, communicated with telepathy yet he was inside without her feeling a thing. She blocked, frantic, fighting him off. She had not won, yet he was gone—or was he—leaving only a musty tremor of violation in his wake.
“Brody Rose.”
She remembered parts now. Fleeing down an endless hallway...clothing torn beyond repair...caught and pulled into a room by an old woman in robes the color of ebony blue. Running footsteps thundering passed a closed door. Frantic pounding as the door opened...old woman yelling.
“Brody Rose. Remember. Do not fight, it happened to you.”
A negotiation, something she wanted to distance from her soul. She had lost, agreed to join and kill human beings. No! She was exempt because of her parent’s position on the Wicca’s council. She had to trade her obedience for their continued wellbeing.
The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) Page 27