The Lumis War

by Lisa Jade

  We sit in the rubble for a few minutes, allowing the two of them to get their breath back. I watch the others. My eyes, once so used to noticing every detail, have grown accustomed to glancing around me. But now, as the chaos of Street falls away behind us, I can feel myself slipping into my old ways. I can spy their weaknesses, the exhaustion apparent on their faces, the pain when they move. I briefly wonder if it’s okay for them to be out here. While they don’t seem terribly injured, this is a long journey. I bite my lip; if we run into a bot, I’ll have to step in or someone might die.

  After a minute or two, though, my legs begin to ache. I stand up somewhat suddenly and start to pace, walking around the edge of the group, my launcher held poised to shoot. I can feel eyes watching me; measuring my actions, my movements, trying to figure out what I’m thinking. I don’t need to look to know who stares the hardest.

  Adam stands motionless, and his eyes seem troubled. He looks up at me and his lips part as though he plans to say something – but then he looks away, his mouth twisting into a grimace. I can feel the tension between us, so thick I could cut it with a knife. He’s probably held onto his words for the weeks I’ve been gone. Perhaps he’s angry at me for running, and thinks it was the wrong order to give. Maybe he’s upset with me, or thinks I shouldn’t have been so close to those in Street. Either way I expect that at some point we’ll clash, and he’ll rip into me with his words. But right now he seems to be holding back, resisting. I’m not sure why. Maybe he doesn’t want to fight in the city. Maybe he thinks I’m too weak right now. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to say.

  “We should get going,” he says suddenly, and his voice is hard. The others shuffle, and Sparrow catches my eye and raises an eyebrow.

  Kicker reaches over to Nicholas, holding out his arms for the older man to grab, but I step in the way. I push his hands back towards him and shake my head. He looks confused for a moment, but then I smile, reach back and lift him. For a moment the others stare, perhaps a little surprised at the ease with which I carry him. I avert my eyes and bite down hard on my lip.

  “Are you sure?” Kicker croaks. I wince a little; I can feel the pain in his voice, the way his body has slowed from his injuries. I briefly wonder if he’ll ever recover entirely. But I simply wave my free hand and begin to walk, following the others through into the main street.

  This area is pretty open, and though you’d think it would be more dangerous, it’s not. Many bots seem to operate on stealth, crawling through pipes and alleyways to get to where they need to be. Very few ever seem to take the direct approach.

  From here, I can see the true devastation caused by the bots. It may have been twelve years, but as we walk the roads our parents used to drive on, I know that we’re all thinking the same thing.

  Brick pauses just ahead of us, and I can feel his eyes gliding over the road. The cracks in the tarmac, the broken windows of the silvery buildings that line the street, the remains of cars down one side. His expression changes a little, and I can’t tell if it’s some deep-set memory resurfacing, or if it’s simply grief at all the pain that was caused back then.

  Something appears further down the road – a small bot, no larger than a dog, sniffing its way through the rubble. We pause. It hasn’t seen us yet.

  In front of me, Sparrow smirks, pulling out her knife.

  “I’ve got this,” she hisses, creeping forward.

  She lunges at it, and in a flash I’m reminded again of why I always admired her so much. Sparrow has always been strong, as strong as any of the others, but there’s something more to her actions. They’re calm, measured, perfect. She knows when to hold back and when to strike, and when to pull away and allow others to fight instead. The bot crumbles under her weight and she stands, kicking the ruined form to one side as if it were nothing. Something aches in me, an echo of how much I used to want to be like her, as strong and swift and powerful.

  Used to? Asks a voice in my head. Surely you still want to be like her.

  I hesitate to answer. Yes, I do. I still want to be intelligent and strong and kind. But now, more than ever, I don’t want to be a hero. I feel like I’m past it, past wanting to be admired and celebrated for saving the day. Sparrow doesn’t want to be a hero. Nor do the others. They fight because they must, because it’s what has to be done. Anything else, like the respect they earn, is just a benefit.

  But that’s not why they do it.

  We walk for what seems like hours, the others taking out a few stray bots along the way. We’re lucky in that we’ve not come across any major threats yet; but I can feel my gut clenching, warning me that our luck may soon run out.

  “How’s everyone doing?” asks Adam, and as he turns around his eyes bore into mine. I know what he’s really asking – what’s going on? Why does this feel like the calm before the storm? The sense of dread builds in my throat but I ignore it and smile.

  “Honestly? Not great.”

  The voice comes from beside me, where Nicholas stands, half his body weight carried over my shoulder. In my thoughts I had almost forgotten he was there; his drawn, pale face only an inch or two from mine, so close I can count the creases around his eyes.

  “Want to stop again?”

  Adam sounds neutral, calm, but I can tell he doesn’t want to stop. He’s as desperate to get home as I am. Nicholas sighs, but shakes his head.

  “No. I just want to get back already.”

  Adam nods, and then his eyes meet mine again. I recall the times in Street that I thought about him, longed to see his piercing blue eyes again, and how I thought it would be wonderful. Sadly, his gaze just makes my stomach sink.

  “Are you okay?” he asks me, his voice soft. I nod, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. The others are just as bad, their gaze flitting between us, concern apparent on their faces. They’ve seen the state of Nicholas after a few months – what could have happened to me in the weeks I was in Street? Is it really okay to ask me to do anything right now? Gratitude rushes through me, happy for their concern; but I don’t need it. I just want to go back, too. Frankly, I’m more worried about them.

  We take off again, this time passing a bottle of water between us. I lag behind the others a little, my body able to carry Nicholas but not quite at their pace. I drag his weakened body over the corpse of a broken vehicle and heave a pained sigh. He perks up at that, and as I sling his arm across my shoulder I can see him studying my face.

  “That guy…”

  He turns now, looking toward Adam.

  “That guy is mad at you. I hope you realise that.”

  I stare straight ahead, giving only the tiniest nod in response.

  “He’s a good man,” he croaks, “but he’s not so much with the emotions. His way of showing he cares is to push you away. If he yells at you, you’re probably important to him.”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes. Sure. Adam, who held me back my whole life and blocked me out when we needed each other most, cares for me. The guy who fought tooth and nail to keep me locked away and hasn’t shown any real joy in seeing me again now. Bitterness wells in my throat and I let out a noise, half sighing, half growling.

  “Fine then,” he teases, “don’t believe me. You’ll see.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It’s another few hours before finally something snaps. My body, strong only a moment before, suddenly feels racked with pain. I realise I haven’t stood upright in hours, haven’t bent, haven’t really moved since I first threw Nicholas over my shoulder. Something catches my foot and sends us sprawling to the ground – I try to right myself but my body cries out, yearning to be free of his weight.

  The others turn, and Sparrow leans down to help me up. I take her hand, my pale fingers wrapping around her soft palm, and she looks at me with worry in her eyes.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod, but it’s not as certain a nod as before. My body is stronger now, but it’s still the city. The air is still hot and the water is stil
l ineffective. I don’t feel sick – but the idea of carrying Nicholas for much longer sends something shuddering through me. I turn to him, reaching out, but Brick reaches him first.

  “It’s alright, I’ve got him.”

  Nicholas groans on the floor, pushing himself up; but Brick is a big man, and he scoops him up with one arm, throwing his weight over one shoulder with shocking ease.

  Adam steps up next to me, and I can see that expression again, that troubled stare, like he’s convinced something’s wrong. Concern and anger and happiness mixed into one.

  “We should have taken it in turns,” he admits, “it’s a hot day out, we should be more careful.”

  Even as we walk, Sparrow stays close to me. I don’t need it; now the weight is gone from my shoulders I feel better, though my muscles still ache a little with each step. She passes me the water and I drink deeply, thirstily, as if my life depends on it. Eventually she lets me go, but stands close by, as if she thinks I’m liable to collapse at any minute. Fury licks through me. Concern is nice, sure, but this is getting annoying.

  “Shh!”

  Adam stops dead, reaching out an arm, and we all pause. Instinctively I crouch, hiding beneath the broken walls, and circle around to where he’s pointing.

  A small group of bots linger in the clearing. They’re larger than before, as tall as people, their long metallic limbs knotted and tangled. They stand together, swaying gently as though in a breeze, and I wonder why.

  Adam turns around and whispers to the rest of them.

  “Okay, this is going to be tough,” he says, “Brick, Kicker, circle round. Me and Sparrow will attack from here, and Mouse, you stay here and…”

  I don’t hear the rest. As soon as I see my chance I’m gone, out into the clearing, lurking behind ruined walls to hide myself from their view.

  “Mouse!”

  Adam whispers furiously, and I can feel his anger coming from him in waves. How dare I disobey orders? How dare I think for myself? Some deep seated part of me wants to slink back to him, tail between my legs, but I push the feeling aside. Screw that. I can handle this.

  I slide the launcher strap off my shoulder and lower it to the ground, much to Adam’s dismay. Pulling the knife from my thigh, I bring it close to my face and stare. I count the bots – four - and try to remember how many I’ve taken out before. I can remember at least once when Max and I took out a large group, back to back, knives in hand, swinging and lunging and attacking as one. But alone, I think my maximum is two. These seem smaller than those, less weaponised, but I still don’t relish the thought of going in alone.

  Still. The others are weakened, and though their concern may be focussed on me and Nicholas, I can’t let them fight. Not properly. A stray bot here and there is fine, is nothing. But I can’t risk them getting hurt even more – not for me. I take a deep breath. I can handle this.

  “Get back here now,” Adam hisses, but it’s too late. I make my move, bursting out from behind a broken wall and launching myself at the group.

  I’ve destroyed the first one before the others register my presence. I take advantage of that momentarily lapse in their concentration and kick one to the ground, whipping round and embedding the blade of my knife into the softer, thinner part of another’s neck. It crashes to the ground, but now the other approaches. It rounds on me, arms raised, and I duck under one of its many limbs, swinging against its body and pushing it against the wall. It scrabbles against me, but I raise the knife and flick it against its form, and it creaks to a halt, frozen in front of me. I let it go and it falls, motionless, to the floor.

  I pause, but the one I kicked down is up now, and before I can react it grabs me. A mechanical hand finds my throat and pushes me up against a wall, so hard and high that I can barely touch the ground.

  It hurts.

  I can feel the metal scraping my neck, the pressure pushing it in on both sides, forcing the air from my lungs, and I feel desperation building in me. Momentarily I see dark spots, but I blink them away and continue to struggle – though after only a moment my movements feel weaker.

  Dimly, I hear my name shouted, and the sound of approaching footsteps, and I wonder if they’ll get to me in time. A small part of me cries out, like an upset child, screaming to be saved.

  Something about that strikes me as odd, and suddenly I realise I don’t want to be saved. I shouldn’t have to be. This… this is ridiculous.

  I reach out with one hand and scrabble at the bot’s front, my fingers finding a small opening. I yank it open and even through my darkened vision, I can see flashing lights inside it. Internal wiring. Without a moment’s hesitation I plunge my hand into the bot’s core, grasping at any and all wires I can find, and pull.

  The shock is immense.

  Its hand releases me in an instant, and my lungs fill with air – but a split second later comes the electricity, zapping its way down my arm. I gasp, unable to cry out, and for a split second my body is paralysed, frozen against the wall.

  Then the moment is gone, and I fall to my knees, coughing and spluttering. I breathe deeply, gulping down the air around me as though I’ve never breathed before. My neck hurts, and my body hurts, but the black dots fade away and I finally start to calm.

  The others are here now, and they rush over. Someone reaches down and grabs me, perhaps concerned I might pass out, and I lean against them, my body throbbing. That was close; but I did it. Despite the moments of panic still flitting through me, I can’t help but feel a little proud of what I just did. I knew I could do it. I just knew it.

  “Are you okay?” asks the person holding me, and I realise it’s Sparrow. I grin at her – I feel her fingertips tighten around my arm, as though in response.

  “That was reckless.”

  I pause, and my gaze lifts to see Adam. He stands further back than the others, and his expression is one of hate. Usually when he meets my eyes I can see a mixture of emotions, from concern to softness to respect, but right now all I see is anger.

  “Can’t that wait a minute?” asks Sparrow, and she rubs my arm.

  “No, it can’t. Mouse, get up.”

  He spits the words, and though I can hear Sparrow tell him no, I could be hurt, I feel my body acting accordingly. I climb to my feet, and though for a moment I’m a little unsteady, I draw myself up to full height and meet his eyes with what I hope is blazing rebellion – though it could just as easily look like pained desperation.

  He seems surprised that I’m standing, and for a moment I think he’s going to attack me, but then he forces himself to look away. His face twists and I can feel his frustration. He’s incensed, furious. It’s taking all he has just to hold himself back from hurting me right now.

  And I understand why. What I just did was reckless, and could have ended in disaster. That bot, far from just making me ache a little, could just as easily have killed me. I know he’s imagining it now – me running in to be a hero and dying like an animal in the streets. The idea leaves him confused, hurt and angry, and I get it.

  But then he looks at me again, and in his eyes I see everything I ever hated about living at Fairground. Though I didn’t hate the place, nor the people, I always resented the way they looked at me. Sorrowful, pitiful, like I was a deer in the headlights or a kicked puppy. Like I can’t take care of myself in any form, and like I need to be protected and sheltered.

  Like I’m not even a person.

  “Why did you do that?” he asks, and his voice shakes, like he’s one wrong move away from exploding.

  I don’t move, don’t react. What does he expect me to do? Explain it to him?

  “We were right here,” he growls, “we were about to go in and fight those things.”

  I nod. I know; the four of them, injured as they are, were about to jump into a nasty fight. My throat aches from the bot’s touch, a reminder of its strength, and it just solidifies the idea in my mind that they wouldn’t have survived. They’re strong – stronger than me, usually –
but they’re weaker and slower and more afraid than ever, and that makes me the one to fight, not them.

  A brief image flashes in my mind, of the others sprawled in the street, their chests barely rising, and me, firing my launcher hopelessly, my eyes filled with tears at the thought of losing them. My heart hurts at the thought. I couldn’t stand it. Maybe it’s selfish to think this way, but I don’t want to lose them. I don’t care if they’re mad at me or if I hurt his feelings. I meet his eyes and my expression softens. I don’t want to lose him.

  His hands shake, and suddenly he looks like he might cry.

  “Was it so important to you to be a hero?”

  My head falls, and for the first time I feel truly reprimanded. I hadn’t meant to act like a hero. That wasn’t my goal at all. Nowadays I couldn’t care less about being admired or loved for my skills – I just want to use them the best I can. I didn’t do it for the reasons he thinks. I did it out of love for the idiots who stand around me; though they stare at me with hurt in their eyes.

  Adam looks like he might say something else, but he seems to bite back on it and settles for staring at me, disappointment in his eyes.

  “Do you want to die?”

  His voice is soft now, measured, and I realise with a start that he’s serious. He actually thinks I may have done this on purpose, ran out to die at the hands of the bots. Why? I wonder. Why would he think that? Something heavy settles on my shoulders, and I get the feeling the weight won’t be lifted any time soon.

  He turns away from me, disgust on his face, and shame fills my chest. I never wanted this. I never wanted him to think less of me.

  “Let’s go.”

  The others start to move, but as each of them shuffle past me I can feel their hands on my shoulders. It’s not obvious – a gentle touch, a soft pat on the arm – but it reassures me. Adam might hate me, despite my efforts to help, but the others don’t. At least, not quite as much. Tears fill my eyes and I lower my head again, allowing my hair to fall over my face. My hands find my arms and I pull myself close, waiting for the others to pass by. A part of me doesn’t want to carry on the journey with them. I have a horrible feeing that Adam would rather I didn’t go.