The Lumis War

by Lisa Jade

  That panic is probably what killed them.

  I step slowly, gently knocking bones out of the way with my foot before each step. Something awful stirs in me, the slow realisation that with one bad move or a stroke of bad luck I could end up just like these people. Alone here until my body turns to dust. The fear somehow drives me on, propelling me forward, the determination to defy the odds lingering in my chest. I won’t end here.

  I climb two flights of stairs before something stops me. The sound of a metallic door being flung open, so hard it hits the wall behind it. The noise echoes down to me and I step back, flattening myself against a wall. I can hear it; a large bot shifting on the stairs just above me, pacing up and down. I listen as it turns this way and that, like it’s trying to pick up on something. I briefly wonder if it can hear me and reduce my breathing, trying to be quieter.

  It seems to stop, but it’s still in my way. I gaze up through the gaps between the steps and try to figure out what it looks like, its size, weight, weak points. But all I can see is a large shadow. I bite my lip hard, fighting to remain calm.

  I could go back into the building and attempt to find another route. But even as I consider it, my mind rebels against the idea. I don’t know what’s out there. It makes more sense to fight this bot on the stairs, beat it and carry on along the safest route. But I’ve lost the advantage of surprise; if it had come in below me I could have jumped it, taken it out quickly and silently. But it’s above me, and even in running to meet it I risk leaving myself wide open.

  I chew on my lip. Maybe if it came to me… I lean down and pick up an ID card that’s lying on the floor, clearly abandoned by someone way back when. It’s too dark to read the name, but I can see an older woman with a shock of red hair on the card. I hook it around my neck, hoping this is a security bot and won’t attack me if I’m holding it.

  But it hears me shuffling and moves, and the hope dies in my chest. I duck around the corner as best I can, barely shielded by the bars that line the steps. I slip the knife from my belt and hold it aloft, waiting to launch an attack once it reaches me. But as it turns the corner I jump back, my heart hammering in my chest.

  The bot is huge. Square in shape and supported by several short, wide legs. A number of cameras cover its surface, working in place of a dozen eyes pointing every which way. It has four or five arms, each one equipped with a large saw, the blades of which are jagged and rusty.

  I can’t take this on.

  My hands clench around the knife and I consider my options. I can fight it and possibly win, but not without injury. I could turn instead and try to run but then I’d be moving further from my goal, not closer. I need to get there – but I need to get there in one piece.

  I crouch back a little, and something snaps. I turn tail and run, grabbing the railing and hopping over it, down to the next set of stairs. I land hard and twist my knee a little, but as I get up and start to run, I don’t care. I can hear it coming after me, crawling over the steps like a centipede. It’s got the scent and now I have no choice.

  I sprint down another set of steps and turn, my back against the wall. My shoulders tense and I hunch over, my knees bent, the knife caught between my hands. The bot turns the corner and I act, racing up the stairs at it and bringing the knife down against its core.

  The sound echoes and I pull back – but the knife feels odd and as I gaze down at it I realise the blade is bent. Whatever this bot is made of, it’s not as weak and malleable as the others. Its metallic casing works like armour, protecting it. The bot looks at me, and suddenly I’m running, only barely out of reach of the saws. They buzz in the air, the sound filling my ears, and it chases me down the stairs.

  My feet slap against the floor, and suddenly I slip on something – a bone, perhaps – which sends me sprawling to the ground at the bottom of the steps. I sit up. My breath is short, and I’m fighting my own panic. Mechas are massive and deadly but slow, limited, sensible. This bot, whatever it is, is designed to fight. It could be a defence bot, something to patrol the area.

  It rounds on me, and in a moment of fright I kick out, knocking it off course just enough to allow me past. I shove it aside and run back up the stairs, but my progress is slow and something swings down on the step behind me, cutting through it. I slip, and something hard and heavy hits me, but I manage to push it aside long enough to climb back to my feet.

  I climb until I see it; a door, a precious escape. Some vague part of me feels suspicious, like I shouldn’t go through without knowing what’s on the other side, but I don’t have time to think. I barrel through the door and push it shut behind me.

  I’m in another corridor, which is luckily abandoned, but this one shows more signs of devastation. Ruined furniture lines the sides of the room. I quickly grab at a faded table and push it in front of the door, adding more and more until it blocks it entirely. I can hear the bot on the other side, hear the buzzing of the saw, but as I watch and wait, it doesn’t break through. After a few tense minutes, it seems to give up and move away.

  My knees give way and I fall to the ground, gasping. My body aches and my head is spinning – I find myself crawling beneath the pile of furniture and lying there. I curl into myself and my eyes fill with tears. That was the scariest bot I’ve ever faced, perhaps as dangerous as a mecha, but somehow I don’t feel any sense of pride in having escaped it. I just feel lucky. My eyes close and I tell myself I’ll rest for a few minutes. Just a few.

  I wake to the sound of distant thumping. It sounds like a factory working in the distance, a muffled sound of metal on metal. But despite it sounding far away I can feel it as it vibrates through the floor. There’s something big on this floor, and I need to avoid it.

  I sit up, still crouching beneath the table, and reach for my pack. But my hand closes around nothing, and I realise with a start that it’s not here. I look around, behind me, above me. I check my shoulders several times, each time believing it might suddenly reappear if I just search hard enough. Nothing. I close my eyes, vaguely remembering falling on the steps. The bot had lurched forward and hit me, and I had somehow wriggled free. It must have grabbed my pack, and I only escaped by abandoning it. Somehow in the moment I hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared.

  My throat aches with thirst and hunger, but I push the feelings aside. I walk slowly through the corridors, my knees bent, my breath hushed. I have no gun, no knife, no supplies. I’m unarmed and alone, and the only clue I have as to where I am is a large number 34 on the wall. I can only hope that means I’m almost there.

  I can hear things shifting overhead as I follow the pathways through the building. I climb up, floor by floor, and each time manage to somehow miss the bulk of the bots. It’s odd – I feel as though I should be running into more. Those few I do meet are smaller and more harmless, and I take them out barehanded, but I just know I’m going to run into more deadly ones soon. My body aches, exhaustion running rampant through my limbs, and I find myself doubting.

  There’s still so much to do. Still so many to fight. Am I really up for this?

  This time, no memories present themselves as motivation. I briefly wonder if I’m beyond that, past being inspired by others. It would make sense. Maybe it’s time to start believing in myself a little.

  I turn a corner and run into a bot – it turns towards me but I react first, knocking it to the ground and plunging my hand into its wiring. I give it a hard yank and jump back, this time somehow managing to avoid the electricity that springs from its motionless form. It collapses to the ground, and as it does so I hear a gasp from across the room.

  “Ash.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I look up and meet their eyes. They’re warm and blue, surrounded by dirt and a mass of golden curls. Max stares at me, his eyes wide, his lips parted. He stands several metres away, his hands by his side, one clutching a long, twisted piece of metal. He has a blackened eye and bloody lip, and it looks like a chunk has been taken from his nose.

&n
bsp; “Ash… is that you?”

  He stares at me like he doesn’t quite recognise me, and I wonder how bad I must look. But then he takes a few steps forward, and something in his movement sends me back to Street. In a flash I remember the days spent together, pacing the city ruins or guarding the wall. The evenings shared on a rooftop, staring into the distance. The goodbye in the mist. Something breaks and I start walking towards him, and suddenly we’re both running.

  We collide in the middle of the corridor and he picks me up, spinning my weight around his body as he does so. I bury my face against his collarbone, and as I do so a great sense of relief washes over me. He’s real. He’s here.

  But before I can enjoy it too much he pushes me away, holding me at arm’s length his hands firmly on my shoulders. Something flashes in his eyes; anger, concern, sadness.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod and he seems relieved, but his hands tighten around me.

  “You’re crazy,” he breathes, “you are legitimately crazy.”

  He leans back, cups his hand around his mouth and shouts.

  “Hey! I found her!”

  I wince, trying madly to keep him quiet, but he ignores me.

  “It’s alright. This area is safe. We’ve already cleared it out.”

  We? I step away now, unnerved. How did Max get here, anyway? How did he even find out? And who else is here?

  As if on cue someone steps up behind me, followed a split second later by two more people. I know without looking who they are – I recognise the weight in their footsteps, the emphasis in their breathing. My stomach plummets.

  Adam’s hands find me and suddenly I’m pinned against the wall. I try to pull away but his fingers dig into my arms, holding my fast. I look up and meet his eyes; but they’re so different from what I’m used to seeing.

  The face in front of me is twisted, an expression of concern contorted into a look of pure hatred. His fingers clench a little more around my arms, squeezing so hard it hurts.

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  His voice comes out as a snarl and I find myself cringing back. I’ve never seen him so angry. There’s something about it that terrifies me, that makes me want to run and hide.

  “I can’t believe we found her,” someone says, and I recognise the voice as Kicker. They stand behind Adam, their arms crossed, and I can tell from their laboured breathing that they’ve had trouble, too.

  Adam shakes me a little, demanding an answer, and I simply stare. I didn’t think he would come after me. Not this far at least. I half expected them to chase me through the ruins and try to stop me, but I never thought they’d follow me in here. There comes a point when it changes from trying to save someone to sheer stupidity – and I’m the only one who’s supposed to be an idiot today.

  Adam’s anger builds, and a hand touches his shoulder.

  “Let her go,” Max says, “you know she can’t exactly tell you.”

  Adam scowls, but seems to obey. He lets go of me and steps back, though I can still feel his anger coming off him in waves.

  “You look confused,” says Kicker, eyeing me carefully, “are you okay?”

  I nod, but I can tell they don’t believe me. Max looks me up and down, that lopsided smile on his face.

  “You have no idea how much you scared us,” he says, “I was watching the wall and suddenly Minni came running up with that walkie talkie of yours. This guy…”

  He waves at Adam, who growls and turns away.

  “…told me you’d run off and only left this book. As soon as Minni told me what that book was, I knew you were in trouble.”

  “Though I don’t know how true that is,” interjects Kicker, “you look like you’re keeping it together.”

  I nod, setting my jaw. I’ve had some trouble, but I’m not about to show them that. Let them believe I’m dealing with it.

  “I can’t believe you came out here.” says Max.

  “On the words of some random stupid girl, no less.” Says Kicker.

  Max’s expression changes a little, hardening a tad.

  “Minni’s not some dumb kid,” he growls, “she’s the smartest person I’ve ever known.”

  Adam rolls his eyes, then reaches out and grabs my wrist.

  “Enough of this. We have to get out of here.”

  He tries to pull me away, but I hold still.

  “Come on. We’re going back to Fairground.”

  Something snaps. It’s not that I don’t want to go back. I do. But I can’t. I wrench my arm from his grip and turn away, walking in what I think is the right direction. Behind me, I can hear them shuffling, confused.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” snaps Adam, “that’s not the right way.”

  I ignore him. I’m sorry. Guilt twists in my gut but I can’t stop. I can’t turn back now, not when I’m so close.

  Max chuckles, and after a moment he steps up behind me.

  “And what are you doing?” comes Adam’s angry voice.

  “Can’t stop my girl when she’s got her mind set on something.”

  Max pats my shoulder, and through my tough exterior I feel the warmth of his fingers. His touch is comforting, warm, reminiscent of home to me. I find myself leaning into his hand a little, taking comfort from him. I can’t believe he came for me.

  “Your girl?” Kicker mutters, clearly confused. Adam releases an angry, loud growl and I hear a clatter like he’s knocked something over.

  “If you keep going that way, you two are going to die.”

  Max’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and his eyes meet mine for just a moment. In that split second, we seem to communicate, silently saying the same thing. That’s a risk worth taking.

  “If you three want to head back, you can,” he calls back to them, “but she’s got this idea in her head now, and none of us can stop her. So I’m going to go along with it.”

  The others pause, and I hear Adam release a sighing growl. I can feel his anger, the way he seethes just below the surface. Perhaps before it would have scared me into submission; but not now. It’s not that I’m strong or fearless. I just have something more important to focus on. I can still feel the guilt, swirling inside me, filling up every space in my chest like smoke. I know that the moment this thing is over, no matter how it ends, I’m going to break down and cry. It’s hard to keep it together, to hold myself back from collapsing to my knees in tears and allowing them to carry me back. But I can’t.

  For far too long I’ve stood by and allowed others to face hardships. I hid in the infirmary while others faced terrible challenges – even Dr Newton, the horrors he faced in there, and how I would always step back, helping in the most mediocre way, completely blind to his plight. In the city I backed away and had the others fight for me, taking action only when I had no choice. Even in Street, I only jumped in when all hope seemed lost. But not anymore. I might not be brave or smart or strong and that’s okay – this isn’t about proving myself to them. It’s about proving it to myself, evidencing my own worth and recognising myself. Surely I can do that.

  We continue to walk, Max’s hand still resting on my shoulder, and after a few seconds a number of footsteps follow us.

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” mutters Kicker, and I hear Brick grunt his assent. I don’t turn, don’t pause, don’t even try to acknowledge his words. I can’t allow myself to stop now, or to doubt whether or not I should be here. I can’t afford to think like that.

  As we walk, I can feel the others growing tense around me. I hear the sound of Kicker loading his launcher, and briefly wonder how many pulses they’ve wasted just to get this far. Max seems on edge too, and he juggles the piece of metal in his hand, readjusting his grip, like he’s convinced he’s going to need to click into action at any moment. There’s something strange about it; I’ve grown so used to the sounds and scents of the people around me. Adam’s calm breathing, the weight in Brick’s steps. The unusual sense of grace as Kicker walk
s, his pace faster than the others. They all clash terribly with Max’s musty scent and the sound of his constant tension. I feel like I’m far removed from all the places I once knew, and all the worlds I loved have been merged into one.

  Something small stirs in my chest, a glowing worm of happiness in a pit of misery. I’m happy that they came for me. Despite Max’s shock at my actions and Adam’s blind fury, they all decided – somehow – that this was a risk worth taking. I glance back, pretending I heard something, my hands tensing into fists. As I do so, I catch Adam’s eye, and a dash of hurt runs through me.

  Because although his face is twisted by rage, I can see behind it. I can see the way his eyes are rimmed with red, the puffiness in his cheeks. He’s been crying. Probably not for me; likely from the belief that he’d failed again, lost another Scout in a moment of carelessness. Even now, he blames himself. Somehow the idea rankles. I ball my hands into fists and look away. I would rather he hate me forever, turn away and abandon me, than him hold himself responsible for my actions. It doesn’t come down to him. Even knowing what I know, and having seen and felt and heard what I have, I still feel that tiny, selfish, childish need to own my actions. Even the mistakes.

  A bot bursts out of a door behind me and I whip around, launching myself at it before the others can raise their weapons. I send it crashing to the ground and bring the heel of my foot down hard against its core, denting the metal inwards and sending a small amount of pain jolting up my leg. But as I step back it splutters, and the lights on its body fade.

  I turn and continue to walk, but behind me the others stop. They stare at me, then at the bot on the ground, and then at me again. I can feel Adam’s eyes on me, his face carefully neutral now, his eyes seeing something that isn’t there. Perhaps he thinks I’ve gone mad. Maybe he sees a little of Sparrow in me, a shadow of that girl who wanted to watch things burn at her feet. Somehow the idea appeals to me, but I push it aside, lifting my nose high into the air and leading the way.