The Lumis War

by Lisa Jade

  We make it to what seems to be another door to the stairwell. I close my eyes a little, mapping out the plan of the building in my head, trying to figure out where this leads. I pull the door open and it emits a screech as the rusted metal scrapes along more of the same. The others duck a little, shrinking back like the sound could hurt them. All except Max, who leans over me and fastens his hands around mine, helping me fully open it. I lean against him for a moment, enjoying the closeness, trying not to get too wrapped up in the moment or forget about the goal.

  The door opens onto the stairs and the others start forward, but I throw out an arm and hold them back. I lean forward a little, poking my head into the stairwell and listening. I listen to the constant sound of humming that fills this place, and somehow deduce there’s nothing in here. I take a step out, hesitantly now, holding myself low. That bot from earlier could still be around, skulking on the steps, waiting for me to try and get back down to the ground. Max stares at the skeletons on the ground and grimaces, his face a little pale. I suppose it wasn’t just me affected by that.

  “Hey,” Adam whispers, “you’re not armed. Get back here!”

  I wave at him angrily and he falls silent, but I can hear him burning behind me. A small part of me wants to get on my knees and apologise, for leaving Fairground, for being reckless. For any number of mistakes I’ve made. But there’ll be time for all of that later. Right now I don’t need to think. I need to act. It doesn’t matter that as my muscles tense, my hands close around thin air. I don’t need a weapon.

  I lead them up the stairs, and something about the situation strikes me as odd. At Fairground Adam always leads. If not him, then Sparrow. I’ve grown so used to the sight of the back of his head over the years. All the times he’s lead me somewhere or walked away from me. It’s strange now to feel him shifting behind me, his breathing shallow. Somehow it empowers me, drives me forward. It’s good to feel in control.

  I pause at the top of the steps and look at the number painted on the wall. 52. Somehow we’ve climbed fast enough that we’re almost at the top. I can feel the way the walls change around us, the corridors shrinking a little as we make our way to the tip of the tapered structure. I briefly wonder how it felt to work up here. I can’t help but imagine that the higher you went up here, the classier and more upscale the place. I can imagine CEOs pacing these corridors, climbing these stairs, taking care not to wrinkle their designer suits on the way to whatever business meeting they had next. Mechanical administrators following them on clunky metallic legs, their eyes trained on their bosses, recording, taking notes, filming for every tiny detail that might in some way help negotiations.

  “Shh!” Max breathes, “I heard something!”

  I stop dead, lowering my knees to the ground. I press my hand against the step in front of me and close my eyes. I can hear it, too. It’s distant, muffled, but it’s there. A steady thump – perhaps the same thumping as before – somewhere overhead this time. Like a mecha pacing, or a number of massive steel pistons beating in time. I can feel it in my fingers, the way every blow sends a tiny shudder through the walls, across the floor and up into my hand. Somehow it makes me sick to my stomach, thinking of what could be causing such a noise. I have to pull my hand away, it’s so unnerving.

  I stand back up and Max steps up beside me, his expression glum.

  “What now? Do we keep going?”

  And then he turns, not to Adam but to me. I stare; his eyes are calm, warm, expectant. He fully expects that I’ll make this decision for him. I feel a small pang of guilt that he’s here in the first place. He must hate this. Max, who tries so hard to avoid confrontation. Max, who’s a much gentler soul than he lets on. But then I turn a little, and Brick, Kicker and even Adam are looking at me too. Their eyes are fixed on mine, flitting back and forth like they’re trying to figure me out, to calculate what I could possibly be thinking. I chew on my lip.

  This is going to mean trouble. I’d thought it was a suicide mission when I was alone, but with a small group the chances are even less in our favour. I recall what Minni said about this trip. She said that one person, given time and quiet and caution, could sneak in. A group of five, three of which are carrying firearms, simply doesn’t factor into that plan.

  I point at the others and then down the stairs. They tilt their heads a little, clearly confused by my motions, and I sigh. I try to mime it, making my fingers walk and waving at them, but to no avail. They either don’t understand what I’m saying or they’re too brave and stubborn to listen. I release a small sound of frustration and start signing furiously. You have to go. I can do this on my own.

  “Not a chance.”

  I pause, the motion dying in my fingertips. Adam looks me up and down, scowling, then pulls the firearm from his belt and passes it to me.

  “Yes, I know sign language. I learned it a long time ago. Take this. We’re going to finish this today.”

  I do as I’m told, stowing the gun in my own belt, but my fingers are unsteady. I stare at him, confusion in my eyes. I’m so puzzled it makes my head ache. The others stare, too. Even Kicker and Brick seem surprised. The thought strikes me that he may have learned it for my sake – and a secondary thought follows. In all those meetings where I cursed him out in sign, he could understand that. My gut twists. I reach out a little, wanting to place a hand on his shoulder, but something stops me. It’s like an invisible wall, a barrier between us, and I can’t bring myself to shatter it. So I pull back, checking the gun is secure in my belt before leading the way.

  We run into several more bots along the way, each of them bursting from around corners and blindly rushing us. We take them out swiftly, silently, dumping their motionless remains in the corners and hoping the other bots don’t notice a trail and try to track us.

  We reach the top of the stairwell and I bend over, putting my hands on my knees. My breathing is short, uneven; sweat drips from my chin and stings my eyes. I glance back at the others. They’re all the same, mopping the sweat from their brows and sighing as they try to catch their breath. Something twists in my chest, the realisation that I never would have made this journey alone. I suppose I should be sorry, and take back my insistence that the others leave. But as Adam catches my eye I look away, determination flaring in me.

  “You guys should hang back,” Adam says to Brick and Kicker. Brick nods, but Kicker frowns.

  “Hey, wait a sec. You mean you don’t want us to help?”

  Adam turns to them now, his hand clenched around his launcher. When he speaks his voice is low, hushed.

  “We don’t know what’s in there. Could be anything. We need someone to stand guard out here.”

  “No way,” Kicker groans, “that’s not fair. We don’t even get to be there in the end?”

  “We need you out here. If we get into trouble and need help, it’s good to have you two waiting in the wings. And should the worst happen…”

  He takes a deep, rattling breath, and I can hear how much he hates it. He doesn’t want to have this conversation – the thought alone is unbearable.

  “Boss, hold up…”

  “No,” he interjects, “if the worst happens then you two need to get out of here and go back to Fairground.”

  “But what about you?”

  Something akin to pain flickers through Adam’s eyes and he sighs.

  “Kayla died trying to protect Fairground. It’s awful and sad, but she was also brave. I think it’s a good thing to follow in her footsteps.”

  It takes a moment before I register who he’s talking about. Somehow, some tiny part of me always forgets that our names are only titles, only codes. Over the years they’ve become so engrained into my mind that I can barely remember the Scout’s names. Sparrow was Kayla. Somehow the word sounds strange in my head, like a foreign language rolling off Adam’s tongue.

  The others exchange sad glances, and then their arms reach out and enclose Adam in their warmth. It’s a brief moment and it passes almost im
mediately, but there’s a sadness in the air. My throat hurts as I watch them, and I feel like there’s so much unsaid between them. It’s like they’re saying goodbye.

  Then they pull away. Brick inclines his head a little to me and Kicker nods.

  “You take care of him, right?”

  I simply smile and pull the gun from my belt – the motion seems to work, though, and they both let out a small laugh. A part of me wants to go with them, but I bite back and root myself to the ground.

  Then the moment is gone, and the two of them ready their launchers and take off down the stairs, finding the best places to hide and wait. I meet Adam’s eyes and we silently nod at one another. He’s mad, still. But he’s willing to move past it if I am, for the greater good. Max shifts next to me and I turn to him; our eyes meet and we exchange a determined look. I lift the gun into my right hand, place my left on the door and nod.

  Let’s do this.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  We emerge onto the top floor. While the other floors had opened up into what seemed like miles of empty white corridor, this floor has only one. A short, neat walkway to a pair of ornate doors. The doors themselves are broken, closed but a little twisted, the area around the lock shattered and scratched.

  As we walk, our weapons raised at the door, I can feel a peculiar buzzing around us. It’s strange, familiar, a sort of odd electricity in the air.

  “There’s an electromagnetic pulse in there,” Adam mutters, “can you feel it?”

  I nod. This could turn out to be a blessing. If this is a constant pulse, there will be no bots up here. Despite that teary farewell between the Scouts, perhaps it really is as easy as walking in and shutting it off.

  We push open the doors and take a step in – but something heavy hits the ground in front of us and the darkness is lit. Fiery blue light burns in front of us, jumping and crackling like lightning as it does so.

  I jump back; but Max falls to the ground beside me. I reach towards him but Adam’s hand finds me, fastens around my wrist and pulls me into the corner. I fight to pull away, but I can’t see anything. The room is lit by the bouncing lightning, illuminating Max’s motionless shadow, but I can’t see well enough to reach him.

  Then, with a series of thumps and buzzes, the lights turn on overhead. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, but as they do I gasp.

  The flashing, bouncing light is an electrical wire. Thicker than my arm, it clatters against the floor, thrown up wildly by the force of its own power, blocking entrance to the corridor beyond. Max lies in the fetal position on the floor, his hands clutched against his stomach, his eyes firmly shut. I can see the traces of electricity zapping over his body, accompanied by sharp cracking sounds.

  Tears spring to my eyes and I pull towards him, but Adam holds me back.

  “Don’t get too close!”

  I wrestle him, sinking an elbow deep into his ribs to force him to release me. He does so with a yelp, and I crouch low as I run to Max.

  I push him onto his back and tug at his clothes, pulling him back towards the door and away from the electric wire. I notice as I move that the floor is covered in water, channeling the electricity. It didn’t have to hit him; he just stepped into the puddle. I push the hair back from his face and lean down close, ignoring the tiny, painful zaps of electricity coursing through me as I touch him. My heart feels heavy, and it takes all I have not to cry. Please. Not you, too.

  We remain motionless for a moment before I finally hear what I’ve been waiting for. Max is breathing – unconscious and injured, yes, but breathing. Relief floods through me and I let out a few tears; my hand cups his cheek and I smile down at him, thanking a deity I don’t believe in.

  “Is he alive?”

  Adam crouches down next to me, but his eyes are still reproachful as he watches the electricity on the floor. I follow his gaze, realising how much of a danger it is; the water spreads across the floor, leaving tiny islands that probably aren’t safe to walk on. The wire itself bounces wildly – and now, in the light, I can see why. The wall and ceiling are broken here, revealing a number of exposed wires, pipes and air vents. They run overhead, hanging down above the wire.

  “Shit,” he mutters, “there’s no safe way across this thing.”

  I start to nod; but then something catches my eye. A couple of crates to my left, full of who-knows-what. My mind races at a mile a minute and suddenly I’m on my feet, signing for Adam to pull Max away and care for him.

  “And what are you going to do?” he asks, but I don’t respond. I grab at the crates and pull them, moving them out to the end of the water. Placing one foot on the top of the nearest one, I test their strength. The wood creaks heavily under my weight, but seems to hold. I climb up onto the first one, gulp, and glance back at the others.

  Adam is holding Max now, his arms wrapped around him as he pulls him back, into the corridor and to safety. Max himself remains motionless, unconscious, and I know he’d try and stop me if he knew what I was about to do.

  Adam spots me and freezes, perhaps guessing my plan.

  “What… are you doing?”

  I shrug, shake my head, and start to sign. Stay here. I’ll be back soon.

  His expression changes, and I expect him to argue with me, but then he stops. His gaze is fixed on something behind me, something shocking. His mouth falls open and his eyes widen. I follow his gaze to the other side of the corridor, and the shock sends a jolt through me.

  There, at the end of the corridor, at the top of the most plagued building in Lumis, is a man. He’s somewhat young, tall and slim, dressed in a tattered business suit. He pauses, one leg in front of the other, and even from this distance I can see a wry smile on his face. Something about it strikes me as familiar – and as he gives a small wave and wanders from my sight, the image of his face echoes in my head.

  Who was that?

  “Someone’s up here?” I hear Adam cry, “no way…”

  Whatever doubt I had about carrying on alone is suddenly gone. I clamber to the top of the crate and stand, measuring my jump, trying to time the movement of the wire below.

  “Ash!”

  I ignore Adam’s cries, stepping forward and leaping from the crates, arms outstretched. One hand catches a hanging electrical wire and I cling to it, using it to pull myself up. There’s something thrilling about this; hanging by a thread over a pool of electricity. The wire holds fast, but as I shift my weight up and onto a hanging vent cover, something begins to break. I’m suddenly happy that I did this alone – the debris wouldn’t hold Adam or Max’s weight.

  I can feel Adam’s eyes on me as I venture across the ceiling, my fingers somehow finding purchase on the shreds hanging from it. The wire screams underneath me, the power scorching the air around me, and the sweat makes my eyes sting and my hands slippery. More than once I feel I might fall – but somehow I cling on and move onto the next piece before I do.

  It’s with immense relief that I drop down on the other side of the pool of electricity. I land a little too hard and my knee gives way, causing me to roll, but I don’t care. I spring to my feet, ignoring the pain, and glance back at Adam. I hadn’t realised it was so far.

  He shouts something, but I can barely hear him over the sound of the wire’s bouncing. I raise my hands and sign, telling him I’m going ahead and to get Max and the others to safety. My fingers shake a little, a sign that I don’t want to go on alone, but it’s moved past me trying to prove myself. If there’s someone up here, then I need to know who. Maybe they can help me stop this thing.

  I turn tail and run, taking off after the stranger.

  My feet slap on the floor, echoing, and I can feel the barrel of the gun digging into my legs as I raise my knees high, desperate to catch up with him. My mind runs at a mile a minute; how could anyone survive up here? Who would even want to?

  But as I run, hopping over ever-increasing numbers of furniture, something clicks. All those times I had stared int
o the city, chin on my knees, staring at the tower and wondering about that light. Maybe it was this person. Perhaps they’ve been alone for years and years, protected by that giant pulse in the corridor. Maybe they’ve had that light on as a warning to stay away, or a beacon calling for help.

  I turn the corners sharply, my head whipping around, trying to figure out where I am. I break through a pair of glass doors and emerge into what looks like a house. It’s wide and open; archways fill the wall next to me, each one leading into what seems to be a different room. I can see a bed in the one closest to me. The blankets are messy and creased, thrown aside like they were slept on one too many times. The entire left side of the room is glass, showing a view of the city I’ve never seen before. Books lie scattered around me, some left open halfway through like the reader got bored. Exquisite furniture sits strategically around, too – a red armchair, a glass table. The whole area looks luxurious.

  But I don’t care about that. Because ahead of me, so large it’s taking up a whole wall, is a computer.

  I’ve seen computers before. For the longest time Dr Newton had one in the infirmary. It didn’t do a great deal – with limited power and a different system type from the bots it wasn’t all that useful. But that thing was tiny. A small box linked up to a wide, flat screen. I remember tapping at the screen and watching things change on it, not really understanding quite what it was doing. This computer is nothing like that. It’s massive, a screen as big as the entire infirmary embedded into the wall, and in place of a keypad is a wide platform with sets of keys, buttons and screens on it. The buttons flash, whir and beep.