The Only Thing to Fear

by Caroline Tung Richmond

  “Watch out!” Uncle Red yanked Zara aside as the soldiers reemerged, unloading their weapons down the hall. Sentinel Braun walked behind them, a bright ball of fire in her palms.

  “Kill the rebels!” Braun shouted, right before she released the fireball.

  Zara rolled behind one of the pillars just as the trail of fire sailed through the air where her head had been. Taking aim, Uncle Red shot off a couple rounds, taking down one of the soldiers, but Sentinel Braun had whipped behind a pillar as well, out of danger.

  With gunfire spraying all around them, Uncle Red heaved Zara, Alene, and himself past a cluster of oil paintings of Neuberlin and behind a nine-foot-tall decorative oak cabinet. Bullets roared through the fine-crafted wood, but Uncle Red and Alene fired right back. While they provided her cover, Zara formed a tornado at her feet, urging it higher and higher until it towered as tall as the cabinet. Mrs. Talley’s execution flashed through her mind — the burning, the screams — and the tornado spun faster. Zara launched it with a flick of the wrist, sending it tearing through the marble floor and barreling toward Sentinel Braun.

  “I’ll try to take out the soldiers!” Alene shouted to them. “Cover me!”

  Uncle Red nodded and slammed a new magazine into his gun, firing a rapid round of shots while Alene crawled toward a pillar. “What do you want to do about Braun?” he called to Zara when he had finished.

  Zara didn’t have time to answer him. The cabinet exploded in a roaring tower of flames, due to a fireball from Sentinel Braun’s fingertips. Uncle Red dove to his right while Zara lurched to her left, smashing her shoulder against the cold marble.

  “Get up, Zara!” Uncle Red screamed, his voice drowned out in the firefight between Alene and the last soldier.

  Dashing to her feet, Zara only had a second to breathe before Sentinel Braun, much closer than Zara realized, launched a massive icicle at her chest. Zara managed to muster a squall of wind to shove the ice away from her body. The icicle crashed onto the ground, breaking into a thousand pieces.

  Braun was far from finished. With a grim smirk, she conjured a boiling wall of fire next, engulfing Zara in its fiery shell. Crying out, Zara shrank into a tight ball as the flames flicked against her neck, at any patch of bare skin. As the fired closed in, she blasted air from her hands to cloak her from the onslaught, but the fire raged hotter, pressing toward her inch by scorching inch.

  Black smoke punctured Zara’s precious shield of air. Thick and heavy, the smoke invaded her throat and seared her lungs. Her heartbeat slammed faster. She only had minutes left. Maybe seconds. Her lightning was no use to her, and now only a shrinking layer of oxygen separated her from the flames.

  Oxygen. The word reverberated in Zara’s skull.

  Fire couldn’t burn without oxygen.

  A desperate plan gelled in her mind. Zara opened her hand, frantically hoping this would work.

  Disperse.

  As she held her last sip of breath, Zara screamed for the air to move apart. She reached for it, begging for it to spread out. At first, the air only circled around her wrists, puzzled. But then she squeezed her eyes shut to focus on this one task.

  Disperse!

  Slowly, very slowly, the air obeyed.

  Despite the acrid smoke, Zara’s eyes sprang open to find the fire dissipating. The flames died down as the air obeyed her. A sweet coolness fanned across her face, and she drank in a long deep breath.

  “Unmöglich!” Sentinel Braun choked out, her eyes searching Zara. Impossible. Her lips pursed tight, she urged the fire to climb higher, but the flames only flickered, drowsy from the lack of oxygen.

  Zara’s gaze narrowed on Braun’s throat. Disperse, she thought.

  The air heeded her, and Braun soon clawed at her neck, choking for breath. Zara repeated the command yet again and her own head went dizzy — the thin air was starting to affect her, too — but she wouldn’t stop.

  For Mrs. Talley. “Disperse!”

  Sentinel Braun dropped to her knees. Her hands glowed red, mustering one last pillar of flames, but it sizzled to nothing before it could launch from her palm. She slumped to the floor, nose first, unconscious.

  At last, Zara released the air from her bidding and gulped down a big breath. Both Alene and her uncle ran to her side, and Uncle Red stopped cold when he saw Braun’s body.

  “Is she dead?” he asked Zara.

  She shook her head, still drinking in the sweet air. “I don’t think so.”

  Raising his pistol, Uncle Red took aim at Braun’s head. His lips curled as he racked the slide. “For Nell,” he said.

  Then he fired.

  Blood splattered over Zara’s shirt, spraying across her arms and hands. A bullet hole marred Sentinel Braun’s pale cheekbone, a crater in her smooth white skin.

  Zara looked up at her uncle, and he wrapped an arm around her. For a moment, she let herself sink against him, despite the carnage around them, despite the carnage ahead of them.

  They had defeated two sentinels. Only two more to finish off.

  Uncle Red looked over Zara, searching for any signs of a wound. “Are you hurt?”

  Zara coughed out the last wisps of smoke and shook her head. Despite the soreness in her throat, she wasn’t injured. Not badly, at least. She had fared far better than the lifeless soldiers strewn facedown in the library. Their blood had already seeped onto the thick blue rug, spreading its redness wherever it touched.

  “What did you do to the sentinel?” Alene said with her brows creased. “How come you didn’t tell us you could do that?”

  “I didn’t know that I could,” said Zara. Her mouth tasted like ash, and she coughed again.

  “Well, that trick might be useful again,” said Uncle Red, “but let’s not discuss it here. Where do we go now, Alene?”

  “Up those stairs and toward the residential wing.” Alene motioned for them to follow her. “This way.”

  As they neared the end of the hall and rounded the corner to a carpeted staircase, rapid footfalls thundered behind them. Uncle Red dragged them up the steps and checked his pistol magazine.

  “How many rounds do you have left?” Alene murmured while she did the same to her two guns.

  “Five. I’m on my last magazine,” he said.

  “I’ll handle whoever’s coming. Save your bullets,” Zara said. Despite a dull throb in her temples, she flexed her fingers and urged another bolt of lightning to form in her hand. By the sound of the incoming boots, they might have to face over ten soldiers at once. The footsteps drew closer, and Zara commanded the lightning to surge stronger, but then she heard voices shout in English, “Find cover! Get down!”

  Zara peeked over the banister to see a surge of Alliance rebels rushing into the hallway. Rifles in hand, the ten rebels hurtled behind the pillars to shield themselves from the Nazis pursuing them. Gunfire exchanged between the forces, blasting into Zara’s ears, but she had grown so used to the sound that she didn’t even wince. She watched the rebels stand their ground, even though the Nazis shot off an onslaught of ammunition. The sight of that buoyed her, and she aimed her lightning at the Germans, but Alene pulled her arm back.

  “Save it for the Führer!” said Alene. “We have to put the mission first.”

  “She’s right,” Uncle Red said. “We have to keep moving.”

  Zara hesitated — those rebels were outnumbered two to one. If she left them now, they might be dead within the hour, but she nodded at her uncle and willed the lightning to fizzle away. They had to take out the Führer at all costs.

  Together, the three of them ascended another flight of stairs and reached another endless hallway, this one covered in gold paisley wallpaper. Chandelier sconces lit the elegant space, shining a warm glow on the walls, and an apple-green carpet ran underneath their shoes. Adrenaline pumped faster through Zara’s blood. She had a hunch they were getting close.

  “The residential wing should be close,” said Alene. She squinted down the hall, as if calling up a map
in her mind. “I’ll scout ahead. Cover me.”

  While Alene prowled down the hall, Uncle Red anchored himself along one wall, his gun at the ready, and Zara conjured a lightning bolt. Her eyes alert, she scanned the corridor for any movement, her ears perked for any sound, but she saw and heard nothing. Suddenly, she felt a shudder beneath her feet. The crystal sconces swayed and the floor rumbled like an earthquake had struck the White House. Zara’s gaze whipped down the hallway to find Alene, but it was too late.

  The Monster swooped from around the corner, his arms outstretched, and rammed into Alene. She cried out in surprise and tried to pedal back, but the Monster slammed into her. She crashed into the wall and it cracked on impact, chunks of plaster falling with her. Alene slid to the floor, her eyes glassy.

  “Alene!” Zara cried.

  But Alene didn’t move.

  The Monster’s eyes snaked toward Zara and Uncle Red. Seven feet tall and three feet thick, he released a terrifying roar, shooting spittle out of his ogre-like lips. An ice-cold fear slithered into Zara’s stomach, and she reached for her uncle’s arm.

  The Monster charged.

  Zara stood frozen, eyes wide and jaw slack. How would they ever survive this?

  “Get out of the way!” Uncle Red screamed.

  Breaking out of her haze, Zara seized her uncle by the shoulders and hurled them both against the wall while the Monster barreled past them. Uncle Red lifted his gun and launched three shots into the Monster’s back, but the slugs ricocheted off of his skin, like pellets bouncing off rubber.

  “Bullets won’t work!” Zara said. They couldn’t rely on her uncle’s shooting skills. Not this time.

  Releasing another roar, the Monster spun around and Zara ran toward him, putting as much distance as she could between herself and her uncle. A tangle of lightning bolts emerged on her palms, and she sent them flying toward the Monster. One of the bolts missed him completely while the other landed on his arm, but the Monster barely grunted.

  Her lightning wouldn’t work, either.

  “Whatever you did to Braun, do it to him!” Uncle Red shouted behind her.

  Fear stitched into every one of Zara’s pores, but her uncle was right. Her new trick might be their only shot to get out alive.

  The Monster thundered toward her with his massive arms open, ready to squash Zara in his crushing embrace. The fear doubled in Zara’s veins, but she focused on the Monster’s head.

  Disperse, she commanded, begging the air to spread apart, but it wasn’t enough. The Monster’s face had turned a furious red, but his pace failed to slacken. Instead, he zigzagged over the carpet, jarring Zara’s concentration, until he could draw in a long breath.

  With nowhere else to go, Zara leapt upward to the ceiling, asking the wind to carry her, and barely escaped his clutches. She watched him hurtle past and readied a tornado in her palm, but the Monster had turned his attention elsewhere.

  To Uncle Red.

  “No!” Zara screamed. She dropped to the floor and took off sprinting. “Uncle Red, run!”

  Uncle Red fired the rest of his magazine into the Monster’s chest, but they were only pinpricks against the Monster’s steely skin. His pistol clicked empty, and he stumbled back.

  “Uncle Red!” Zara shouted again. She launched into the air, gliding as fast as the wind would carry her, sheer desperation propelling her forward.

  Disperse! she called to the air surrounding the Monster. Oh, God, disperse!

  That only drew the Monster’s fury. Growling, he seized Uncle Red by the collar and smashed him against one wall, then the other, back and forth like a puppet. Then he tossed Uncle Red thirty feet down the hall, where Uncle Red landed with a whimper.

  The blood emptied from Zara’s head. She cried out her uncle’s name, but he didn’t answer. He lay there, limp. Broken.

  Had the Monster killed him?

  The Monster closed in on her. The wind spun on Zara’s hands, fueled by the vicious anger that ripped through her body. She launched a gust toward him, but it barely slowed his approach. He captured Zara with his oven mitt hands, mashing her abdomen until her ribs threatened to pop. She struggled for breath, but it wouldn’t come. He was too strong. Too big.

  As her legs kicked uselessly, Zara channeled her last bits of strength on one command.

  Disperse.

  The air particles spread farther and farther apart. The Monster’s mouth twitched, but he wouldn’t release her.

  Disperse! Please, disperse.

  Finally, the Monster’s face reddened. His lips opened, gasping for breath like a caught fish.

  It was working. Zara urged the air to thin out even more until his fingers loosened around her waist. She crashed onto the carpet, gulping air into her desperate lungs, but she didn’t take her eyes off of the Monster’s purpling face.

  “Disperse,” she said aloud.

  The Monster’s fingers scraped against his neck, but he couldn’t take even a sip of air. He fell to his knees, coughing, spluttering, until his eyes rolled into his head and he thudded next to Zara. Even then, she wouldn’t let the air come rushing back. An ordinary human would never survive that long without oxygen, but the Monster was far from ordinary.

  Finally, after another minute passed, Zara crawled onto her feet, her eyes sweeping the hallway for her uncle. Her heart skittered to a stop when she spotted him. “Uncle Red!”

  He lay sprawled in the middle of the carpet, his eyes shut tightly, his collarbone protruding from his skin. She crumpled next to him and searched frenziedly for a pulse, almost sobbing when she found it. He was alive. But Uncle Red needed a doctor after what the Monster had put him through — and he needed one fast.

  “Zara?” a voice mumbled behind her.

  Zara tore her eyes from her uncle to find Alene not far from her, slumped against the opposite wall. Alene’s arm lay crooked at an awful angle.

  “Zara,” Alene said again, wetting her dry lips. “Listen to me.”

  Reluctantly, Zara left Uncle Red’s side. “Where are you wounded? Aside from your arm?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You have to find the Führer.” Her teeth gritted, but she spoke through the pain. “Do you hear me?”

  “I’m not going anywhere without my uncle.”

  “We’re dead weight to you now.” Alene cradled her arm. “Go.”

  “My uncle —”

  “He can’t help you anymore! Think about the mission. The whole Alliance is depending on you.”

  Zara shook her head. She wouldn’t abandon her uncle. That wasn’t in her plan. “Garrison could do it,” she said. “He should have destroyed the control box by now.”

  “We don’t even know if he is alive — we can’t get in touch with him!”

  Zara went very still. The success of this mission now fell squarely on her shoulders. She was the only one who remained uninjured. She was the one who could finish this. But she couldn’t let her uncle die in front of her. Her gaze shifted from Alene to her uncle, back and forth, back and forth. A desperate idea popped into her head.

  “Can you use your powers?” Zara said quickly.

  Alene’s eyes flashed at her. “Why?”

  “I need you to disguise yourself — as a soldier, as a maid, as whatever. You have to bring my uncle to a doctor.”

  “Stop wasting time!”

  “He could be dying! I’ll find the Führer, but you have to take my uncle to a doctor. Promise me.”

  “I told you already —”

  “Promise me. I’m not leaving here until you do.”

  “Fine, fine,” Alene burst out, grimacing all over again when she moved her arm. “I’ll get your uncle out, but you have to leave right now. You have to find Dieter. No matter what.”

  Zara helped Alene to her feet. Then, with her heart twisting in half, she ran to her uncle and gripped his hand. “Hold on, do you hear me?” She kissed his clammy cheek. “Please hold on.”

  Beside her, Alene crouched over Uncle Red’s body and, w
ith a narrowing of her eyes, altered his appearance to a young Nazi lieutenant. Then she glared at Zara. “Follow this hall and head to your right. The Führer’s suite will be in the residential wing — the first door on your left. He should still be there if Garrison blocked the escape route to the bunker. You got that?”

  “F-First door on the left.”

  Alene grunted while she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small handheld camcorder. “You need to tape the assassination. Otherwise this whole thing is for nothing.”

  With her whole body trembling, Zara nodded and took the video recorder, sticking it in her pocket. She watched Alene drag her uncle toward the stairwell and almost begged her to take her with them, but she knew she had to let them go.

  Zara forced her legs forward, each step taking her deeper into the White House and closer to the Führer. She ignored the fear churning through her, the panic pounding at her heart, bursting to be let out. She had to press onward — for her uncle, for the entire Territories. And especially for her mother.

  Tonight, she would make Annie St. James proud.

  Following Alene’s instructions, Zara hurried down the corridor, turned right, and found herself in front of two towering doors, more than double her height. The entrance to the residential suite. The mahogany doors were carved with delicate roses and twirls of ivy, an antique most likely, imported from Germany for some gargantuan sum. She knew they were locked before she even touched them. The Corps of Four had always been vigilant in protecting the Führer — no door was left unsecured. Although now it was the Corps of One. Only the Medic remained.

  Zara pressed her hands against the doors to open them, but gunshots burst from within the suite, puncturing through both the antique doors and the lock. Ducking down, she hid behind the wall until the soldiers were forced to reload. Then, with a web of lightning on her hands, she kicked open the door and launched the bolts in a wide arc. Five guards flew backward, sprawling over the carpet. One of them struggled to rise, but Zara knocked another bolt into him. Pain hummed along her forehead — she could feel her well of energy dwindling each time she used her powers — and she knew she had to save enough strength for the Führer.