by T. C. Edge
“No, my Lady, not to my knowledge,” says a guard.
“Good. Then they will provide no warning. We will try to get some of our men to the woods beyond the western gate, just in case.”
“And you said that Zander went that way?” asks a young, blond haired soldier. “Can we call on him to cut them off?”
“No,” says Lady Orlando immediately. “He’s engaged in an important task and cannot be distracted. But that does remind me, Brie, to ask you to contact him telepathically and see if you can get through. I’d like to hear of his progress.”
I nod.
“Yes, my Lady,” I say. “I’ll get on it in a moment.”
“Good. OK, Adryan, go to the comms room and make sure the underlands are aware of what’s happened. And arrange for two small troops to watch the northern and western gates from the outerlands side.”
Adryan nods and moves off.
“The rest of you, back to your posts,” she continues. “Morning will be coming soon and the battle still rages. We have lost five good men this evening and had another taken from us. Let’s make sure we don’t lose anymore.”
The group disperses, leaving me with a final query for Lady Orlando’s ears only.
“What about Commander Burns?” I ask. “I know he doesn’t have total control of the City Guard right now, but can he not put out a shoot to kill order or something, in case Rafe and Agent Woolf reach the gates?”
“It’s…possible,” she says. “I’ll try to speak with him and let him know. However, it’s not easy to make contact right now. We still need to maintain his subterfuge up there.”
“But we won’t if Woolf gets back. She’ll know all about Burns now.”
“Indeed. You’re right. We will do what we can, Brie. Now please, find somewhere quiet and see if you can get in touch with your brother. Come to me right after.”
I do as ordered, and make my way quickly back to my room. I must have slept for a decent enough stretch, albeit one peppered with nightmares and hardly refreshing.
Still, the adrenaline is pumping, and I’m not expecting to sleep again for some time. Yet I need to relax, to settle my mind in order to open up the pathways.
I do so, sitting still on my bed, taking a few deep breaths, trying to rid my mind of all that’s just happened. I picture my brother’s face, and find the connection blocked.
There’s nothing. It’s blank.
I try again, but have no luck.
And as a result, a carousel of terrible images runs through my mind. Terrible things that might have happened to him.
I thrust them away, stand up, leave the room, and rush my way straight back to Lady Orlando. I find her in the hall, speaking once more with Adryan.
She immediately knows I’ve failed to make contact.
“Ah, I suspected as much,” she says. “The toxic woods make such things difficult. I’m certain he’s fine,” she adds, seeing the flutter of worry in my eyes.
And despite my reservations and worries, I’m certain of it too.
My brother is always fine.
20
The next few hours are a nervous wait.
So much is happening right now that it’s hard to keep up. All over, the agents of Cromwell appear to be closing in, and every hour that the people stay in the underlands is another that takes them closer to being discovered.
I find myself pacing a lot, moving around the hall and listening for updates, and intermittently returning to my room for some peace where I attempt, once again, to speak with my brother.
The latter yields no fruit, and the former keeps my mind occupied. From the comms room, Adryan continues to pass on messages to Lady Orlando, who spends her time issuing orders and making decisions.
By the time dawn comes, and the sky begins to brighten with a new day, it’s being reported that a couple of the tunnels are close to being cleared. Our men are so thinly spread, and there are so many Con-Cops flooding the streets, that it’s becoming almost impossible to slow or impede Cromwell’s forces.
Soon enough, whether Zander returns or not, Lady Orlando is going to have to make the decision to abandon the underlands and clear the caves.
Yet we have some final cards to play. The traps laid by the Nameless will cause further disruption even when the enemy get through, and more explosives have been set to offer additional impediments. At the moment, we’re still relying on the fact that Cromwell believes the main Nameless HQ is somewhere underground. So far as we can tell, he knows nothing of this place, and has set his mind to the single task of excavating the subterranean city and cornering us all like rats in a trap.
The anomaly of Woolf and her new slave, Rafe, however, has only served to make the situation more frantic and opaque. Should she return to the city, the message will immediately be sent to storm the outerlands and hunt us down out here. It’s critical that that doesn’t happen.
Men have been set at posts beyond the gates. They’re men we can’t spare, but it’s something we can’t afford to ignore. And as further reports of heavy losses come in from the northern quarter, we have to rely more and more on the success of the secret mission that continues to unfold in the relative quiet of the east.
I am now very much on board with the plot, a turnaround that could only have been created by such a desperate situation. Truly, with the darkness closing in, we have no choice.
And despite my misgivings, I now hope for the mission to succeed. For the tower to topple and wipe out all our foes. For the city to fall to chaos and ruin and for us, the Nameless, to stride in and pick up the pieces.
And I think again how I’ve changed.
How war has changed me…
All now relies on Zander, out in the wilds. So much seems to rest on his broad shoulders, as so much once did on mine. We’re waiting for him, watching and waiting. Whether he returns with good news or bad, with company or not, nothing can happen until he appears through the mist.
Not, at least, until the very last moment. Not until we reach the very edge of desperation.
And that edge is creeping ever nearer.
I find myself in Lady Orlando’s quarters once more, alongside several other leaders of the cause. They’re older, unable to fight, but keen of mind and trying to offer advice where they can.
Many have family and friends in the underlands. Most here do. And so they stand and pace on tired limbs and urge for Lady Orlando to make the call. For the underlands to empty, and the people led to the surface out here beyond the city. For the perilous trip to the mines to be undertaken, even without a suitable escort.
Desperation. It’s already engulfed them. But Lady Orlando is a Savant. Her mind doesn’t process such a thing like the rest of us. She listens and computes things in her head, and hears the advice of Adryan, another of her kind, whose prominence here is growing.
He comes and goes with more news, and each time it appears that there’s nothing to do but run. The calls to evacuate grow louder, but fall on deaf ears. The Lady of the Nameless doesn’t give in to their outbursts of emotion.
She is detached from it all, as all good leaders have to be.
But, she knows too that the clock is ticking, and the final seconds are upon us. And as Adryan returns to the rear of the church once more, she finds she has no alternative but to act.
“The tunnel in district 5 of the north has been breached,” announces Adryan gravely. “The Stalkers are flooding in. They’ll be into the main caverns soon.”
“How soon?” questions Lady Orlando composedly.
“Estimates suggest less than fifteen minutes. The traps should slow them, and we have some soldiers still defending the passage, but they won’t last long. I Don’t think we have a choice anymore.”
The old leaders nod and agree, as they have been doing for some time.
Lady Orlando looks at Adryan for a moment, takes a breath, and then begins to nod herself.
“Order the evacuation,” she says. “Abandon all the caves and p
rime the failsafes at the exit tunnels. We’ll bury as many of them as we can down there.”
Adryan leaves the room to deliver the order. A collective sigh of relief empties into the room. I’m part of that. I want the underlands evacuated too. I want to get Drum up here and out of there, and Sophie and Maddox as well. I want to protect them in person like I promised Rycard I would.
And now I’ll get that chance.
Lady Orlando orders the room to clear.
“Go, inform everyone of what’s going on,” she says. “No one is compelled to stay here. All who wish to go to the mines can. We have only an hour or so before the people get here. Whoever wishes to leave with them must be ready by then.”
The leaders and luminaries depart the room, charged now with making their own decision. Stay here, and hope they’re not discovered, or make the long trek north into the dangers of the wild and the promise of a safer, secret refuge beyond.
I know what my task will be. I’ll go there, help however I can, protect whoever I can from the threats we’ll face. That is my role now.
But looking at Lady Orlando, I know that she isn’t going anywhere.
“Oh no, child,” she tells me when I ask, looking through the small window to the south. “I can’t leave here. I’ll stay with the bare minimum of protection, but the rest will go with you.”
“Are you sure? Can you not run things from the mines?”
“No, I cannot. The mines are nothing but a sanctuary, developed to hide those who cannot fight, and cannot contribute. Whether we win or lose the fight for the soul of the city, this fight for the future, I will see it play out right here.”
“I’ll return,” I assure her. “I’ll help them there, and then I’ll come straight back.”
She turns from the window.
“You must do what you feel is best, Brie,” she says. “Here, now, our path relies only on our team in the east. If they fail, none of us will survive. If they fail, you might be better off staying in the northern mines.”
“I have too many people I care about in the city. I’ll always come back. I don’t have a choice about that either.”
“Good, that’s good,” she says. “Now go and prepare yourself. You’ll be one of our most powerful escorts to the north, and the people will need you to be strong.”
“I will be,” I promise her. “I have to be.”
I leave the room, and return to the hall to find it more hectic than ever. So few here look like warriors. So few look like soldiers.
Moving towards the comms room, I find Adryan again hard at work.
“Any idea how many men we have in the underlands?” I ask.
He frowns and thinks.
“There are a thousand at least…”
“No, I mean soldiers. Those who aren’t fighting in the city. You know, protection for the people.”
“I have no idea, Brie,” he says. “Some of the tunnels have lost their sentries. A lot of our hybrids were out fighting, trying to delay and interfere with Cromwell’s forces.”
“Order them back,” I say. “They’re not doing any good out there anymore. They’d be better off coming here and helping us to the refuge.”
“I don’t have that authority. And it’s too late anyway. They’re trapped up there, and need to offer distraction.”
“Distraction? But they’re through, Adryan. There’s no point in distracting them anymore!”
“No, Brie, distraction for the strike team so they can go about their business in secret. Our soldiers need to keep Cromwell’s people busy, and the Director’s eye on them and them alone. He thinks he’s winning this. He might be in for a rude awakening.”
“So you’re coming around too then?” I ask with a raise of the eyes. “To the idea of it? Blowing the High Tower.”
And, like me, he utters the same sentiment: “I don’t think we have a choice anymore. Cromwell has forced our hand.”
The minutes shoot by as the people gather their things. The force of a dozen or so soldiers here, a protective unit designed specifically to look after Lady Orlando and the other leaders, is split in two. Only half will stay and do their duty. The other half will help guide the people to safety.
I feel some solace at what I see. These are highly trained hybrids, powerful warriors. I only wish we had ten times more.
With the world seeming to move in fast forward, I find another ten minutes gone each time I glance at my watch. It seems like no time has passed when calls come from the front of the church, and I rush outside along with a number of others to see the first signs of our people issuing from the tunnels.
They appear through the barn across the street, led by a small force of soldiers, a thick procession of bodies climbing out of the earth like a swarm of giant ants. Some cling to personal belongings. Others cling to weapons. Women and children, and the old and infirm appear in their midst, frightened of what lies ahead and yet so glad to be out of the darkness.
They squint in the bright morning light, and cough in the toxic fog. Most have masks of some kind or another, ranging from proper protective gas masks to make-shift ones created from cloth and pieces of fabric.
Some won’t make it. Forget the deadly tribes and monstrous beasts and the lurking shapes of the Shadows, the toxic fog will be too much for some. The old, in particular, may not be able to cope. The young, too, may be more susceptible to the poison. As always, it will be the weakest among us to topple first. That is the natural order of things.
I imagine that Cromwell would smile at it all, enjoy the battle before us. I think of him watching from above, as if this is some giant experiment to weed out the weak and unleash the strong. A man like him, a Darwinist, committed to the concept of eugenics and perfecting and improving his race, would relish seeing these people die. Relish seeing them taken by the wild.
And I think, watching as the masses spread forth from the earth, how much I’d like to bring Cromwell along with us. How I’d like to see how his old body holds up to what lies ahead. How I’d like to see him face off against a mutated, ravenous wolf, or a young tribal hunter, living in these terrible conditions, seeking out his skull to wear as a hat.
Oh, how I’d love that…
I give the thought a second to populate my head and draw a wicked smirk to my lips. Then it’s gone, and I’m helping the people out, and searching from one face to the next for some sign of Drum or Sophie.
So many come, hundreds of them clambering from the ground, quickly moved off out of sight and assembled to the north of the church in a wide expanse of earth.
More gas masks are handed out to those who need them most. Spare guns are given to those who never thought they’d have to carry them. And all the while, as I search for my friends, I search too for faces of grit, for men and women in uniform, for those charged with leading the rabble northwards into the wilderness.
And in my head there’s only one conclusion…
Not enough.
21
They keep on coming, spewing up from the ground and into the cool morning light. There’s a frantic, febrile energy in the air as the people wonder what’s next for them, as they’re gathered and penned together and sorted by the few soldiers we have.
I continue to move through them, searching for the giant form of Drum, listening over the din for the sounds of a crying baby. The noise, and mesh of bodies makes both so difficult, until finally I see a lumbering hulk emerge from the barn, kitted out in rugged fatigues and clasping at a heavy rifle that few others would have the strength to hold.
I judder towards him, squeezing through the sea of flesh until our eyes catch and I clasp his thick trunk. Our embrace is brief, nothing but the equivalent of a peck on the lips.
I look up and search his oversized features and see that he’s been in the wars. Soot and ash cast his cheeks into shadow. His eyes look weary as if he’s had no sleep. Hidden behind the heavy mounds of bone and flesh that surround them, those dark irises stare with an intensity I’ve neve
r seen in the man.
Because a man he is: no longer a boy.
“I thought you were in the city?” are his first words.
“I was,” I say. “I came back last night. I’m here to help get the people out.”
“Good. So am I.”
There’s a grit to him. His eyes dance over the throng and watch them assemble. Voices of commanding officers call out for order. Drum knows he has a job to do.
“I’d better go, Brie,” he says. “I have my unit to protect.”
How fast things have gone. Only recently he was himself part of a little group in the underlands, sitting alone in a quiet corner, stripped from his old life. Now he’s become a soldier, tasked with protecting a group who cannot protect themselves.
Before I let him go, I ask: “Have you seen Sophie? Is she OK?”
I can’t even remember if he knows her. Have they been introduced before?
His answer confirms that he’s aware of her at least.
“She was with us,” he says. “Her and her baby…”
He stands up to his full height and spreads his eyes over the large crowd moving a little to the north. His eyes aren’t capable of picking her out.
But mine are.
“Hoist me up, will you?” I say.
He does so immediately, lifting me quickly and with consummate ease with one arm until I’m up towards his shoulder. The view is far better up here, and my Hawk-eyes go to work, scanning for Sophie’s sultry locks and beautiful blue eyes.
It doesn’t take long to catch them. Clutching at Maddox, who sits in a little pouch on her chest, she looks alert. In her hands she holds an electronic tablet, moving around and signing people off as she takes names. She’s clearly found her footing here quickly enough.
I climb down Drum’s arm and back to the ground.
“She’s there. I’ll see you in a bit…”
As I move off his clasping paw stops me. I turn back to him.
“How was Mrs C? And Tess and the others?”
“Oh, good, yeah,” I say. “Except that they tried to kill me…”