by T. C. Edge
I watch Beckett for updates, and listen as he whispers along the line, spreading the word to the hybrids of the Nameless, hidden among the remains of this old, vine-covered town. I recognise a number of them, Marler in particular, one of the strike team to help take down the High Tower. Others, I hope, are equally gifted killers and fighters.
Soon, the whispers are heralding the arrival of enemy soldiers.
“Get ready,” whispers Beckett. “They’re coming fast. It sounds like they’re not aware of our presence. Total silence now. No movement.”
I set my muscles to stone and peer through a gap in the brick wall. Ahead, through the trees, the grasslands beyond are just about visible. I guide my gaze forward as far as I can, searching for the sight of men moving towards us. For several long minutes, I see nothing. Then, from over the crest of a small rise, silhouettes begin to emerge.
I hold my breath firm in my lungs. Ten come, then another twenty, then dozens more as the group work their way towards the trees. They stop at the edge, the sudden gloom of the forest perhaps making them slightly wary. Those with augmented senses use them, the gathering force taking a short time to survey the path ahead to make sure it’s safe.
Then, one of them appears to bend low to the ground. He sets about inspecting a patch of earth, some curious smell attracting his attention. It must be one of Rhoth’s lures, though as yet no creature appears to have taken the bait.
A failed attempt, perhaps, but worth a shot. The beasts of the wild must know better than to come calling with such a force assembled. They prefer to sneak and snipe from the bushes, unless vastly outnumbering their opponents…
A sudden flurry of movement dispels the notion.
A growling sound penetrates the silence, and from the brush a beast comes charging. I don’t see it at first – I only hear it – but the men of the Cure clearly do. They turn as one to the right, and begin lifting their weapons. For the first time I see them – rifles, old and worn like those of the Fangs, knives and other blades, scavenged from the old world.
But not all of them need weapons.
As the men get ready to fire at whatever beast must be coming at them, one of them steps ahead. I watch closely, my eyes zoomed in a hundred or so metres away, and see that it’s a gigantic bear that’s rushing, frothing at the mouth and turned wild by the scent of whatever Rhoth set to the earth.
The man seems completely unfazed by the charging beast. As it bounds forwards on powerful legs, and the other men stand back with weapons aloft, the man merely holds up one hand, palm facing out at the great monster.
The bear stops abruptly in its tracks, as if suddenly paralysed, its front legs suspended in the air and back legs pressing in the mud. The man raises his hand, and the bear goes too, its body rising up into the air, locked in the same position and unable to move.
Higher and higher it goes, towards the tops of the trees, before the man casually throws his hand off to the left, and the bear goes flying away across the plains. It lands with a crunch of broken legs, tumbling off into the grass and groaning loudly. The men just laugh.
My fingers tighten on my gun as I watch the display. This man is another Elemental, a Mind-Mover. Just like the fire-manipulator I saw in West’s memories. Or the wind-manipulator who set that tornado to the streets when those strange soldiers came to take Kira.
I look to my brother and Beckett. Both of them have seen the same as me. Our commander whispers as quietly as he can into his mic – “Note – Elemental spotted. Priority target.”
He must be telling Colonel Hatcher. It’s such an odd feeling, wishing to see the Stalkers unleashed. I wish them to pour through the woods and destroy these men. To see them do what they were bred for.
But not yet. Still, no one moves, and we lie in wait for the enemy to get closer. For some time they enter into a further discussion, whispers trickling through the trees. I look again at Beckett, his Bat powers enabling him to decipher the conversation. He turns to the men around us and offers a few hand signals and gestures. Zander watches, understands, and then looks to me.
And in my head I hear his voice.
They’re suspicious, he tells me. They suspect a trap. Be ready to fire when Beckett activates the gun placements.
I nod my understanding, and turn my eyes back to the men. Though wary, they have little choice but to enter through this gateway into the woods. Creeping forward, they come, weapons up and ready, eyes searching high and low.
Then, more growling sounds lift from the edges of the wood, Rhoth’s lures once more working their magic. This time, the distraction comes from various angles, the red eyes of the mutated wolves lighting in the darkness. Some men turn to face them, and fire off shots. Others quickly press forward, moving further from the plains.
They begin to disperse, the wolves here undeterred by their weapons and fast enough to creep around mostly unseen. My mind flashes with my own experience of the beasts, Zander once saving Adryan and me from a desperate and gruesome end not so long ago.
These wolves, I know, are not normal. Large and crazed, they have no fear of guns or man. They move fast and have thick hides, their bodies growing natural defences against the harsh features of this land. And these men of the Cure, I suspect, won’t have had dealings with such beasts before.
And as with the Stalkers, now our temporary allies in this fight, the creatures of the wood join us too in defending their lands, as if aware of just what threat these men pose.
They come from both sides, drawn here from afar and made mad by the scent of blood. The woods begin to light with the flame of gunfire, the men now moving quickly towards our position in the ruins, entering the bottleneck where we’ll strike them down.
Several rush a little quicker, those tasked with inspecting the path ahead distracted by the sudden attack. They enter into our world, and their nostrils suck up the poison that infects our lands. It will affect some of them, dull their senses and powers, their bodies unused to these strange conditions. And rushing on, those at the front fail to see that death is looming.
They clatter through the brush, and I see one catch his leg on a tripwire. The explosion that follows is enough to consume him and half a dozen men around him, splitting limbs from bodies and setting flesh aflame. The blast is the catalyst for the carnage that follows. Men begin to dart in all directions, seeking their enemy, and more of them hit the traps hidden in the undergrowth.
Explosions begin to light up the woods to the left and right of the clearing, forcing the rest of the men to charge straight forward. With fire to their flanks and wolves at their backs, they pour further inland, right to where we wait.
Then gunfire, rapid and unceasing, fills the air too. Several hidden guns, fixed into the earth or up in the trees, begin to spew down upon our enemy. They rattle ferociously, and I see more men fall, too slow to react. Many, however, are fast enough. They dash off left and right, or spread further forward, and come right into the path of our waiting men.
It’s time for us to join. And Beckett is the first to fire.
Standing, he launches the red blaze of his pulse rifle into the fray, and a second later fifty hybrids of the Nameless, and another fifty Stalkers are doing the same. All across this small stretch of woodland, leading towards the vast forest beyond, the world lights with a mixture of red, green, and blue flame; a beautiful but deadly display.
The men of the Cure take little time to fire back. Launching themselves into positions they can defend, or retreating a little further back to the plains, they set about peppering our positions with barrages of their own.
The wall I hide behind immediately draws fire. It spits and cracks and chips away at the brick, the ruins of the old town taking further damage. Crouching right next to my brother, I mimic his movements as he fires over the wall and ducks away from incoming fire, his eyes and mine just about able to see the fizzing yellow trails of the incoming bullets as they light up in the dark night.
It’s impossible for
me to know just how many men have fallen within the enemy ranks. Yet the ambush played out well, the traps doing their part and the funnel working to catch the enemy within a world of pain. Now, however, the fight looks set to break apart, men using the considerable gifts they have to turn their own personal battles to their advantage.
What becomes clear is that they’re mostly Dashers, or more likely hybrids with Dasher blood. Both sides are filled with them, confirming what I’ve always thought – a warrior isn’t much of a warrior unless they have superior speed. Few other enhancements are as useful in battle, and clearly the Cure are well aware of that.
So, the bottleneck we caught them in quickly clears out. They rush in various directions, sweeping though the woods and engaging where they can, or moving backwards where they can try to regroup. The wolves behind suddenly become of secondary concern, and many of them scramble off into the trees, realising that this fight isn’t for them any longer.
When it’s done, they’ll have plenty of flesh to feed on. No need for them to lose their lives now.
Within the madness, I try to pick out the Elemental, but find it impossible. All I can do is fire into the maelstrom and hope I hit some targets, ducking low whenever any bullets try to hunt me down. Before long, however, our wall is disintegrating, large chunks chipped away and no longer suitable for cover.
“Displace!” I hear my brother call.
He rushes to me, grabs my arm, and begins dragging me off further back into the ruins. We dive behind more cover, and I see that Beckett remains where he was, right there on the front line, firing his red flame at anyone who comes near.
Across the way, the Stalkers shift here and there, black shapes moving between the trees. I get the odd flash of close quarter combat, some of the Cure having rushed off to the left and engaging the Stalkers head on. I have no time to watch or dwell. I only have time to shoot and hide, the battle unlike any other I’ve yet been in, more relentless and ferocious.
Soon, the woods are flaming all over, set to blaze by the blasts from the traps and the rounds of pulse energy spewing from a hundred guns. It lights the world up, but the smoke makes visibility poor. Before too long, I’m firing only at shapes in the murk, or at the tips of firing rifles as they give away enemy positions.
The fire, however, is set to work in our enemy’s favour. I see it churning and gathering in an unnatural formation, before pouring forward as if sent from some giant flame-thrower. I know, immediately, that a fire-manipulator is here, and perhaps more than one. Could it be that the man who helped destroy West’s village is among them? Could he be the man now sending the licking tongues of flame right at us?
I have no time to consider the question. The fire comes calling, spreading violently through the ruins of the old town; down old streets and between the broken, dirty windows of old cars. The orange and yellow tendrils stretch out, gripping at whatever they can take hold of, and old walls and crumbling foundations, covered in green vines and creepers, begin to burn and melt.
Some men, too slow to see or react, or otherwise caught with their attention elsewhere, get eaten up by the murderous blaze. I watch in horror as the bodies of several Nameless are consumed, dropping to the floor and trying in vain to roll and smother the flames. It’s no use. Within mere seconds, they’re still. Dead. The fire too hot to contend with for long.
I’m forced to retreat once more, Zander calling for others to do the same. I look left, and see more fire spreading in the direction of the Stalkers. It hunts them down, gobbling them up along with any men of the Cure caught with them in combat. And as the flames gallop, I see a shape in the smoke, swirling his hands, calling down a ferocious wind that serves to press the fire further into the woods.
Rushing away, I feel the smoke pouring into my lungs through heaving breaths. I cough it up, dragging my mask – which I’d discarded – back up over my mouth. Others are moving back too, the pelt and fur covered figures of the Fangs realising they can do no more. Perhaps they’ve killed some who fell into their little ambushes. Perhaps not.
Perhaps many of them have lost their lives too, drawn to this battle and, as I feared, too out of their depth to fight such men.
Yet it is the Elementals who have changed things. The combination of fire and strong winds now buffet us, still following as we withdraw. What started as us displacing to escape the blaze has turned into a full retreat. I hear my brother roaring over the din, “Move back! Get away from the fire!”
The Nameless around us who are still alive, and who are able to hear him, take note. Not all, however, are in that boat. Some still lie hidden from the flames, surrounded and unable to move, their paths away from the battle cut off by the heat. I see one, and through the thick smoke realise that it’s Beckett, eyes searching left, right, forward and backwards for a way to flee.
I grab Zander’s arm to stop him.
“Beckett!” I shout. “He’s caught!”
My brother’s fierce hazel eyes, lit by the fire, quickly find Beckett too, still within the ruins and unable to get out. I see the dilemma play out in his mind, see him looking for a way to help.
He seems to make a snap call, the sort driven by the desire to save a friend, and begins rushing back towards the fray.
He doesn’t get far.
In a horrible moment, as Beckett turns and sees Zander coming, I watch as he lifts his hand and shakes his head, shouting out, “NO! STOP!”
He knows there’s no way out for him. He knows Zander is merely rushing to his own death. So, lifting his handgun to his temple, he makes one final plea.
“GET THEM OUT. RETREAT TO THE CITY!” he calls.
Then, before Zander can move any further, Beckett sends a bullet through his own brain.
10
I rush straight for my brother as he stands there, motionless. I grab his arm and pull back. He doesn’t shift for a second.
“Zander!” I shout. “We have to go!”
Over the roaring flames and wind, my words get through. He escapes his short paralysis and turns, Beckett’s body now hidden on the ground and covered in flame.
We begin moving east away from the ruins, and ahead I see the shapes of the Nameless escaping too. On the other side, the Stalkers do the same. They slip from cover to cover, unable to withstand the fire that now blocks off all visibility ahead.
The hunters are now the hunted, chased off into the woods by a wall of fire that consumes all before it. I have no time or opportunity to search for the Fangs, my eyes set only on the cool air of the woodland ahead as we dash for cover and escape the chasing inferno.
I can feel the terrible heat at my back, the storm of fire spreading wildly through the woods. Yet our Dasher powers are enough to give us some space, and soon we’re able to stop and turn and witness the carnage behind.
The forest is burning from left to right. By now a dozen acres must be wreathed in flame, and each second more ground is covered. Smoke fills the sky, black and thick and suffocating, spreading all through the trees and making it impossible to catch sight of our allies, or work out just how many are still alive.
Over the roar, Zander once more calls out for all to retreat to Haven. I see a few shapes tearing away, fearing for their lives. They’re quickly taken by the smoke and disappear, leaving me with only Zander.
“Rhoth…” I say. “West…”
He stops me short.
“They know what to do, Brie,” he tells me. “We can’t look for them. We can’t wait for them. We have no choice but to withdraw.”
We continue on again, stretching off from the flames and rushing through the smoke. Jutting roots and fallen trees hinder us, unseen until the last moment. I trip on one and tumble, the air pressed from my lungs. Zander quickly hauls me to my feet and we set off again at a gallop.
As we begin to escape the smoke, my burning lungs call for me to remove my mask. I take it off and suck in several long breaths as we enter into a patch of clearer air, panting hard.
Suddenly, gunshots sound nearby. We swing our eyes and find a collection of enemy soldiers rushing in our direction. The bullets rip at our feet and the trees to our sides as we move off again, hurtling through the thick scrub of the forest floor with the men in hot pursuit.
We reach a clearing with rocks to the left and slide in behind them. Zander snatches a grenade from his belt, flicks a switch, and tosses it back in the direction we came. Seconds later, the men are rushing through and passing straight by it, setting it off by proximity. Zander throws his body over me as the explosion rips through the clearing, tearing the men apart and battering the rocks with debris.
The rain of dust and blood that follows coats the glade in red and black. We step from our cover and confirm that our pursuers are dead, before setting back off once more.
Four more to add to the departed. Four less to siege the city in the days to come.
For the next five minutes, Zander leads me on, our enhanced speed quickly taking us away from the battle. Only when my reserves of energy begin to fade do we slow and rest for a second. I fall to the base of a tree, head in my hands and chest heaving. Zander stays on his feet, fit as a fiddle, eyes scanning behind to ensure we’re alone.
We are.
But in the distance, the devastation remains clear. The world lights in a cocktail of colour: yellow and orange and red below, black above as the fire breathes thick smoke into the night sky. The enemy army, still many miles away, will be able to see it from the grasslands, rushing perhaps to join. Maybe all we’ve done this night is precipitate the attack on the city. Maybe we’ve just enraged the beast.
But on we press. We have to, and have no choice now but to navigate our way back east and hope as many of our people got out alive as possible. The city, miles away, will take hours to reach at regular pace, and with the night falling and woods growing quiet, we know the threat of the wilds will grow prominent again.