by Brenda Poppy
She couldn’t understand how things had gone so wrong so fast. One second they were free, with her PeaceBots creating the perfect diversion, and the next they were trapped, with Burn on the ground bleeding and the Peace Force closing in.
But Scar was not helpless. She was far too proud to ever be a damsel in distress. While she might not have the same combat expertise as Burn, she did possess her own bag of tricks.
First things first: She had to stop any more of the Peace Force from joining them. They were already outnumbered as it was, and they couldn’t afford for the odds to tilt further against them. With deft fingers, she removed the comms jammer from her bag, tuning it to the Peace Force’s frequency. Pressing the button with fervor, she sent a powerful signal across the channel, disrupting their communications and making it impossible for them to coordinate.
Of course, she still had the problem of the Peace Officers who were already on the scene. They wouldn’t be so easy to disrupt. Yet it wouldn’t be impossible. At least that’s what she was choosing to believe.
Grabbing her tab, she got to work, getting a lay of the land through the eyes of her PeaceBots. Their cameras were still on and still connected to her device, allowing her to survey the action taking place across the battlefield. And it wasn’t good.
Three of her bots had already suffered too much damage to continue, flashing error messages alongside fuzzy pictures of the ground where they lay. A fourth was barely holding on, its systems going critical amidst a hail of gunfire. The fifth and final bot, however, stood strong, its systems stable with no pursuers in sight.
Scar wasted no time, rerouting the bot to their location and giving it a new core imperative: to take down as many officers as it could. In between keystrokes, Scar glanced up at her sister through the cluster of bodies, making sure she was alright. But Burn was strong. Despite the bullet in her leg, she wasn’t giving up. In fact, the injury seemed to spur her on, fueling her strikes and lending fire to her blows.
As Scar watched, Burn pulled herself up, balancing on her uninjured leg with the support of the wall beside her. She grimaced, the move clearly paining her, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she unsheathed a wooden stick that she’d lashed to her back. Taking aim, she brought it down on an unsuspecting officer, ripping the gun from his hands. The weapon clattered to the ground, and Burn lunged for it, letting out a grunt as her shattered leg slammed against the dirt road.
Yet she didn’t allow the discomfort to slow her down. Her fingers closed around the weapon and she turned, rolling onto her back to aim at her disarmed foe. The man realized her intention and moved to kick the gun from her grasp, but she was quicker. As Scar watched, Burn let two bullets fly, striking the man in the shoulder and the gut. He fell, toppling onto Burn as his momentum carried him downward.
Burn shoved the man off her battered body, dealing an extra blow to his head to ensure that he no longer posed a threat. She pushed herself up against the wall and sought another target, her face determined. It was clear she could take care of herself.
With her sister’s safety secure, Scar returned her attention to her own efforts. The PeaceBot was on its way, winding toward her through the narrow streets, but Scar knew it would take more than a single droid to save them. So she dove back into her bag, searching for a weapon.
Her hand grazed the cool metal of several coins, which had fallen loosely to the bottom of her pack. A small smile crept onto her lips as she grabbed them, yanking them out into the dim light. Despite their diminutive size, the faux currency felt strangely powerful in her hand, and a shiver of eager anticipation ran through her.
Pushing off the wall, she snaked through the sea of frightened people, winding her way toward the rear flank. Her progress was slow, with scared families and refugees huddled together in shivering clumps, trying desperately to sink into the shadows. Those that could were using their gifts to fend off the enemy’s advances. They filled the space with sudden gusts of wind or cyclones of fire or bright bangs of light so fierce they blinded both friend and foe for seconds at a time.
It was bedlam, madness, a hellscape of fire and blood. Shots punctuated the night as officers fired blindly into the unarmed crowd, and screams echoed through the streets as the bullets tore apart flesh and sanity in equal measure.
Finally, Scar reached the tail end of the battle, placing herself just inside the safety of the pack. Shouting a warning to her own troops to take cover, she let loose her barrage of coins, aiming her fury at the clusters of officers bearing down on them. Scar watched as the coins sailed through the air between them, landing with unheard clinks at the soldiers’ feet.
A heartbeat later, a shudder shook the street as the coins exploded, sending the men flying. Some collided sickly with walls before sliding limply to the ground. Others met each other in the air, bodies crashing in wet thuds of flesh against flesh, armor against armor. Some were merely swept off their feet, thrown to the ground in violent crashes that were strong enough to stun.
Even Scar found herself staring up at the tier’s dark ceiling, her legs brushed from beneath her in the sudden wave of pressure. Her ears rang from the blast, making the world feel disjointed around her. Yet as she leveraged herself up, the scene came into focus.
The Lunaria – and her final tenacious bot – had pounced amidst the confusion, leaping to ambush the downed officers while they lay stunned in the dirt.
Then, through the comms, a growling voice burst through. “The front is clear. Get ready to move,” said Hale, panting. “And make sure we’re not followed,” he commanded, almost as an afterthought.
Hoisting herself up, Scar craned her neck to see toward the front line, but she could only catch glimpses of movement through the mass of figures. Trusting the others to guard the rear, she took a step toward her sister, only then realizing that a sharp sliver of steel debris had embedded itself into her left thigh. She attempted to yank the shard free, but it wouldn’t budge. Tearing at her pants, she saw that the chunk had fused with the metal of her leg to form one unbreakable piece, adding yet more steel to her cold metallic skin.
Sighing, she gave up on her attempts to dislodge the fragment and instead twisted her way back through the crowd, careful not to cut her comrades with her newly weaponized leg. Alongside her, the group also started to move, first inching along the lane, then quickening to a soft run. Scar continued her push forward, dodging the sections of street still smoldering with flames and sidestepping the downed officers that littered the ground.
Eventually, Scar emerged at the front. She noticed with some degree of bewilderment that Hale had swept Burn up into his arms and was carrying her through the street, cradling her injured form like a child who was too weak to run. It seemed out of character – both for Hale and her sister – and Scar wondered for the first time what had happened out in the wildlands.
Shaking her head, she decided that was a question for a later time. Now they needed to get to safety, and she knew just where that was. Drawing alongside Hale, she spared one curious glance at Burn before taking the lead, resuming her place as captain of the crew.
“Follow me,” she said over her shoulder to Hale, imbuing her voice with authority. “There’s a safe house nearby we can use.”
This hadn’t been the plan. The plan had been to whisk Burn and Hale up through the city, ferrying them to a more secure site to regroup, but this would have to do. Plans were, after all, made to be broken.
With Hale and Burn and the rest of their motley group in tow, Scar raced through the main thoroughfare and up to the next level before darting once again into the maze of side streets. She made her way up one more tier, pausing briefly to ensure everyone was still accounted for before taking off toward the outskirts of the city.
Their Corax End safe house glowed like a beacon in the night. After making sure they hadn’t been followed, Scar scanned her finger and held the door open for the ragged procession. More than 30 people filtered in, followed by a weary-looking Nar
a and a disheveled Kaz.
The relief that came from closing the door behind her was acute. Removing her mask, Scar drew in her first full breath in what felt like hours. Her head pounded in the sudden silence, and she watched as all around her figures collapsed onto the cool floor.
They were in rough shape. Burns and cuts and bullet wounds marred exposed flesh, and blood tinged the air with its metallic scent. Some cried, some shook, some stared blankly at the walls. Others held the bodies of those they’d lost, while more mourned for those they’d left behind.
The stimuli was a lot for Scar, and she battled against her body’s instincts to shut down or run away or withdraw into the confines of her own mind. She knew that she couldn’t disappear, no matter how much she might crave the safety of solitude. For once she needed to stay – and that fact frightened her more than all of the Peace Force’s weapons combined.
There was a sudden sound from beyond the door, and Scar turned, a sharp terror rushing through her at the thought that they’d been followed. As she looked through the peep hole, though, she realized it was yet more of the Lunaria, beaten and bruised, seeking shelter from the storm.
She rapidly opened the door, granting access to the wounded battalion. They filed in one by one, each looking grimmer than the last, until all the troops were nestled safely inside. Scar hurriedly shut the door behind them before turning back to the now-crowded space.
Someone had unlocked the doors on each side of the hallway, and people spilled into the adjoining rooms, strewn over floors and moth-eaten couches. Scar gingerly stalked forward, her eyes set on the large room in which they’d met only several nights before. In the blink of an eye, it had transitioned to a makeshift infirmary, with the sounds of tearing cloth and murmured pleas drifting through the hall.
Scar wanted to find Burn. Her sister would know what to do – or at least have some idea of their next steps forward. But when she caught sight of Cali, all other thoughts rushed from her mind.
The woman was white as a sheet, seated against a wall and barely conscious. Her right hand was clasped tightly over her left shoulder, but it wasn’t enough to stem the flow of blood that was coursing down her arm and onto the floor.
Kneeling, Scar gently peeled Cali’s hand from the wound and ripped away the tatters of her shirt, exposing her torn flesh. What she saw made her blanch, and she had to fight back the nausea that sprang to life in her gut.
A bullet had torn through Cali’s shoulder, piercing skin and muscle, and exposing bone. With shaking hands, Scar gently tilted the woman away from the wall to peer at her back, and Cali moaned in pain. The sound of her friend’s agony sent a guilty stutter through Scar’s body, but she tamped it down, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
“You’re going to be OK,” she told Cali in her best attempt at a comforting tone. “The bullet went straight through. As long as we can control the bleeding, you’ll be fine. I’m sure Crete will be able to fix you up in no time.”
She hoped she sounded more certain than she felt. As softly as she could, she positioned the woman back against the wall, leaning her on her side to avoid aggravating the exit wound. She glanced around, searching for Crete, but the healer was nowhere to be seen. Scar prayed he was just off tending to the others – or recovering from the toll his gift took. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine the worst: that he’d been claimed by the battlefield, yet another soul lost to the vagaries of war.
Not knowing what else to do, Scar shrugged out of her cloak and held it to Cali’s wound, hoping to stem the bleeding. Some of the light had returned to Cali’s eyes by then, and she gave a weak smile before pushing Scar’s hands away.
“I can take it from here,” she whispered, her voice hoarse yet resolute. “You should be with your sister.”
Scar gave her a questioning look, and Cali responded with a small nod. Rising to her feet, she spared one more glimpse at her friend before turning her attention to the room.
Looking out at the injured and broken, the wounded and dying, something potent rose up within her. It wasn’t guilt or pity or contrition. It was anger, hot and bright, and it pulsed through her in rapid bursts. Something that had been lingering at the edges of her mind finally clicked into place, and she stepped into the middle of the room, scanning the sea of desolate faces.
“We have a traitor in our midst,” she shouted, drawing all eyes to her with her sudden declaration. “This attack wasn’t random. It was deliberate. The Peace Force knew where we were going to be. They knew about the decoy explosions and our plans to break through the dome. They had it all figured out.”
Those that were able stared back at her with shocked expressions, eyes wide and mouths agape as they took in her words. As Scar turned to meet their gazes, more details fell into place, fueling her rage.
“And it wasn’t just tonight!” she cried, as much to herself as to the crowd before her. “I couldn’t figure out how Burn had gotten caught during her mission, even with a buffoon as a partner. But now I see. The Peace Force knew that they were coming. They knew the whole plan all along, and they were waiting for them!”
Scar could almost see the cogs turning as the Lunaria’s expressions evolved from confusion to disbelief to anger. They knew she was right. They knew they were harboring a spy. Some people shifted uncomfortably on the ground, while others openly glared around them, as if they could suss out the traitor with a glance.
“Someone even thwarted our efforts to stall the airflow repairs!” she continued, gaining momentum. “This person sold us out, telegraphing our every move to our enemies. I bet the Peace Force knows everything! Our names, our ideas, our plans to bring them down. They’ve weaseled their way into the Lunaria, and they’ll use their spy to make sure we pay.”
A wave of unease passed over the room as the group realized the precarious hand they’d been dealt. They weren’t safe. They weren’t free. They had been betrayed.
Scar was about to continue her tirade when another voice chimed in from behind her.
“You’re right,” said Burn, her voice calm despite the chaos. “The traitor is here in this room.”
Scar twisted her head to face her sister, a questioning look in her eyes. “How do you know?” she asked, squinting down at Burn. “You haven’t been here. How could you possibly know?” She didn’t mean it as an accusation, merely a statement of fact.
“Because I can read it in their thoughts,” Burn said simply, as if it was something one did every day.
Scar stared at her sister, truly seeing her for the first time since she’d come back into the city. Burn was on the ground, her injured leg held gently in Hale’s large hands. Not only was Burn fine with that, but she actually appeared content. She was also leaner than she had been before, with curved muscles apparent beneath her shirt and a new hardness to her face. And, apparently, she could read minds.
Scar wondered again what had happened in the wildlands. What had Burn gone through to change her so drastically? What had she faced that took that kind of toll? She opened her mouth to ask, but Burn beat her to the punch, drawing the attention of the room as she spoke.
“He’s scared. He knows there’s nowhere to run,” she said, closing her eyes for a brief moment as if listening to something only she could hear. Opening them once more, she turned her head slowly, scanning the room until she locked on her target: Raqa.
Chapter 24
Everything was so clear inside Raqa’s head. He was terrified, which made Burn’s job easy. It felt like he was projecting his thoughts directly to her, giving her access to everything he’d done.
He’d been working with the Peace Force for months. After he’d joined the Lunaria, he’d approached them with an offer. In return for his service, they’d promised to pay him handsomely, rewarding his espionage with a house and a job and a comfortable life on a respectable tier. The decision to betray the Lunaria had been simple.
At first it had been small things. He wasn’t privy to everything the Lu
naria did, but as time passed and he gained their trust, he’d been able to feed their enemies more and more. The location of a safe house here, the identity of an operative there. Piece by piece, he’d meticulously undermined their entire operation, all while giving nothing away to the operatives inside.
His big break had come when they’d agreed to sabotage the ventilation system. The Peace Force had salivated over that intel, all but throwing money his way. Yet, despite the information, they hadn’t been able to thwart the Lunaria’s efforts completely. They’d blamed that on Raqa. A spy, after all, was a convenient scapegoat.
After that, they’d put the pressure on him to bring down the Lunaria once and for all. And he’d tried. He’d fed them every tidbit he could learn about the Lunaria’s efforts to keep the airflow systems offline. He’d dismantled his own PeaceBots to gain their trust. And he’d cast doubt upon Scar’s theories about the wildlands, discouraging any plans to look into things the Peace Force wanted hidden.
Of course, Scar’s desire for secrecy – and her tendency to work alone – had put a wrench in his plans. He’d wanted to know what she was up to, wanted to learn what she knew, but until recently she hadn’t been willing to share. When he’d finally learned of Scar’s plan to bring people back into the city, he'd tried to sidetrack that, as well, before realizing that he could use it to his advantage.
The Peace Force had latched onto the plan like leeches desperate for blood. Raqa’s lack of specifics, however, had been more than a little frustrating. So they’d given him an ultimatum: Help the Peace Force take down the Lunaria and any refugees from the wildlands, and he’d finally be free to live a life of luxury. So as soon as he’d received the coordinates, he had relayed them to the Peace Force, and they’d attacked.
Coming back to herself, Burn processed what she’d seen. Raqa had been responsible for everything – her getting thrown into the Pit, the attack on the Lunaria, the death of her friends. A picture of Mika, pale and still and covered in blood, flashed before her eyes, and she tried to lunge at the man. Her claws met with empty air, however, as her wounded leg gave way beneath her and she fell, landing with a thud on the wooden floor.