by Josi Russell
Sol had to find Uncle Carl. He had to tell the Milguard that they were not fighting who they thought they were fighting. He had to tell them to be more careful, and that they didn’t know their enemy.
Reluctantly, Sol turned around and began making his way back toward the front line. He stayed as far from the fighting as he could, though it meant he lost time. The evening passed, and the last of the light began to ebb. He steeled himself against the dark and the cold.
53
Walt maneuvered the spider along the cleared path inside the Park fence. In much of the park, this ring had grown over, but here, between the West gate and what used to be the South gate, it was still broad and clear most of the way.
He had the spider extended to its full height, and he was looking for a weakness, any weakness, in the fence. The sun was gone, and the last light was dimming. They had come all the way from the West gate, and in front of them lay the crater and boulders kicked up by Caldwell’s blast: what used to be the South gate. If there was no weakness here, there was no weakness for them to find.
The boulders lay piled in front of what used to be the South gate, many simply too big to bother moving. It was a slide that had been threatening ever since the earthquake before the Terrene War when the earth had folded into two high peaks just outside the edge of the park. They had stood glowering down on the park entrance, every drop of rain and every gust of wind eating away at them, until Caldwell had brought them crashing down on the gate. The fence had fused before the boulders hit, and it had turned any that hit it directly into pebbles, but others had fallen on the two sides of the fence, and they lay in tumbled chaos under the glare of the spider’s lights.
Park security engineers had determined that the fused fence was secure, and there were no more guards stationed here. Karson said the entry point would remain closed. Walt wasn’t surprised. He suspected that one less gate made keeping the public out of the park much easier for Karson.
Now, as true darkness settled in, Walt wished for that gate back. Sylvia sat quiet and tense beside him, her eyes following the sweep of the spider’s lights around them. Even with the spider extended to its full fifteen-foot height, they were still ten feet short of the top of the fence, and they couldn’t see over it.
The windows were open as they listened to the constant hum of the fence, trying to detect a different pitch where the fields that ran through it and up over the park may be weakened. The freezing air had filled the cab of the spider. Walt glanced at Sylvia. He detected a tiny shiver.
“Honey, close your window.” He said gently. “I’ll listen out mine.” He worked the knobs on the heater and warm air began to swirl around with the cold air in the cab.
Sylvia didn’t fight him. She closed her window. That worried Walt. He wasn’t sure how much longer he should keep her out here. And it had been nearly twelve hours since he’d seen the photograph. Who knew if the bodies of the Stracahn were even there anymore?
In desperation, Walt switched course. He backed the spider into the woods and aimed it directly at the fence.
“What are you doing, Walt?” Sylvia’s voice held a hint of alarm.
“We’re going over. This thing is insulated enough to stand the mild charge on this side. As long as we push off the fence, we should clear the charge on the other side. It should get us up and over.”
“No, Walt!” She reached for his arm, but Walt had already engaged the spider, and they were moving fast toward the fence. She braced against the dashboard.
As the first metal leg reached the fence, Walt extended the back ones on the ground, and he felt the front leg take hold. He had a brief surge of hope, but then a bright flash lit the night, and the spider shuddered. The front leg slid down the fence, throwing sparks, and the cab fell to the ground, jarring Walt to his bones.
They sat stunned for a moment. Walt was grateful that the charges that split cowhide were only on the outside of the fence. In here, it was just a jolt. The design was meant to keep the wildlife safe, but this time, he and Sylvia got the benefit.
Walt looked at the fence. Its hum still filled the night air around them. For all his fury, for all his desperation, it was unchanged.
Walt vaulted out of the spider and scrambled to the ground. He sunk up to his thighs in the soft, dry snow. He tried to wade through it to the fence, intending to climb it with his bare hands, but the snow slowed him and cooled his anger to deep disappointment. He stopped and turned, looking up at Sylvia, who was carefully leaning out of the cab.
“We can’t get out!” he cried, furiously.
She shook her head.
“We can’t get to her. We can’t help her.”
“No honey. Not this time.” There was a deep sorrow in her voice.
He was pulled back 30 years. He remembered rushing to Sean, lifting him just in time to see his eyes close for the last time. Walt hadn’t even been able to give Zyn’dri that. He had failed at watching over both of them, had failed at keeping his family together for the second time in his life. Walt fell to his knees in the snow, the strength gone out of him.
54
Darkness had fallen on the little band of Stracahn trying to make their way back to the park. Zyn’dri had led them into the thick woods. They had climbed a peak, and she had seen, below and across the valley, the razor’s edge of the park fence rising behind wide fields.
Pyrsha’s parents were becoming more vocal. The ruggedness of the terrain had taken them by surprise, and though they had more stamina than humans, the night had grown cold, and they were wearing down.
She didn’t know what they’d do when they reached the fence. It was too high to climb, and she knew it held a protective charge on this side. As she gazed down toward where she knew the park would be, she squinted at the pale shine of the moonlight on the fence’s in the darkness far below. She was trying to decide what to do when a bright light illuminated the fence near the two peaks where the old South gate used to be. It was a vibrant, blue light, and it flashed and then died.
It was like a signal. She had to get to it. Zyn’dri gestured to the other Stracahn and began making her way down the steep mountainside.
It took hours to descend, and the flat pasture at the bottom of the mountain was a welcome change. Even with the deep drifts of snow, the going here was easier.
She felt the night growing colder around them. If she were home, in the little apartment, Walt and Sylvia would have tucked her in an hour ago.
The clouds had gone, leaving a merciless clear sky. Now, as the moon began its steady rising, a wild and bitter wind began to blow.
Pyrsha cried out, pulling a corner of her mother’s blanket over her own face.
Her mother called to Zyn’dri. “We must stop. The children need to rest.”
Zyn’dri didn’t want to stop. The safety of the park grew ever closer with each step. But Pyrsha had sunk to the ground, and other children were following.
“No! Wait! We have to find some shelter from this wind!” Zyn’dri looked around. A dark depression dipped away into the field a little to their right.
“Follow me!” she called, and the weary group trudged on. They climbed carefully down into what Zyn’dri now saw was an empty pond and huddled below its edge, out of the reach of the wind for a moment.
Half an hour passed and Zyn’dri tried to get them to continue, but they wouldn’t leave. Adults and children stayed curled in the curve of the pond, and its rim touched the stars in the sky above them. Zyn’dri felt like they were in a sphere, nestled in a bowl with a bowl arching over them. It felt safe, but the chill in the ground had leeched into her bones, and she shifted uncomfortably.
She didn’t know what they would do when they made it to the fence, but she felt driven to find the place where the bright light had flashed. Pyrsha’s parents would not listen to any plans of leaving. Zyn’dri leaned over and whispered to Pyrsha, the girl that was once her friend.
“We have to go. It will be very, very cold before E
arth’s sun rises.” Zyn’dri thought of a night she and Sylvia and Walt had spent out in the mountains winter camping. They had carried the most advanced sleeping bags, a little heater, and a tent. Walt and Sylvia had made certain Zyn’dri was bundled to twice her regular size. Still, the mountain cold had eased its way into the tent and found her nose and fingers and toes. Now she looked at the baby. One of the other children was holding him in his hupta on her lap, but that girl was shivering herself. How could any of them keep him warm? How would he ever make it through the night?
Pyrsha shook her head and turned away. Of course, she wouldn’t challenge her parents. But blind obedience had never been something that Zyn’dri was good at. She stood, her voice growing stronger as the cold wind slid over the lip of the pond and slapped her face.
“We have to find a better place to stay.”
Pyrsha’s father tried to hush her. “Sit down, child. We can’t leave. You don’t know what dangers lay outside this shelter.”
“This isn’t a shelter!” Zyn’dri’s voice was tight. “It’s a grave! We’ll be here in the morning, all right, but we’ll be frozen dead.”
Pyrsha’s father turned his calm eyes to her. “Then that is our fate.”
Zyn’dri opened her mouth to give him her opinion of fate, but the words stuck in her throat. Above them on the edge of the pond, the constant stars were blocked out by the shaggy forms of several wolves. Their narrow muzzles had already started edging over the rim of the pond in their direction. She thought of Caldwell, of the smell of the elk in the meadow, and fear rose in her throat.
Zyn’dri gestured toward them, and as Pyrsha’s parents turned and saw the animals, they finally stood. Their voices were tense as they herded the children toward the center of the pond.
“Move quickly, children. Quickly.” Pyrsha’s parents each held one of her hands, and they gathered the Chantha children and pushed them toward the opposite rim of the pond. They were nearly there when Zyn’dri heard a sound that filled her with horror.
The baby was crying somewhere behind them. In her fear, the child who had been holding him had left him behind. Zyn’dri could make out the wolves moving down toward the place the Stracahn had huddled, toward the crying baby.
Pyrsha’s mother shouted and ran back, waving her arms. Zyn’dri ran at them, too. She passed Pyrsha’s mom. Zyn’dri stopped as she saw the alpha male standing guard between the humans and his family. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, and he held his head low.
“Wait!” Zyn’dri said as Pyrsha’s mother arrived next to her. The woman dropped to the ground and worked to pry loose a stone frozen in a patch of ice.
“Help me, Zyn’dri!” she cried, but Zyn’dri had become very still. She was sensing an alpha female with the pack. She heard the baby’s cries begin to quiet, and instead of fear she felt relief. She walked forward, speaking quietly to the male wolf as she had to the little semballa when she’d first arrived.
“You are brave.” She told him. “You are protecting your family, and you think we’ve abandoned the little one.” As she drew closer, the male snapped the air in her direction, and the tumble of half-grown pups behind him mimicked him.
Zyn’dri didn’t flinch. She was close enough now to see, in the gentle light of the moon, the gravid alpha female, her warm body wrapped around the bundle that was the baby. Her muzzle lay next to him, and she flicked her ears toward Zyn’dri in a subtle sign to her pack that the girl wasn’t a threat. The alpha male’s snarling quieted.
“I’m just coming to help him.” Zyn’dri said. She realized that the wolves had watched all the bigger Stracahn moving away from the baby, leaving him to certain death. These wolves were different from the Grant pack at the elk carcass. They weren’t hunting, and there was no malice in them.
It was at that moment, as Zyn’dri entered the tumultuous circle made by the pack’s furry bodies, that Pyrsha’s mother let the rock fly. It struck one of the young wolves, and she yelped.
The next events happened so quickly that Zyn’dri could barely understand them. On seeing his offspring wounded, the alpha male’s fury returned, and he turned to snap at Zyn’dri, who staggered backward just in time. The female wolf grasped the hupta with her teeth and half carried, half dragged it, with the baby inside, up over the lip of the pond. Her pups and her male stood between her and the Stracahn, snarling, giving her time to escape before they turned and ran after her.
Zyn’dri stood, stunned. Pyrsha’s mother had sunk to the ground. She sat, staring vacantly, and Pyrsha’s father came to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Zyn’dri saw the horrors of the long day reflected in their slumped shoulders, their weary eyes. Zyn’dri herself was tired, and she was angry and scared, but there was only one thing to do now. She followed the wolf.
55
Sol kept to the deepest brush in the woods, avoiding the road that was the epicenter of the battle. Ahead of him, he heard the ever-growing sound of shots and shouts. The heavy artillery, though infrequent, shook the needles from the trees in showers.
He skirted the bodies as best he could, but the night was coming on quickly, and occasionally he stumbled over a still limb or a helmet. The only live and moving soldiers he saw were the Cascadian-uniformed ones sweeping the area.
Sol wasn’t sure he could stay out of their way. He had lived in these mountains, had hunted here and hiked here, long enough to know the sounds of the forest, and whenever a twig snapped or a bush rustled wrong, he dove to the ground and played dead or hid under something.
Twice patrols passed within ten feet of him. Twice they were close enough that he could hear their voices and see the details of the pine trees stitched on their uniforms. But they didn’t see him or thought him dead. Either way, they left him alone.
When the second one had been gone five minutes, ten, he rose. To his surprise, a yellow square of light fell through the darkened woods only feet from his hiding place. He rose and followed it with his eyes to the window of a little structure.
A Quickform hut. He had stumbled onto one of the small communications centers that dotted the woods and allowed for communication with the commander on the front lines. Inside would be a couple of communications specialists and a line straight to Uncle Carl.
He nearly ran the several feet to it, not considering why it was that the patrols hadn’t stopped at it.
He was reaching for the door handle when he glanced through one of the high, square windows and saw two gray-clad soldiers inside. There was no sign of the Milguard Soldiers that should be running it.
He stepped back, crouching into the shadow of the hut, and listened. The soldiers were giving maneuvers over the comms equipment. They must have retuned it to the Cascadian frequency. There would be no direct line to Milguard Command. If he wanted them to know, he was going to have to tell them himself.
The Command Center was at Checkpoint Five, just outside of town. It was the last holdout before the Cascadians descended on South Edge.
From the sound of it, the worst of the fighting was still at Checkpoint Four. The black-uniformed bodies of Milguard soldiers in their wake grew more numerous the closer Sol got to the fighting. And he was on the wrong side of the line.
He ran wide around it, feeling a pang of guilt at the realization that his unit was probably over there now, working to keep the enemy from making it to the Command Center. Sol cut through the trees, and then through the wide field where he had gone skimming and gotten his banner that night so long ago.
His head ached at the thought of it. He wished, briefly, that he was back living that moment instead of being stuck in the horror of this one.
He cleared the field. There was only one more stand of trees before Briian’s family’s barn, which was the Command Center at Checkpoint Five. As he moved through the now-dark woods, he realized that what had begun as a jumble of small conflicts had turned into a systematic progression. The Cascadians—or whoever they were—had used their greater skill to consolidate into a s
eamless front line that was advancing steadily.
He stayed low. Checkpoint Five was just ahead, and he could see the dark silhouette of the barn through the trees.
He was so focused on getting there that he didn’t see the attack coming.
Burstbeads, from forty feet to his right, smacked onto his armor and stuck. The inner plating stopped the gel from most of them, but one lucky shot tore through the gap between two plates at the back of his left knee and burned into the soft flesh there.
Sol didn’t cry out as he fell. Adrenaline surged through him as the pain pulsed in his leg. He freed his gun, then reached a gloved hand behind him and dug the thick goop out of the wound. He felt it blistering his flesh on the way out, but leaving it in would have caused much more damage as he tried to run.
He made it to his feet amid the shouts of two advancing Cascadian soldiers.
Sol raised his gun and fired. Once, twice. He imagined himself back on the shooting range, and every shot found its mark. He didn’t watch as the two soldiers fell. He was already running into the woods, Heading for the barn.
A couple of Milguard soldiers grabbed him outside and hauled him into the barn.
Though the outside was nothing but a dark shape against the sky, inside the barn it was so bright that Sol was blinded for a moment.
In the center of the main floor, Uncle Carl was barking orders at Mezina, who was relaying them to the units on the field.
Sol staggered a bit as he lunged forward and grasped Uncle Carl’s arm.