Sunspire (The Reach, Book 4)

by Mark R. Healy

“It could be just our imaginations,” Silvestri said. “They probably don’t have any interest in us at all.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Duran said. “I saw them when we first entered the Greenhouses, and they’ve kept popping up ever since. It’s not a coincidence.”

  “I saw them in Lux,” Silvestri said. “That was before they separated from the crowd.”

  “Wait a minute,” Talia said, alarmed. “Is this something we need to be concerned about?”

  Duran and Silvestri exchanged a look. “Not yet,” Duran said. “Probably just a couple of lowlifes looking for a score. We’ll probably shake them in Gaslight.”

  “Forget about what’s behind us,” Zoe said. “Is there any sign of the Redmen you saw earlier up ahead?”

  Duran turned to look out across the corridor again. “I don’t know if it was Redmen or someone else I saw out there.”

  “But are they gone?” she persisted.

  Duran waited a moment. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Then let’s move out,” Zoe said, and she started off down the corridor with her rifle at the ready.

  Duran fell in behind. Since they’d reached Gaslight a little earlier, it had quickly become evident that the place was in an even worse state than yesterday. The smoke was thicker, and the distant sound of gunfire more frequent.

  In short, it had become a full-blown war zone.

  Duran could only wonder at how long it would take for those fires to spread, to consume the entirety of Gaslight, then progress outward, eating away at the remainder of the Reach like a cancer.

  He also wondered what would happen should they become lost in this labyrinth of dark corridors while the fire closed in around them, trapping them and filling their lungs with smoke, and eventually consigning them to a slow and inescapable death.

  Best not to even consider that, he thought grimly.

  They reached the end of the corridor, then turned and began along another one. They hadn’t gone far when Duran heard footsteps coming from an adjoining tunnel.

  “Heads up!” he said, and the others snapped into place, flattening themselves against the walls and bringing up their weapons. Yun was the only exception. He moved sluggishly, his hands containing nothing but the holy beads he’d acquired earlier. His knuckles were white, such was the force with which he clenched them. “Take cover, man!” Duran spat at him.

  Shadows swam across the corridor, and then a group of people appeared not far away, little more than vague outlines cloaked in smoke.

  “Stay where you are!” Silvestri shouted at them. “We’re armed, and very pissed off.”

  “Please, don’t shoot!” a man called back. He began to approach, his arms raised submissively. “Don’t hurt us. We’re just trying to get out of here.”

  “Who are you?” Duran said.

  The man’s face materialised through the haze, haggard and streaked with blood and charcoal. There was a hollowness about his eyes that told Duran that this was a man who had stared into the abyss and lost all hope.

  At his hip limped a young boy who clutched desperately at the man’s trousers, gazing up fearfully at Duran and the others.

  “Speak up!” Duran said. “Who are you?”

  “Refugees,” the man said, coming to a halt nearby, his hands still in the air. “Honest people just trying to escape with our lives.”

  “Honest people, huh?” Duran said. “Haven't seen many of those around here lately.”

  The others behind the man were coming forward now, coughing and crying, their eyes bleary and red. Some bore open burn marks on their faces and arms, while others had strapped bandages around their injuries. To the last, these people looked as though they had been dragged across the coals of Hell, their souls scorched and scraped away in the process.

  “Please, we have to go,” the man said. “Time’s running short.”

  “Time for what?” Silvestri said.

  The man glanced over his shoulder and pointed. “The Redmen. They’ve been hunting down the militia, and anyone else who gets in their way. We gave them the shake back there, but–”

  At that moment there was more gunfire, closer than before, and the sound of heavy boots approaching. Without waiting for permission, the man and the boy set off again, limping away down the next corridor, and those behind followed closely on their heels.

  Duran did not even bother to try to call them back. He glanced at Zoe, who nodded in silent affirmation.

  “Let’s go,” he said, setting off after the refugees.

  For once, Silvestri did not bother to argue.

  11

  Talia was drawn into the mad flight through the dim corridors of Gaslight, following in the wake of the refugees as their pursuers continued to close in. Despite her attempts to stay calm, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of panic rise within her. The desperation of the refugees was somehow infectious, and as they ran together, she couldn’t help but feel as though she had become one of them. The claustrophobic corridors of Gaslight also exacerbated her unease, making her feel as though she were a rat in a drainpipe, quickly running out of latitude as the exterminators inexorably drove her toward a dead end.

  Gasping in a lungful of air, she tried to regain control of her emotions. Beside her, Silvestri seemed to be taking everything in his stride, his expression calm and calculating as he assessed the situation. Duran and Zoe appeared to be more irritated than anything, as if this were an inconvenience rather than any kind of real threat.

  These were hardened warriors, she figured, people who had seen their way through many conflicts. They knew how to handle themselves. She was in good hands.

  This was simply another hurdle they had to cross on their way to Sunspire.

  Duran suddenly slowed his pace, then waved at Silvestri. “This way,” he said, pointing to an adjoining corridor. “We can get to the lower levels through here.”

  Talia changed course as Duran had suggested, but as they neared the corridor she noticed that the smoke was thicker there, drifting outward in dark clumps. A few moments later, she saw why – a short way along, the corridor ended in a wall of orange flame.

  “Scratch that,” Roman said.

  “Dammit,” Duran said. He glanced at Zoe. “Next option?”

  She waved helplessly at the retreating form of the refugees. “After them. It’s the only way. If we can get down to the next level, it should open up a bit.”

  There was a loud noise behind them, that of a door being thrown open, and the discussion promptly ended.

  “Get going,” Silvestri said, and the others did as he suggested. They caught the stragglers of the refugee group quickly, a cluster of half a dozen people that included an elderly man who had doubled over, and a woman carrying an auburn-haired girl. Zoe hooked a hand under the man’s elbow and helped him to straighten, then aided him in moving forward. Talia was surprised to see Duran lift the girl from the woman’s arms, hoisting her onto his shoulder. The woman croaked a few words of thanks in between a bout of coughing.

  “So you’re not a heartless bastard after all,” Talia remarked to him.

  Duran turned to her, surprised. “What?”

  “You don’t just hunt people down for sport,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if that was all you had in you.”

  He scowled. “Is that what you think of me?”

  “What else would I think?”

  Duran’s frown deepened. At that moment there was loud gunfire from the direction in which they had been running. Beyond the end of the corridor, Talia saw several of the refugees fall in a heap as bullets riddled their bodies. One of them, a man who had been hit in the leg, crawled back toward the safety of the corridor, a pained expression on his face.

  “Get back!” he called as one of his companions reached out to drag him out of the line of fire. There was another burst of gunfire, and the man was hit again. This time he slumped to the ground, dead.

  The refugees huddled together, looking around frantically fo
r where to go next. Silvestri pushed through the pack and crept toward the edge of the wall as he attempted to get a view of what was out there. One of the refugees began to move out toward the killing zone again, perhaps to retrieve one of his fallen companions, but Duran gripped him by the collar and turned him around.

  “Stay where you are,” he instructed the refugees. They stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling as they contracted into a tight bunch. “You walk out there and you’re as good as dead.”

  “But there’s nowhere else to go,” one of them wailed, pointing.

  Talia turned and saw shadows at the far end of the corridor. Their pursuers were only moments away from reaching them.

  “Silvestri,” Talia called urgently. “We need a plan. Right now!”

  Silvestri paused at the end of the corridor for a moment longer, his face tilted so that he could see what was out there. Then he turned back to the others.

  “We should go back,” he said.

  “I don’t think that’s an option,” Talia said.

  “Who’s out there?” Duran said.

  Silvestri shook his head. “Might be the militia, or someone else. I can’t tell. They’re behind a blockade.”

  “Whoever they are, they aren’t friendly,” Zoe said. “That’s all that we need to know.”

  “Can we get past them somehow?” Talia said.

  “Not with them dug in like that, and not with the numbers we have.”

  “What about there?” Duran said, pointing. Talia looked and saw another corridor past where the refugees had been gunned down, across the other side of the concourse.

  “Where does it lead?” Silvestri said.

  “Away from here,” Duran said. His head whipped around in the direction from which they’d just come. “Away from them.”

  At the end of the corridor, Talia could see a group of silhouettes appearing through the smoke. From here, she could make out very few specific details, apart from the fact that they were wearing bulky armour and bore glowing red emblems on their chests.

  She felt a chill down her spine.

  “Redmen,” she breathed.

  The others turned as one to watch, their faces a mixture of fear, loathing, and outright dread. They seemed to come to the same conclusion as Talia – that they had been trapped with nowhere left to go, and nowhere to find cover. They were about to be crushed between two opposing forces, caught in the crossfire of a conflict of which they desired no part.

  Zoe’s face hardened. “Screw this,” she muttered, walking toward the place at the end of the corridor that Silvestri had just vacated. “Get ready,” she called over her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Duran said.

  “Laying down suppressing fire,” she said. “And when I do, you guys run like hell to the next corridor.”

  “What about you?” Duran said.

  “I’ll make it.”

  “Listen,” Duran said, reaching for her shoulder, but she slapped his hand away.

  “Goddammit, Alec, there’s no time for this! Just fucking go!”

  With that, she swung out into the corridor and fired off a burst from her assault rifle, then another. Silvestri reacted first, scrambling past her and then turning to strafe the militia as he moved toward the next corridor, unleashing bursts from his own rifle as he went. Talia stood rooted to the spot, the fear of stepping into a hail of bullets making her limbs feel like lead. Those around her seemed to be similarly affected, remaining where they were, paralysed by fear.

  “Go!” Duran roared, giving her a shove. She stumbled, then managed to regather her wits, finding her stride as she moved past Zoe. As she entered the killzone, she saw the flash of rifles from the gloomy recesses of the barricades, and waited to feel the searing pain of ballistics tearing through her flesh at any moment. Peripherally, she was aware that Silvestri had reached the far corridor and had assumed a position at its edge, laying down more suppressing fire. Each step toward him seemed to take forever, the mad dash between corridors lasting minutes instead of seconds as bullets whizzed around her.

  Then she was through, passing Silvestri into the relative safety of the next corridor. She turned to see refugees and her companions alike dashing madly across the space as she had done, and two of the refugees were hit and went down. As Duran reached Silvestri, he too pulled out his handgun and began to open fire on the barricades. As the last of the refugees crossed, Talia turned to see Zoe sprinting across the gap, her head down as she barrelled toward them. Duran shouted something above the din, and Zoe stumbled. For a split second, Talia feared the worst, but Zoe regained her balance and covered the intervening distance a few moments later.

  “That’s everyone!” Duran called out, tapping Silvestri on the shoulder. The two of them peeled back and retreated into the corridor. Across the way, Talia could see the Redmen had arrived at the killzone, and were now readying themselves for an assault.

  Duran holstered his handgun again. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he growled, and then they were running once again.

  12

  They continued blindly onward as the smoke thickened, not really knowing where it was they were headed, only wishing to put more distance between themselves and the war zone from which they’d narrowly escaped. Further on they found yet more refugees, commoners who were lost and trying to find a way to exit the Reach, and the number in their group swelled. Caught up in the tide of the desperate and forgotten masses of the Reach, Talia’s notion that she had become one with them only intensified; no longer in control of her own destiny, she was now simply being swept along with the current, bound to wash up wherever it might take her.

  They descended a stairwell, then another, and Talia lost all sense of direction. She did not even know which level they had reached. Duran, at least, seemed to have some idea about what he was doing. He remained at the head of the pack, leading them forward through the twists and turns of Gaslight, and if he harboured any doubts about where he was going, he kept them to himself. At each juncture he would bring them to a halt, allowing time to check what lay beyond, effectively minimising the chance of another ambush.

  They encountered several bands of armed men roaming the corridors, but these moved on at the sight of the assault rifles in the possession of Zoe and Silvestri.

  Some time later they began to trudge through a dark and narrow tunnel, and Talia saw bright lights at the far end. Weary and sore all over, she started at the sudden sound of Duran’s voice in the close confines.

  “We’re here,” he said. “This is Level Ninety-Six. Eastern end.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Silvestri said.

  “Yeah. Been here plenty of times before. If our friend in Lux was telling the truth, this is where we’ll find help.”

  They continued along the tunnel, and Talia prepared herself for the worst. After all, not much had gone right for them of late. She, Roman and the others had seemingly reeled from one disaster to the next, so it would come to her as no surprise should they alight from this tunnel to find nothing at all, or worse yet, a trap.

  She heard voices out there, and a strange creaking noise. A grunt, then laughter.

  “Stay on your toes,” Silvestri cautioned quietly.

  Zoe moved to take point, her assault rifle at the ready. The refugees clustered in behind them again, exchanging anxious whispers. Talia drew Roman close and produced her .22, although she wasn’t sure if it was going to be of any use.

  Zoe stopped suddenly and held up her hand, indicating that the others should do the same. A moment later, a woman’s voice reverberated through a speaker in the tunnel.

  “If you’re seeking a fight, turn around. You’ll only find death this way.”

  “And if we’re not?” Zoe called.

  “Then you may come forward. Don’t be afraid.”

  Zoe glanced back at Duran and Silvestri, a quizzical expression on her face. Duran shrugged.

  “Who are you?” Silvestri called out.

&
nbsp; “Come and see for yourself.”

  The three of them exchanged another glance, and then Zoe seemed to reach a decision. She started forward and moved confidently toward the end of the tunnel, then stepped out into the light.

  Duran followed, and then Talia and the others fell in behind.

  As Talia stepped out of the tunnel she found the source of the illumination – a series of light towers, such as those used in construction, had been arranged before the elevators, generators humming at their bases. A cluster of people were milling around the space, assembling great lengths of rope as well as pulley systems, and not far away a pot was boiling above a fire.

  Talia could smell something cooking through the stink of smoke that permeated Gaslight, and she was suddenly reminded of how hungry she was.

  “You won’t need those,” a woman in a khaki shirt said from nearby, pointing at their weapons as she lowered a radio to her belt. Talia recognised her voice from the speaker in the tunnel. “Not if you come in peace, like you said.”

  “Who are you?” Zoe said.

  “My name is Olivia. I’m the one who’s organising the evacuation in these parts.” She began to walk toward them. “Like I said, if your purpose here is peaceful, then you’re welcome to stay. If not, I will have to ask you to leave.” She gestured to one end of the elevator bays, then the other, where snipers were positioned in makeshift crow’s nests. “And please don’t try anything stupid, for your own sake.”

  “We’re not here to cause trouble,” Silvestri assured her. “There are other refugees here with us.”

  “So I see,” Olivia said, running an eye over the crowd. “You’re all part of the same group, then?”

  “Not exactly,” Silvestri admitted. “We just happened to be in the same place at the same time.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What is it you’re doing here?” Duran said.

  Olivia gestured to the open elevator shafts behind her. “We’ve set up winches that go all the way down to the lower levels of the Reach. If you’re looking to get out, this might be your best bet.”

  “So how much?” Zoe said.