by Myke Cole
“Why the hell not?” Swift shouted. “She and her little boyfriend there tried to kill us. Did you miss the whole part where they gated in here with the attacking force? They’re our prisoners!”
“Then they’re protected by the Geneva Convention,” Britton said, “and that means we give them proper medical attention.”
“Fuck that,” Tsunami said. “They tried to kill us. Turnabout’s fair play.”
“And now you’re suddenly in the fight?” Britton asked her.
“Because during the battle you seemed content to not do a whole lot.” Tsunami turned red to the roots of her ginger hair, then looked at her feet.
Swift’s color rose, his current Drawing hard. The muscles of his lean body corded beneath his pale skin. Truelove gently set Downer down and stood. “I won’t let you.” The Necromancer sounded terrified. “There are corpses enough here to make an army.” Britton felt Truelove’s tide rise.
“No, bring it on,” Downer said, rising up on her elbows.
“Make your move, Swift. I could use the fuel.” Swift hesitated.
Downer could turn any magical energy into an elemental bound to her will.
“We just went through this, Swift,” Britton said. “Let it go.”
Swift pointed at Downer, still boiling with rage from having to let his hated enemy, Harlequin, go free. Therese and Britton had convinced him not to kill the helpless Aeromancer, and instead, Britton had gated him onto the White House lawn along with the survivors of the assault force. “You watch your fucking back.”
Marty turned and shot them a concerned look. Britton caught his meaning. The infighting wasn’t winning them any friends among a crowd of goblins that was already half-surly and growing worse by the minute.
He had to deal with this now.
“Lock it up, Swift,” Britton said. “That’s not how it’s going to be.” He pointed to Downer and Truelove. “I’ve run missions with these two. They’re good people. They were following orders.”
“Unlike you,” Downer said. “Why the hell did you run? You had a place with us.”
Britton opened his mouth to answer, but Truelove spoke over him. “No, he didn’t. Fitzy was going to kill Marty. You did right, Oscar. I wish I’d had the guts to do that.”
Downer whirled on him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She’s still loyal to the army,” Swift said. “You can’t keep her alive.”
Truelove looked up. He was painfully thin, his eyes enlarged behind his thick glasses, but his magic thrummed potently. The normally timid Necromancer had found his feet when he’d confronted Fitzy, and it seemed to have stuck. “You’re not going to hurt her.”
Britton stepped between them. “Nobody’s hurting anybody.”
“Who the hell put you in charge?” Tsunami asked.
“I did,” Britton said. “Because, rightly or wrongly, I got us off that FOB. The only reason you’re not still watching propaganda videos in the SASS is because of what I did. I saw you in the fight, Tsunami. If you were running things, we’d be sitting around shivering right now. Swift would busy trying to kill more people and who knows what . . .” His eyes fell on Peapod, mannish face framed by her close-cropped hair, standing with arms folded.
“I’d go home,” the Terramancer said.
“Home?” Britton asked.
“The Home Plane,” Therese supplied. “Peapod, that’s crazy.”
“No,” Britton sighed. “It’s not.”
“Oscar,” Therese replied, “you think there’s a safe place anywhere in the whole United States for us now? What do you think the SOC will do to us if they find us? We’re Selfers on the run. And Scylla. I can’t even begin to think about what you just let loose on the world. Even without her, we just killed . . . I don’t know how many soldiers. Our very existence is illegal!”
Peapod snorted. “Fuck that. I’ve been running from the law since before I came up Latent. That’s the real reason they threw me in the SASS anyway. For selling weed.”
“What?” Britton asked. “I thought you were some kind of rugby champion.”
“That doesn’t exactly pay the bills,” Peapod said. “I was running a six-figure business by the time I graduated college. The SOC doesn’t take kindly to that.”
“Bullshit,” Downer said. “They don’t throw you in the SASS for selling pot.”
“They do when you grow it Terramantically,” Peapod said.
“You should have seen the mushrooms.”
Britton shook his head. “I don’t believe this.”
“Believe it,” Peapod said. “And while you’re at it, believe that I’ve made a life out of staying one step ahead of these douchebags. I got sloppy is all. It won’t happen again. Send me home.
I am done with this fucking plane and I am done with army types and I am not”—she pointed a finger at Truelove and Downer—“ hanging around within a hundred miles of those two.”
“She’s right,” Tsunami said. “Get us the hell out of here. There’s nothing for me here. I don’t want to stay, and I don’t want to take my chances out there. Send me back home.”
“Tsunami,” Britton said, “this is bullshit . . .”
“Stop calling me that!” Tsunami said. “I have a name, and it’s Nancy. I don’t want to play your stupid little games anymore. I’m not a superhero, and I’m not in damned army!”
“Fine. Nancy. It’s still bullshit.”
“How is it bullshit?” She swept her arms across the smoldering village. “You want to live here?” She pointed to the waving saw-toothed grass beyond the palisade wall. “You want to live out there with the monsters? We have to go home!”
“So long as the McGauer-Linden Act makes us legal pariahs, we don’t have a home!” Britton shouted. “We have to change the law. We have to find a way to make home safe for us again.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Nancy asked.
“We need to start a movement . . . we need to . . .”
“Oh, that’s horseshit,” Nancy snorted. “You want to go found a political party now? Stick to what you know, soldier boy.”
“I just need time to puzzle it out,” Britton said. “President Walsh and Senator Whalen talk about prohibiting certain schools of magic while they traffic in it. We know about Shadow Coven. We know about FOB Frontier, all of it. I can be anywhere, at any moment. I can spread the word. Hell, maybe I can confront Walsh himself! That’s how systems change, Tsu . . .
Nancy, by rallying the public to your side. We’ve got the ultimate weapon to do that now. We’ve got the truth.
“It’s not safe for you back there. You’re a Selfer. You’ve seen a secret military installation. There is no home for you anymore. I can keep you safe here. I’ll make it okay, you just have to give me time.”
She shook her head. “I’ve seen what you do. Whether you meant it or not, there are a lot of people dead because of you. I’ll take my chances with the SOC.”
“I’m talking about a chance to change things for real. Change them for good,” he said. “Why would you walk away from that?”
“Because I have no reason to believe it will work. I’d rather take my chances on my own,” Nancy replied.
“No,” he said.
“What?” Peapod asked.
“No. I’m not doing it. It’s for your own good. I’m not sending you back to the Home Plane to die.”
Nancy gritted her teeth. “It’s easy for you. You can just do it. Why the hell won’t you?”
“Even if I was willing to, I have to see a place, fix it in my mind, to be able to gate to it.”
“You’re from Vermont, right?” Peapod said. “Put me there. I can find my way to where I need to. I’ll take Nancy with me.”
Nancy nodded. “You heard her . . . she’s a criminal. She’s got contacts. She’ll keep us hidden.”
Britton looked at Peapod. “Where will you go?”
Peapod snorted. “As if I’d tell you. You wanted to be
the hero and save us. Well, you’ve done that. Thanks. I don’t have a medal to pin on you, but I’d be much obliged if you’d get me out of here so I can get on with my life. I’ll take care of Nancy. You’re not the only one who can take care of people.”
“I trust her more than I do you,” Nancy added.
Britton shook his head. “I won’t send you back to die.”
“All right”—Nancy curled her lip—“ then you’re my fucking jailer. I want you to know that. We’re not in the army. We’re not under your command, and we’re not fucking children.”
“Oscar.” Therese touched his shoulder. The firelight from the burning thatch reflected in her eyes, imploring.
“I only want to keep her safe,” he said. “I want that for all of you.”
“I know,” Therese said, but her eyes didn’t change.
He looked back to Peapod. “They’ll experiment on you. They’ll kill you.”
“Only if they catch me,” she replied. Her confidence almost convinced him. But when he thought of Nancy in the midst of the battle, crying and hugging her knees to her chest, that confidence flagged. He couldn’t imagine her staying one step ahead of a deputy county sheriff, let alone the SOC.
But he didn’t want to be anyone’s jailer either. “Are you sure?”
Peapod nodded. “Do it now.”
“You know Route 7, near Shelburne?”
Peapod shrugged. “I can figure it out from there.” She retrieved a pistol from one of the fallen soldiers, expertly checked the chamber and magazine well before secreting it in the small of her back. “We’re wasting time.”
“If you’re in trouble, if you need me, you should . . .” Britton began.
Peapod rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Get us the hell out of here.”
Her shook his head. “Let me finish.”
“You are finished,” Nancy said. “We aren’t going to need your help. We don’t want it. Let’s go.”
Britton sighed and rolled open the gate. The rural route in Shelburne snaked off into the distance, the dew turned to frost reflecting the gate’s static light. Somewhere down that road was his parents’ house, maybe with his mother still in it. His father was dead and rotting in the wilderness around him, gated there accidentally before Britton had learned to control his magic.
“Anyone else coming?” Peapod asked. They all shook their heads, save Swift, who stared at her, eyes distant.
“Swift?” she asked again.
After a moment, he shook his head, and she shrugged.
“Be careful,” Britton said.
Peapod didn’t answer and didn’t look back. She grabbed Nancy’s wrist, and they walked through the gate together. Britton let it close, and they were gone.
Outside the cordon, the goblins surged. At the back of the crowd, Britton could see the huge spear bearer who had greeted them when they first came to the village. One of his arms was bandaged where a bullet had grazed it, and the rest of his body was covered with cuts where he had acquitted himself well in the battle against the SOC. The white dots that had marked his face had been scrubbed off. They adorned Marty’s face alone now. From the look of it, the spear bearer wasn’t happy about that. He divided his angry glares equally between Marty and Britton’s group. Occasionally, he would pump a fist and call out to the crowd, receiving a chorus of affirming replies. The guards made no move to stop his rabble-rousing, but neither did they let any goblins into the plaza, the borders of which were dwindling as the cordon was pushed inward.
“They don’t look happy,” Truelove said.
“Because of you,” Swift sneered. “You brought the SOC here. I can’t imagine they’re too thrilled to see you alive.”
“For once, you’re right,” Britton said. “We can’t stay here. This is going to get ugly, and who knows how much time we’ve got before the SOC goes for round two. We’ve got to get off the X before they come back for us. If we stay, it’ll only bring more hell to Marty’s tribe. They’ve suffered enough for our sake already.”
Downer gestured to the carnage around them. “We can’t just leave them like this.”
“No,” Britton agreed. “We can’t. These are soldiers. Their families will want to see them laid to rest properly. They died following orders and fighting faithfully.”
“They died fighting against us,” Swift growled.
“That makes no difference,” Britton replied. “They lost, but they were still doing what they thought was right. They deserve a decent burial. Arlington Cemetery. That’s what I’d have wanted.”
Swift rolled his eyes. Britton ignored him. “Simon, can you get them stood up and ready?”
“For what?” Truelove asked.
“I’m gating them into Arlington. Roll ’em through, lay them down respectfully, and we’ll let the staff handle the rest.”
Truelove nodded. “What about them?” He gestured to Richards and Fitzy, their corpses in pieces. Richards had been a contractor like him, and while Fitzy was a soldier, Britton still felt a jet of hot rage when he thought of him.
“Them, too.” Therese’s voice filled him with shame. “They loved their life in the army and their jobs, or . . . at least that was their choice. They wouldn’t want to be buried here.”
Britton nodded. “She’s right.”
Truelove gathered his current. Britton suppressed a shudder as the corpses stood, then trooped together into two orderly rows. Richards and Fitzy came last, the first holding his trunk to his lower body, the second holding his head under his arm like some Dickensian ghost. The goblins outside the guard cordon pressed closer at the sight, the hum of their voices becoming a loud buzz.
Britton was too exhausted to concentrate fully. The only scene of Arlington he could call to mind was the stone disc that housed the Kennedy eternal flame. If he concentrated on his vision of rows of white crosses, he would be just as likely to open a portal on Normandy as Arlington. He opened a gate.
It was early, and the plaza around the eternal flame was empty. Truelove marched the dead quickly through, where they lay themselves in a military column of twos. Britton sighed as he closed the gate. Those men were American soldiers. They deserved folded flags, an invocation, mourning loved ones. This was the best he could do for them. “The army’ll take it from there.”
The goblins strained against the cordon, pointing and shouting.
For now, the guards were holding, but it didn’t look like they could for much longer. Marty shouted back, straining to be heard above the din. He shot a pleading look at Britton.
“Keystone”—Downer called Britton by his call sign—“ I don’t think we’ve got much time here.”
Britton looked back to Marty. There was so much he wanted to say to the goblin: thanks, apologies. But the crowd continued to rage at the presence of the humans who had brought destruction down on their village, about to overwhelm Marty and his supporters. The sooner Britton got them out of there, the sooner things would calm down.
“We’re not leaving Pyre,” he said, kneeling beside the Pyromancer’s corpse.
“I’ve got him.” Swift shouldered him out of the way, scooping Pyre up in his arms. “He was my friend.” He was a friend to all of us, Britton thought, but didn’t push the issue.
He opened a gate on the bowl of frost-kissed rose moss where they had fled when they’d escaped the FOB. Swift stepped through, the rest of the group close behind. Britton looked at Marty’s back as he retrieved a spear from the ground and joined the guards in pushing against the crowd, who surged again at the sight of Britton and his companions leaving.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then stepped through the gate, shutting it behind him.
Swift had already laid Pyre on the ground. “It’s going to get ugly back there.”
“Maybe not,” Britton said. “Marty is the legitimate leader of that village. The problem was us, and we’re gone now. He can reassert himself. He didn’t seem to have any problem taking charge from the big guy with the spear.”
“The problem was them.” Swift pointed to Downer and Truelove.
“And it still is. All those goblin dead. That’s on them.”
“It’s on me, too,” Britton said. “I let her out. I let her go.”
Scylla, grinning balefully in the moonlight. The FOB collapsing around her, the screams of the soldiers as their flesh rotted off their bones, weapons turning to blowing dust in their hands, the perimeter gates worn to stubs, then gone on the winter wind.
“The FOB,” he said. “Oh God, I’ve got to go back.”
Downer visibly brightened. Truelove stirred. “I don’t think that’s . . .”
“The goblins stormed it after Scylla destroyed the defenses and we escaped. For all we know, it’s a smoking ruin by now. If there are survivors, I can help get them out.”
“Oscar,” Truelove began, “that’s crazy! They can . . .”
“It’s my fault! All of this is my fault. I let Scylla out and . . . oh God. Scylla.”
“She’s still out there,” Therese breathed. “Damn it, Oscar. What if she comes back?”
“I’m not going to let that happen,” Britton said. “I’m going to find her.”
“Find her?” Swift snorted. “First, she’d fucking kill you. Second, Scylla earned her freedom. She deserves to be left alone.”
“Earned it?” Therese stuttered. “How on earth did she earn it? She killed hundreds . . .”
“Hundreds of soldiers,” Swift finished for her. “Which, I’ve been told, happens in war. These particular soldiers had run her down, imprisoned her, denied her all rights. Are you surprised that she was a little pissed off?”
“Scylla is an insane monster,” Britton said. “She enjoyed killing those people.”
“They’re dead just the same,” Therese said. The words struck him to the core. It’s true. They’d be alive if it weren’t for you.
You owe for that.
“I can’t do anything for them now,” he said. “Might be I can do something for those remaining, but we’ve our own dead to tend to first.” He dusted the ash from Pyre’s face. Therese knelt beside him. I didn’t mean for this to happen, he thought. I never wanted him to die. But he didn’t say it. She was right. Pyre was dead just the same. Even her magic couldn’t bring the dead to life.Pyre had wanted, above all, to break free from the bonds of the SASS.