Avenger: Book Eight in the Enhanced Series

by T. C. Edge

  I’ve seen what a powerful hybrid like Zander or Kira, or even myself, can do in single combat, even when faced with a host of City Guards. And in all likelihood, my terrible grandfather will still control more hybrids than we do; men and women who can have an inordinate impact on any major battle should they be fully unleashed.

  Yet, the evolution that I’m seeing at the centre of Inner Haven is quite staggering. To see the place, no longer dominated by Savants, but filled with a mixture of Enhanced, Unenhanced, civilians and soldiers, City Guards and rebels, all fighting together…well, that’s something that lights a fire in me. That makes me believe the momentum is very much with us.

  And, as we continue towards Compton’s Hall, and I look across the hunting parties gathering to return to Outer Haven, I see through the mist my brother.

  He stands alone, his left eye blackened and left cheek badly bruised, steeped in armour and carrying enough weaponry to lay waste to a small army. He isn’t with another band of our men. He isn’t leading a party to sweep the streets.

  No, not Zander. Not today.

  I see his eyes, still weary, yet burning bright with the light of war. It’s a look that makes me nervous, and seeing him there alone makes me nervous too.

  “I’ll be back in a second,” I tell Tess, rushing straight over to him as he prepares to step into a car.

  I reach him before he does, and grab his shoulder. He spins around, those hazel eyes of his, just like mine, just like our father’s, darker than usual.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  It’s a stupid question. I know what he’s doing.

  He doesn’t smile, or present any expression to put me at ease. He knows I’m worried about him, but he doesn’t attempt to calm my concerns.

  With his jaw set to stone, and his chin and cheeks dusted with stubble, he merely grunts out a few words, before stepping into the car and driving away.

  “I’m going to Outer Haven,” he growls. “I need to let off some steam.”

  5

  “What’s the matter with him?” asks Tess as I trundle back over to her.

  I didn’t like the way he looked. There’s a rage in him that he’s always trying to suppress, one that crawled its way into his mind when his guardian, Linda, was killed all those years ago. When he saw her die in front of him, and could do nothing to save her; an anger, a wrath, an endless, unquenchable thirst for revenge grew that he’s battled ever since.

  It simmers below the surface mostly, kept in check by his own ability to suppress his thoughts and feelings, to work his mental magic.

  But, right now, the loss of Kira has broken something in him. It’s opened a fissure for that rage to burst free, pouring like a spout of fire from an erupting volcano.

  And while Zander isn’t a young man you’d ever need to worry about, I can’t help it seeing him like this. Right now, he’s liable to do something stupid, to push himself too far. Right now, he’s walking a little too close to the edge, that endless precipice just a tempting leap away.

  I watch his car disappear up the street, driving faster than it should. Even that worries me. The fact that he’s clearly saving his Dasher energy means he’s itching for a fight, itching to test himself.

  “Brie…he’s OK, right?” comes Tess’s voice again.

  I’m forced to answer this time, turning to her as his car leaves my field of vision.

  “He’ll be OK,” I tell her, more for me than anyone else. “He was very close with Kira, I think.”

  Tess’s eyes drop a second and then lift.

  “Were they together?” she asks softly.

  “I don’t think so. Just close friends. They’ve fought together with the Nameless for years.”

  She seems slightly happy with the answer, although equally guilty about it given Kira’s mysterious fate.

  I don’t need to read her mind to know that she likes him, to know that she’s happy he’s unattached and currently available. But, as with everyone else, this war has changed Tess, and despite her amorous inclinations, she quickly turns her mind from the idea of romance with my brother, knowing now really isn’t the time.

  Instead, we move straight into Compton’s Hall and find the place beginning to wake. It’s busier now, all the available space being filled with the people from Outer Haven and well managed by the many local volunteers who have put their hands up to help.

  There are now many similar places around the centre of the city, with other larger buildings and halls being used for the purposes of housing the refugees.

  Here, though, is where Brenda and the kids will be housed, for the time being at least. We find them at their assigned spot, Brenda already up and running and rousing the kids from their little, lined up beds.

  “Ah, I wondered where you were,” she says as Tess appears. “And Brie, how are you? How’s the head?”

  “It’s fine,” I say, rubbing the base of my skull and immediately feeling a bit dizzy. “About the same as when I fell over right here.” I look around the large hall, trying to remember just where I was standing when I collapsed right in front of Adryan the first time I met him. “Over there,” I say. “That’s where it was.”

  “Yes, you always seem to be getting patched up, Brie,” remarks Mrs Carmichael with a shake of the head. “I do hope you’ll be taking some time off now.”

  “Um, yeah, today at least,” I say.

  “Good. And where is your husband? I’d love to meet him.”

  “Oooo, me too,” says Tess. “I forgot about him.”

  “Well, um, he’s not really my husband,” I say. “Given everything that’s happened, our marriage doesn’t exactly stand.”

  “It stands if you want it to stand,” asserts my guardian. “So…where is he?”

  Tess seems to remember something as she asks the question.

  “Oh, yeah,” she says. “He was on the radio last night…he’s back at your old headquarters isn’t he? Where is that, at some church somewhere isn’t it?”

  “In the outerlands, yeah,” I say. “Just a few miles north of the city in an old town. He’s still there, running the intelligence team and trying to placate Rhoth.”

  “What good is he doing out there?” questions Brenda. “I think it’s safe to say that the Nameless have taken Inner Haven now. He should come here. A husband should be with his wife at times like this. You never quite know when you’ll next get to see one another…”

  “Brenda, he’s not my husband. I just said that.”

  She inspects me with that quizzical eye of hers, then shakes her head.

  “There’s no pulling the wool over my eyes, my darling. I know you better than you know yourself. You’d like him to be here too.”

  I can’t deny that one. Over the last couple of days, I haven’t really missed him, not with everything that’s been going on. But now, this morning, I sort of do.

  “Maybe,” I whisper.

  My guardian and best friend share a smile. Then, they both turn back to the kids, who continue to climb out of their beds and pull on their clothes. There’s not a great deal of privacy here, although the various areas have been separated into little apartments, partially blocked by thin, collapsible walls to create a number of units within the hall.

  The gang from the academy have one to themselves, more or less. Added to their number are a few other kids who have been handed over to Mrs Carmichael’s care and supervision. Most of them, I discover, are newly made orphans, their parents killed over in Outer Haven and with no other extended family to their name.

  Brenda Carmichael, given her decades of experience and unfalteringly good heart, is best placed to take up the mantle. She, along with several others who run, or ran, different orphanages across Outer Haven, will now be tasked with aiding these poor kids as they come to terms with their losses.

  Hidden away towards the back of the unit, I see Brandon. He sits on his mattress, sheepishly keeping his head low and trying not to make eye contact with me.

/>   Unfortunately, I have Hawk-eyes, and whether I like it or not, find it impossible not to be aware of all of my surroundings.

  I catch him at the rear, and take a few swift steps towards him. As yet, the death of Nate remains unmentioned to the group at large. At a time like this, however, most are too preoccupied to notice. And those who have will already have drawn their own conclusions from his absence.

  Brandon, of course, is aware. I approach him with a heavy step, stopping at the foot of his bed and gazing down at him.

  “Settling back in OK?” I ask.

  I try to keep the bitterness from my voice. It’s hard, given my state of mind and everything that’s been going on.

  He nods silently, keeping his head low.

  I make a conscious effort to soften my tone. I don’t blame the kid for what happened. He’s part victim too.

  “The boss of the Voiceless,” I say. “He got in your head, didn’t he?”

  His eyes lift a little. He seems quite disturbed by it all.

  “Yeah. He got in all our heads,” he whispers.

  “I killed him,” I say blankly. I move forward a little and lean down so the other kids can’t hear. “I stabbed him right where he stabbed Nate. He’s gone now, Bran. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  He nods again, lifting his eyes with a mixture of wonder and fear.

  “You’re so…different,” he says. “Is it easy, killing? Did it feel good?”

  “With him?” I say. “After what he did?” I nod slowly. “Yeah, Bran, it felt good.”

  I’m surprised by what I’m saying. It’s strange, really. I guess, at the time, it did feel good to take his life. But a part of me still feels appalled at what I’m becoming…what I’ve become.

  “I wish it was me,” he whispers. “I wish I’d killed him.”

  I rest a hand on his shoulder. He eyes lift up to mine.

  “I can help,” I say. “What he did to you, getting in your head, making you do things. I can take it all away. Would you like that, Bran?”

  His eyes falter, and begin to water. A grimace ripples across his youthful face.

  “I don’t deserve it,” he sniffs. “Nate might not have died if it wasn’t for me.”

  “I can help with that too,” I say, taking a short breath, and working up a comforting smile. “I can erase the pain for you.”

  He considers it a second, and then slowly shakes his head.

  “No. Thanks, Brie…for being kind. But, no. I need to get through this on my own. I need to pay.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his maturity. The boy was a silly, foolish bully, troubled by his past. A kid, just into his teens, who had little else to do with his time than to interfere with the lives of others.

  But now, he’s matured quickly. He wants to repent, just like Drum after killing that man. He wants to use what happened as a catalyst to change, and change for the better.

  “OK, Bran,” I say softly. “If you want to help, be good to the kids. Help Mrs Carmichael, and those who have just lost their families. Don’t be the boy you were.”

  His head shakes quickly and assertively.

  “I won’t. I promise, I won’t.”

  “I’ll hold you to that promise,” I say. “Now lift that chin, and stop hiding back here. OK?”

  He steels his eyes and begins to stand. And together, we return to the group.

  6

  The morning bustles by as I spend some time in the hall, just hanging out with the kids and trying to make them feel as at home as possible.

  It’s a nice refresher for me, a reminder of a simpler life before all of this happened. We chat and play little games and laugh if we can. I hear their stories and even tell a few of mine, making sure to censor them depending on who I’m speaking with.

  They hang on my every word, and none more so than Abby, who looks to be gathering more ideas for future stories in her comic. She sits, with her little binder in her lap and a whole raft of half worn pencils and colouring pens to hand, scribbling and doodling and keeping herself busy.

  The other kids don’t seem to have such a hobby to distract themselves, which around here might become a problem. There’s little to do, and nowhere to go – none are allowed out of the hall unless under supervision – and in time that might cause a few headaches for Mrs Carmichael and Tess as they continue to try to manage the rabble.

  With any luck, however, this place will only be a temporary refuge for them, and life will return to some sort of normality soon. Whether that’s days, weeks, or months, I can’t possibly say, and when asked such questions I have to be honest about it all.

  It seems that the penchant for rumour that all Outer Haveners seem to share has spread here now too. The fate of Cromwell, now known to be the great oppressor he is, remains a point of endless debate. Yet they all seem to be aware that he is still alive somewhere beyond the wall, with worries mounting that he’ll be reforming an army to fight back and retake the city.

  They’re justified concerns, although my natural position is to rebuff them whenever they come my way. I’ve got enough authority to settle them down for now, but in the end the fear that’s so gripped this city doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, even here, even now.

  My mind, while focused for that brief period on trying to relax and help the kids relax, doesn’t appear to allow me such respite. As the morning gives way to afternoon, I find it impossible to stay there in the hall, detached from the grander war outside.

  I determine that I need to do something more useful to the cause, and so decide to attempt something that I tried once a few days ago with limited reward.

  Moving back to the HQ, I pass through the main hive in the atrium and go up to my private room on the second floor.

  I shut the door tight and try to block out as much sound as possible, lie down on my mattress and shut my eyes tight. There, I drift from the physical realm and attempt to zero in on the weak pathway that’s formed between my mind and Commander Burns’.

  I look upon it again as it was before: a tangled, hidden trail through the dark forest, so difficult to navigate and traverse. Yet, I try, pulling out a machete in my mind and doing my best to slice my way through, clearing the path for me to make contact with the man who may yet be undercover within my grandfather’s inner circle.

  Standing there, I call out to him.

  Commander Burns, can you hear me? It’s Brie, Commander Burns…

  I hear no response.

  I try again, and get the same result.

  Nothing.

  I open my eyes, feeling a little frustrated if not surprised. Given the minor concussion I’ve suffered, and the fact that he’s out there at the REEF – at least, we think he is – and surrounded by the toxic mist, contacting him is likely to be an almost impossible feat.

  Yet, I still try again. And again. And again.

  I do so for some time, calling out his name and just trying to get some hint that, firstly, he’s alive, and secondly, remains incognito within Cromwell’s ranks.

  And still, I get nothing.

  The effort takes it out of me. I keep my eyes shut and begin to relax, my head throbbing, the backs of my eyeballs aching. I pull the blanket up over my face and block out the light, take a few deep breaths, and try to drive the discomfort and pain away.

  I begin to calm, and start fading into dreams. The assault I suffered last night nibbles at the corners of my consciousness, trying to batter through the walls I set up to keep them at bay. They’re just about enough to give me some reprieve, a calmer sleep taking hold of me as my body and mind continue to recover from the days of abuse and torment they’ve suffered.

  And, in that relaxed state, I find the pathway starting to clear. And somewhere deep in the recesses of my cognition, a voice begins to sound.

  It rumbles from the depths, like a tremor in the earth, only just audible. And only a few words come, before the voice fades away.

  They have me…comes the voice. Don’t…tr
ust me. He’s calling…

  My eyes open up wide and the words drift away. The ache in my limbs suggests I’ve been out for a while. I check the time and see that it’s late afternoon, the day having quickly passed as I lay hidden, here in this room.

  I whisper out the words I just heard, talking quietly to myself in the empty room.

  “They have me. Don’t trust me. He’s calling…”

  As I try to work them out, a sudden knock sounds at the door. I’m shaken from my thoughts and quickly croak: “Yeah…who is it?”

  The door opens up. Timothy, my grandmother’s assistant, stands in the opening.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Brie,” he says. “Lady Orlando requests your presence in her office.”

  I continue to sweep the cobwebs from my head, and stand to my feet.

  “What’s this about?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” he says. “They’re waiting for you.”

  “They?”

  “Yes,” he says, without elaborating.

  Typical Savant…

  “Right, erm, let’s go then.”

  Tim accompanies me down the corridor and straight up to my grandmother’s office on level 15. I find a series of shadows within even before I enter, visible through the frosted glass. Tim steps forward and opens the door for me, allowing me entry before shutting the door. He remains outside.

  I find the usual suspects in the room. Beckett, Freya, Rycard, Alfred, who remains over at his workstation, looking more nervous than usual.

  The main absentee is my brother, a perpetual presence at such meetings and yet, today, conspicuous by his absence. Stepping in, he’s the first person on my mind.

  “Is Zander coming?” I ask.

  It’s Beckett who answers me.

  “Your brother is still in Outer Haven. He’s been in contact and will return soon. He will be updated then.”

  “Updated on what? What’s going on?”

  My eyes turn to Lady Orlando, who has taken on a different mantle for me now. She sits in her usual perch, with that same composed look on her face. Yet now, I see beyond it. I see family.