Midnight City: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series)

by J. Barton Mitchell

  “Which is what, exactly? Getting killed? You’re right, they’re great at that.” Holt made no effort to hide the contempt in his voice.

  “They’re resisting,” Mira said firmly, “making a stand, you don’t respect that?”

  Holt laughed. “Challenging the Assembly isn’t respectable, it’s suicidal. No one can beat them.”

  “There’s always a way,” Mira said. “Always.”

  Holt shook his head at the conviction in her voice. “Eight years since the invasion, if someone was going to pull it off, they’d have done it by now.” Holt rolled onto his back, stared up at the stars that he could see through the tree cover. “They crushed every military on the planet, subdued most of the population, all without lifting a finger. The only ones left to make your ‘stand’ are kids, most of them younger than us, and hardly any of them know anything about fighting. Not to mention we all seem more interested in killing each other than uniting and really facing them. The Tone takes more of us every day, and pretty soon, there’s not gonna be anyone left.”

  “That’s easy for a Heedless to say,” Mira replied. “Someone who isn’t living with a ticking clock in their head, counting down the moments before they lose their mind.”

  The words stung Holt, and his calm detachment melted away. He turned to the girl, could see her more clearly now in the dark. She was staring right at him.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” she went on, “to have the static inside your head, to have it growing and clouding everything. You don’t know the fear of hearing the voices … and listening to them slowly start to make sense. If you did you might be a little more motivated to find a solution rather than just hiding out here in the forest like a coward.”

  Holt glared at her, felt the anger (and the old pain) form and course through him. “I know more about the Tone than you can imagine,” he said venomously. “I know more about it than anyone has a right to, trust me. This conversation’s done. We’ll get to Midnight City in three days, which means we’re going to move fast and hard. I suggest you get some sleep, unless you want to be dragged all the way there. I won’t have a problem doing it if I have to.”

  Mira didn’t respond. He held her gaze until she finally looked away.

  Satisfied, Holt rolled over. His hands trembled. He knew it would be a while before he could sleep. He wouldn’t let her see how much of an effect she’d had on him, though. He had to appear strong, in control.

  He hated this anger, because it was always tied to the memories. They were harder to push away when he was angry.

  To his right, Max whined slightly. He watched Holt with his big round eyes, tilting his head sideways as he did. Holt reached out and petted the dog, scratched his ears. Max was a good judge of Holt’s mood, and there was something about that that Holt liked. At least someone understood him.

  When he withdrew his hand, the dog looked back to Mira, watching her like a hawk. Holt closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the sound of the wind in the leaves and the chirping of crickets. If he could calm down, maybe he wouldn’t dream about her tonight.…

  8. DREAMS

  A YOUNG HOLT, no more than twelve years old, exploded through the front door and out onto the lawn of the house they’d given his parents at Fort Connor. A quick glimpse of the living room clock as he ran past told him it was close to one in the morning.

  Outside, the alert sirens were even more jarring. They were blaring all over the base, and he could see lights flickering on in windows up and down the street.

  His sister, Emily, a tall brown-haired girl who was almost seventeen, stood with their father and mother at the edge of the house’s small lawn. His dad was already wearing his fatigues.

  Holt saw more people filling the streets, struggling into their uniforms and clothes. Civilian wives and children, too, all coming to look, all confused.

  When Holt reached Emily, she took his hand, put her finger to her lips, signaled him to be quiet.

  His mother spoke with her soft voice, but it was shaky with a kind of nervousness Holt had never heard before. He didn’t like it.

  A sound like rolling thunder reached them from far away. They looked toward the sound, past the buildings of Fort Connor to the skies above Denver. The sparkling lights of the buildings could be seen from the base. Masses of storm clouds had formed above the city … and they glowed in strange light. A dull reddish orange, almost like they were burning inside. Holt stared at them in wonder.

  Everyone in the streets around Holt froze at the sight, listening to the long thunderlike rumblings wash over them. It wasn’t like any thunder Holt had ever heard.

  His mother moved closer to his father, and he put his arm around her. Holt felt his sister’s grip on his hand tighten.

  The glowing in the clouds grew, becoming brighter, the shades of red blooming vibrantly. The thunder rolling in from the city grew louder, too. Something was building; something was happening.

  The clouds over Denver parted violently as a massive black shape exploded out of them.

  Holt, Emily, and everyone else in the street gasped as it slammed straight into the heart of the city. An enormous fireball erupted where it hit, bellowing up into the night sky.

  Seconds later … the sound of the impact hit them, a giant boom that shook the ground. People screamed; some fell to the street as if blown over. Emily moaned, her knees buckled. Holt held on to her tightly.

  In the distance, the lights of Denver flickered once, twice … then went dark. Seconds later, so did the base, the lights up and down the street flashing out.

  More sounds reached them, loud enough to carry over the distance. Pops and bangs, like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. But Holt knew they weren’t firecrackers.

  The city itself could no longer be seen. Only bright flashes near where the ground must be … and yellow pinpoints of light that flared from the sky to the Earth like how his dad once described tracer fire from the war.

  It seemed pretty clear. Denver was under attack. But … by what?

  The realization broke the spell. The people all around Holt ran in a stampede either back into their houses or toward the barracks to gear up. Holt knew his father would go with them.

  Holt’s mother had the same thought. She shook her head, gripped his shirt tight to keep him in place … to keep him with them. His father pulled her close, whispered into her ear. Holt couldn’t hear what he said, but his mother relaxed a little in his grip, shut her eyes.

  Holt and his sister watched their father kneel down to them. Holt noticed how calm he seemed in spite of all that was happening, in spite of the panic in the street. It made him feel better, made him believe things would be okay. His father always made him feel that way.

  He said he needed them to help their mother, to pack the car and get ready in case they had to leave. He asked if they thought they could do that.

  Holt and Emily both nodded, held each other tighter. Their dad smiled.

  He looked at Holt, studied him in a new way, like he was seeing different parts of him he’d never recognized before … or at least never needed to until now. After a moment, his father nodded, pulled something from a pocket, and handed it to Holt.

  It was going to be for his birthday next week, Holt’s father said. But he’d decided he was ready for it now.

  Holt stared at the object, a glittering, new red Swiss Army knife, full of different tools and blades. Holt smiled. His dad ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. When he got back, his dad said, he’d show him how to use it. Then he hugged them tightly, Holt and Emily at the same time.

  His father stood up. His mother’s eyes glistened. The sounds of explosions from the city were growing louder. Holt’s father pulled her close, kissed her … then he was gone, running down the street with the rest of the soldiers.

  Holt gripped the knife in his hand as he stared after his father. He watched until he faded into the distance, until he lost sight of him on the darkened street.

 
; It was the last time Holt ever saw him.

  9. BEST-LAID SCHEMES

  EXPLOSIONS RIPPED THE AIR above the camp and yanked Holt from his dream.

  “What was that?” Mira asked in alarm, still tied, but awake and alert.

  There it was again, the high-pitched rapid-fire booms of heavy plasma cannons. Holt recognized them instantly.

  So did Mira. “Raptors…,” she said. “We need to get out of here.”

  She probably wasn’t wrong. Holt leapt from his sleeping bag, scanned what little of the sky he could see through the treetops. It was still night: the half moon had risen high above them, raining silver light downward on everything.

  He heard it again. Above and to the west, coming fast. More cannon fire. With a grimace, he reached behind him and yanked the SIG from his back. Max was next to him, whining slightly, sniffing the air suspiciously. Holt reached out to pet the dog …

  … and a blue and white Raptor gunship screamed by overhead, visible for half a second through the canopy. Two of its engines were burning, trailing smoke behind its signature crescent-shaped wings. Max barked angrily up at it, but Holt just stared in awe. He had never seen a wounded Raptor, not even during the invasion when the military had mounted its brief, lackluster defense. What could have done that?

  A second later, he had his answer.

  Two more Raptors roared by above, plasma cannons flashing, firing after the first gunship. They were gone in a second, but there was something different about them, and Holt knew what it was immediately. Every Assembly aircraft or walker he’d ever seen had one thing in common: They were all painted blue and white. The patterns differed sometimes, but the colors never did.

  But the two Raptors that just whipped by had not been blue and white at all.

  They were a solid red.

  Holt listened to the sound of the cannons as they became fainter, and then heard the rolling boom of another crash several miles away. The damaged Raptor must have finally gone down.

  He clutched the rifle tightly, breathing heavy, thinking.

  “Did you see them? They were red!” Mira yelled down at him from the tree on the incline. Holt frowned. She almost sounded excited. “Red! What’s going on?”

  “Good question,” he answered. “Heard rumors of different-colored Assembly down south, but I never put much stock in it. And I definitely never heard about Assembly firing on each other.”

  The sounds didn’t return. All was silent in the woods and in the night air. Maybe that was the last of—

  A flaming, spherical Assembly ship exploded through the trees right above them.

  Holt rolled, scrambled, and leapt clear before the thing hit, pulling Max with him. When it hit, it hit hard, plowing through the middle of the forest, tossing aside trees and foliage and leaving a gully sixty or seventy feet long. The impact sprayed debris and flame in a vicious sphere. Mira screamed from her tree, unable to move as debris flashed through the air all around her.

  When it was over, Holt stayed motionless a long time, staring at the smoking crash site and the large round ship, its metal surface painted blue and white, as he was used to.

  But while the color was familiar, nothing else was. He’d never seen a ship like this, a huge metallic ball. Flames burned lightly around it, starting to consume the nearby trees, but the vessel itself was no longer burning. It was, however, cracked completely open. Smoke poured out of its shell, blocking his view of the inside.

  “You still alive, Hawkins?” Mira shouted through the thick clouds of dust and smoke. He couldn’t see her through it, but he could hear her coughing.

  “Yeah!” he shouted back. “Sure you’re relieved.”

  The crashed sphere nearby groaned as something inside shifted. Holt’s gaze snapped to it. Max growled low at the sound, the hair on his back standing straight up.

  Something there was moving. Something inside was still alive.

  Holt stood still, thoughts racing in his head. He’d never seen one of the Assembly. As far as he knew, no one had. They had always stayed locked up tight inside their armored walkers and ships.

  Holt forced himself to be calm, to think. The red Assembly craft might be headed back. Or worse, they could have walkers moving in on his position. At the very least, the blue and whites had reinforcements headed this way. The prudent thing seemed to be to leave. What good was investigating an Assembly ship if he got carried away by a Vulture?

  Then again, Assembly technology, regardless of what state it was in, was invaluable in trade. Two or three plasma weapons alone could feed you for a whole year. Who knew what lay inside the wrecked ship? And if he didn’t loot the thing, someone else surely would.

  Holt calmed himself and listened. A few sounds, but nothing threatening. Just the wind in the trees, the crackle of flames. No Raptor engines, no cannon fire, no metallic stomping of Spider walker legs. Still, he waited, listening, making sure.

  The spherical craft listed again. There were more sounds of movement from inside.

  That decided it for him. Holt sprang to his feet, moved for the craft, keeping low. He shoved the SIG back into its slot, yanked loose his shotgun. Better for the close quarters inside. Max moved beside him, his eyes focused on the shadows inside the craft.

  “What are you doing?” Mira yelled down at him. “Please tell me you’re not actually thinking about going in there?”

  Holt ignored her as he moved for the ship.

  “Hey! What am I supposed to do when you get killed?” she demanded. “I’ll never get these ropes off.”

  Still, he ignored her. A few more steps and he was at the ship’s hull, cracked open like an egg. Wires and tubing spilled out of it like guts. Sparks popped and fizzed everywhere. There was a weird whirring sound that was winding down, going lower and lower in pitch. Something mechanical dying, most likely.

  Holt raised the shotgun cautiously, peering around the edge of the hull. The smoke was thick inside, pouring out in great plumes. He couldn’t see anything, had no idea what was in there. To find out, he’d have to move in.

  “Hey!” Mira yelled in anger behind him.

  Holt tuned her out, took a deep breath, then he and Max pushed quickly through the smoke, into the strange ship’s interior.

  * * *

  MIRA WATCHED IN ANNOYANCE as Holt and the dog disappeared inside the strange craft. Idiots. Going inside a crashed Assembly ship had to be the heavyweight champion of bad ideas. It was a miracle they’d survived this long.

  Mira looked around at the campsite. Most of it had been thrown into disarray when the ship crashed, but she saw Holt’s cot a few feet away. Her pack was no longer under it. Instead, it had been knocked closer by the impact, and she could see the red δ just out of reach of her feet.

  Or was it?

  If she could reach it while the dynamic duo was busy being eaten inside the ship, she might be able to make this whole thing play to her advantage.

  Mira reached out with her feet, the only part of her the bounty hunter hadn’t tied to the tree. His mistake, she thought.

  Her shoe stopped just a few inches from the bag, almost there. But it wasn’t enough.

  Mira grimaced. She pulled against her bonds … and could feel the ropes give around her waist, only to feel them tighten against her arms, pulling them harder against the tree.

  If she strained hard, she might be able to loosen the ropes around her legs enough to reach the bag … at the expense of what little circulation she had left in her arms.

  It would be well worth it.

  She pulled against the ropes with all the strength she had. And then groaned in pain as they tightened hard against her arms, the sharp bark of the tree digging into her skin.

  But her legs were looser now. Mira reached for the pack again …

  … and this time she looped one of the straps around her ankle and quickly pulled it to her. She had to hurry—who knew when the bounty hunter and his smelly dog would reappear.

  With her leg, she toss
ed the pack backwards. It landed on the right side of the tree, just barely in reach of her hand. While Holt had tied her upper arms against the tree, he’d left her forearms free. She worked one of them out of the tight ropes, just enough to bend it.

  When she did, she reached for the pack and flipped through it with her right hand. The first thing she looked for was the cylinder. After a moment, she felt its cool, glass shape inside among all the other objects and artifacts, and breathed a sigh of relief. Good, he’d brought it with them. All wasn’t lost.

  She rifled quickly through the other contents with her hand as it explored the pack’s interior.

  After a moment, she found what she was looking for, recognized the cold, metallic, angular shape. She grabbed it, pulled it out—an aging, rusted Zippo lighter—and smiled at the sight.

  With her hand, she closed the pack, then grabbed one of its straps. With what little leverage she had while tied to the tree, Mira threw the whole thing forward through the air. It landed even farther than where she had originally grabbed it from, closer to Holt’s cot.

  She looked at the Zippo in her hand, closed her fist around it. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. He’d be sorry he ever saw her wanted poster.

  10. ZOEY

  THE SMOKE WAS THICK and everything was dark. Holt could barely see the end of the shotgun. Max shadowed him as he moved, a gray blue blur below him. He was just a dog, probably no match for whatever was waiting in the smoke … but it made Holt feel better having him there.

  The ship’s interior, like its hull, was round. Hulking husks along the walls marked what probably had been control panels. Now they were singed beyond recognition. A few of them still clung to life, spraying the odd spark here and there.

  Holt pushed farther in, sighting down the barrel, finger on the trigger.

  The smoke was so thick, it was almost impossible to see. He coughed, dropped low, hoping the air was clearer closer to the floor. It was. He could see a little better, too, more of the ship’s insides.