The First City (The Dominion Trilogy Book 3)

by Joe Hart

  Stop.

  She shuts out the thoughts that threaten to make her stumble, slow her movements. There’s no time to let them sink in. Maybe there will be later.

  And maybe there won’t.

  She rounds a corner in the main tunnel and sees the last branch to the left leading to the southernmost missile. In the opposite direction is a much smaller hallway, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. At the end is a steel ladder that disappears up a vertical shaft. The others are waiting there. As she reaches them she sees Ian has fastened a long belt around Merrill’s torso. He and Newton are maneuvering him to the base of the ladder. Eli sits in the corner, Chelsea’s hand pressed tightly against his wound. To Zoey’s surprise, Sherell leans heavily on Rita’s shoulder, blood staining the front of her pant leg over one knee.

  “What happened?” Zoey asks.

  “I slipped coming around the corner and fell. Bashed my knee.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “With help.”

  “Where’s Lyle?” Tia asks.

  “Finishing up. Let’s get everyone aboveground. We won’t have much time.”

  Ian and Newton begin hauling Merrill up the ladder. Ian goes first, gripping the belt behind Merrill’s back while Newton puts a shoulder beneath Merrill’s legs and climbs below. When Ian’s voice echoes back down the shaft Tia helps Chelsea get Eli to his feet.

  “I got this,” Eli says, shuffling to the ladder. He puts his hands on the closest rung and with a grunt begins to climb. Tia follows, then Chelsea. Ian reappears a moment later holding the belt and fastens it in two loops around Seamus’s torso. He and Newton carefully draw up the dog, who looks around comically as he disappears out of sight. Before Nell can mount the ladder, Newton’s feet reappear and he drops back into the tunnel. He makes a straight line for Sherell and without hesitating guides her arms around his neck, pulling her up onto his back. She clings to him as he mounts the rungs. Before they disappear Sherell twists her head back and mouths oh my God to the rest of them.

  Rita barks laughter as she and Nell follow. Then it is only Zoey. The empty tunnel is quiet except for the occasional murmur of Reaper’s voice filtering ghostlike to her, words unintelligible. She’s just about to sprint back to check on Lyle when he appears, huffing noisily toward her.

  “Did it work?” she says when he’s within earshot.

  “I hope so. We have maybe thirty seconds.”

  She motions to the ladder and he climbs as a loud bang comes from the direction of the stairwell. She whips her handgun up, staring past the sights. Part of her thinks the missile already launched and she’s dead, all her sensory input an afterimage of life.

  But then the voices float to her. Harsh and choppy yells.

  They’re inside.

  She holsters the gun and climbs after Lyle. Cold darkness embraces her as she’s pulled free of the hole and onto rough ground. They are directly behind the storage shed at the northern end of the compound, starlight drifting down and coating the buildings and surrounding hills.

  “They’re inside,” she breathes as Tia hauls her to her feet. A low creaking sound comes from behind her and she makes out Newton working at the lower portion of the fence. He strains against it and with a short shriek one of the wires attached to the steel post snaps and the fence rises a foot.

  “Go,” Nell says, shoving Rita through first. She follows along with Lyle and Ian who drag Eli and Merrill through after them.

  Zoey risks a glance around the side of the shed just as a loud electronic squawk fills the air.

  Reaper stands beside the closest helicopter, his attention centered on the facility’s gaping entry. Two Redeyes hold positions to either side of the doorway, rifles up and ready. From somewhere between the storage shed and the helicopters the squawk emits again and one of the domes dotting the yard shudders, its farthest end lifting off the ground.

  Zoey watches, transfixed as the missile cap opens fully and stops, lights from the silo below shining straight up like an underground sunrise. She sees Reaper glance at the open hole, sees the comprehension hit him like a punch as he spins and makes a gesture to the pilot in the helicopter nearest him.

  Two quicker blasts of sound come from the missile silo before the helicopter’s rotors begin to turn.

  “Zoey! Come on!” Rita whispers.

  She shoves away from the building’s side and dives under the fencing that Newton still holds up. With an awkward sliding movement he follows her, his shirt catching and tearing on the fence before he’s free.

  A long, hissing scream from the other side of the shed fills Zoey’s ears before the night is lit up in an orange glow.

  She climbs to her feet, turning back, unable to look away.

  A pillar of fire rises above the shed’s roof at least thirty feet into the sky. A moment later a cloud of smoke erupts from the compound, gushing outward through the fence at a shocking speed as something long and sleek shoots upward like a tree growing to its full height all at once.

  Then the blaze from the missile’s tail end ignites the darkness, washing it away in acrid light.

  Hands grasp her shoulder and force her into movement.

  The ground is unsteady and she nearly falls before righting herself. Ahead Ian and Newton carry Merrill between them and she sees his feet beginning to push at the ground, his head trying to lift up. Eli limps with one arm over Tia’s shoulder while Chelsea holds Sherell’s hand.

  They run.

  Zoey pours on speed, coming even with Eli’s free side and pulling his arm over her shoulders.

  The missile’s light fades, its sound like continuous thunder rising above them. And beneath it, the roar of the helicopters.

  The ground dips and rises, a copse of boulders strewn by time to the right, and she angles toward the largest of them, dragging Eli and Tia with.

  The missile’s howl changes in pitch and becomes a shriek.

  The light grows brighter again.

  They swing around behind the towering stone, setting Eli down with his back against it. The others stream past, all of them cowering, covering their ears. Zoey steps to the right and peers out past the rock.

  One of the helicopters is airborne, angling away so sharply from the facility she’s sure the rotors will catch the fence but they don’t. The other chopper’s blades are still gaining momentum and from her vantage she spots three streaks of black burst from the facility’s front, all heading toward the waiting aircraft.

  There is nothing but sound.

  A flit of movement catches her eye above the compound but it flies down and vanishes too fast to follow. A concussive blast of air rocks her head back and she drops to the ground beside Eli.

  The rocks tremble at her back and one of Eli’s arms wraps around her head, shielding her.

  Dust blasts through the cracks in the boulders, peppering the side of her face, and she turns away, catching sight of something twisting through the air fifty feet above.

  It takes half a heartbeat before she recognizes the warped corpse of metal as the second helicopter. Its top rotor is gone, tail blades spin crazily, their tips on fire. Something vaguely human in shape tumbles free, cartwheels, and plummets into the side of the nearest hill.

  The chopper corkscrews twice more through the air before smashing to the ground on the edge of a small gorge. It flips end over end once and disappears in a broken rasp of steel.

  Dust and debris continue to rain down, an uneven stinging patter that dissipates until the air stills again and Zoey hears only a distant ringing in her ears.

  She stands, slowly disentangling herself from Eli. She squeezes his hand and steps to the edge of the rock on unsteady legs.

  Inside the sagging fence of Riverbend the night is lit by a hundred sputtering fires. Where the building once was is a ragged hole. Two of the four walls are gone, lost in a wash of rubble that extends almost to the fence line. The storage shed, knocked half off its small foundation, looks drunken in the low li
ght. There is something long and thin swaying in the ground a dozen feet away and it takes her several seconds to recognize it as one of the helicopter blades, at least half of its thirty-foot length buried in the dirt.

  A solid beam of light flares and Zoey shrinks back behind the stone.

  The airborne chopper approaches the hole that used to be a building, its spotlight stabbing the ruined ground. It’s only a moment before the aircraft’s sound changes and it lowers into the yard. She watches for another second before turning back to the group, all of them shining eyes and shadowed faces.

  “They’re landing. Probably going to search the rubble. We should get to higher ground. Is everyone able to move?” she asks.

  “Oh yeah, sign me up for a hike,” Eli rumbles, his words dissolving into a low wheezing that he quiets with some effort.

  “She’s right,” Merrill says, and her heart lifts to see his eyes open if not entirely clear. “Let’s move.”

  They hoist one another to their feet, supporting the injured, and move in a silent line up a draw in the closest hill like a group of prey on their last legs.

  2

  The worn pavement hums beneath the ASV’s tires, the odd chink in the road throwing a shudder through Zoey as she watches Eli’s chest move up and down.

  The fatigue that blankets her is nothing short of undeniable. She feels like she’s drowning and the rope to haul her free is sleep’s embrace. But she can’t take it. She’s terrified that if she closes her eyes she’ll wake to the sound of grieving, to the sound of hearts breaking, and once again it will be her fault. So she won’t go to sleep.

  They had climbed the side of the hill to a plateau two hundred feet above Riverbend and huddled together for warmth through the long morning hours. The moon made a brief, somber appearance, scuttling behind a bank of clouds near dawn that dropped a dusting of snow on them. It was after the sun had fully risen that she and Tia crept to the edge of the hill and looked down at what was left of the installation.

  In the morning light the destruction was even more stunning. The rear and southern wall remained only partially intact. The rest was a landslide of fractured concrete, twisted steel, and sprawling fragments of what was once a building.

  She had stared at the devastation with awe for nearly a minute before seeing movement within the wreckage.

  Reaper and his men toiled amongst the rubble, moving chunks of concrete and shifting unrecognizable material that used to be floor, walls, and window frames. They worked throughout the morning, digging deeper and deeper into the facility, worming their way down until she could no longer see them.

  They had been looking for bodies. For some sign of confirmation that she was dead. Their precious keystone.

  She grinds her teeth, wishing Reaper had been in the helicopter that was destroyed. The worst of his atrocities, specifically the one she can’t rid herself of no matter how hard she tries, replays once again in her mind: Reaper’s blade disappearing beneath Simon’s chin, the final dimming of his gaze, the anguish of Lee’s scream.

  She shifts on her seat so that her back pulses softer with the pain that’s been constant since fleeing through the tunnels. She hasn’t felt any of the old numbness return to her legs yet, which is a small blessing. And they all made it out alive. But Eli . . . his breathing is faster, his heartbeat more erratic the last time Chelsea checked it.

  Zoey glances out through the vehicle’s windshield, hoping to see another sign for the small town that was marked on their map. They should’ve been there by now.

  Reaper and his team had taken flight in the late afternoon, the helicopter circling the demolished building one last time before angling away into the reddening horizon. They hadn’t dared to move for another hour and when they did it was a slow and agonizing journey back to the facility fences. It took them the better part of two hours to dig the ASV from its grave beside the toppled watchtower. If the vehicle had been any closer to the building there would’ve been no saving it. After gathering what meager supplies they could, they set off toward the nearest town sixty miles away, for the promise of shelter and medical supplies that Chelsea could administer.

  The ASV shudders, slowing as Merrill makes a left turn onto another narrower road, leaving the wider highway behind in the growing evening.

  “How far?” Tia asks from beside Eli. She’s been holding his hand for the entirety of the ride and won’t relinquish her position for anything.

  “Five miles,” Merrill says. Zoey watches him, studies the side of his face she can see. The tranquilizer hasn’t had a lasting effect, but for the past several hours he’s been quiet, brooding silently while throwing a look at Eli every so often.

  Out the side window, the landscape scrolls by. They’ve traveled northwest, closer to the Washington border Ian says, but it still looks barren and cold, the last evening light washing dingy shadows past everything it touches. What Zoey wouldn’t give to be back in the mountains at Ian’s cabin, at their home. She can feel the moisture in the air, the fire warming her fingers, and taste the salty tang of the evening meal while the jug of moonshine is passed around. She can hear the wind’s constant murmur through the pines, and Eli is fine, smiling across the fire at her after telling one of his endless jokes.

  She blinks away the burning in her eyes and focuses on the buildings that grow steadily outside the windshield.

  The town is small, its layout a single line with two neighborhoods flanking the vacant storefronts. They all peer out the windows, searching for movement, signs of life, any threat. The town looks deserted.

  “According to the map there’s a clinic on the western side. Damn it, I can’t tell what street it’s on, the number’s smudged,” Chelsea says. Zoey looks at the older woman’s hands. They’re trembling. Merrill guides the ASV down the street, taking a left turn at a church the color of a storm cloud, its bell tower leaning hard to the right like a broken neck.

  “There,” Merrill finally says, coasting into a parking lot before a low building with solid glass lining its front. The sign over an awning reads “Fairfield County Clinic.”

  They climb from the vehicle, Ian and Newton shoving open the sliding glass doors while Chelsea and Tia get Eli ready to move. He grumbles something under his breath and it takes Zoey a moment to realize he’s saying, “Ella. Ella.”

  Ian and Newton reappear in the gap between the doors. “It’s empty,” Ian says, hurrying forward. They hover around Eli, everyone helping carry him inside, all of them wanting to bear a little of the burden, share in some of the pain. Zoey holds on to his right arm, her opposite hand locked in his. And even though she knows he’s unconscious, she still feels the strength in his fingers as they grip her own.

  The air smells stale and bits of dust twirl as they carry him past a vacant reception desk through a set of double doors to a room with a gurney in its center. They lay him down gently, none of them really wanting to let go.

  “I need space,” Chelsea says, and Zoey hears the vigor returning to her voice, the physician within her taking over. She unbuttons Eli’s shirt and removes the stained dressing around his middle exposing dark skin caked with blood. “Merrill, find me an instrument tray that’s clean along with a scalpel, shears, and at least six clamps. Someone needs to boil some water.”

  “On it,” Rita says.

  “Everyone else, get out and stay out unless I call for you.” When no one moves, Chelsea looks up at them and jerks her head toward the door. They file out into the quiet hallway, no one speaking or looking at one another.

  “We could try to get some power on. In case she needs it,” Lyle says.

  “Yes. Even a clinic as small as this one should have a backup generator somewhere,” Ian says. “Tia, will you help me find it?”

  Tia nods, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. Ian takes her hand and guides her down the hall with him, leaving the rest of them standing together.

  “I’ll stay here in case Chelsea needs something or someone,” Nell offers.
The others mill about for a moment before wandering away from each other. Zoey lingers, unsure of what to do with herself.

  “He’s going to be okay,” Nell says, nodding toward the room. “I know a tough person when I see one, and Eli’s tough.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “He reminds me of my friend Robbie. They’re different but they have the same resilience and sense of humor. Robbie was one of the only reasons I got up in the morning. Before, I wouldn’t let myself think about Rita, couldn’t get myself to say her name. I thought she was lost. But Robbie was always moving forward, always kept me focused on tomorrow.” She pauses, a hint of sadness crossing her face before she squeezes Zoey’s hand. “You just keep thinking about tomorrow too. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  Zoey slips through the outer double doors, gazing past the parking lot and the ASV to the sun that’s fallen behind the row of homes across the street, and despite Nell’s comforting words, they look as empty as she feels. The fatigue combined with everything the last twenty-four hours has held compounds into a crushing weight pressing down on her shoulders. Words and images whirl through her mind as if tossed by a storm, none cohesive or useful, only taunting phantoms of pain and confusion.

  She walks to the other side of the ASV and nearly collapses against it as a bout of vertigo sweeps through her. What will they do if Eli dies? The idea is too horridly massive to contemplate. And at the base of it all is the sickening knowledge of why he is in the room now, close to death and suffering.

  My fault.

  Her lungs constrict and she puts a hand on the vehicle to steady herself.

  They came looking for me. For the keystone. If I hadn’t been there . . .

  They might have still killed everyone. She knows this but it doesn’t assuage the guilt. It is a physical thing, strangling, draining her strength.

  She takes several deep breaths, closing her eyes while trying to concentrate on only what she can feel and hear.

  Cool wind coasting through the desolate town.

  Cold steel beneath her hand.