Earth Valor (Earthrise Book 6)

by Daniel Arenson

  Eldest took the conch from him. And it seemed to Marco that her eyes softened. That there was compassion there.

  She nodded.

  "I will visit you in shadows," she whispered.

  The yurei retreated, moving deeper into the forest, fading between the trunks and leaves. Eldest climbed onto her throne of coiling roots, curled up into the shadows, and closed her eyes.

  The human companions huddled together. Kemi smiled softly at Marco and slipped her hand into his. Soon they were all linking hands, standing silently in the forest of lights, for a few moments at peace. The luminous leaves swayed, the crickets chirped, and the whole forest sang.

  Finally Eldest stepped off her throne. She approached slowly. The humans turned to face her.

  "I watched," said Eldest. "And I saw."

  Marco nodded. "I remember."

  "I carved your face upon a great stone," Eldest said, voice soft. "A legacy for the ages. An invitation to draw you here. To me. For you are beautiful, and you are good."

  Slowly, almost hesitantly, Eldest removed her mask.

  Marco stared with shock that soon flowed into pity.

  Eldest's face had perhaps once been beautiful. Now it was badly scarred. She looked like a burn victim, her skin raw and pale. Deep grooves, like the marks of claws, ran across her face, adding to its ruin. But her eyes were still beautiful, large and oval and glimmering.

  "I saw you," Eldest whispered, and her eyes were damp. "Now see me. See the scars of war."

  The other yurei removed their masks too, also revealing scarred faces. Some were missing their noses, their ears, their mouths, even eyes. Some barely had faces left.

  "Once we were beautiful," one yurei said.

  "They deformed us," said another.

  "They took our faces," said a third. "They took our beauty."

  "They tortured us," whispered one yurei, trembling. "They broke us."

  "Who?" Marco whispered.

  "An ancient enemy," said Eldest. "An evil that swept across the galaxy before humans had risen on Earth. They destroyed our world. We fought them. Millions of us died. We banished them into the great emptiness, and we sealed them there, but not before our planet burned. We, the last survivors, fled in shame. Scarred. Forever ugly. Our homeworld gone. We took our fleet of soulships. We fled. We built worlds of memory, and aboard this fleet, we keep our culture alive."

  Marco hesitated, then reached out and caressed her scarred face. "You are still beautiful, Eldest. And you are good. Now we humans face evil. Now we might lose our world. Will you help us? Will you fight with us against this new enemy that threatens to destroy the galaxy?"

  A tear rolled down Eldest's cheek. "There can be no victory without sacrifice. There can be no peace without war. There can be no joy without pain. I will help you, Marco. But the price will be terrible. If we go to war, one among you—among the four humans who gather here—will die."

  Marco's heart seemed to freeze, then shatter.

  He looked at his companions, then back at Eldest.

  "One of us?" he whispered. "Me? Or Lailani? Or Kemi? Or Ben-Ari?"

  Eldest nodded, tears falling. "That is the price the cosmos demands. The yurei will help you. But we will take a life from you. That will be your choice, Marco. Not a simulation. Not a game. A true choice, a true death. If you wish, you may fly with your companions to the world below, and we will create a paradise there for you, a world like your Earth, peaceful, indistinguishable from your true planet. You may have your home by the sea there, grow old with your friends."

  "But not with Addy," he said.

  Eldest shook her head. "No. She remains in darkness. To save Addy, to save Earth, you will have to sacrifice one of these four."

  Marco raised his chin. "Then take my life. I sacrifice myself."

  "Who will die is not a choice you can make, Marco," Eldest said. "The future is fluid, always changing, and even we yurei cannot see all its paths. Yet that is the price the cosmos demands. Who among you will die? That we cannot choose. But if you fly to war, one of you must die."

  Ben-Ari stepped forward. Her voice was forceful, but her face was pale. "To save Earth, yes, we will sacrifice one of our lives. Can you guarantee victory?"

  Eldest turned toward her. She reached out to stroke Ben-Ari's hair. "The proud captain. So wise. So strong. So noble, perhaps noblest among her crew. So ready to pay the horrible price."

  "It is a price every soldier is willing to pay for victory," Ben-Ari said. "For peace."

  "Yet victory I cannot guarantee," said Eldest. "We are mighty, yet the marauders are many, and strong, and cruel. Even with all our wisdom, we yurei might be unable to defeat them. The hope for victory is small, for the enemy is great. Even if you sacrifice a life, you might lose this war. Would you still choose death—for yourself or one of your soldiers—for but a glimmer of hope? Even if your sacrifice will likely be in vain?"

  Ben-Ari inhaled deeply. "This is a choice we will make together."

  The four humans faced one another. They held hands, standing in a circle. Marco looked at them. The people he loved so much. Lailani, small and fierce, her brusqueness hiding her kindness, a woman who had risen from privation, who still fought to lift others to nobility. Kemi, wise and gentle, a woman who loved dancing, old music, and silly B movies, yet also studied the stars and fought for humanity. Ben-Ari, a leader who, every day, taught Marco to be a better man. How could he lose one of them? And just for the faintest of hopes, the slightest fighting chance?

  But he knew the answer to this ultimate test.

  They all did.

  "For Earth," Ben-Ari said.

  "For humanity," said Lailani.

  "For family," said Kemi.

  "For Addy," Marco whispered.

  They turned toward Eldest. They nodded.

  "Yes," they whispered, one by one, and it was the most devastating word they had ever uttered.

  Eldest placed the mask back on her face. She raised her hands, and lights flowed across the branches of the trees and filled the runes engraved into the walls. Her voice thrummed through the forest of souls.

  "For the first time in many eras, the yurei will fly to war."

  Marco had spent months dreaming of this moment, yet now the horror overwhelmed him. The companions embraced one another, and even this forest of lights seemed unable to cast back the darkness.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  She grabbed him.

  "Here," Addy said. "Now. In the back of the truck."

  Steve was busy hauling radios and antennae into the armored truck, and sweat glistened on his forehead. He looked around him. "Lots of people moving about, and—"

  She yanked him into the truck. "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."

  Steve sighed. "No point putting up a fight when you're in the mood."

  Among boxes of munitions and radios large enough to crush a stegosaurus, they made hard, sweaty love. Whenever she could, Addy had sex before a hockey game and before a battle. It sharpened her senses, woke the huntress within her, reminded her what she was fighting for. She lay on her back, eyes shut, legs wrapped around him, and she dug her fingers into his back, and when she climaxed she bit his shoulder so hard she tasted blood.

  "Ow." Steve winced. "You're a fucking marauder, not a human."

  "Don't talk about them here," she said. "Just hold me. For a moment before the fire."

  She cuddled against him. Sex to feel like an animal. Cuddling to feel like a woman. Fierce and loved. Deadly and safe.

  Another battle lies ahead, she thought, holding him close, her eyes closed. I never want to leave his arms. I never want to face the horror again. But I will fight—for him. For Steve. For the man I love. For my friends who are still out there, fighting for us in the darkness. For Earth. For a dream of someday ending this nightmare. For someday finding a home.

  She felt so cold when she left Steve's embrace. With stiff fingers, she got dressed for war. Her old military uniform. Her tactical vest
and pouches, all full of bullets. War paint. Her helmet, the words Hell Patrol scrawled across it. Guns and grenades. A soldier. Once more, just a woman bred to kill. Her body covered in metal and death. Hollow inside.

  "Girls always take so long to get ready," Steve said.

  Addy punched him. "Shut up."

  The Resistance rolled out. Tanks and trucks. Humvees and sand tigers. Helicopters and drones on massive transporters. Civilian vehicles had joined their forces too: pickup trucks with machine guns thrusting over their tailgates; roaring motorcycles with guns welded onto the handlebars; bulldozers painted with fangs and flaming eyes, marauder skulls glued to their roofs; and armored buses full of troops and mounted with cannons. Ten thousand warriors traveled south along the highways to New York City. Many were HDF soldiers, their units destroyed, their commanders killed; they now followed Addy. But most were civilians, a mixed bag of veterans and survivalists who had joined the fight. The Resistance had only a loose structure and not much discipline; they were more mob than army. But every man and woman here was ready to sacrifice their life for victory.

  And along the road south, more joined them.

  The ruins of every town held a pocket of rebellion. Partisans lined the roadsides. Hundreds, soon thousands more joined the Resistance. Some fought only with knives, others had rifles, and some carried machine guns and grenade launchers. Some walked afoot or drove beaten sedans; others had armored military vehicles. Some had families with them: elders, children, babies. Most were alone. The Resistance swelled, and as they crossed the wilderness of America, tens of thousands of humans rallied behind Addy's banner.

  And on the way, they saw more slaughterhouses.

  Many slaughterhouses were behind metal walls—walls the rebels shattered with shells and bulldozers. Others were merely webs in the wilderness, holding captive humans like flies. Hundreds of the slaughterhouses dotted the land. The rebels' destination was New York City. They moved to meet the enemy there, to join with the European and African forces landing among the ruins. But Addy would not abandon the prisoners in these webs. Every few kilometers, they fought a battle. They shattered gates and burned the enemy. They suffered losses but freed naked, tortured, starving prisoners. They left a trail of corpses, both human and alien, but also a trail of victory, of liberation. And with every slaughterhouse liberated, Addy knew that the visions would never leave her, that more demons would howl in her nightmares.

  Throughout the winter they fought, and finally, on the first day of spring, they saw them in the distance: the ruins of New York City.

  Many of the skyscrapers had fallen. Marauder webs hung from the buildings that still stood. The Freedom Tower rose highest among them—knocked down by the scum nearly sixty years ago, rebuilt, and now crawling with marauders. In the port, Addy could see it: the Statue of Liberty, rising in the dawn, alien webs draped over her torch. Between here and the city sprawled the industrial wasteland of New Jersey, lying in ruins. Dead boats listed in the Hudson, and the carcass of a massive starship—the length of several city blocks—lay on the riverbank.

  Addy carried a pair of trinoculars—electronic, next-generation binoculars able to gaze farther than normal lenses, even connect to the Resistance's spy drones and tap into their video feeds. It was among the most expensive toys the Resistance owned. When Addy looked through the trinoculars, she could see a full view of Manhattan and the ocean beyond.

  She saw no humans.

  The marauders must have moved them all to the slaughterhouses—or killed them. And she saw those marauders everywhere. They crawled over the towers. They scurried along the streets. They bustled across webs that draped over Central Park. They shrieked at the advancing Resistance, and their ravagers hovered over the ruins, claws extended. Their screams of fury rose from the city, goading the Resistance on.

  "Come and die!" rose a howl.

  "Bring us your flesh!"

  "Humans, come to feed us!"

  "Come, apes, into your graveyard!"

  The aliens cackled. Their ships gathered fire. Thousands of them—eager to kill, to feed.

  Addy and Steve stood on a hilltop, gazing at the ruins of New York, once the largest city on the continent. The wind ruffled their hair—the first breezes of spring, scented of death and desolation.

  "New York is fallen," Steve said, standing at her side on the hill.

  Addy held a banner pole, and her flag unfurled, displaying the blue Earth. "She will rise again."

  "Where are the others?" Steve said, gazing through his trinoculars past the ruins at the Atlantic. "The Europeans and Africans. They should be here. It's the first day of spring."

  "They will come," Addy said. "We will tenderize this city for them." She raised her flag high. "Artillery! Roll forth!"

  The guns of the Resistance rolled onto the hills. Cannons. Tanks. Simple pickup trucks with launchers on their backs. They stood just across the river from Manhattan.

  And they began to fire.

  The shells pummeled the city. Buildings collapsed. Webs burned. Holes tore open on the streets. The fury of the Resistance pounded the enemy.

  And the marauders fired back.

  The ravagers soared, blazing plasma. Grenades flew skyward, slamming into some of the alien starships, tearing them down—but far too few. Fire gripped soldiers, and trucks burned. A munitions truck burst, showering metal shards. People ran, screaming, aflame, and marauders raced into the camp, tearing into human flesh.

  For hours the Resistance fought, shelling the city, as the ravagers burned them, as the marauders tore through their ranks. Hundreds, soon thousands of rebels fell. And still the enemy stormed forth from the ruins, an ever-gushing river of flame and claw and tooth and hunger.

  "We have to fall back!" Steve shouted as the sun fell. "They're too many! We can't resist them."

  "We have to fight them!" Addy said, dodging a lashing claw. She fired her gun into the marauder's eyes. "For the eastern army!"

  "They're not coming!" Steve said, firing his gun at a marauder that leaped forth. The alien squealed and crashed down. "This city is lost."

  Addy looked around her, panting, coated with blood—her own blood, the blood of her enemies, and the blood of dead comrades.

  And she knew that Steve was right.

  Half the Resistance vessels burned. They had felled a few ravagers with grenade launchers and helicopter attacks, but hundreds still flew. They had slain many marauders, but thousands still lived, still poured forth from the ruins of New York.

  And so many rebels lay dead.

  Men. Women. Some were mere children, wearing helmets too large for them, clutching rifles in their small cold hands. The price of her rebellion. The people who had followed her here, who had believed in her, who had died under her banner.

  And the enemy surged forth in the night, emboldened by the darkness, shrieking with new fury.

  We lost, Addy thought, firing her machine gun, screaming as the monsters stormed forth. We lost this battle, this war, this world. I'm sorry, Marco.

  Marauder webs slammed into her, and Addy fell into the mud, bleeding, out of bullets, the monsters swooping in. An alien pinned her down, roared above her. She struggled to free herself, could not.

  I wanted to hold you one last time, Marco. I'm so sorry I couldn't hold out long enough. I love you. I love you so much.

  The claws gripped her. Her eyes rolled back.

  From the east—horns.

  Deep, keening. Foghorns like those of ships in the mist of ancient stories.

  Horns—mournful. Beautiful. Horns of hope.

  Around her, the marauders screamed. The alien pinning her down rose, shrieked so loudly Addy's ears rang, then fled.

  She gasped for breath and struggled to her feet. Corpses lay strewn around her. The marauder had ripped open her bulletproof vest. In another instant, it would have clawed out her organs. She stumbled forward, staring to the east.

  The horns sounded again in the darkness.

 
; Lights.

  Light on the Atlantic.

  Tears streamed down Addy's cheeks.

  "They're here. Hope is here."

  Steve limped toward her, covered in blood and ash. A marauder eyeball quivered on his bayonet.

  "The Eastern Resistance," he whispered. "The Human Defense Force."

  Addy could see them now. Ships. Thousands of ships on the ocean. Some were massive warships. Three were aircraft carriers, and fighter jets soared off their decks. Thousands were smaller vessels—a flotilla of barges, landing craft, cargo hulls, even motorboats with soldiers aboard.

  Humanity had lost the sky. But the seas were still theirs.

  The ravagers swooped toward the fleet, raining down hellfire, and the ships responded in kind, blasting their cannons, and the fighter jets fired their missiles, and hot metal hailed into the Atlantic. Through the storm, the ships reached the city, and soldiers—entire divisions—stormed the beaches and charged, screaming and firing their guns, into the ruins.

  "For Earth!" Addy shouted. "Resistance, follow!"

  They stormed forth.

  Motorbikes, tanks, trucks, bulldozers—they stormed across the bridges. Thousands ran, fighting afoot. As the European and African forces invaded from the eastern sea, the North American Resistance crossed the river and entered the ruins with them.

  They fought through the night.

  They fought along rubble-strewn streets.

  They fought from rooftops of crumbling buildings and behind fallen skyscrapers.

  They ran from the fire of ravagers and fought in the subway tunnels, firing at the marauders underground.

  They charged over piles of bricks and metal, tearing into the alien horde.

  They burned the webs stretching across Lady Liberty's crown.

  They fought through dawn and another day, and when night fell, they fought some more.

  They fought through the steel canyons of Manhattan, skyscrapers collapsing around them. Massive marauders, genetically engineered to grow as large as dinosaurs, climbed the Empire State Building, and their stingers sprayed venom onto men below. It took a hundred attack helicopters to finally tear them down. Other marauders raced across the George Washington Bridge, ripping through its steel cables, bringing it down as rebels tried to cross. Marines and aliens fought in the Lincoln Tunnel, and fire filled the darkness, and thousands perished in the inferno. Atop the Statue of Liberty, men and aliens fought with guns and claws, and blood draped Liberty's tabula ansata. From the World Trade Center, where once the city had wept, the rebels tore down a massive alien cube-ship, slaying thousands of the beasts within.