The Underground City (Book 3): Planet Urth, no. 3

by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

  I feel Sully’s fingertips graze my arm. I turn to face him. His eyes are filled with what can only be described as pride. “Look how quickly everyone came together, and all because of you.”

  I want to reach out to him, to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close. I want to breathe in his spicy, masculine scent to calm my firing nerves. But I can’t. The fate of the city teeters at the edge of a great precipice. The general and his army of Urthmen are poised to pitch us over, unless we act now.

  But I fret over how we will all make it above ground without getting picked off in the process. The only mode of transport I’ve seen is the cube that tunneled through the earth and brought us here. Surely, though, that isn’t the only way. I’m afraid to ask Sully. I gaze up at his face; at the chiseled planes so perfectly sculpted they make my insides flutter despite the impending war. “Is there a better way to reach the surface other than that small contraption we were brought down in?”

  A slow smile rounds his cheeks. “Of course,” he replies.

  I roll my hand forward, urging him to elaborate.

  His eyes lock on mine, blazing with intensity. “We’re going to raise the city.”

  “Raise the city?” I ask and feel my scalp shrink. Goose bumps race across my flesh.

  Sully brushes his knuckles down my cheek, an act so tender I glance over his shoulder to be sure no one saw. He abruptly turns from me and gathers several guards. He speaks to them. I cannot hear what he’s said. All I see is the guards nodding enthusiastically at whatever he says. He returns to me, along with them, and together we file past throngs of people until we reach an unremarkable door along the tunnel wall. Camouflaged by craggy charcoal stone, the gray door blends seamlessly, but beyond it are massive metal devices with an array of different colored buttons.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “It’s a control room,” Sully says, his eyes wide with wonder. I follow his gaze as it scans the numerous knobs and switches. “From here, we will raise the city.”

  He uses that term again, “raise the city.” I have no idea what he means, only that the guards are in a state that is a combination of panicked and excited. They each search their key rings until they find one in particular. Simultaneously, they insert their keys into slotted openings in the panel nearest to me. Then Sully presses several buttons and shifts at least six levers.

  “All right, here we go,” he says as he flips the last switch.

  Creaking and groaning ensues, the sound akin to a mighty beast awakening from a century-long slumber. An otherworldly moan rings out. The walls shake. The ground beneath my feet rumbles. I pitch backward then widen my stance to keep from falling.

  “What’s happening?” I shout over the roar.

  “We’re headed into battle!” Sully replies.

  The floor lurches and I tip toward Jericho. I latch onto his arm. I look up and expect to see that his expression mirrors mine, that he’s as confused by what is happening as I am. His rich, dark skin is smooth and unperturbed. His calm, as surprising as it is, diffuses from him in comforting waves. “Hold on tight, Avery,” his voice filters from him like a shaft of summer sunlight. “This is what was meant to happen.”

  I hold his gaze for several moments. Then I look to the guards, to the shifting structure around me. Finally, I look at Sully. The world is literally shifting around me, yet when our gazes clash, I am filled with steadfast resolve, with confidence. I inhale deeply and hope for the fate of the thousands of people joining me in the fight for our freedom

  Chapter 21

  Bitterness rockets up the back of my throat and every nerve ending in my body fires at once. A thunderous commotion erupts as the city rises and is followed by silence so thick and unsettling I can’t help but look all around me to ensure that I’m not alone, that what’s happening isn’t a dream from which I’ll wake. Sully is beside me, and so is Jericho. The guards are still present, as are the thousands of New Washington citizens who turned up at the armory. Will, Sarah and Oliver are not in my sight. I only hope that June and Riley are safe and with Tom. The thought of June being anywhere near this confrontation is more than I can bear.

  The world around me ascends slowly at first, but its speed increases without warning, jarring me and nauseating me simultaneously. This is it, I think. The city is being lifted to the surface to combat the Urthmen. This information, this advance knowledge that I will be faced with thousands of beings prepared to take my head off, is different than spontaneously happening upon the enemy. The taking of lives, no matter how perverse and vicious those that’ll be taken are, is a weighty endeavor. I’m overwhelmed by emotions storming at once. Anger, fear, revulsion and excitement all form a sick pit in my stomach. I gag several times then look around me. Many of the people I see will lose their lives. I glance over my shoulder again and am offered a fleeting glimpse of more individuals than I can count. Male, female, old, and young have united to stand behind me, and against those who’ve oppressed us, who’ve hunted us for far too long. Their willingness to fight infuses me with a quiet calm, a faith that, joined as we are, we will endure. We will prevail.

  I close my eyes and clutch my sword in front of my chest with two hands. My head bows and touches the cold steel. I think of my father, of my mother and unborn sibling who were struck down, of life and death, and of the old woman named Mary I met before I left the forest. She held fast to a belief that a mystical being reigned over all creatures, that He watched over people and protected them. She referred to him as God. In the seconds before I tip my chin and open my eyes, I wonder whether God favors humans or Urthmen, because if it is humanity who holds His vote then I beseech Him for His graces. We’ve endured centuries of brutality, been hunted to the verge of extinction. Armed with our weapons and hope, we need all the support we can get.

  Still gripping my blade tightly, my eyes flutter open. Brilliant light floods my field of vision from overhead. My eyes tear and I squint against it until my vision adjusts. We’re cresting the surface like the sun emerging from the horizon. Sand and pebbly dirt pours, seeping into crevices and cracks as the walls begin to tumble. When finally the outermost walls fall, they land with a deafening crash.

  Dusty clouds form. My throat dries and tightens. I turn and cough. Firm fingers latch onto my wrist as soon as I finish. I’m met with Sully’s gaze. “When we get out there onto the battlefield, we stay together, okay?” he says. His tone is urgent and his expression is intense. “We stay together, please.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “Say the words, Avery. Please, promise me.”

  I look at him questioningly.

  “I can’t live if I lose you. You’re a part of me.” His hand touches his chest just above his heart. His voice is low and gravelly, his words intimate. His tone carries an unspoken promise that strikes me like a bolt of lightning. He’s saying he needs me, and not for his survival or for guidance. He just needs me for me.

  “I promise,” I agree and mean it. “We’ll protect each other,” I say as the city completes its climb to the surface.

  Powdery billows settle. Dirt and other debris cascade to the ground. Dry, desert heat replaces the damp coolness of the underground city, radiating from the pale sands in wavering fronds. My attention snaps from Sully to the unadulterated view I now have of our battleground. The sight before me turns my lungs to blocks of ice. A veritable sea of Urthmen, all dressed in gray, appears to have retreated in fear, I suppose. Perhaps they thought the rumbling ground was a weapon of some sort. Or perhaps they thought natural disaster was about to strike. Either way, they’ve backed up considerably from where they were when President Sullivan showed me the live feed. Their presence erases any misgivings I briefly had about claiming lives. They are not thinking and feeling beings capable of compassion. They’re monsters through and through.

  “This is it, Avery,” Sully says to me. “This is where it all ends.”

  My head snaps toward him and my gaze locks on his. “No
, this is where it all begins.”

  His keen eyes spark to life and he flashes his half-smile. “That’s right, beautiful.”

  I open my mouth to speak, to retort playfully, but feel eyes other than Sully’s boring into my flesh. I scan the field in front of me and see countless hideous faces. Only one stands out among them: The General. Clad in black from head to toe, he scowls at me. A frosty gaze with eyes the color of ice over water blasts through the ether and freezes the blood in my veins. As soon as our gazes collide, he jams his helmet onto his head then gestures with his sword toward me, toward all of us, and screams words that are inaudible.

  “Here we go,” I mutter when, at The General’s order, the Urthmen mobilize, emitting an unearthly din as they charge in our direction.

  Cold washes over me for a split-second before my legs twitch and my feet take off. I do not think twice and I do not look back. The fight for earth is now, and I will fight to the death if I have to. My future is clear, clearer than it’s ever been, and my destiny is unmistakable. I sprint headlong, racing toward the murky tide of charcoal. Over the noise of the advancing parties, I hear Sully release a war cry. I never doubted he’d be beside me, but am reassured, nonetheless, by his close proximity. The hoarse roar of his voice is a benediction, fuel to the fire burning brightly within me. In my periphery, I see more people from New Washington than I can count. They are only a few steps behind me.

  The closer we draw to the impending clash, the harder my heart beats, the sound a war drum pounding its fitful rhythm. I unsheathe my spear and clutch it in one hand while the other holds my sword. When I am within throwing range, I launch it forward with every bit of strength I have. The spear spikes the air with a high-pitched shriek, whistling shrilly until it lodges in the eye of an Urthman. He reels backward then falls to the ground. The urge to pump my fist is hard to resist. I’ve toppled the first among them. More will follow.

  The rolling echo of people behind me resounds like the growl of a hungry beast. The distance between the Urthmen and us is closing fast, twenty feet . . . ten feet.

  The clash of swords and clubs, of flesh and bone, is earsplitting on impact. Chaos erupts with a sonic boom. All around me, Urthmen swarm. I whirl from side to side, wielding my sword and carving the air from left to right. The glint of blades reflects the sun and gleams with savage light. An ocean of malformed heads churns and roils like darkened waters. Clubs and swords are hefted, and primitive grunts echo. Their assault is lumbering, their swipes ham-fisted. I swing my blade with vengeful fury. The ranks of Urthmen that advance unendingly, clumsily, blur together to form one violent, grotesque image. But I do not stop cutting.

  The sharpened edge of my blade drags across the exposed midsection of the Urthman closest to me. His weapon falls from his hands and lands in the sand at his feet noiselessly. As soon as he drops, I drive my sword through his throat and manage to remove it and swing it in a wide arc just in time to thwart the attack of another fiend. My swipe pushes his hands back, causing them to jerk, and when they do, I slice the ether horizontally, lopping his head off. His skull tumbles to the ground, his eyes staring in abject horror and shock, and I step back. My spine touches something solid and warm. I twist and look over my shoulder and am instantly relieved to see that Sully is behind me. The hard cords of muscle at his back flex and bunch as he fends off multiple attacks, brandishing his daggers with lethal speed and skill. But I dare not marvel at his dexterity, for a deluge of gray rushes my way.

  Blow after blow, aimed at every conceivable part of my body, rains from every direction. I block and strike, hitting some while killing others, until my blade grows heavy. Time to rest, to slow, to breathe, doesn’t exist. I must keeping fighting, and do, until I am in the depths of the dark heart of the Urthmen offensive.

  In my periphery, I catch sight of Jericho. He hefts his mallet, drilling and smashing any monstrous creature that crosses his path. His skin looks as if it’s been carved from the night sky: dark, smooth and glowing. Though he heaves a large, cumbersome weapon, he manages to make it glide through the air with ease, with the grace of a bird in flight. But when it lands upon the flesh of the enemy and sends jets of copper and crimson spraying, every bit of elegance seeps from his movements. What is left is the inherent need to survive.

  In the field, I see Mr. Derrick. He appears to be winning the battle with the Urthman before him. And he isn’t the only citizen of New Washington who is dominating his or her opponent. In fact, the number of Urthmen seems to have diminished considerably. They are savages without strategy, dangerous but not tactical. What they lack we have in surplus. Excitement begins to bubble inside of me. The Urthmen are outwitted, and hopefully outmatched.

  Despite my growing optimism, the battle still rages on. I narrowly dodge having my skull cleaved in two, ducking and spinning and slashing an Urthman at his waist. Gore spills from him in a scarlet gush. He howls and falls to the ground. But when my gaze lowers to his fading form, I do not feel victorious in the least. Beside him, with pale-green eyes wide and her mouth agape in a silent scream, is Sarah. An angry maroon arc mars the slender column of her throat and blood saturates the front of her shirt. “No,” I gasp. And as soon as the words fall from my lips, a guttural cry rips through the air. My head whips toward the sound and I see aquamarine eyes veiled in agony. Will’s features are a mask of wrath and pain. He screams frenziedly as he carves open Urthman after Urthman within range of his swing.

  Sarah’s death affects me. I allow myself to be powered by my sadness, by Will’s sadness. I twist and chop, slash and slice.

  I don’t know how much time has passed, how long I’ve been fighting, but every muscle in my body complains. My neck and shoulders ache and my arms sting. The crowd has thinned considerably. More Urthmen than humans have fallen. The air is tinged with the metallic stench of blood so cloying it coats my tongue and thickens my throat. The overpowering urge to vomit is halted when The General’s icy gaze meets with mine. Our energies and intentions slide over and under each other, warring with frictionless force. He shoves a boy younger than Oliver from his path toward me, and then strikes him down without even looking as he marches my way. Seeing The General’s track, Jericho lunges for him, hoisting his mallet and clipping him in the shoulder as he passes. The General bays like a wounded animal but doesn’t relinquish his grip on his blade. When Jericho moves to attack again, this time at his head, The General catches his arm and buries his blade just above Jericho’s navel until its tip protrudes from his back. Jericho’s eyes widen briefly, his face is etched in shock, and then slowly, his brow furrows. Realization of what has happened washes over him. His head lowers. He sees the sword and the expanding circle of red pooling at his midsection. He gasps and mutters words I cannot hear, and I feel a twisting pain lance my heart. He falls to the beige sands already speckled with his lifeblood, unmoving.

  “No!” I hear myself scream. My voice sounds foreign and disembodied, echoing around me as if coming from another.

  The General’s head lashes in my direction like a whip. His upper lip curls into a snarling grimace, an evil expression that raises the hair at my nape, and reveals crumbling, rotting teeth. His face, hideous, but human, sickens me for reasons that go beyond his outward appearance. He brings shame to humanity. And he’s killed my friend.

  “You’re a disgrace to every human being who’s ever lived,” I hiss and feel my anger churn and boil like molten lava as I grip the hilt of my sword so tightly my fingernails bite into the sensitive skin of my palms.

  His vile grin widens, and he stills like a serpent readied to strike. Cold eyes watch me, and I wait, reading what’s burrowed deep within them. I notice a faint tick of one brow, and he charges me, veering and slashing at me diagonally. I raise my sword and block the strike. Metal meets metal with a shrill clang. I avoid having my throat slit but the force of his attack is significant. I’m knocked back and lose my footing for a moment.

  Putrid laughter oozes from his mouth. He spits a
stream of dark, fetid juice. Some of it peppers my boot. I want nothing more than to return the reeking liquid to him, with the toe of my boot lodged firmly in his open mouth.

  Shoving back at him with all my might, his blade is forced away from my body. I don’t waste a moment and lunge at him, swiping at his midsection. He deflects my attempt with one hand. With his free hand, he punches me in the temple.

  The force of the blow staggers me. I land on my backside. Pain explodes immediately and is followed by a scattering of multicolored dots that glow in my field of vision. They are slowly replaced with murky blotches that fill in until all I see is utter blackness. I fight the compelling urge to submit to the darkness, shaking my head as a gush of warmth trickles from one nostril. I scramble to my feet, refusing to stay down and accept death, and thrust my sword forward. The tip scrapes across his thigh, opening his leg near his groin. The General cries out. Blood spurts from the open wound. He glances at it then heaves his sword high before slicing the space between us. I’m barely able to stop the blade from decapitating me and stumble to the desert floor.

  Looking up, I see his towering silhouette eclipse the sun. He launches his foot forward and kicks. His boot connects with my clavicle and hurls me back. He immediately descends on me and is about to punish me with the full force of his strength behind his sword when I see an object catch the light. It careens toward him, flying end over end until it blasts against his torso.

  For a moment, The General doesn’t move. He simply regards the dagger wedged in his chest with stunned immobility. I glimpse Sully running toward us holding his other blade, but three Urthmen intercept him. Though I fear for Sully, I know I must finish The General. I spring to my feet. The General snaps out of his dazed trance and swings his sword with the dagger bulging from him. Slower and far less accurate than earlier, his blow is easier to dodge. His body is twisted from following through on his swing, leaving his midsection vulnerable. I capitalize on his vulnerability and drive my sword across his flesh. His gut opens, drenching any remaining part of his shirt that isn’t already soaked in lifeblood with more.