Radicals (Blood & Fire)

by Frankie Rose

  He ducks a blow from a meaty hand and strikes upwards, quicker than most people would be able to follow. As he pulls out his knife, his body is already turning, pivoting, ready with another blade and another target in mind. He lashes his hand in a terrible backstroke that cleanly slices across the chest of another man, sending him to his knees, crimson blood jetting from his wound.

  “Get the girl!” one of the remaining men cries. Another man, a giant brandishing a length of rusted rebar in his hand, charges for me, snarling through bared teeth. The rebar makes a whispering whoop noise as it swings over my head, missing me. I’m crouched like a cat, and then I’m kicking upwards with one leg, bringing out the giant’s own legs from underneath him. Things move in a blur from there. I sink my knife into his leg, knowing exactly what I’ve done. The artery that courses through the inner thigh there is a crucial one—he’ll be dead in seconds.

  Cai is still on his feet, though struggling with the two remaining men. They’re striking at him from two fronts, trying to catch him unawares. From the left, one of them feints forward, growling, lunging at him with one of Cauis’ own throwing knives. He must have pulled it from his friend’s body. From the right, the other man has a knife of his own, rusty, with a pitted, dull metal edge. He thrusts, tentatively searching for a chink in Cai’s defence. Both the men suddenly move at Cai together, and I see the whole thing playing out before it happens. The man on the left will reach Cai first, and Cai will block, but then his side will be open for the other guy to stab. Time slows. The guy on the left is grimacing, an expression of committal as he presses forward, knife outstretched.

  I reach for another throwing blade, pinch the blade between my fingers, and I throw.

  Time catches up with the frantic movement of bodies, appearing to move too quickly now. It takes a moment to realise my knife found its mark. And so did Cauis’. The two attackers fall to their knees in unison, toppling to the dirt, leaving Cai standing between them, chest heaving. He looks to me, still crouched, fingertips of one hand steadying me against the ground, and his eyes are wild.

  “Thanks.” He gives me a stunned smile.

  “No problem.”

  We don’t have time to waste. We run again, but this time we slow at each intersection we come to, pausing to peek out and look for any more unwelcome surprises. We’re lucky. The extra caution proves worthwhile and we avoid another run-in with a larger group of men—six attackers is one thing, but ten would be a different story entirely. We take another route, careful not to tip them off to our presence.

  We jog, half crouched through the city for a good twenty minutes before we hear more sound. Talking, breaking glass, children crying. Caius and I look at each other, both our eyes round. This isn’t the sound of a stationed unit of fighters. This is a vast crowd of people. This is a mass of bodies all moving together, jostling and hustling, not showing care to remain quiet. If there are that many of them, then there’s no way Caius and I are getting by them without a fight. One we will most definitely lose.

  “What do you want to do?” Caius hisses.

  “I don’t know!” I quickly cast a look around—we’re in the most unfortunate of positions. The street we’ve run down ends in a T-junction; the crowd of people are approaching from the left. We could take the exit on the right, but we’ll be seen and chased for sure. If we go back the way we came, we’ll be pinioned in between the oncoming group and the smaller one we left behind. We could perhaps fight our way past the ten men, but the others will catch up with us before we’re done and block us in from behind. Like shooting fish in a barrel, as Lowrence would say. Except I’ve always been the gun and not the fish.

  I take a look at the building behind our backs and make a split-second decision. The place is gutted, no doors or windows intact, but the ground floor looks stable and the support columns are all in one piece. “In here,” I whisper to Cai. “It’s dark. We can wait for them to pass us by. Hopefully they won’t see us?”

  He nods. We flit quickly into the shell of the ground floor, pressing our backs against the crumbling brickwork, pulling our limbs in as tight as we can get to the wall. Inside the place smells caustic, the same as the lower floor of the Det, an echo of fire—the remnants of burning plastic and heated metal that lies heavy on the breeze. Caius stiffens, his body tensing into a rigid stillness as the noise grows louder. The crowd are at the intersection. Caius’ hand automatically shifts to his belt, waiting at any second to draw sharpened steel should he need it. I do the same.

  “…not forever. Only for a little while,” a gentle voice floats on the breeze, soothing and comforting. The voice you would use to comfort a child. The itch of recognition scratches at the back of my mind.

  I was right; the voice of a child, a tired one, follows shortly after. “I want to go home. Please.”

  “Hush now, it’s not safe at the moment. But it will be soon.”

  Closer and closer, the voices approach. It will only be a moment before the group turn the corner and are travelling right past us. Despite knowing this group is too big to take, I pull in a deep breath and prepare myself. I might not get a choice in the matter; better if I’m ready to defend and attack than to close my eyes and hope for the best. That will serve no one. Not me or Caius, and certainly not Ryka, somewhere out there, trying to make his way back to the Det.

  One, two, three… Not long now. The sound of my heart, usually steady and regular, jumps all over the place as adrenalin wreaks havoc through my insides.

  And then I see the first of them.

  A silent figure, ducked low, hugs the building on the opposite side of the street, moving wraith-like from shadow to shadow. I catch the glint of metal next, a silver flash in the dark recesses of the structure’s hidden corners. I can’t see his features, can’t make out his clothes, but I see the way he moves and I know. Of course I know who it is.

  I charge out of my hiding place, already running.

  “Kit! What the—”

  But Caius’ exclaimed protest is left behind. The sunlight hits me as I dash across the cracked blacktop, running for the hidden figure. To my right, I can sense a huge gathering of people moving together, but I know they’re not a threat. They are the people we left behind. All of them. The people of Freetown. And I’m only interested in the silhouette of the boy leaning out of the shadows, brown eyes round and surprised.

  “Ryka!” I slam into him, forcing him backward, staggering two paces before his back hits the wall behind him. He catches me up in his arms, huffing slightly as the wind is knocked out of him. Chuckling softly, he leans back enough so that our eyes meet.

  “What’s going on, little Kit?” he asks.

  “The Det! Rudy’s men!” There’s a lot to tell him and no time to do it in. The information won’t come out in one coherent sentence. Ryka’s eyes are concerned, his eyebrows banked together. He reaches up and brushes my filthy hair out of my face, cupping my cheeks in his palms. “Start over,” he advises.

  “Rudy, the guy from the place with the guns…he came back. With friends. A lot of them. They’re outside the Det now, trying to find a way in. And, Gods!” I clap my hand over my mouth. Olivia. What the hell do I tell him about his sister?

  “What?”

  I swallow thickly. I can’t tell him about her just yet. It’s awful. It’s a terrible thing to do, but he won’t be careful if he knows she’s possibly bleeding to death back in that building. He’ll charge headlong into complete chaos, not caring if he comes through the other side alive, just so that he can get to her. And then where will we be?

  “Kit, talk to me.”

  Deep breath. Just breathe. “It’s—it’s nothing.” I give him a watery smile. “I just have no idea how we’re going to get back inside with everybody—” I finally take a look over my shoulder and observe the great crowd of people Ryka was leading in his wake. I shudder at the sight of the fighters forming the front of the party. They’re all men I recognise. Men with long tracks of black kill marker
s climbing up their arms.

  I shouldn’t have run out like that. I could easily have been killed. Caius stands apart in the middle of the ruined street, hands clenched into fists by his sides. He drops his gaze as soon as I see him, choosing to stare down at his dusty boots instead of back at me.

  Ryka’s hands gently squeeze me on the arms. “Kit, how many of them are there?”

  “I don’t know. When it left it looked like maybe twenty? Thirty?” Those twenty or thirty men had been large enough in number to cause panic last night when it was just the inhabitants of the Det to stand against them, but now that I’ve seen the fighters of Freetown bristling and angry, weapons already in their capable hands, the figure doesn’t seem quite so big.

  “Is this—is this everyone?” I ask him, not quite believing it. There are bobbing heads for as far as I can see, disappearing around the corner, and a loud hum of conversation resonates like a swarm of angry bees. I don’t see a single face I recognise. Ryka shakes his head.

  “Not all. At least half the people have gone to the Outposts. Jack’s providing escort to them. He should be here within a day or so. There are about eight thousand either with me or on their way here soon. You think that might outnumber Rudy’s people?”

  I stifle a disbelieving laugh, slowly nodding my head. “Yeah. I think that might just do it.” He’s right, of course. I’d had horrified images of trying to somehow send people back up the guide rail, but the truth is we don’t need to sneak anywhere now. We are the greater force by a considerable amount.

  Ryka kisses me softly on the forehead, smiling grimly. “Did you miss me, little Kit?”

  I might have thought it was a weakness to admit to that a couple of weeks ago, but not anymore. “Yeah. I really did.”

  The determined set to his jaw doesn’t waver, although his eyes soften a little. “Good. Then let’s go kick Rudy’s ass.”

  “Well, what the hell is all this?”

  Ryka gathered up the best of Freetown’s fighters, dozens of them, and we left everyone else behind to wait for the all-clear. Didn’t make any sense to bring women and children to a potentially hostile meet-and-greet. There was no hiding the sound of forty pairs of boots clambering over building rubble and streets filled with broken glass, and so Rudy is already well aware of our approach by the time we reach the Det. He’s standing, hands on hips, outrage curling his upper lip, when we arrive at our destination.

  Ryka smirks a little when he steps forward to stand opposite Rudy. “Nasty cut on your face there,” he says, pointing to the deep gash that marks the other man’s jawline. “Sorry?”

  Of course it’s an injury from the scuffle they had in that dark room when we found the guns. Rudy’s face changes from an irritated red to a brilliant purple. “You think you can just come here and take over our city, boy?”

  Ryka makes a show of looking around, at the abandoned buildings and the tumble-down skyline, a kingdom of destruction. “Have we moved into a building you were using? Have we kicked anyone out of their homes?”

  Angry murmurings travel around Rudy’s men. They look poised for a fight, just waiting for one to break out. The fighters behind us bear the same poise, too. I doubt they’d turn down a good scrap either. “Just because we’re not living inside those buildings doesn’t mean they aren’t ours,” Rudy growls. “We’ve been here since the beginning. You can’t just walk in and take what belongs to us.”

  Seeming to ponder on this, Ryka slowly nods his head up and down, staring at his feet. When he looks up, he narrows dark, pensive eyes at Rudy. “Is this really about us taking up residence in an abandoned building, or is this about something else?”

  I hear a voice in the crowd utter the word before Ryka can get it out of his mouth: guns. Rudy spins and spears the man responsible to the spot with a ferocious glare. Ryka chuckles softly, scratching at his lightly stubbled jaw. “That’s what I thought. This is about the guns we took from the—”

  “Me! The guns you took from me,” Rudy spits. “And the boy, too. He’s one of ours. You need to give him back.”

  Seth. He wants Seth back. From the sounds of things, Rudy was awful and cruel to the boy, but that doesn’t mean the leader of these people doesn’t know how valuable he is. Seth has a mind for fixing things. Things from the time before. And a person like that is probably more valuable that any number of guns. After all, a gun can only break things. Tear them down. A person like Seth can fix things and make them whole again.

  “You’re not having either,” Ryka informs him curtly. “The guns were found and claimed, and your friend attacked us. We took him to discern his punishment, have decided none is due, and he’s since chosen to stay with us. Now, if you’d like to discuss territory lines throughout the boundaries of the city, then we’d be more than willing to sit down with you and come to a fair arrangement. If you just plan on bombarding our building with more rocks and stones, scaring the women and children inside, then—” he gestures behind him with a nod of his head to the men standing at his rear— “we’ll get to it and fix this once and for all.”

  Rumbling on both sides. It really does sound like that’s what these guys want. Diplomacy is overrated by their thinking. Time to stab and cut and slash and smash until the winners are the only men left standing. Each side believing that the winners will be themselves, naturally.

  The bottom entrance to the Det suddenly swings open, to reveal the forms of three men emerging from inside. Rudy’s men react instantly, drawing back and readying themselves to launch their missiles and debris at these new moving targets. At the head of the small group, James doesn’t even blink. He walks straight past them, a more wary Foster and Callum following after him. James walks right up to Ryka and halts, hands resting easily on his fully loaded knife belt.

  “Took you long enough,” he says. “We were just about to vote in another protector.”

  “Ha! I’m sure you were. Was your name on the ballot?”

  James’ eyebrows arch high on his forehead. “It was the only name on the ballot,” he replies.

  At least he’s honest about it.

  “What’s wrong with you people?” Rudy watches Ryka and James’ exchange with a look close to bewilderment. “We’re not leaving here until this is settled.” He reaches for a tattered leather strap that loops under his arm, drawing out a knife. It’s dull and ugly, not a pretty thing at all. It still serves its purpose when he tosses it down into the ground at our feet, though. It clatters off the cracked concrete, spinning lazily on what was once a polished wooden handle.

  The business end of the weapon couldn’t stick into the ground, but it’s obvious what this means. It’s a gauntlet being thrown down. A challenge. A demand to be heard. Rudy spits onto the ground right next to it.

  “Who’s it going to be? Hmm? You again?” He raises an eyebrow at Ryka. The truth is Rudy wants a rematch with Ryka. The half-healed scab on his face is undoubtedly a humiliation that demands retribution. Ryka cocks his head to one side, musing on this.

  “You couldn’t beat me in the dark, man. You really want to take me on in the light?”

  This insult is just too much. Rudy’s cheeks purple again. “I’ll kill y—”

  But he isn’t killing anybody. His words are cut short by something; something that distracts him entirely. It starts as a rumble underfoot. An actual sound develops very shortly afterwards—a rushing, howling thunder, growing in intensity, that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The purple colouring drains from Rudy’s face. His men look stunned, too. Behind me, the fighters of Freetown start to murmur, looking skyward, trying to figure out what this sudden interruption is. Ryka’s eyes swiftly turn to find mine, searching for an answer of their own: what is this? Do you know what this is?

  I shake my head.

  “I think we need to get inside,” James says flatly. With brows drawn together into a compressed line, his eyes are fixed on something in the far distance. I squint, trying to see whatever it is he’s
seeing. And then I do: a hovering black spec on the horizon, floating about the forest.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Not sure.” James still seems relaxed but I know better. I’ve studied the man enough to know when he’s furiously thinking. “But we need to get inside. Now.”

  “This is all your fault!” Rudy hisses. “Eight years! The Voids haven’t been down here for eight years, and then you show up and what d’you know!”

  Ryka unsheathes a throwing blade from his belt and flicks it over in his hand, making sure Rudy sees the movement. “Voids? Who are they? And what is that?”

  “Voids, idiot. The people from up high on the hill. And that’s one of their machines. They’re gonna kill us all, and it’s your fault. You brought them here.” Rudy’s men are already fleeing behind him, running hastily in the opposite direction. Their ringleader bends down and snatches up his useless weapon, stuffing it back into the leather holster where it came from. With a hatred I’ve never seen matched before, he fixes Ryka in his gaze and says, “There’s a reason why this city isn’t inhabited, fool. No one can live topside anymore. This…this isn’t over!”

  He turns and runs. Over his shoulder, his companions aren’t ducking into the buildings to take cover. They’re scrambling over one another, desperately trying to get by, as one by one they have to stand and wait to lower themselves single file down a hole in the ground.

  “What the hell are they doing?” someone in the crowd behind us calls.

  Ryka turns to face them. “I believe,” he says, “they’re running for their lives.”

  “Get these people inside. Move! Move! Move!” Ryka is a force to be reckoned with, sending the fighters off in separate directions.

  “They’ll never all fit inside the Det,” Caius points out.

  “They’re not going inside the Det. Get them under the closest shelter, the closest building where they can hide. Now! Everybody, move!”