by wildbow
Even knowing it was an act, I almost believed her.
“Who’s Bob?” Gordon asked.
“Bob is a verb, silly Gordon. Like a pigeon’s head?” Helen asked. “Except it’s a sound?”
Gordon shook his head, confused.
Lillian was the one with the answer. “I think I might know what she means. When a pigeon takes flight, if it’s just flying off for whatever reason, it will bob its head first. If it’s flying off because of danger, it won’t bother, and every pigeon that sees is going to take that as a cue to fly off too—”
“—Without a bob,” I cut in.
“Yes. Without a bob, which cues others. That way, if one pigeon spots a predator, they all have the best chance. Except the Ghosts do it when vocalizing, I presume,” Lillian said.
Helen nodded, emphatic, “Every time they go someplace new, they communicate it. They ‘bob’ when it isn’t important, but they’re still letting others know where they are. When they don’t bob, then it’s saying—”
“That others should follow their lead,” Gordon said. “Got it.”
I found myself wishing that worked with people.
“Petey knows some of this, probably, but doesn’t know all of the communication. That makes it hard to be a sneaky sort of Ghost,” Helen said. “If he keeps misusing bobs or forgetting to use them, he stands out.”
“Is he going to do the scream, the command you just did?”
“He did,” Helen said, smiling. “They’re running.”
“And,” Mary observed. “It looks like we also signaled our friends.”
It was Dog and Catcher, with the Wry Man trailing behind. Their initial approach seemed hurried, but as they drew nearer and had a better view of the situation, they slowed to a somewhat more relaxed pace.
“Petey, Engineer,” Gordon said. “Figure out what you need to do to stay close enough to each other while being able to cover each other’s backs. You can hold your own if it comes to it, Engineer?”
The Engineer nodded once.
“Better not waste any time. Helen’s prepped you as good as you’ll get. Go.”
“That way,” I said, pointing.
They left.
We met Dog, Catcher, and the Wry Man halfway. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They covered more ground, by virtue of having more raw strength and longer legs.
“Found her,” Catcher said. “Looped back to look for you, found him instead.”
“Any problems?” the Wry Man asked.
I shook my head. “Got Petey a convenient new body and some quick lessons in speaking Ghost more effectively. She’s going to throw a wrench into their ability to scout.”
“Okay,” Catcher said. “We—”
A violent impact shook Brechwell, worse than any we’d felt yet. I traced the roads with my eyes until I saw the plume of dust and debris further away. It seemed the Beast had run down one city street, but from the look of it, the road was one only accessible through Fray’s hole in the wall, and the creature had charged straight into a T-shaped intersection. Without a smooth curve in the road to guide it, it had struck a row of buildings at full force.
I looked at Gordon, Helen, and Mary, and I squeezed Lillian’s wrist. I suspected we were all thinking along the same lines.
The Beast had escaped the track it was meant to run, free of its cage, so to speak. The city was built to guide and confine it, and it had found a way out.
If Fray was going to make a move, assuming she knew, saw, or could intuit what had just happened, then this was her opportunity to evacuate.
“Show us where she is, now,” Gordon said.
The rain was coming down harder than before, and that had the effect of making it harder to see, our footsteps more prone to slip just a fraction.
Gordon seemed content to fill Catcher in, explaining the plan, that we’d be splitting up, what we were looking to achieve.
Having a strict goal in mind for victory was very Gordon, and in this situation, it was very useful, too.
What does Fray want? What is her goal for victory?
I had spent far too much time thinking about Fray over the last months and years. I had a sense of what she wanted on the surface level, to shake things up, to change the order of things. I had a sense of what she wanted on a deeper level, to convince others that her worldview was the right one, to prove herself right.
Starting the war, releasing the experiment to sterilize and chemically leash whole swathes of the Western Crown States, it had been a way of bringing everyone around to her point of view, creating that same righteous anger at how things worked, making every man, woman, and youth feel the need to buck against the Academy’s control, retaliate against the Crown’s callousness. She’d used her enemy’s tools against them, forcing things into play too early.
But there was a big difference between proving oneself right and proving the other guy wrong.
Bringing two factions together like she was served as another kind of validation. Being so very right that others came around to her point of view. I could see why she was here and why she was doing what she was doing. I could imagine that her drive was focused by the drugs she’d taken, honing ambition and perfectionism that had already been there, as evidenced by her gray coat and the self-medicating with Wyvern. It let her spend ten or more hours a day focused wholly on the tasks at hand.
I wished I knew her better. I wanted to get inside her head, hit her where it hurt, peeling away the veneer, and then figure out if there was something fragile, mad, or awe-inspiring lurking beneath.
“We’re close,” Catcher spoke in his gravelly voice, the sound carrying back to the rest of us. “See it? She was there!”
His weapon pointed the way, the spiked head aimed at a squat, broad building. It was part of the concentric rings that encircled another, taller building, not invisible, but easily overlooked. To look at it, I imagined a bank or a school.
The cluster of people around the building painted the rest of the picture. Standing guards, nervous, all keeping within a few paces of exits and escape routes. The Beast was rampaging through nearby streets, and many of the people on the ground were flinching at every impact, as if expecting the Beast to emerge or crash through at any moment.
I imagined it was an immense amount of psychological pressure, being down there.
The rifle shots I could hear throughout the city each marked one person who’d broken and made a break for a ladder. I could hear some close by.
A spotlight swept over us. I saw heads raise, heard voices on the ground, and tugged on Lillian’s arm, pulling her way and over to the other side of the roof. I ducked low, and she mimicked me, just in time for some gunshots to sound.
We were under fire, but their vantage point was awful, especially as we kept away from that side of the rooftop. We crossed over a gate and reached a forking path.
Around the time the spotlight swept over us, momentarily blinding me, more gunshots sounded from the closest tower. I wondered for a moment if they were firing on us, which was not impossible or even unlikely. Then I saw him.
The man with the modified birthing saw. I could smell fuel and see the flicker of machinery he wore, all of it keeping the weapon going. Saw-teeth rotated around the edge of the thing at a blur, periodically sparking. He carried a shield as tall as he was, holding it up in the direction of the nearest tower. Bullets struck the shield and bounced off.
Mechanical saw in one hand, shield in the other, he advanced on Catcher, Dog, and the Wry Man, smiling wickedly.
The Wry Man backed away a few steps, flinching as a shot caught the edge of the roof five feet to his right. He drew a vial from his belt and tossed it back in one gulp.
“Lambs!” Catcher called out. “Circle around! We split up as planned!”
We took the other path in the fork. It seemed fairly clear that Dog, Catcher, and the Wry Man were taking the most attention. Gordon raised his rifle and fired, but one more gunshot was lost in the noise, not
even drawing any particular attention.
The Beast slammed directly against another wall, only a few streets over, and I heard the sound of glass shattering on windows beneath us, glass and frames warping with the force of the impact.
“Stay low,” Mary spoke, only loud enough that people on the ground weren’t likely to hear. She gestured at the same time, indicating the Beast, a relatively short distance away.
Fumes. Gas.
Possible explosions.
Was it frustrated?
Fray’s actions regarding the Beast didn’t quite feel like it fit into her usual pattern. Everything else she’d done had been about changing minds, often in a very aggressive manner. Who did she convince, doing this?
It hadn’t been timed the way she’d wanted, or it wasn’t being used the way she had originally planned.
Was there a weakness? Could I shake or break her using that desire to validate and prove her way was the right way?
I felt a bit of a chill as I considered the flip side of that same question.
There was a way to get to her.
Gordon and Mary both aimed and fired. Those shots did get attention. We ducked low and used the peak of the roof for cover as we made our way around. We were close, but the number of guards had increased.
And, if I admitted it, I was feeling hurt and tired. I wasn’t up to running around. We were close enough to see, and that had to be good enough, at least until we decided on another move.
“Stop,” I said.
The group drew to a halt. Gordon used the time to reload his weapon.
“Last bullet,” he said.
“Want one of mine?” Mary asked.
He took a bullet from her and pocketed it.
“You okay, Sy? You look cold,” Lillian said.
“I am,” I said. My teeth chattered a little from adrenaline and cold combined.
“You look hurt too,”
“Sort of.”
“Do you want my coat?”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
“No sign of Fray,” Helen commented.
I stared at the building.
“Did she get away already?” Gordon asked. “We could spread out further, if you guys want. Sy stays, maybe with Lillian, so he can keep an eye on this place. Mary and Helen or me and Helen go explore, see if there’s any trace of them.”
The ground rumbled as the Beast paced through darkness, five or six streets over. The fumes were accumulating faster than they dissipated, and the Beast was slowing down.
The last time it had stopped moving, it had ignited its gas.
There was a lot of gas, by the looks of it.
“She’s here, I’m positive,” I said. “We stay low. Spread out over the rooftop here, so we have more vantage points to see. Gordon far left, Mary far right. Make sure that you aren’t thrown off if the Beast makes another explosion. Dig in, keep eyes forward.”
“Alright,” Gordon said. “You’re positive?”
I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but I felt sure enough. If Fray was a mirror of me, she probably felt the same sort of insecurities. I’d worried about how fractured the Lambs were, and she was dealing with a fractured group. Would she call for a retreat, if she wasn’t certain that she’d be able to reunite the two factions in the aftermath of the retreat?
“Yeah,” I said.
Gordon gave me a dubious look.
But he retraced his steps, heading left. Mary went right, each of them with a rifle that each had, by my count, two bullets.
“Shoot only lieutenants or Fray,” I said. “Or in self defense.”
They each signaled the affirmative.
“Helen, that way, between me and Gordon. Lillian, that way.”
My heart was pounding.
Dog and Catcher were drawing attention, the rest were taking cover, looking in all the wrong directions.
We were free to act, but action was lunacy.
We needed one master stroke, something Fray wouldn’t anticipate.
Did I have a grasp of who she was? Who the major players were? The current volatility of their organization?
“Lillian,” I said.
She’d started walking away. She stopped, turning to listen.
“I’m okay, okay?”
She frowned at me.
“Okay? I want you to know that.”
“You’re being cryptic.”
“Sort of.”
“You were being too honest before. Was that a lead-in to you being particularly dishonest?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Not intentionally, but now that I’m here, with a plan in mind… yeah.”
“What are you doing?”
“Easier to show and tell,” I said.
I slid down the roof until I reached the gutter.
“Sy!” she said.
“Shh! If you shout, you’ll get us both shot.”
“Sylvester,” she hissed, a strained whisper.
“I’m okay,” I said.
As I’d done after being thrown down the roof, I lowered myself down until I hung on wet wood by my fingertips.
I shimmied over to one side, until there was a broken window in front of me.
Too much glass on the sill.
I shimmied over some more.
There.
I swung forward, and felt the heart-stopping moment as I let go, flying toward the window. I grabbed the too-thin crossbar in the center, a surer point to grip. Then, the moment I had contact, slapped my hands out to catch the sides of the window instead.
I passed into a darker office.
The Beast’s movements made picture frames and furniture rattle and shift.
It was easier to get out of the office than it would have been to get in.
Down the stairs, to the front door. I would be forced to leave it unlocked, but there was no way to be polite.
A mailbox sat just inside the door. I picked my way through envelopes until I found a nondescript one, then I waited, periodically looking outside, assessing who and what was nearby.
The ghosts weren’t there. Petey might have sufficiently distracted or herded them.
The detonation caught me off guard. Even with streets and solid stone buildings between me and the detonation site, it left me briefly stunned.
I pushed the door open.
Outside, onto a street shrouded in smoke and darkness, where I could barely see ten feet in front of me, envelope in hand.
Walk, don’t run.
I made it three quarters of the way to the building before someone spotted me, walking with my hands out to the side, an envelope held out between index and middle finger.
Their gun pointed at my chest.
I continued walking.
“Stop,” he said.
I stopped.
The Lambs were going to be so pissed at me.
“I’m accepting Fray’s invitation to sit in on the meeting,” I said.
He whistled sharply.
More people approached. Two kept guns trained on me. The first guy got close enough to take the letter. I let it fall from my fingertips.
“That has nothing to do with this. I just needed a white flag so you wouldn’t shoot me before I got close,” I said. Then I lied, “I am telling the truth.”
“Lamb,” one of the men said.
“We’re told to treat all children as suspicious, and not to listen,” one of the men said.
“You’re one of Cynthia’s, I’m guessing.”
He raised his jaw a fraction. I was right.
“One of you go inside. Talk to Genevieve Fray. She’ll tell you what’s up.”
Appealing to a higher authority.
Except Genevieve Fray hadn’t invited me.
Well, not in anything but the loosest sense. She’d extended an invitation a year and a few months ago, before the war had started.
I didn’t remember much, but I remembered that.
I watched the men exchange glances.
“Tu
rn around,” one of them said.
I did.
“Kneel.”
Hm. This wasn’t a good sign. I knelt.
I felt a gun press against the back of my head.
Then a coat was draped over my head. I moved my hands to adjust it, and got a fierce poke with the bayonet blade, alongside a sharp, “No!”
I was having my head covered. I supposed they didn’t want to show the way to Fray.
Whatever.
I could hear the Beast tearing at building, I could hear the bells, I could imagine Lillian hurrying to communicate to the other Lambs about what I was doing, if they couldn’t see me down here.
Minutes passed.
Fray wanted to change minds, she wanted to prove her worth, she collected the vulnerable, and her past interactions with the Lambs and with me had played off of that.
Here, I was expecting she would keep to that pattern.
I was expecting that, whatever else happened, her authority and power here would override the lesser players, some of whom had reason to loathe the Lambs. To loathe me.
I was using the word ‘expecting’ because hope sounded awfully flimsy, and thinking too much along the lines of hope and maybe would set my teeth to chattering far more than they were right now.
Voices started up a murmured, muffled conversation behind me.
I was hauled to my feet, the jacket left in place. I was walked, a grown man on either side of me.
It was only after doors were shut that the jacket was pulled away. I moved my arms as much as I was able and tried to fix my hair. Nothing I could do about my shirt. If I had to look wet and bedraggled, I could look a crazy wet and bedraggled. I opened my eyes wider and smiled.
Another set of doors was opened.
A hundred sets of eyes fell on me.
At a table at the end of the room, I could see the major players. Fray, with Warren, Avis, and her stitched standing behind her. I saw Percy, and Mauer at one end of the table, and Cynthia at the other, with a new and too-artificial skin covered partially by hair, a high collar, long sleeves and gloves, each of them with a half dozen I didn’t know or recognize.
The other eighty-some people I didn’t know were civilians, standing and sitting in chairs. An audience for the forum. I felt more accurate about my assessment of Fray, now.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said.