Twig

by wildbow

  “Sylvester?”

  The glassblower.

  I paused, gestured to Jamie to look out, and then turned.

  “Clothesline,” she said. “You wanted cord?

  At the porch at the back of one house, a clothesline was strung up over the porch railing. Accessing it would mean climbing the fence to get into the backyard, crossing the yard, climbing the short three stairs up to the porch, and then taking it down.

  I had a pit in my stomach.

  “Is that not what you wanted?” she asked. I’d paused too long, taking the situation in.

  “It’s a thing of beauty,” I told her. “Good eye.”

  “You’re hesitating,” Jamie said. “You think the twins are here?”

  There were so many angles they could attack from.

  “They’re here,” I said. Prey instinct.

  I touched the fence that bounded the yard. They would attack. It was an opening, too blatant a weakness. If they’d heard everything I said, they knew I wanted cord and they didn’t wholly know why, and that would be reason enough to get in the way of this simple act of crossing the fifteen foot distance and then returning.

  I climbed up the fence, propping a foot on the top, the other hanging off the back of the fence, ready to touch ground if I needed to retreat backward.

  If I outlined the strategy aloud, they would counter.

  Instead, I raised a hand, gesturing.

  Me. Small protect. Group. Radiance—all directions. Protect. Group.

  I lacked full peripheral vision. I had to turn my head to see Jamie at work, touching people, getting them to raise their guns, pointing them in various directions.

  “I don’t understand,” Lookout said.

  “Keep an eye out,” I said. I was tense, and it carried over to my voice.

  Hand up, I gestured. Purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, red.

  Red was aggression. Movement, the forward assault.

  I kicked myself forward over the fence. A short four-foot drop, and I was stepping foot on wet, frozen lawn, the ground simultaneously harder than it should be for soil, but giving under my weight, as the sodden ground beneath the frozen layer caved in. I gripped my rifle, holding it in both hands, ready.

  One running step. Two.

  Like a stone three times her weight, and with just as much impact, the Twin dropped onto the porch stairs in front of me, all four limbs meeting the frozen slats and boards.

  Placing herself so that my body was between her and the group of ten. Not enough that I was guaranteed to block the shot, but enough to raise the question.

  Someone shot anyway. It missed.

  “Eyes forward!” Jamie shouted, voice high with alarm. “Look in the direction I—”

  More gunshots, not aimed at me.

  I threw myself to the right. She threw herself to her left, almost faster than I did, matching me and keeping me positioned between her and the group. She had to extend a spike out to slam it into the wall of the house and arrest her sideways movement.

  Right. She wouldn’t kill me, but she could maim me and then leave me to watch her decimate the group.

  I raised my rifle, aiming. In much the way Jamie had dealt with, she hurled herself away, leg strength allowing her to dive to one side, her profile narrow, spikes extended out in front of her, so she could slip through the gap between the railing and the short set of stairs at the base of the porch.

  Spikes caught the ground, and I could see as they punched through the harder, colder layer and sank into the yet-unfrozen mush beneath. I could hear it.

  A part of me expected the other Lambs to be there, to capitalize on it.

  But the group of Lambs had dwindled. There was no Gordon, no Mary, no Helen to capitalize on that moment of weakness. There was only me.

  Mary was at my shoulder and Gordon stood in front of me, pushing the barrel of my rifle, as I swiveled to point it at the Twin, already squeezing the trigger a moment before I had her in my sights.

  Forelimbs caught in the ground, she used her forward momentum to bring her legs over, forward, setting them on the ground, and hauling her spikes up and out. It took a moment for her to reassert her balance, to bend her legs in preparation for another bounding leap, directly at the group.

  The rifle fired, violent, bucking in my hands and kicking back against my shoulder where I hadn’t positioned it perfectly.

  I caught her, right across the back. A dark fleck of something flew off. I didn’t see what, and I didn’t see the full extent of the damage as she spun in a half circle, caught her balance, and hopped over the fence.

  Then she and the other twin were gone.

  I could hear the gasps and the shouts of the ten. The disbelief.

  I didn’t turn to face them, and I didn’t speak, instead focusing on ignoring the pain in my shoulder and the ringing in my ears as I brought the rifle up, using the battered bayonet blade to slice at the clothesline. I grabbed it with a numb hand and hauled it down.

  “I hit one,” I said, as I hopped over the fence, rifle in one hand, cord in the other. “I’m pretty sure that gets me a reward.”

  They looked at me like I was crazy. But that wasn’t exactly right. I was sane, and I’d been talking crazy, up until this point.

  This was real for them, now.

  I handed the cord to the glassblower. “Cut it into lengths. Do you know what a bola is?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Make bolas. Improvised ones. Anything we can do to limit their movement.”

  I saw her glance back in the direction of Mauer’s camp.

  Having second thoughts about all of this?

  “They’ll attack again before we get back to the main force,” I said. “Not making the bolas isn’t going to make that next fight any easier.”

  I met Jamie’s eyes, and I gave him a nod.

  This was suddenly very real for our recruited group, yes, but I’d just made one of the Twins bleed.

  Up until now, they had been playing with us, in a sense. Now they were going to take this seriously.

  Previous Next

  Counting Sheep—9.12

  The challenge was to stay one step ahead of the enemy. I knew where they’d been the last time we saw them, I knew the likely course the elder twins had traveled, and I knew the younger sisters would go straight to the elder ones now that they had met with some resistance.

  With a certainty, I could say that the elder sisters were now making their way toward us. If I’d dealt any actual damage, they would be delayed. If I hadn’t, we only had a minute.

  “Why aren’t we heading back to the others?” Lookout asked.

  “We are, but we’re not going directly back because there’s a good chance they’re waiting for us,” I said. I pointed at a collection of buildings to the left of the road Lookout would’ve wanted to take. “Somewhere in there. We go that way, and they’ll come at us in force, soldiers shooting. The monsters we just saw will hit us while we’re dodging bullets. We meet a quick and grisly end. There’s no way to cover all the angles and protect ourselves.”

  Running at the lead of the group, I couldn’t see his face, unfortunately, but I didn’t hear any more complaints from him.

  I wasn’t telling the truth. Us heading straight for Mauer was the most obvious route for our group. The Twins laying in wait was the most obvious route for their group. I couldn’t gauge the intelligence of the younger twins, but I knew the elder twins were smart enough to second guess my actions and I had to second guess theirs.

  They were at another point nearby, sending the soldiers out through alleys and into buildings that had good vantage points. I was guessing the twins’ escort of elite Crown soldiers were spread out, not concentrated, lined up in a way that would force us to take cover or take unnecessary losses, as we tried to cross the wide roads or run down a road with gunshots coming at us from behind or the side. It only took a couple of soldiers to slow us down when they had the benefit of carefully selected posit
ions to shoot from, better weapons, and the training to put the bullets where they wanted them.

  If we took cover or tried to move through the alleys and the buildings themselves, then we wouldn’t have the momentum anymore. The twins and the other soldiers could come at us at their leisure. They would fold around either side of us, forcing us to either move directly away from Mauer or hole in and trade bullets. Both of those options were bad for us, when the soldiers were better armed. Even in an ineffectual firefight with both sides shooting and neither hitting the other, the Twins were a trump card for their side.

  I could visualize the various configurations of soldiers, crouching by windows or fences between us and Mauer’s front lines.

  Too risky. Couldn’t head straight for Mauer, couldn’t imagine any scenario where the twins would let us, by intent or by accident. A scenario where they’d let us get this far out and then closed the net behind us? Definitely.

  If the soldiers were being ordered into a perimeter to catch us or trip us up should we make a break for it, then we needed to keep moving, down and away from the front line of the battle. Mauer expected to retreat before sending the primordials in. Moving in the direction of that retreat opened up opportunities. Staying put or moving in another direction let the opportunities fall away.

  What actions opened up doors? What actions closed them? What actions opened doors for the enemy, versus closing those doors?

  Mauer was west of us. If we headed south, moving toward the tail of his group, the twins had to communicate to their soldiers, pull them away from wherever they were holed up, and give chase, moving parallel to us to stay between us and Mauer. It meant less options available to them in the short term, making them easier to predict. The only other option left to them was to bluff, lead us to believe they were between us and Mauer, and that was shaky ground, rife with weaknesses Jamie and I could exploit.

  All that in mind, to the people I was leading, it seemed very much like we were getting further away from friends and help. To the people I was leading, salvation was a five or ten minute run to the west, with no apparent threats between us and Mauer. They were scared, intimidated, and confused.

  I glanced back over one shoulder, then turned my head to glance over the other, before remembering I lacked an eye and couldn’t actually see behind me that way.

  I let myself slow, and the group slowed too, responding.

  “Keep moving,” I encouraged them, as the ones in the lead caught up with me. I tapped knuckles against the shoulder and arm of the two to my left. The Brawling Bruno and Tattoo Belly. “You two, watch our left. They might have left people there to flank us. Everyone else, watch our right. The enemy is moving alongside us now. We’re about to reach a crossroads—”

  Running and saying so much was tough. I was getting out of breath. “—If they’re cocky, they’ll run across the road to get ahead of us. They might shoot or pounce.”

  Breathe, breathe.

  The area at my calf where I’d been sliced felt like rock, now, a twisted, angry, painful knot where muscle should be.

  Jamie spoke, “Men, watch the ground. Women, watch rooftops and windows.”

  I saw his hand go up. I. Rear.

  I gestured in response to confirm.

  As a group, we crossed the open ground of the wider street. The deep ruts suggested the wagons or other vehicles that traveled the street bore heavy loads, likely to and from the quarries at the city’s edge.

  I waited to see if the soldiers would happen to cross the road in plain view. They didn’t. That placed them ahead of us, in a position to cut us off or set up to open fire on our flank, or it meant they were lagging behind.

  The tension in the group was palpable as our boots and shoes tromped on the snow-dusted road and broke through thin layers of ice over puddles.

  “What were you doing with your hands?” Bat asked.

  “Talking with my teammate,” I said.

  “It’s spooky.”

  “It’s efficient. Where are we with the bolas?” I asked.

  “We have three. I’m not sure how useful they’re going to be. Seeing those things—they were so fast, I, how do we even hit them?”

  If you’re in a position to throw the bola and hit the twin with it, the monster probably reaches you in the next second or two and kills you, I thought. But at least this way we create a situation where maybe the next person in line doesn’t get killed and has a chance to fight back.

  “Trust me,” was all I said.

  “That’s a lot to ask, coming from someone with a war wound who had to beg Mauer for help,” Lookout said.

  I opened my mouth to reply. Adam jumped to my defense before I could speak, “He’s doing what he can to help that girl he had with him. Wouldn’t any of us do that for the people who are important to us?”

  Sentiment appreciated, but not the argument I would have made, and it made it harder for me to steer the conversation and assert myself. The others would process it as Adam saying ‘he’s doing this for himself and his friends, fuck all of the rest of us’ and ‘weak weak weak. The young boy is weak’.

  Adam had performed the equivalent of throwing an anchor to a drowning man. Yes, the anchor had a chain connecting it to the boat and that might help, but what it really did was risk sinking the poor bastard. I hadn’t even been drowning, I’d been swimming!

  “He’s fucking us over to get the job done, you mean,” the Lookout said, voice strained as he panted from the running.

  There it is.

  “No,” Adam said. “He’s—”

  “Wait,” I said, voice hard, “Stop.”

  I stopped in my tracks. The group stopped as well.

  Everyone’s attention was fixated wholly on the surroundings, searching, looking for the cue that had prompted me to order a halt.

  Three Hannibal Hamlins, two Hannibal Hamlins, one Hannibal Hamlins…

  “Move,” I said, the count done, “Faster! Eyes out!”

  The group listened.

  There hadn’t actually been a cue or a reason to stop. There wasn’t a reason to move faster now, either. But by taking command, I had stopped the conversation in its tracks, refreshing it, and reminded everyone what was at stake.

  Give a man an apple or a drink, then ask him a favor, and he was vastly more likely to obey. Psychology at work.

  Give a squad of ten scared citizens of Lugh direction, focus, and hope of survival when they craved those things, and then ask for goodwill? The same idea at work.

  Now I could answer.

  “You were told how dangerous this was,” I said.

  “Bullshit,” the glassblower said.

  “Five years pay!” I said, raising my voice. “Nobody ever gets something for nothing! Ever! You knew there was a cost. You didn’t admit it to yourself, but don’t pretend you thought this would be easy, that Mauer would hand over money for something with no risk to it. Now trust me. If you start focusing on me instead of them, they will get you. If you break ranks, you will be a straggler, and they are very good at picking off stragglers. Listen. Watch. Cooperate.”

  I was letting emotions slip into the words. A little harsher than I’d intended.

  “Sy,” Jamie said.

  “What?”

  “One a hundred meters behind us, while you were talking. The one you didn’t shoot, alone, moving.”

  “Behind and to our right?”

  “Was right, crossed the street before I could point my rifle at it. Behind and to our left now, and catching up.”

  “Two more people watch our left,” I said.

  “On it,” Jamie said. He said something I couldn’t make out to people I couldn’t see through the back of my head.

  Six watching our right, four watching our left, me in front, Jamie at the back.

  “And Sy,” Jamie said.

  “What?”

  “You sounded a hell of a lot like Gordon just now. Listen. Watch. Cooperate.”

  “Bad thing? Good thing?”


  “Not bad,” he said, and he left it at that.

  If I’d sounded like Gordon, it wasn’t intentional. I could see it, thinking about it. Direct, hard, ruthless, straight to the heart of the matter.

  I had always been better than Gordon at the small-scale tactics, moving the group. Gordon had been better at taking in the battlefield, thinking about the small stuff in abstracts without overthinking and over-dwelling on it. Fatigue and emotion were forcing me to be more brusque, and the nature of this battle with enemies on all sides forced me to take in the entire battle, watching how the lines were moving. It wasn’t a surprise that I was treading on Gordon’s niche.

  Speaking of—the tone of the fighting at the front line had shifted while I hadn’t been paying as much attention. More artillery, more explosions and cannon shots.

  More of the duller, more individual cracks of Mauer’s rifleshots, less of the staccato bursts of the stitched shooting. I could hear the whump, whump of war machines loosing their shots, the distinct pause, and then the rolling explosions as the shots hit home.

  “The primordials are loose,” I said.

  “I wondered,” Jamie said.

  “The what?” one of the men asked. It wasn’t someone that had talked a lot. “Prime—?”

  “Mauer’s special weapons. He just released them.”

  “The warbeasts? They didn’t look that impressive.”

  They’re impressive enough that it brought the Academy here. It’s why the fighting is happening.

  “Listen,” I said. “Do you hear the more organized shooting from the stitched? The tatatatat?”

  More artillery shells exploded.

  The group was listening. I half expected the stitched to open fire and make me a liar, and started to think of a way to lead into a casual, confident statement, as if I expected it all along.

  But there was no tatatatat. There was only the dull thunder of the explosions.

  I explained, “The stitched are being called back. The Crown is moving their forces around, trying to get resources in place to deal with the new threat. Those explosions are the Crown pulling out all the stops, trying to keep the bulk of Mauer’s forces back, out of the way. Isolating the primordial problem so it can be dealt with.”