“Whoa,” is all I manage. I’m speechless. The portion of the building aboveground is in ruins, yet here, beneath all the clutter and filth, painted concrete floors gleam, and weapons are arranged tidily.
“Can you believe it?” Sully turns to face me. His deep brown eyes glitter with hope. “We’re going to tear them to pieces.”
“Yes we are,” Killian adds with a hint of excitement coloring his words.
“Yeah!” Arnost cheers.
But when I look past both men, I see that Sully is inspecting the inner chamber of an automatic rifle. Dipped brows and a mouth that’s collapsed to form a hard line is all I see. “No. No this can’t be,” he says as he moves from one gun to the next. “NO!”
“Sully, what’s wrong? What is it?”
“Bullets,” Sully replies frantically. Eyes darting and hands racing, he’s moved on to the shelf on the opposite side, “There aren’t any bullets inside. These guns are empty.”
My pulse begins to speed with every gun he picks up, inspects and replaces to the shelf. “They must be here,” I say. My voice sounds as hollow as I feel. The sinking feeling that finding the guns was a high point only to be upended by a devastating low howls through the cavernous hollows of my being.
I follow the shelf on my right to its end. A second section, separated by an arched entryway, houses machinery I’ve never seen before. “What good is it to have guns without ammunition for them?” I throw my hands up in exasperation. They land against my thighs with a slap.
Desperation claws at my insides. Tipping the scales in our favor was hinged on these weapons, and while the information was new and the hope short-lived, it still existed. The recent discovery that we have access to an arsenal of weapons without bullets lands like a dagger to the heart of our defense.
I tunnel my fingers through the front of my hair and feel Sully’s arm brush mine. He pauses beside me and doesn’t say a word. Instead, he’s transfixed by the mechanism in front of me. “What is that thing?” I ask.
“It’s a hydraulic bullet press. It could produce thousands of bullets,” he says, and I wonder why he sounds so disappointed.
“That’s great, right?” I turn to face him.
“No, no it’s not actually.” Before I can ask why he answers. “We don’t have the material or the time to make the amount of bullets we need in one week.”
“So this was just a waste of time.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “We lost three men for nothing.” Lives were lost, time was wasted, and June was left behind for nothing. I want to swear, to scream or hit something. I ball my hand into a tight fist and clench my jaw so tightly my molars grind.
Sully places a hand on the small of my back. “There’s got to be ammo here.” He leaves my side and together, we move deeper into the room with the machinery. Stepping around the bullet press, we continue to the rear of the space. There, against the far wall, sits an oddly-shaped device made of metal. Blunt on one end and pointed on the other, it almost resembles a giant, stubby pencil.
“It can’t be,” Sully mutters as he closes the distance between us and the device.
“What is it, a bomb?” Arnost’s voice echoes from behind us.
“It’s a hydromic nuclear weapon, the most sophisticated weapon ever created,” Sully replies without taking his eyes off the deadly bomb before him, awe saturating his tone. “Once detonated, it’ll destroy everything in a thirty-mile radius. And keep its radiation mostly contained within that zone.”
Taking a step back, Arnost says, “But it’s so small.”
“The warhead is only about eighty pounds, but its power is unparalleled.” Sully blinks sparingly, mesmerized as he continues. “Ones like it were what destroyed most of the planet.”
I shiver at his words.
“Does it work?” Arnost asks and retreats another step.
“It was never used.” Sully looks from the warhead to us. “It’ll work. We probably couldn’t launch it, but we could detonate it manually.”
Arnost backs away yet another step. This time, I join him.
“We can’t use a nuclear bomb.” Memories of what my father told me about nuclear weapons and their global impact resound in my brain. “It would kill us too, kill off every living thing.”
“Hydromic nuclear weapons are different.” He scratches his chin and regards the bomb with such focused concentration I worry he’ll detonate it with his gaze alone.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say and break his trance. The events of the day have taken their toll on me. Lives have been lost. Hopes have been dashed. Standing and toying with the notion of utilizing what was once feared as the most destructive force created by man causes a sick pit to knot in my gut. “There’s nothing here for us that we can use. We can come back another time, when we have more time.”
“If we’re still alive,” Arnost mumbles.
Sully turns to look at him. His gaze bounces from Arnost to me. Rich brown eyes the color of fertile soil lock on mine. I hold his gaze, stunned that Arnost would say such a thing.
“We will be alive,” I say with more confidence than I feel at the moment. We have to be, I think. I refuse to surrender, refuse to concede defeat before true war has been waged. We will return to our city and move forward with Sully’s idea. By now, the trench is likely well underway. Between it and our wall, we will succeed in holding off the King’s army.
Chapter 12
Silence dominates the ride back to Cassowary. With Arnost, Andris and Killian riding in the bed of the pickup truck, Sully and I are the only ones in the cab. Typically, our comfortable banter would fill the space, but not today. Not now. Loss weighs heavily upon us. Searching for the arsenal was a distraction that temporarily bolstered our spirits. Finding weapons and enough ammunition to obliterate the Urthmen would have somehow honored those who lost their lives; there would have been a modicum of retribution. Even though Urthmen didn’t create the vultures that attacked, without them, we never would have sought out the underground armory. But neither honor nor the potential for retribution was yielded. In keeping with the events of the day, the arsenal produced results that I never could have predicted.
My chest tightens as the horrible screech the vultures emitted when they dropped from the sky fills my ears. The sight of the deadly, winged harbingers of doom is irrevocably imprinted in my mind’s eye. Vile hunters in search of carrion—living or dead—they butchered one of our best archers and two young men who we just met.
Guilt engulfs me. I smooth my hands down my thighs then ball them into fists as the tightness in my chest grows tauter.
As if sensing the insurmountable shame swelling within me, Sully reaches out and places his hand atop mine. He doesn’t say a word, just leaves it there. I’m unsure whether he knows that words are futile at the moment, that where lives are lost and hope is dashed, anything that’s said thereafter is meaningless for a time. Or perhaps he simply intuits that his hand is exactly what I need, is all I need at the moment. Either way, he doesn’t speak until we’re back on the highway and nearing the exit to our city.
“This was an awful day.” Sully releases my hand and rubs his forehead.
“Yes it was.” All I’ve done is replay the day’s events over and over again. Awful is an understatement.
“Seeing the progress made with the moat will be the highpoint.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. I open them and gaze out my window. The world rushes by in a dizzying swirl of green, blue and gold. Trying to make sense of it, the realization that the moat is our last hope comes sharply into focus. “I hope a lot was done today. After today, the thought of it not being done and Urthmen arriving earlier than expected, I just don’t think I could handle it,” I admit.
“I’m sure Derrick was more than happy to crack the whip and get everyone working.” Sully chuckles softly. “Being left in charge is a dream come true for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s done already.”
“That w
ould be nice.” I shake my head and envision Derrick barking orders and pushing everyone to hustle. Though normally that behavior would be unacceptable, today, I’m embarrassed to confess, if it produced impressive results, I’d be apt to overlook it.
“I can picture him with his long, skinny ponytail whipping the breeze, shaking his fist and shouting, ‘Dead! If this ditch isn’t dug, that’s what we’ll be. Dead, dead, dead!’” Sully says.
I laugh. It’s unexpected, and likely inappropriate, but I laugh hard. “Oh my gosh,” I gasp and double over, clutching my belly. “You sound just like him.”
Resuming the grating, nasal twang that becomes more pronounced the more excited Derrick becomes, Sully continues, “Everything else is great to know—swinging a sword, tying your shoes—but right now digging is the most important thing you can do.”
I laugh even harder.
“Picture his long, frog-like legs as he gets himself all worked up and hops while holding a shovel in one hand.” Sully laughs, too.
Neither of us can speak for several moments. We’re too busy laughing like loons. But once it dies down, I wipe the tears that rolled down my cheeks with the sleeves of my T shirt and ask, “Are we the worst people in the world for laughing just now?”
Sully gives me a sidelong glance. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, gentle. “No, I don’t think so.” He licks his lips and stares straight ahead. “Our lives are complicated, Avery. I don’t need to tell you that. Every day we’re faced with challenges, with life-and-death situations. It’s okay to cry. But it’s also okay to laugh.” He scratches his chin. “They’re kind of the same when you think about it.”
Saying that laughing and crying are the same makes about as much sense as saying sitting and standing are the same. “What? No, they’re not. They’re not the same at all. ”
“No, no, hear me out,” Sully continues with his line of thinking. “I mean they’re both a release, you know, and a relief. And while laughing after something horrible happens might not be the most popular thing to do, it serves the same purpose as crying.” He looks at me, his expression searching mine for understanding, for approval.
“Hmm, I kind of see what you’re saying.” I shrug. “Pent-up emotions need an outlet. Laughing when times are tough is harder than crying.” I echo what he said and expound upon it.
Sully smiles warmly at me. “Sometimes it’s like we share a brain.” He shakes his head slowly and chuckles. I smile too, but my smile collapses the moment we turn onto a dirt road and the wall surrounding the city comes into view. Seeing what I see, Sully leans forward. What the heck?’ he says angrily.
Work on the trench has not begun. Dirt is not overturned. Shovels are absent. No one is beyond the wall. Not one single person. My insides plummet to my feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I fume. “That’s the last time I leave Derrick in charge, that’s for sure!”
Sully pounds his fist against the steering wheel. “Nothing is done! Why wouldn’t they get started?”
Why wouldn’t they is a good question. It’s not like Derrick to shirk responsibility. Not at all, in fact. I can make fun of him all I want, and may have despised him as a teacher, but as a soldier, he’s been sterling. This lack of productiveness is uncharacteristic. Sweeping, lacy pinpricks of anxiety prickle across my skin. “Something isn’t right. This doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Sully agrees as we pull up to the gate.
Minutes tick by and the gate does not part. It remains closed.
“This is ridiculous! Now no one’s watching the gate either?” With the heel of his hand, he depresses the center of the steering wheel. The horn blares.
More time passes, and the gate doesn’t budge.
“What the heck is going on?” Sully’s agitation mounts visibly. He leans on the horn a second time, holding it so that it blasts for several moments.
Still, no one opens the gate.
I open the passenger side door and unsheathe my sword. “Something’s wrong.”
Andris and Arnost climb out of the bed of the truck, followed by Killian, and join me. Turning off the engine of the pickup, Sully walks around the front of the truck. I feel it too. The atmosphere is charged with volts of raw energy as it is right before a lightning storm, right before the balance of warmth and cold is disturbed and results in a violent display of power. But instead of being redolent with the heady scent of ozone, it reeks of malice.
“The Urthmen are here,” Arnost says, obviously sensing the shift in the air as I do.
Senses heightened and prepared to strike down the first monstrous Urthman they see, Andris, Arnost and Killian look all around, raking through barren trees and brush with their keen gazes.
“There’s no way the army got here, took the city and left not a trace outside in half a day,” Sully says.
“You’re right,” I agree and survey the surrounding property. And as I do, a voice rings out.
“Can I help you with something?” a gruff voice rumbles from above me.
I immediately tilt my head back, my gaze flying to the top of the wall. Lord Belchik stands with his hands planted on his hips and his chin tipped defiantly. Dozens of his men stand beside him.
Annoyance scrapes through my insides like jagged shards of glass. I do not mask it. “What’re you doing? Open the gates and let us in!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but we aren’t letting anyone else in today,” Belchik shakes his head and says. “Security reasons, of course.”
Annoyance quickly transforms to rage. He is standing on the very wall I breached with just a handful of my loyal, most trusted men, the same wall that I nearly died to see parted so that it could allow us access to sack it and purge it of its Urthmen rule. It was a battle he was not a part of; fought by people he does not lead. “That isn’t your decision to make. You are in my city with my people!” I shout at him.
Looking upon me as though I’m little more than a bug he can crush under his boot, he says, “Not anymore. This is my city now.”
“His city? What the heck is going on?” I say to only Sully. “Where’s Derrick? How did he let this happen?”
“Aw, what’s the matter? Are you conferring with you little boyfriend, wondering about a certain someone?” Belchik glares at me. Gone are the platitudes of barely disguised hate. His vitriol is on full display. “Hmm, now who could that be?”
June. All I can think of is June. If she is the person to whom he refers, I will rip his heart out of his chest still beating and choke him with it.
He scrunches his weathered features and purses his lips, placing his index finger to his wooly chin. He theatrically feigns deep thought for a moment then snaps his fingers and says, “Oh, I know! You’re looking for that odd little man with the dangling arms and legs and hair like a girl, aren’t you?”
Derrick. He’s referring to Derrick. I’m relieved he wasn’t referring to June, but fear for Derrick’s well-being sends a frosty shiver of awareness up the back of my neck. “Where’s Derrick?” I demand.
Belchik scratches his bearded chin. “I’m afraid Derrick and I had a bit of a disagreement, but if you need to see him, that’s not a problem.” Belchik turns to his men and bellows, “Bring the girly man here!”
My heart batters my ribcage as I wait to see Derrick. But it freezes mid-beat when a long slender form is pitched over the edge of the wall. It lands with a thud just a few feet away from me. Derrick is before me. An angry maroon arc sits just below his chin. With eyes wide and mouth open in a soundless scream, his lifeblood saturates the front of his shirt.
“What have you done?” I scream over the thunderous beat of my heart, returned to movement once again.
“Sorry. It couldn’t be helped.” Belchik shrugs with about as much contrition as one has for belching. “He wouldn’t get on board with the change of leadership so he had to be made an example of. This new regime—me—doesn’t tolerate dissension of any kind.” His malevolent smile is a deadly slash across his fac
e. “We only had to kill a few before the rest fell in line.”
My brain screams my sister’s name. Was she among the ones who died as examples? She wouldn’t resist or fight. She’s just a child. Her only offense would be that my blood runs in her veins.
“Oh, don’t worry now, Avery. That pretty little sister of yours is alive and well. I wouldn’t harm a hair on her head.” He closes his eye and shakes his head. When he opens them, they are the eyes of a serpent. “I like the young ones. I have big plans for her. I plan to keep her close, really close.” His putrid tongue darts from between his lips and glides over them lasciviously.
Heat snaps through my body, rising from my core and trembling in a firestorm of fury to my limbs. I grip my sword tighter, struggling for control. He just threatened my sister. I cannot let him live. I will not let him live. But he’s up there and I’m down here, little more than a target awaiting its mark. “You’re disgusting, a poor excuse for a human being.” I force the tremor from my voice, refusing to let him know just how rattled I am about his intentions for June.
My words cause his men on the wall to step forward, pulling their bowstrings taut. Sully, Arnost, Andris, Killian and I am in their sights.
“Ooh, now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings,” Belchik mocks. “I’m afraid I can’t let you live. Given your track record, I know you won’t let this whole leadership thing go.”
The sound of bowstrings being stretched to their limits fills the air as the men next to him turn their bodies toward me, aiming.
Realizing I have only seconds to change my fate, an idea rushes forth. “How about you fight me? Fight me for the city!” I shout.
“Now why would I do that?” he asks rhetorically. Then he twists to the man nearest him and says, “See this is what happens when little girls think they can rule. Only a stupid female would suggest such a thing. Fight for the city, bah!” He swats the air with contempt. “I already have the city!” The wall rings with the cacophonous laughter of his men and causes an icy current to bolt down my spine. Cold seeps deep into my bones, numbing the restless heat that crowds my insides. Belchik throws his head back and laughs, a deep belly chuckle reserved for comments that truly tickle a funny bone. The thought of fighting me for what is rightfully mine amuses him. I hope to show him just how funny I am.
The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4): Planet Urth, no. 4 Page 14