"Sir!" Jon said. "This isn't about vengeance. Not for me. Not anymore. Don't become Captain Ahab, sir. Don't die fighting a whale."
"Ernesto is not a whale, Jon." Carter looked at the dark city, and he spoke softly. "He's a demon. He's woven of pure evil. He's a creature from the biblical darkness, risen from chaos like Leviathan. And we're going to end him."
"Leviathan was a whale," Etty muttered under her breath. The lieutenant didn't hear.
For three days and nights, they bombarded the city of Basilica.
For three days and nights, the enemy refused to die.
When dawn rose on the fourth day, it revealed a wasteland. Husks of armored vehicles spread across the basalt plains. Craters sunk into the stone, filled with blood, shrapnel, and scraps of shattered battlesuits. The corpses were everywhere. A few medics moved over the killing field, trying to collect the dead. It was impossible to distinguish soldier from soldier. Some bodies were fused together in death, melted and reformed in the fire.
And on this fourth blessed day, the bombardment ended.
Both sides were too beaten to continue.
Jon rose from his trench, coughing, shaking. His platoon rose around him. They stepped across the smoldering landscape, around bodies, shards of metal, and craters, and they stared at the city on the mountain.
Basilica had once been beautiful, in its own way, at least.
Now it was a ruin.
Half the defensive walls had fallen. Towers had crumbled. Scattered fires crackled.
But the cathedral on its crest still rose tall, surrounded by cannons. Even the mighty fury of Earth had not toppled it.
"The city still stands," Jon said.
"Not for long," said Carter. "The orders just arrived. We're moving into the city. Lions Platoon, gather around me!" The lieutenant grinned savagely. "It's time to enter the city. Let's find the rat in the maze."
"Sir!" Jon said. "Hang on. Why?"
Carter wheeled toward him. "What do you mean—why?"
"Why must we enter the city?" Jon said. "Can't we just … keep bombing it? Until we win?"
Carter shook his head. "Not gonna work. The bastards are hiding in tunnels. We softened up the city. But we need to move in. To fight dirty. Street by street. House by house. We need to rat them out."
Jon grimaced. "I hate to say this, but we could just nuke the whole mountain. Leave a crater here."
Carter snorted. "We're here as liberators, Private. Nuking a city would look bad." The lieutenant winked. "Come on, Taylor. We got this."
Under the red dawn, Earth's army collected its ragged remnants—and rolled toward the mountain.
They left ruin behind. Hundreds of charred vehicles, some barely more than twisted heaps of metal. Fallen planes and helicopters. Countless dead.
But thousands of armacars, tanks, and jeeps full of soldiers remained to fight.
They rumbled over the basalt, dipping in and out of artillery craters, and began the journey up the mountainside. A journey into the capital of North Bahay. A journey into the heart of hell.
Chapter Thirteen
Slum Predator
Maria was deep in thought when the wall crashed open and the devil burst in.
As if tonight hadn't been stressful enough already.
Charlie, Pippi, and the other girls had left hours ago. Some were dancing at the Go Go Cowgirl tonight. Others were stripping at Manila Nights or Bottoms Up. Some simply prowled the streets, too low on the totem to even work a club.
That left Maria here in the shanty. Well, Maria and a handful of insane children.
The Go Go Cowgirl was no longer safe. Maria could never work there again. Not now that Ernesto knew to look for her there. Skull blown open or not—he would stop at nothing to find her. To conquer her. To break her. Maria knew this.
And so Charlie had opened her heart and home. Maria now lived under the older bargirl's roof. It was a rusty, leaky roof, just some scrap metal secured with zip ties. But it was a roof over a warm home. And it was an act of remarkable kindness, one Maria would never forget.
It came at a price, of course. Maria had gone from bargirl to babysitter.
She sat among Charlie's children, trying to get them to sleep. Two were mestizos—half Bahayan, half Earthling, the gifts of soldiers at the Go Go Cowgirl. The other two were the children of Charlie's late husband, who had joined the Kalayaan and died fighting Earth.
All four were very much awake.
"Tita Maria, we don't want to sleep!" said one.
"We want to jump!" said another.
"Yay, jumping, jumping!"
Soon all four children were jumping on their bed. They shared a bed, all four of them. Charlie and Maria shared the second bed. There wasn't room for much else in the shanty. It was a hot, cluttered room, the plywood walls crudely cobbled together. There was no plumbing, but there was a toilet over a hole, and a gutter flowed below. The rain pattered the corrugated steel roof, raising a din like gunfire. It was probably too loud for sleep anyway.
Through the window, they could see the rain falling in sheets, washing over the shantytown, perhaps cleaning some of the illness and stench from this place. Rivers of trash flowed, churning around the wooden stilts which held the shanties aloft. Lighting flashed, and a shanty burst into flame, then fell into the river. It soon vanished in the darkness.
"It's often like this in the City of Angels," said Jasmine, Charlie's eldest child, a girl with wise, dark eyes. "The rains come at night. Wind and lightning knock shanties down. In the dawn, we collect the plywood and steel, raise new stilts, and have homes again."
Maria looked at the girl. "City of Angels?"
Jasmine nodded. "That's what we call the shantytown. There are angels here. They keep us safe. They bless us. My mom says it's hard here, but we're happy, and that's something amazing about us. She says we're the most amazing people in the galaxy."
Maria smiled and mussed the girl's hair. "She's right. We're Bahayans. Nothing dampens our spirits. Not even the monsoon."
She looked out at the dark, rainy night. The shantytown spread before her. Some shanties cluttered together on solid ground. Others rose from rivers and the sea, balanced atop stilts, for the shantytown always spread, grew, multiplied, a living thing, and a little water certainly could not stop its bloating. They were poor. But they were not helpless. Bundles of twisting, tangled electric cables draped across the shantytown like a huge blanket of cobwebs, and lamps shone everywhere, a field of stars in the night.
When the air was clear, countless people moved about the shantytowns, millions of them crammed in together, most of them children, despairing and bustling. Cats would hiss and fight, roosters would crow, and dogs would bark. When the rain fell, the people huddled inside their makeshift shelters of plywood and tarpaulin, and even the stray cats hid. Only the rats still scurried in the darkness, seeking higher ground, many falling and drowning. The rivers overflowed, and the sea rose, and the shanties were like flotsam and jetsam from crashing fleets, bobbing on the water.
"It's tragic but beautiful," Maria said, holding Jasmine's hand. "It's a scene from hell but also a miracle. There are three dark places where the human spirit shines brightest. In a hospital room. On a battlefield. And in poverty. In these three pits, you find the most horrible despair—and the most beautiful courage."
In this dark, swaying scene—a singular figure.
A man in black, tall and thin, slinking through the shantytown.
Maria frowned. Then a blast of lightning hit a bundle of cables, and the shantytown plunged into darkness, and the figure disappeared.
The light bulb in Charlie's shanty burst. Darkness cloaked the room. The rain suddenly seemed even louder, pounding the metal roof. The wind gusted, rattling the slats of plywood. Through the window there was only darkness.
The kids screamed.
"There's an aswang coming!" one child said.
The younger ones wept in the darkness. "Aswang, aswang!"
&nb
sp; "There's no such thing as aswangs!" said Jasmine, the eldest. "Those demons are only stories from folklore."
Maria rummaged around in the darkness. "Where is the oil lantern? And the matches?"
She had seen them earlier. She stumbled blindly, pawing at toys, bottles, cans, clothes. Finally—an iron cylinder. The lantern. But where were the matches?
The wind blew louder. The moldy walls shuddered. The rain banged on the roof like the hoofs of the devil. The kids kept weeping.
"A monster is coming!" one said.
"Maybe it's a pugot, a monster with a giant mouth!"
"No, it's an aswang, a demon!"
"No, it's a penanggalan!" said Jasmine. "It's a flying severed head, with the spine dangling, and all the inner organs like the heart and lungs and entrails are still attached to the spine, so that when the severed head flies, all the organs drag behind like a disgusting banner, and—"
"Jasmine!" Maria said, finally finding the matches.
"Sorry, sorry! But the little ones were annoying me, and look, I scared them silent."
Indeed, the children were silent now.
In fact, the rain died to a drizzle, and the wind faded to a breeze. For a moment, the shanty was eerily quiet.
"The storm is over," Maria whispered.
She lit a match.
The flame flickered.
And the wall shattered open.
A lanky dark figure appeared through the cracked plywood. Eyes shone, one black, the other searing white. A toothy jaw opened in a cruel, red grin.
The children screamed.
"Demon!"
Wind gusted into the shanty, and the match guttered out.
The stench of blood and rot wafted. A voice boomed, filling the room.
"Hello, Maria!" The floor creaked. "I've returned for you!"
In the darkness, she could just make out a few smudges. Long arms, reaching out, fingers clawing at the walls. Dark legs like a spider's legs. A thin torso, and a golden tooth, and a white eye like a ball of shattered glass, like a dead Santelmo in the shadows. He was creeping closer. Closing in on her. Engulfing the room, a blooming arachnid. And she was the fly.
"Ernesto," she hissed.
She lit a new match, and he was right before her, looming above her, his face only inches from hers. The match lit him, painting him a hellish red, casting long shadows. His mouth opened in a lurid grin. His blind eye blazed furious white. His skull, she saw. His skull! Somebody had screwed in a metal plate, replacing the chunk of skull Jon had blown out. But the job looked crude, the bolts rusty and scratched. The metal plate still had a serial number on it; it was a piece of an artillery casing.
"Demon!" the children cried in fear.
And Maria could not contradict them. Here before her rose a demon. A creature of metal and flesh. A strange spider god of the shantytown. Ernesto the man was gone. Only this beast remained.
Maria screamed and hurled her match at the creature. It landed on his shirt. The fabric caught fire, but Ernesto barely seemed to notice. He only laughed, head tossed back, and grabbed her.
"You are mine, Maria! You hurt me. You broke me. You are mine forever!" He laughed, chest shaking, spraying saliva. "I'm whole again. I'm a man again! They say your lover took a piece of my brain. I'm insane now, Maria. I'm mad with lust for you. Be mine!"
She kicked, struggling to free herself. He leaned in to kiss her, and Maria swung the unlit lantern. The iron slammed into his face with a crunch. Ernesto fell to the floor, limbs curling inward like a wounded spider. And still his clothes were burning.
"Children, run!" Maria cried.
As Ernesto curled up on the floor, Maria herded the four children toward the window. They began to jump outside, one by one. The eldest, Jasmine, held the youngest, who was only a toddler.
Ernesto rose again, flaming, laughing.
"Come to me, Maria. Let us be married tonight in my camp."
He grabbed her arm.
Maria swung the lantern again. It shattered against him, spilling oil. The fire roared with new fury. It enveloped Ernesto and spread throughout the shanty, consuming clothes, magazines, and—
The cameras!
The Bargirl Bureau only had two cameras. Both were in the back of the room. The fire was spreading toward them.
All the stories, the interviews, the evidence—it was all loaded into those two precious devices.
Heartbreaking stories. Tears and souls. She needed to show them to Earth, so she could bring President Hale down. Just as importantly—she needed to preserve these memories. These testimonials. For proof of Earth's crimes. For history's tears and condemnation. As the fire spread, Maria realized that her goal was not only to stop the war, not only to shame Earth. But to preserve forever the cry of her people. To never forget.
She lunged forward, trying to reach the cameras.
But Ernesto blocked her way. He grabbed her wrist.
"Let go, Ernesto!" She pointed. "I need those cameras!"
The fire spread across his clothes. It seared Maria's wrist. She screamed, struggling, kicking. Ernesto didn't even seem to mind the heat. He must have become a true demon, immune to the inferno. Any last semblance of man had burned away.
"You will suffer for me, Maria."
He twisted her wrist, nearly crushing the bones.
Maria snarled.
She was much smaller than him. All her life, she had been small. Weak. A victim. Letting him beat her. Letting him scare her.
No more.
She roared and barreled forward. With all her strength, she drove her head into his stomach. Her hair burned. She kept pushing, springing off the floor, driving into him like a battering ram.
He wobbled backward, arms windmilling, and Maria slammed him against the wall.
The scraps of burning plywood shattered.
And they were falling.
Wreathed in fire, they tumbled, tore through a tarpaulin sheet, smashed through a hodgepodge of wooden slats, and finally crashed into the water.
Maria thrashed in the river, coughing, blinded. Her head went under. She reached up, pawing for anything to hold. She felt only floating scraps of paper, cans, diapers.
She kicked wildly, her head broke the surface, and she found herself in a world of flames. The fire was spreading over the shantytown. Charlie's children stood on a rickety bridge nearby, holding one another.
"Run!" she said. "Run to—"
Something underwater grabbed her.
It yanked her down, and she vanished under the surface.
She tried to kick, but the creature was gripping her legs. Maria opened her eyes in the water. It stung, and she could see nothing, only blackness. The grip tightened around her ankles, and he was pulling her down. Down into the depths. Down to cold death.
His voice reverberated through the darkness.
"Be mine…"
Maria pulled Crisanto from her pocket.
He burst into light. Brighter than she had ever seen him. So bright that he lit the water all around. Maria could see the trash floating above. A drowned rickshaw crumbling to rust. A skeleton covered with crabs, still sitting in a sunken boat. And below—the beast.
And Ernesto. He was there—skin burnt, the piece of metal embedded in his skull. Somehow still alive, pulling her under, a creature of the depths ready to feast. His jaws opened.
But Crisanto's light blinded him. He closed his eyes, and his grip loosened.
Maria kicked furiously, freed herself, and shot upward.
She burst through the surface and gulped down air.
She swam, and Jasmine reached down from the rickety bridge. It was really just a few wooden boards slung between two hills. Maria climbed up, coughing and shivering. The other children gathered around her, the firelight reflecting in their eyes.
"Where are you, Ernesto?" Maria whispered, scanning the water.
He was gone. Perhaps he had drowned. Perhaps he had escaped her again. And perhaps his darkness would still claim he
r.
The flames were spreading from shanty to shanty. Rats scurried over the bridge, squeaking. People soon followed. They emerged from the flames and swam through the water, fleeing the devastation. The sky cracked with thunder, and the rain returned. The flames battled the water, and steam and smoke filled the air. Maria stood in a realm of chaos, no sky or earth, no land or water, but a swirling inferno of all the elements of earth and heaven.
Maria pulled the children close to her and lowered her head.
Her videos were gone.
Chapter Fourteen
The Basalt Gates
Battered, bruised, and bloodied, the remains of Earth's army rumbled up the mountainside.
Basilica loomed like a gargoyle. Capital of North Bahay. Stronghold of the enemy. There it rose, a city like a fortress. Its walls and towers had taken a beating. The artillery had carved deep cuts. But the city was still mighty. The enemy had built these walls from basalt, hardened black lava spewed from the heart of this very world. Here was a city constructed from Bahay's molten core. It would not easily fall.
We're fighting the planet itself, Jon thought. This isn't just a war against the Bahayans. It's a war against an alien world.
He sat in a jeep with his squad. He rode shotgun—or, more accurately, machine gun. The heavy firearm was mounted onto the hood in front of him, slung over the cracked windshield. George was driving. Etty sat between them, as small as a child between her parents.
It was a dented jeep, the hood cracked open, both doors gone. But it was in better shape than hundreds of jeeps that smoldered on the black plains. The crew too was beaten and battered. Bandages covered George and Jon, and both still complained of ringing ears. Etty had sawed off one leg of her battlesuit, and layers of gauze covered her injured thigh. She didn't seem to mind. She was leaning back, chewing bubble gum. Every once in a while, her pink bubble popped.
"Goddamn it, Etty," George muttered, gripping the steering wheel. "Can you stop that? Every time you pop a bubble I think the enemy is shooting at us."
She twirled the gum around her finger, then flung it at him. "Pow."
Earthlings (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 2) Page 10