The Fire and the Free City

by Eric Wood

  "You can see the path, right?" Sam asked, leaning toward the driver and shouting over the sound of the engine.

  The driver’s only answer was a grunt and a small movement of his head that might have been a nod. Or, it might have been the result of a bump in the rocky terrain.

  The plan was to take a small, fast-moving team out to Warren Air Force Base, which was just a few miles west of the city. The majority of their group would attack from the front, making as much noise and causing as much havoc as possible, while the smaller group went in the back, quickly and quietly. Sam's vehicle — the driver, Hydra, and another of Ki's soldiers with him in the backseat — were the second team. Their goal was to infiltrate the base without alerting Jed, Elena, or any of the others and wait for a signal to be sent from Marcus. At that point, Sam would be responsible for making sure Marcus's hacked key code went through. Then, Marcus could take care of the base's drone force.

  It wasn't an ideal plan, but considering how quickly they had put it together, Sam was cautiously optimistic.

  Sam was thrown forward against his harness as the vehicle hit its brakes and slowed to half-speed. Before he could ask the driver about this, a crescent of light appeared before him. It rapidly resolved into a half-moon, and then a circle of dim evening light as a wide, circular door opened ahead of them. As quickly as it had slowed, the vehicle accelerated forward, shoving Sam into his seat and snapping back his head.

  Compared to the mines, the dry air and low light of the high plains at twilight nearly overwhelmed his senses. Once they were on open ground, the four small vehicles spread out side-by-side and accelerated even faster as they flew west toward the setting sun and their heavily fortified target.

  Sam again felt the absence of Abigail profoundly. He felt far less comfortable with the quiet giant Hydra and the two disreputable-looking thugs watching his back, but more than that he felt both guilty and disappointed in himself for leaving her when she was so obviously hurt. He had come to think of her as indestructible, so it was disconcerting seeing her injured and weak. Furthermore, the idea of going anywhere without her seemed more alien and wrong to him by the day.

  He wasn't sure anymore how he did it before he met her, and he definitely didn't want to imagine going forward without her.

  Again, the driver jammed the brakes, this time bringing the vehicle to a skidding, fishtailing full stop.

  "What is it now?" Sam protested, as the dirt and dust kicked up by their tires caught up with them and enveloped the vehicle in a brown-gray cloud.

  "Time to go," Hydra croaked from behind him. The driver grunted in assent.

  "What, here?" Sam asked. On either side of him, the other vehicles had come to a stop, and a few of their occupants were already getting out. "I don't even see the base."

  "We go on foot from here," Hydra said. "Less conspicuous."

  Great, Sam thought. Whether he was going to die today or finally get some answers, he was going to do it tired.

  Sure, Vincente's voice said, but at the end of this hike, we get to stick it to Jed for everything he's put us through.

  Well then, Sam thought back, let's get moving.

  "Is it time yet?"

  "Not yet," Rend said. He looked up at the sky, then forward toward the gates and the guards. Crouching beside him, Marcus tucked his tablet computer underneath his armored vest. His hand drifted down to the pistol holstered at his thigh.

  Roach placed a hand on top of Marcus's, then shook her head when he looked up at her. "Not unless you absolutely need it," she said. "We're going to have enough bullets coming from the front; I don't want to have to worry about one coming from behind."

  "I've shot a gun before, you know," Marcus said.

  "And if things go right today, you'll have plenty more opportunities in the future," Roach said.

  Suddenly, Rend cocked his head to the side, as if he had just registered a sound no one else heard. "Time to get ready," he said. He patted Marcus reassuringly on the shoulder. "Remember, stay close to me."

  Ahead of them, the rest of their group began cocking their weapons. A moment later, Roach heard a faint whine begin somewhere behind them, rapidly becoming louder and louder. The whine became a shriek, then a legion of shrieks. She looked up as one, then dozens of glowing points of light flew across the sky, each trailing a thin line of white smoke.

  She rolled her head to one side and then to the other, cracking her neck like she had a hundred times before in her previous Ravager life. A small bit of that old thrill filled her as she stood and prepared to go to battle. This feeling was different, though: It wasn't a lust for blood and destruction, merely a desire to protect her friends and put down a threat. There was more fear within her than before, as well.

  But not much.

  "We'll get you to the citadel," she told Marcus, staring down at him with a slightly deranged smile, "and you do the rest." She raised her rifle and jammed a clip into it. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, it's time to go to work."

  Ahead of them, the mortars crashed down to earth, and Roosevelt's district was filled with explosions.

  She flashed a toothy smile at Rend, and then they went to battle.

  50

  Abigail didn't want to know where Ki had gotten this particular blood cocktail, but that didn't mean she was going to stop drinking it.

  Slowly but surely her strength was returning to her. Not that it mattered anymore, now that Sam and the rest of them had left. Still, feeling useless and semi-normal was better than feeling useless and nearly dead.

  Even after feeding on the Company agent, she had barely been able to stand unassisted. Perhaps Reaper marrow didn't have the same healing properties as human marrow. Solomon had never explained how that worked. Halfway through the second of Ki's three metal canteens, though, Abigail had regained enough energy to start pacing nervously around the nearly empty safe house. She noticed also that some color had returned to her arms: her skin no longer resembled semi-translucent tissue paper. Unfortunately, Ki's potion did nothing for the helplessness Abigail felt as she watched the mission unfold across the projection screen, knowing she could do nothing to help her friends.

  Half the screen showed grainy footage of what had formerly been Roosevelt's district. The view was from a distance; the camera was likely located atop one of the taller buildings in the city's market area. Small explosions went up all over the occupied district as the mortars Ki's people had launched ahead of the assault came crashing back to earth. Near the edge of the image tiny flashes lit up, accompanied by strings of popping sounds, which indicated the attack had begun in earnest.

  The other half of the projector interested her more. This footage was from a small, slowly moving drone flying high above Warren Air Force Base. Its camera was shooting in night vision, so the image was mostly black and dark greens, with small brighter areas within the base, and even smaller bright areas — little more than dots — moving toward the base. One of those dots, she knew, was Sam.

  "The maneuver toward Roosevelt's citadel is going well," Ki said, moving to stand at the foot of the screen next to Abigail. She raised a hand and pointed toward different points on the video image. "The main force, there in the center, has pushed nearly to the target, and Marcus's group — up there at the top — has thus far avoided serious resistance. If all goes according to plan, they should reach the citadel in the next few minutes."

  "If all goes according to plan," Abigail echoed. She swallowed the last bit of ichor in her canteen and tossed it to the side.

  Ki smiled faintly. "We have no reason to think it will not. The same goes for the second group, the one moving toward Warren. I know you are worried, child, and I know you wish you were there, but trust me when I say this is truly our best option. Sam and the rest have every chance of success. We just have to wait, and to hope. Sometimes that is the hardest thing to do."

  "It's not hard at all," Abigail scoffed. "We are literally doing nothing. Those people, out there, are doing the hard w
ork. You might be used to sitting back and letting others risk their lives for you, but I'm not."

  "You have to give up control," Ki said, her voice remaining low and calm. "You have to put people in a position to succeed, and then you have to trust them to carry out their task. That is what real leadership is, Abigail. You would be wise to learn that now, when you are still young."

  Three larger points of light — the dune buggies — entered Sam's half of the screen from the bottom and sped quickly toward the air force base. They came to a stop just outside the walls, and smaller points of light spread out from them as the occupants of the vehicle disembarked and began their attack. Bright flashes began dancing like Christmas lights on both sides as they exchanged gunfire with the Company and Colony defenders. On the far side of the base, Sam and the rest of his group moved slowly into the facility, so far apparently unseen. Pain began to throb at the corners of Abigail's jaw: she realized she had been grinding her teeth together harder and harder.

  "Why would I possibly need to know about leadership?" Abigail said, her eyes never leaving the screen. "I'm a fighter and a killer. Why do I need to know about anything else?"

  "That might be what you see when you look at yourself," Ki said. "But when I look at you, I see more. Far more. In time, perhaps you will too."

  "If this plan gets Sam killed, you will definitely see something more from me," Abigail said. "I doubt you will like it."

  Ki stood in silence, nodding while she considered Abigail's words. On the screen in front of them, there was a flash of light as one of the dune buggies burst into flames. On the other half of the screen, Abigail watched as a large group of soldiers — their side, she thought — formed up on either side of the citadel's court, firing on the building itself. Sam's small group had disappeared into the interior of the base, gone now beyond Abigail's sight.

  "You know what I did for a living, before all of this?" Ki asked her suddenly.

  "Before you became a shadowy, morally ambiguous crime lord?" Abigail asked.

  Ki laughed. "Before everything. Before that, before the virus, before the Old World crumbled and fell away."

  "I never gave it much thought," Abigail said.

  "I was the director of human resources for a medium-sized insurance company," Ki said. "Before that, I was an assistant manager for the same company's computer help desk. I had a small two-bedroom condominium, a certified pre-owned sedan, and a fairly large amount of student debt."

  "I never saw the Old World," Abigail said, "and I only understand about half of those words. What point are you trying to make?"

  "The point I am trying to make, Abigail," Ki said, "is that back then, I would never have imagined myself capable of becoming the type of person I am today. It wasn't until the situation — my situation — changed that I was able to become who I was truly meant to be. The outbreak of the Horsemen Virus was my chrysalis, and I believe this city, these events, may fulfill a similar function for you. If you will let it.”

  "This new world is one of chaos, of constant change," Ki continued. "Roosevelt and I adapted to it better than most, but our time soon will pass. If this city and this world are to survive, it will be because capable people can build something better from the foundations we created. I believe you are one of these capable people, Abigail, and when it comes to these things, I am rarely wrong. But you have to choose to become that person."

  Ki straightened, adjusting her sleeve and giving Abigail a curt smile. "So, what you can do now is sit and watch the screens, stay ready, and wait. And maybe try to whine a little bit less while you’re at it."

  Abigail opened her mouth, ready to tell Ki where she could jam her sage advice, but the words died on her tongue. She looked back up at the screens, crossed her arms, and she watched.

  And waited.

  Bullets carved out a ragged line in the brick wall, inches above Roach's head. She had just finished brushing the crumbs of mortar out of her hair when an explosion a few yards away threw her back against that same wall and set her ears to ringing.

  "We've got to get off this corner," Rend shouted.

  "You think?" she shouted back, twisting a finger in her ear.

  The first few blocks of their advance had been relatively easy. After they got close enough to actually see the citadel, however, the rebel forces began to fight in earnest.

  She raised her head up out of cover, then immediately pulled it back when her movement was answered by a fresh hail of bullets.

  "There are three to the left, and two more to the right," Roach said. "Pretty sure all five know where we're hiding."

  "What do we do?" Marcus asked. He’d kept his head down and stuck by Rend while staying out of the way, and he hadn't cried or screamed or done anything else to distract her from her current task, which was not getting shot. That didn't make his question any less annoying, however.

  "I don't know, she shouted. "I'm open to suggestions." She held her rifle around the corner and blind-fired two shots, then popped out to the left and fired where she had moments earlier spotted her targets.

  She ducked back to cover before she could be targeted for return fire. She doubted she had hit anyone.

  "Can we signal one of the other teams?" Marcus asked.

  "They seem like they have problems of their own," Rend said.

  Roach looked to her right and saw Rend was correct. Their nearest allies were about a block south of them, crouched down behind a wall of rubble that had been a building a few minutes ago. Across from them, in the citadel's courtyard, a heavy machine gun, encircled by a wall of sandbags and cement blocks, was pounding them with bullets.

  Those people weren't going to last long. Worse still, neither were Marcus, Rend, and Roach. She decided it was time to start taking some risks. She punched Rend in the shoulder, getting his attention. "Wait here," she said. "I'm going to do something stupid. When those bastards start shooting at me, you take them out. And if you can, umm, try and do it before they kill me."

  Rend looked at her, confused. He opened his mouth, probably to tell her not do whatever crazy thing she was planning on doing, but before he could speak Roach was already up and moving.

  They were behind the edge of a raised cement plaza that had likely been the outdoor dining area of a restaurant twenty years ago. On the other side of the plaza — no more than twenty feet, she guessed — was the entrance to the restaurant's interior, which was likely now the residence of one of Cheyenne's upper-class residents. Roach ran across the length of the plaza, moving as fast and low as she was able, trying to ignore the trail of bullets following her. At the last second, she lowered her good shoulder and slammed into the door, hoping it was less secure than it looked.

  Her luck held, and the door came completely off of its hinges. Roach slammed down to the ground inside on top of the door, a tiny cloud of dust rising around her. Any trailing bullets were stopped by the building's brick walls. She got to her feet, gritting her teeth against a fresh bloom of pain in her injured shoulder, and scouted her path to and up the stairs. She may have just avoided certain death outside, but the hard part of the mission was still ahead of her.

  She dashed to the second floor, scanning for any defenders; there were none. That was the good news. The bad news was that the wall facing the citadel — and its many, many guns — was composed entirely of glass. She was a sitting duck.

  Roach dove behind a nearby couch, expecting at any moment for a fusillade of gunfire to crash through the glass. She pulled a blanket free and draped it over herself, hoping to present a less obvious target to the citadel's defenders. She crawled slowly to the window and moved her rifle into position, taking aim across the road toward the citadel and the soldiers pinning down Rend. She wrapped the blanket around her as best she could, then proceeded to bring the window crashing down around her.

  Her first shots caught one of the rebel soldiers in the side. She shrugged off the shards of window all around her, wincing against a small army of fresh cuts, a
nd took aim again at the enemy. She managed to bring a second defender down before the rest of them took notice of her.

  The edge of the floor just beyond her hands, the ceiling above her, and the larger pieces of furniture began erupting like they were packed with firecrackers. All she could do was tuck her head under her arms, stay low, and hope Rend was taking advantage of her newfound popularity.

  After a few moments, the torrent of incoming fire slowed and then stopped altogether. She waited a bit longer before venturing a look down toward the citadel. The farther pair of rebels were slumped over their cover, dead. The nearer trio, two of which she had shot herself, were also dead, their position taken by Marcus and Rend.

  Roach couldn't help but laugh. I can't believe that actually worked.

  Rend was firing on the heavy machine gun further in. The gun's operators, now aware they had been flanked, were desperately trying to re-position their enormous weapon. If they managed to swing it toward Rend, he was as good as dead. To make matters worse the weapon was shielded on its sides, so despite Rend's position, he didn't seem to have a clear shot.

  But Roach did.

  She stood up and took aim at the two machine gunners. From her elevated position, she could see both of them clearly over the weapon's shields. She took a breath, steadied her aim, and fired. The first few shots pinged off of the gun's heavy metal plating, but not the next handful. Roach fired two more quick bursts before she was satisfied they’d been taken out. It looked like their path to the citadel was clear.

  Rend looked up at her and waved, a wide, relieved smile plastered on his dirt-coated face. Roach ejected her spent ammo cartridge and was patting down her vest looking for a fresh one, when a flicker of motion from high on the citadel caught her attention.

  Someone had appeared in a window, holding what looked like a giant tube over their shoulder. Roach swore as a cloud of smoke appeared behind it, the rocket coming her way.

  As soon as the rocket fired, she dropped her weapon and ran toward the incoming projectile. She dove forward past the remains of the building’s glass wall and was falling toward the ground far below when the building exploded behind her. A second later she hit the ground, rolling awkwardly head over heels before skidding to a stop in a mess of limbs and pain.