The Fire and the Free City

by Eric Wood

  All six of the approaching rebel soldiers were Howlers.

  Ki had drifted to the back of the safe house, where she was busy coordinating what seemed like a dozen different conversations through three different radios. Abigail remained near the projection screen, unable to tear herself away as the twin battles played out.

  Not that there was much to see at this point. Sam and the others with him had long since infiltrated the interior of the air force base. The distraction attack had ground to a standstill, as most of the fighters on both sides were dead. The few left alive seemed unwilling or unable to leave their cover.

  On the other side of the screen, the attackers, aided by the mortar bombardment, had fought their way through the rebel defenses all the way to the citadel itself. She watched as Roosevelt placed a charge on the citadel's main doors: a moment later the huge portal was blown off its hinges, Roosevelt's team storming inside. Following just behind them were Roach, Rend, and Marcus.

  Now that both groups were inside, not only couldn’t she help them, but she couldn't even tell what was going on. She thought about what Ki said, about letting go of control. The woman had been right about one thing, at least: it definitely wasn't easy. Now that she could actually move under her own power, it felt even worse to be just standing here, waiting. She picked up the projector controls that Ki had left her and began cycling through the remaining camera feeds, looking for something — anything — they might have missed. Maybe there would be —

  She lost her train of thought when she saw the feed from a camera looking out toward the Colony army. Three vehicles, each loaded with Wilds mercenaries, had broken off from the front line and begun streaking west, cutting a path south of the city toward Warren Air Force Base.

  "Ki," she shouted. "You need to get up here, now."

  When she didn't hear Ki moving, Abigail turned and scowled at the woman. Ki was talking into the largest of her three radios, her normally placid face showing deep lines of concern.

  "Ki, dammit, we have a problem," Abigail said. Once those mercenaries reached the base, Sam wouldn't have a chance. Abigail marched toward the supply rooms, hoping there were some weapons and equipment still inside.

  She was stopped halfway there by Ki, who grabbed her arm. "What do you think you're doing, Abigail?" Ki asked.

  "More bad guys are heading to the air force base," Abigail said. "You would know that if you were paying attention. I'm going to go and stop them."

  "I see," Ki said, letting go of Abigail's sleeve. "You are going to defeat what looks like...eighteen armed combatants, still barely halfway recovered from exsanguination?"

  "Exsangui-what?"

  Ki ignored her question. "How do you propose getting there in time? Are you going to drive a vehicle there yourself? Do you know the way? Do you even know how to drive a vehicle?"

  Unfortunately, Ki was right. "I need to do something," she yelled, clenching her fists and wanting to scream. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself; she wasn't going to help anyone like this. "I need to do something," she repeated, quieter this time. "Though I don't know what it is I can do."

  "I believe I do," Ki said. "You can't help Sam, unfortunately, but you can help someone. I just received word from Jacinta that the remaining Plague-Heads within the city have converged on the market. Jacinta gathered a small group of survivors at her bar, attracting the full focus of the Infected swarm. Jacinta tells me her makeshift fortifications are holding for now, but they will not for much longer.

  "I would far rather you stay here and continue to recover, but all of my forces are either already engaged or dead. I know it isn't what you want, but you will have to trust me to do what I can for Sam, from here. I have already engaged in communication with my outside source, and I believe she will do what she can to aid Sam. But those people need you now, Abigail. Without your help, they will all die. If you truly want to help, that is what you can do."

  Abigail still didn't trust Ki. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to take a leap of faith and hope Ki would surprise her. Besides that, Jacinta had helped them when they first arrived, and Abigail appreciated that.

  "Alright Ki," she said. "I'll play hero for you. Get me a gun and point me where to go."

  52

  At first, Rend was certain there was something wrong with his eyes. The soldiers approaching him looked...wrong, after all. Not true Howlers, but something like a madman’s fever dream of a Howler. Like they had been created by someone who had done the job incorrectly: not by accident or ineptitude, but out of some purposeful need to mock the natural order of things. Their facial features were jumbled: a stunted snout turned up and to the side on one, fangs jutting through the lips of another, a third with one eye and a hollow, rotted socket where the other should be. Their breathing was wet and ragged, hitching in the middle, like an engine that would almost turn over but not start. These soldiers—the malformed almost-Howlers — were so off-putting that they made him almost physically ill.

  He wondered if that was how people saw him.

  "Sorry, kids, but this is the end of the line," a voice called out from beyond the approaching monstrosities. A moment later, Rend saw the distinctive black jacket and one-eyed face of the speaker. Cutter.

  "You know, I was hoping I'd get to see your ugly mug again, Colonel Cyclops," Roach said. Her voice was drippy with amused bravado; Rend had noted before that she tended to sound that way when she was at her most frightened. "Let me ask you: do you want to die before, or after we kill your dogs? Because I saw what happened to your friend, the one you sent into the woods. I know you freaks can die."

  A clicking noise came from Cutter's direction — Rend wasn't sure if he had vocalized the noise or used some device — and the approaching soldiers halted.

  "How is that door coming?" Rend whispered out the corner of his mouth, his eyes and weapon never leaving the enemy in front of him.

  "Just a little more time," Marcus answered. Rend could hear him scraping furiously at the lock with his tools.

  Cutter shook his head, “It started here and now it ends here.”

  He clicked his device again, and the three malformed Howler hybrids flexed their free hands as one. At the tips of their fingers, glistening moldy-green claws extended, each nearly the length of the curved knives the soldiers carried in their other hands. Rend had never missed his own claws quite so much as he did at that moment.

  "Before we begin, I suppose I should thank you," Cutter said. "Jed will appreciate I was able to take our newest projects out for a test run before he rolls out the full production line."

  Three more clicks, and the hybrids attacked.

  Growing up, Rend had never had much use for firearms; none of the Free had. Your pride and your standing in the tribe rested on your skill with the bow, the knife, and above all the teeth and claws. Guns weren't shunned, per se, but their use wasn't encouraged either. Because of this, Rend had never developed much of a knack with rifles: it would probably have taken him a full clip of ammunition to hit a target even ten yards away.

  So, it was good for him that the charging Howler hybrids were only a few feet from his gun when he squeezed the trigger.

  The lead hybrid absorbed the majority of Rend's bullets. They traced a line of bloody holes from his waist to his chin. His flailing body caught the mutant to his right, knocking the thing off-balance. Rend managed to plug it once in the shoulder.

  The last of the hybrids avoided Rend's flurry of shots altogether. It kept coming at full speed, its wet snarl a sick mockery of a true Howler’s call. Rend swung the stock of his rifle around, aiming to club the terrible creature in the jaw, but the hybrid crashed into him before he could complete his swing, nearly knocking him over.

  The rapid beat of Roach's rifle shots went from loud to deafening as the hybrid pushed him back, nearly into her. The thing's slavering jaws snapped at his face, its yellowish teeth only vaguely sharp, unlike the razor fangs of a true Howler in hunting-form. They were stil
l plenty sharp enough to do damage, however. Rend held its jaws at bay as best he could, his arms and shoulders burning with the effort, but the hybrid was unyielding: inch by inch the beast closed the small distance between them. If that wasn't bad enough, the hybrid he had winged was getting back to his feet, ready to re-enter the fight.

  Rend hoped Roach, still at his back, was faring better than him.

  As if in answer to his wondering, Roach let out a series of angry curses followed by a tremendous roar. This was followed heartbeats later by the meaty thump of a body hitting the ground. Rend risked a quick look downward and saw a hybrid sprawled at his feet, its dead eyes looking up at nothing, Roach's hand fixed around its throat.

  Rend moved without thinking, turning and heaving his opponent toward Roach. The thing flew forward off-balance, hitting the top of Roach's shoulder and flipping into an awkward, flopping roll over the top of her.

  Rend let the thing go and turned to face the last hybrid, the one with his bullet in its shoulder. The hybrid was at a full charge, barely a few yards away, holding its knife up and primed for a killing slash.

  The hybrid was fast, as fast in its primal, mindless rage as its fellows, but Rend was faster. He spun and ducked under the blade, catching the knife-wielding wrist as it passed just above his scalp. He used a technique one of his pack-mates had taught him long ago, one not intended for prey but for fighting off the Uninfected that would often hunt his kind. He turned the hybrid’s leverage against it: from there, a quick simple motion pulled the knife around and in toward the hybrid’s chest. Rend pushed and drove it in.

  He let go of the knife. The hybrid took a single step before it fell lifeless to the ground. Rend let out a sigh, suddenly exhausted. I may not have the strength or the reach of my old hunting-form, but at least I still remembered how to fight.

  He turned to see Roach finishing off the last of the hybrids. Just past her, Marcus was still crouched in front of the lab door, hard at work on its electronic lock.

  Rend nodded toward Roach as she stood and wiped her knife blade against her pants. "That wasn't as bad as I feared," he said.

  Roach looked past him, down the corridor. "Just how bad were you fearing?"

  Rend turned to see Cutter walking toward them. The Reaper looked irritated, but otherwise unconcerned by the mass butchering of his hybrids. Three more of the ungainly things followed closely behind him.

  "Marcus," Rend said as calmly as he could manage. "We need that door open. Now."

  "Just a few more seconds," Marcus said.

  Cutter continued to advance, his lips curling into a hungry smile. The hybrids behind him began to charge.

  "Marcus..." Roach said.

  "There! Got it!" Marcus said, laughing. He looked up and saw Cutter. "Oh, crap."

  There was a small beep and then a hiss as the lab door slid open.

  An inch.

  Rend sighed and turned to face the advancing hybrids. "Roach, get Marcus inside and shut the door." Hopefully she’d be able to wrench the thing open and closed: moments he could give her, even if he wouldn't be joining them inside. He knew he wouldn't be leaving this dark cement corridor alive.

  That was okay, as long as the others made it. He balled his hands into fists. He was ready.

  It was at that moment Rend felt a tiny, familiar fire light deep within his chest. It was, for an instant, just a tiny spark, but it spread quickly into an inferno that burned out to his fingertips, his toes, his jaw.

  His arms and legs extended pleasantly, each of his fingertips erupting into claws. He let out a roar of exultation as his fangs grew to razor points. All the pain, disorientation, and weariness that had overwhelmed him disappeared.

  Rend had almost forgotten how good this felt.

  He bent his legs and swung an arm in a low, upward swing. His claws caught the hybrid in the chest, cutting cleanly through its armor and into flesh beneath. The hybrid roared in pain and flashed its teeth at Rend. They looked so small and weak compared to how his own felt. He pushed upward and pulled the hybrid up and off of Roach, slammed it into the hallway wall, then turned and threw the now-lifeless thing off to one side. He faced the last remaining hybrid and roared, giving the thing a full show of his claws and fangs. The hybrid hesitated for a brief moment before it turned and ran away.

  He turned and faced the approaching Reaper. His blood was fully up now, and though a small and far-away part of him knew he should be afraid, all he wanted to do was continue fighting. He flicked the remaining hybrid blood off of his claws and waited for Cutter to reach him.

  A hand came out of nowhere, grabbing him by his jacket collar.

  "For god’s sake, furball," Roach said. "Get in here."

  She yanked him into the lab, her grip far stronger than he would have expected. Then, Marcus slammed the door shut and re-engaged the lock.

  Roach put a hand on his snarling face and forced it to look at her. "That's enough now," she said. He took a breath and felt himself begin to calm. Begin to cool.

  Roach laughed. "I swear," she said, "we can't take you Infected anywhere."

  53

  Still no word from Marcus.

  Sam checked his radio again, confirming it was still operational. It was well past the target time. On the one hand, it was good Marcus hadn't yet called, since Sam was still a few rooms away from the base's server room. On the other hand, the lack of transmission could mean the citadel team had lost the ability to send out a transmission, which meant at best their mission would fail, and at worst that Marcus, Rend, and Roach were all dead.

  The only thing Sam could do now was carry out the task at hand and assume everything was going as planned. He really hoped Marcus's team was alright. He hoped Abigail was alright, that Ki was keeping her from doing anything stupid. He really hoped Elena hadn't regained her composure of command.

  You're worried about a lot of stuff right now, Sammie, Vincente's voice said. Yet, you're somehow not worrying about the one thing you should be.

  I haven't forgotten about Jed, Sam thought back. I just...haven't really put much thought into the whole thing.

  You're not at least a little bit curious about why he's here? Vincente's voice asked. Why bring an army? Why go to so much trouble to track you down, along with that little data drive? Are you sure you're ready to face him?

  Sam checked the directions Marcus had scribbled down and given to him before they went their separate ways. Not much further to the server now. Barring any complications, he would be at his destination momentarily.

  Sam didn't want to answer Vincente. How do you confront the person you’ve known as your leader for your entire life? Elder Jed was a symbol of safety and security for him and his Colony; now all that was upside down. Why?

  We always knew that scouting missions carried risks, Sam thought. Long range missions most of all. We both knew when we went out that there was a chance we might not come back.

  And neither of us did come back, did we?

  Sam realized then that he was at the server room. He could see the racks and racks of computers ahead of him, lit by a dim blue light that showed him the reserve power system was still operational, even after twenty years. How did the remnants of the Old World continue to wreak havoc still? Maybe now we could use it for some kind of good.

  This might actually work.

  "Sam Brennan, in the flesh."

  It was a familiar, yet alien, voice. Sam instinctively swung his rifle around.

  "There's no need for that, Sam," the voice said, its source a familiar figure who seemed to materialize from the indigo shadows ahead. "I'm glad to see you arrived here safely. I think it's time for a long-overdue talk."

  "Elder Jed," Sam said. He activated his rifle's laser sight, and a red dot appeared over Jed's heart. "You want to talk? Well, then, get talking."

  There were a lot of Plague-Heads.

  It seemed all of them had converged on Jacinta's bar. If Abigail was able to put them down here, it should mean the city
was once again free of the filthy, cursed things. That meant Abigail had to put down what looked like three dozen of them. Even if she had been healthy — which she assuredly was not — that would be a tall order.

  There were a lot of Plague-Heads.

  She had a couple guns and a very large knife. She might still have a chance.

  She sighed and filled one hand with her knife, the other with a pistol. She began to walk toward the swarm of Infected.

  She twirled the knife in her hand and let out a low, loud whistle.

  This might be a bad idea. The first Infected began to notice her and it turned her way.

  I did want to help, didn't I?

  She snarled and increased her walk to a run, raising her weapons to attack as she reached the first of the horde.

  54

  When Elder Jed stepped into the low backup lights of the computer room, Sam noticed something strange and oddly familiar about the way he moved. It took him a moment to recognize why he found it so familiar. He moved like Abigail. In that moment he knewn it was true: Elder Jed was indeed a Reaper.

  "You know," Sam said, "if you wanted to talk, all you had to do was call. I mean, I did spend a good amount time trying to contact you guys on the radio."

  Jed nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Certainly, you've been out in the world long enough now to know these types of situations are rarely simple. And the situation we find ourselves in now is even less simple than you think."

  Sam laughed. "Still, a whole army? I mean — I'm flattered, but it seems a little excessive."

  "I'm sure you think your levity makes you look relaxed," Jed said with a sigh, "but I should tell you the actual effect is the exact opposite. But, in the interest of not hearing a dozen more variations on this joke, no, of course my forces didn't come here for you, Sam. Not even you are that important. Call it...serendipity that you, this facility, and this data drive converged." At that, he pulled the drive from his pocket and held it up for Sam to see. "Less enlightened men would call it fate, but I found out long ago the only fate that exists is the fate you create yourself."