Chapter 41: All the King's Horses
Michaels felt his blood boil against the High Inquisitor, who donned a smug look as though he had already won. "You're using this," he shook his head, half in disbelief, "as a power play?"
Wresh's smug smile remained plastered on his face. "You make it sound so glib. Lange's time has ended; this pathetic little coup has its usefulness, to be sure."
Michaels shook his head, irritated. "You allowed criminals and vagrants to flood the streets of our city?"
Wresh gave an innocent look. "I may have suspected something was coming, but the coordination of this attack was far beyond even my wildest expectations." Wresh grinned wildly, making his weathered face appear ghoulish. "The sheer panic will keep my Inquisitors busy for quite some time. All the better, I suppose."
"Keep the masses afraid?" Michaels said, scowling.
Wresh shrugged. "They will see that Citizen One has become detached, unreliable." Wresh spread out his hands. "They will see that stronger leadership is necessary to our survival. More intense control, lest things spiral away again."
As though to punctuate this suggestion, the lighting projecting from fixtures on the walls dimmed noticeably, and, although no one looked, the shimmer of the field seen through the skylight briefly fluctuated. Unbeknownst to any in the room, a bodyguard who had betrayed a dictator died without a whisper in that moment.
"Oh, let me guess," Michaels smirked, not bothering to acknowledge the power fluctuation, "that would be you."
"Who better?" Wresh shrugged again.
Michaels snapped his fingers. "Ah, of course, and now that the civilian members of the advisory council are all but eliminated, that makes it even easier for you, doesn't it?"
Wresh gave a nod. "Very perceptive." He cocked his head. "Although you say, 'all but eliminated' as though you assume that the last remaining member will survive this transition."
A cold chill swept through Michaels once again as the impending threat of death loomed over him. Bastard, he thought. He's not even pretending I could be useful to him, like Arthur did. He gazed down again at the poor dead man's body. You may have done wrong, Arthur, but at least your heart was in the right place.
"So that's how it's going to be, is it?" Michaels sneered defiantly. "Anything will be done to ensure your success? Remove anything or anyone that might stand in your way?"
Wresh smiled once again. "Can you think of a better way?" He raised his weapon.
The power fluctuated again, only this time the lights failed entirely. The room was plunged into complete darkness. There was a moment of complete stunned silence, causing more than a couple of people in the room to irrationally wonder if they'd blacked out. A murmur passed through the room, as the sudden pitch darkness was more than a little unnerving.
An electrical buzz resounded, and the wall fixtures cast a dimmed, weaker light into the room. Everyone looked around with apprehension at the odd occurrence.
One Inquisitor broke all protocol by staring up, through the skylight, and uttering, "Oh my God."
The gaze in the room, even those hiding behind the various objects, craned upward. Through the skylight they could see the dim orange glow of streetlamps flickering back to life. Beyond that, however, there was nothing: no pinpricks of starlight, no moon to add brilliance to the inky void of the sky. It remained completely pitch-black. Everyone stared silently, dread beginning to pool in their hearts.
Kaylee, uninjured and playing possum, almost felt as though she'd been punched. "No… not again," she whispered.
Malcolm bellowed and sprang from his prone position, shattering the silence. His scarf remained on the ground, revealing his disturbing alien visage. Before anyone could react, he threw his shoulder into the distracted High Inquisitor. Wresh was violently launched into a couple of his men, knocking several people sprawling to the ground.
The other men turned their horrified eyes away from the blank sky, clutching for their weapons. Malcolm leapt the distance and slammed his fist into the chest of one. There was a revolting crunch as the man's sternum cracked under the force of the blow and caved in his chest. Blood spewed from the man's mouth as he was propelled backwards into other Inquisitors, tumbling several more to the ground.
By this time the men still standing recovered enough to turn and fire at him. Bullets pounded into Malcolm with the sound of shredding tissue, and the impact force brought him to his knees. He reached behind himself and grabbed the ankle of a fallen man. He yanked the man close enough to grip him by the fabric of his jacket, and, in spite of the person's terrified cries, Malcolm pulled the man's body into the line of fire.
The Inquisitor jerked and convulsed as dozens of rounds ripped into his back. The weapons fire lulled for a moment, and Malcolm seized the opportunity to hurl the dead body at his assailants. The corpse sailed through the air and collided with three others, bringing them all to the ground along with so many of their other comrades. One man tried to rise and bring his weapon to bear, but Malcolm viciously backhanded him. The man's head snapped to the side; an audible crack resounded and a soft gurgling issued from the Inquisitor as his life vanished.
More Inquisitors attempted to rise and bring weapons to bear, but several of the men, upon seeing Malcolm's face, completely broke and fled, screaming. Malcolm's hair was wild and matted with dark red blood. There were several wounds and gashes on his alien face and head; one hole was punched into his skull, and pearly white bone could be seen along with fleshy brain matter and blood oozing out. He dripped from dozens of other wounds on his body, but nothing appeared to faze him or even halt his progress. His eyes blazed a fierce white as he continued raining hammer blows on individuals, knocking them out, shattering bones, or killing them outright.
Rick took the distracted opportunity to assist Malcolm; he inched up over the desk and fired several rounds from his assault rifle, evening the odds. Jonathon leaned out as well, firing his submachine gun perched on the arm of his injured hand.
Malcolm's path of destruction led him to the back corner of the room. Pinning a man against the wall, he pulled back his fist and struck him in the face, shattering the front of his skull and pushing the shards of bone into the delicate brain tissue. The man collapsed without another sound, and Malcolm slowly turned around.
All of the Inquisitors lay unconscious, dying, and dead. High Inquisitor Wresh was finally clambering to his feet having crawled out from underneath fallen bodies. He looked over at the monstrous creature staring back at him. His eyes jerked over to Rick and Jonathon, who had weapons aimed. His head snapped back and forth, looking for some sign of life or activity out of any of his people.
His hand gripped the pistol at his side, and he shifted, twitching, seemingly contemplating trying to use it. Thinking better of it, he bolted out of the front opening into the night air. Not expecting this, Rick was taken off guard for just a moment. He shouldered his weapon to try for a non-lethal shot, but Malcolm burst into his line of sight. With his wide frame blocking the shot, hitting Wresh wouldn't have been possible.
Wresh barely made it three feet out of the building. Malcolm seized him from behind by the back of his collar, like a dog, and lifted him up, dragging him back into the room. Terror in his eyes, Wresh raised his weapon and pulled the trigger, but Malcolm's other hand seized his wrist. The weapon fired off-target, and the bullet grazed Malcolm's cheek, raising a gash with a spatter of blood. Still gripping Wresh's wrist, Malcolm twisted and wrenched. The bones snapped like kindling, and the gun clattered harmlessly to the ground as Wresh released a high-pitched howl.
Malcolm released the arm, which dropped limply to Wresh's side, and gripped the High Inquisitor's throat and squeezed. Wresh gurgled, his eyes bulged out, and he feebly used his uninjured arm to tug at the hand strangling him. "Marcus," he spat, choking, "please."
Malcolm drew the man closer, so that their faces were inches apart, and he hissed, "Marcuss is dead," as the High Inquisitors eyelids fluttered closed and c
onsciousness slipped away. Malcolm glared at the man, shaking him a few times. When no further noises escaped, he cast Wresh aside, easily, as though the man weighed nothing.
Wresh flew through the air and collided with the reception desk. His head rebounded off the hard marble edge with a sharp crack that raised a grimace from everyone still alive in the room. If life had remained with him after passing out from strangulation, it snuffed completely at the impact. The High Inquisitor collapsed on top of the dead sociologist.
Rick stood up, lowering his weapon but keeping an eye on Malcolm. Michaels, during the firefight, had dropped to the ground and covered his head. He now was clambering to his feet and passing a wide-eyed gaze around the room. Jonathon peeked out of the pillar he hid behind, and silence hung thick in the air.
Kaylee had the idea first. Dread firmly settled in the pit of her stomach. She took off at a run past all of the bodies, past Malcolm, into the cool night air. A few people followed her example, and slowly everyone's gaze returned towards the sky. As though trapped in the nightmare, it remained completely dark and featureless. There were no stars, no moon, nothing at all, as though a shroud had fallen over the city of Haven. The air still carried the smell of smoke, and, in both the distance and fairly close by, they could see groups of people in the streets. There were panicking, gawking, and running.
Once outside they could hear street-side announcement speakers blaring a recorded message. They couldn't identify the voice that produced it, but what was said made their insides clench.
"…regret to inform you, Citizens of the grand city of Haven, that, on this day, your beloved founder, Citizen One, has passed from this life. Franklin William Lange was the greatest man our world has ever known, giving many things to the people most worthy of his love. He gave us this majestic city. He gave us our enlightened society. He gave us purpose. He gave us life. It is such that we mourn his passing as we would mourn our own. Our soul has been extinguished this day, and may the sun never shine again on this paradise without his love and guidance…" There was a pause, and the message started over, "The highest levels of Citizenship, the Inquisition, and the advisory council regret to inform you…"
Michaels stumbled out, gawking like the rest of them. "The sterilization field," he murmured. "It's changed... why has it-"
Kaylee suddenly cut loose a scream, startling everyone nearby. They looked on, still in shock, as she carried on for a good ten seconds before falling to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rick rushed to her side.
"We were close," she sobbed, "we were so close… why do we have to start over again?"
"I know," he whispered, hugging her close, "I know." He passed his hopeless gaze over the night sky again. For once, he had no sarcasm, no bitter humor to express. Nothing but despair filled his thoughts.
******
Desmond, for some reason, was fascinated by the stillness of Quinton as he stood by the window. Which was why when Quinton moved suddenly, as though he had seen something important, Desmond noticed it.
He had quickly crossed through the room to the window and looked out. "What is it?" He asked. "What's wrong?"
Quinton didn't bother turning towards him; his head remained ducked down and his eyes gazed upward, "Look up," he growled. "The sky is gone."
Uprising Page 103