Zenith Rising

by Gavin Zanker

  ‘Go and help at the gate,’ Ellington ordered his men. ‘When it comes down they’ll need backup.’

  The officers eyed the twisted, snarling faces shoving up against the gate. ‘What about you, sir?’ one asked bitterly.

  Ellington registered the accusation, but was too distracted to beat the belligerence out of him. He caught sight of people heading into the Grand Arena and breathed an internal sigh. ‘I’ll check on operations in the arena,’ he said. ‘The officers are probably stationed in there, directing the battle. I should be able to do some good.’ A look passed between the men as he walked away, but they did as they were ordered and joined the forces at the gates amid a shower of hostile looks from the Faithful.

  Ellington entered the arena through the raised portcullis to find the main fighting pit being used as a makeshift hospital. Stretchers had been laid out in rows on the sandy ground, many of them already occupied by wounded men. He approached one of the uniformed women, a nurse with short, blonde hair and a kindly face who was trying to patch up a long gash in someone’s thigh.

  ‘What’s the situation here?’ Ellington asked.

  The nurse glanced up at him before returning her attention to her patient. ‘Who are you, dear?’

  ‘I am Captain Ellington of the city’s police force,’ he said, sticking out his chest and mustering the most authoritative tone he could.

  ‘Well, I’m Louise, head nurse of this mess,’ she said, flashing him a quick smile.

  Nearby, a man in a tattered flat cap pulled a jagged shard of rusty shrapnel out of someone’s leg. ‘Could use a hand here, Lou!’ he shouted, as the patient started screaming.

  ‘Just a minute, Patches,’ she called back as she finished wrapping a bandage. ‘What can I do for you, Captain? As you can see, I’m very busy here.’

  Ellington looked away, swallowing a wave of nausea as the tinny taste of blood hit the back of his throat. ‘I was wondering if I could be of any help around here?’ he said.

  ‘Can you dress a wound?’

  ‘Er, I’m not sure.’

  ‘How about rigging a tourniquet?’

  ‘No,’ Ellington said, feeling a fool. ‘But I could if someone showed me how.’

  ‘Sorry, there’s no time for training. We can’t spare anyone; we’re already understaffed.’ She glanced at him, and he thought he detected judgement in her eyes. ‘Maybe you would be more use out there in the fight, dear, a strapping man like you.’

  Patches shouted for help from across the sand again and Louise hurried away. Ellington gazed around at the wounded men, lost in shame for a moment. He was a Captain, he reminded himself — it wasn’t his job to fight in the trenches. He turned and wandered out of the arena and back into the redoubt where the clash of metal and smell of spent cordite filled the air.

  He approached a nearby Faithful who stood back from the walls monitoring the situation, clearly an officer of some sort. ‘What happened to the homeless outside?’ Ellington asked, suddenly remembering the ghetto.

  The man looked him up and down with a sneer before returning his attention to the wall. ‘Butchered,’ he said, raising his voice over the sounds of battle.

  ‘You left them out there?’

  ‘They were all fornicators and drug users,’ he said, as if that were explanation enough.

  A line of cages were wheeled out of the arena by the slaves and arena fighters. Most wore simple loincloths and cloth shirts, a few lucky ones were protected by leather armour. Almost all of them carried a rusted blade of some sort. Inside the cages, an assortment of half-starved bears and wolves railed at their metal bars, agitated by the scent of fresh blood and sounds of violence.

  ‘What are they for?’ Ellington asked, stepping back as a large bear thrashed at him from behind its bars.

  ‘The animals?’ the officer said, glancing at the passing cages. ‘We’re hoisting them up and tossing them over the walls. A little surprise for the invaders.’

  An explosion rocked the ground. Ellington swayed, reaching out and grabbing the officer to steady himself. Dirt was kicked high up in the air outside the walls, scattering down across the defenders in a hail. The officer brushed Ellington away and screamed up towards the makeshift platforms, ‘I said no dynamite! Not until I give the order, do you understand?’ As he looked ready to climb up and kill the Faithful who had thrown the explosives, a handful of Ravagers tumbled over the wall, spilling onto the dirt. ‘You!’ the man shouted at a group of the arena fighters. ‘With me!’ They ran to the shrieking Ravagers, dispatching them with efficient slashes across the neck.

  Then the gate started to buckle inwards.

  The officer strode ahead with the arena fighters, lining them up with the other Faithful and Ellington’s handful of men who were about to be caught in a deadly melee with the Ravagers. A voice in Ellington’s head told him to step forward and take command like this Faithful officer was doing; his men were relying on him, and if the redoubt fell then everyone below would die. But another, much louder voice, screamed at him to run, to escape down into the safety of the city. He stood locked in indecision as people dashed around him with purpose. He felt lost; adrift inside a world that was no longer familiar.

  The gate splintered. Some of the metal fencing snapped away from the bars, falling inwards as a Ravager pushed through the gap, slicing itself on the jagged metal. It scampered forward like a wild animal, diving and latching its jaws around an arena fighter’s windpipe before being dragged off and gutted. The wounded man folded to the floor, blood gushing from the rip in his neck as he was pulled away.

  Another Ravager squeezed through, then another. Soon there was a steady stream of them. Ellington took a step backwards, bumping into two men coming the other way.

  ‘Oi, watch it, laddie,’ the shorter one with white whiskers said. He frowned as he saw the Captain’s face.

  The other one, taller than Ellington, though more sinewy, put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. ‘You okay, chap? Hang on, aren’t you Captain Ellington?’

  Ellington moved his mouth but no words came out. He brushed past the two men in what he hoped was a haughty manner. Once he was out of sight, he started sprinting back down the stairs, descending two at a time and almost tripping in his panic to get back to the town hall. Words tumbled around in his head as he ran, like a washing machine full of shoes. There was no point in him staying; he would be no use to anyone dead, and he couldn’t very well command his men while the Faithful were there barking orders over him. No, they could handle things up there. He would go back to the town hall and inform the Mayor of the situation where the two of them could come up with a proper response to the attack; that was the best use of his skills.

  CHAPTER 57

  FROM THE SPOTLESS walls to the patternless floor, the featureless, white corridors of the inner compound screamed of a soulless utility; it was a stark, barren place, perfectly suited to the ugly teachings being practised here. Aiden stalked forward, the only sound being his boots and Hitch’s nails clicking over the vinyl. He pulled out his pistol, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through his shoulder; he didn’t have time to let injury slow him down, not now. As he travelled deeper into the underground interior, he was surprised to find it almost empty. He passed a few people in plain clothing that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the city, but none of them paid him any attention. There was just an endless length of corridors and doors, each marked by a number. He tried a few but they were all sealed. Putting his ear to one, he thought he heard the whirring of machinery and shushing of paper being moved around.

  He came to a junction and stopped. The image of Leigh flashed up into his mind, along with all the terrible things Zachary could be doing to her. He clenched his fist, forcing the anger and guilt back down. ‘Any ideas?’ he asked, looking down at Hitch as the dog walked around in circles sniffing the walls. Aiden noticed the skin around his thumbnails was bleeding, and realised he must have been unconsciously picking at them again.

/>   A sobbing wail resonated in the distance. He cocked his head and gauged the direction before setting off towards the sound with Hitch staying close. A minute later, he arrived at a set of double doors that he vaguely recalled from his brief stint in readjustment. On the other side someone was crying. He pushed the doors, but found them locked.

  As he was considering forcing them open, Hitch began barking. Aiden turned to see a man in pressed khaki trousers and a plain, pastel-coloured shirt hurrying towards him, his finger wagging like a stern headmaster.

  ‘Hey!’ the man called out in a nasal voice. ‘No no. You can’t be here. You have to leave.’

  ‘Why?’

  The man ignored him and scowled. ‘You can’t be here,’ he repeated. ‘This is private property and you need to leave. Now.’

  ‘You have a key to this door?’ Aiden asked, gesturing at the keyring on the man’s belt.

  ‘Look, I’m not going to ask—’

  Aiden levelled his pistol at the man’s head. ‘Key,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  The man looked furious, but handed the keys over. ‘You wear the clothes of the Faithful, but I see you are not one of them. What do you think you’re doing here? You’re not part of this. You’re nothing. Nobody.’

  Aiden unlocked the double doors, swinging them wide open. The room was large, like a hospital ward, with beds pushed up against the magnolia-painted walls. Beside each was a small house plant with drooping, brown leaves. A colourful, almost psychedelic rug dominated the centre of the floor where four people sat swaying gently to the soft classical music being piped in by hidden speakers.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ Aiden said, causing them all to turn.

  They glanced at him, then between themselves. ‘Free from what?’ one asked, wiping tears away from his sunken eyes.

  ‘Free from…’ Aiden trailed off, confused at their reaction. ‘From this. Aren’t you in readjustment?’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘Then you don’t have to be anymore, you can leave.’ Aiden waved towards the corridor. ‘Go. Be free.’

  ‘Are you forcing us to leave?’

  ‘What? No. Don’t you want to get out?’

  The crying man blinked slowly. ‘This is where we need to be.’

  ‘You see? You don’t belong here,’ the man in the khakis said, his arrogant veneer returning as he came up behind Aiden.

  Aiden whirled, pointing his gun at the man’s face and grasping his shirt in his fist. ‘Don’t sneak up on me,’ he warned.

  ‘Okay,’ the man yelped, ‘but you need to go.’

  Aiden’s mind raced. He had to figure out where he was going. ‘You bring all new people into readjustment, right?’

  The man nodded, his eyes glued to Hitch, who was crouched at his feet, teeth bared.

  ‘How many rooms do you have?’

  ‘We have two wings.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘We have lots of rooms.’

  ‘You know a young girl that just came in here with Zachary?’

  ‘I don’t know a Zachary.’

  ‘The Syndicate man that just arrived.’

  ‘Syndicate men wouldn’t be allowed in here,’ the Dawnist said, spitting the word like a curse.

  ‘How about a woman, around my age. She’s been here a long time. Her name’s Kate.’

  ‘No one in readjustment keeps their name, I wouldn’t know any Kate.’

  ‘Then how would I find a specific person in this place,’ Aiden growled, pushing the gun against the man’s cheek.

  ‘You need to speak to a higher level,’ the man said, closing his eyes. ‘They might keep records of the subjects’ previous lives.’

  ‘Fine. Then take me to one of these “higher levels.”’

  ‘But I can’t—’

  Aiden jabbed the hilt of his gun into the unhelpful man’s stomach, causing him to flinch and grasp his belly. ‘If you don’t want to bleed out on the floor over the next few hours I suggest you do as I ask while I’m still being pleasant about it.’

  CHAPTER 58

  JULIAN CHARGED UP the steps with twenty of his best men in tow. He had spent too long inside the safety of the Brentford, just waiting around and protecting the Syndicate board; it was time to get out and fight for the city and its people, even if that meant standing shoulder to shoulder with the Dawnists.

  When he reached the top, he found the redoubt in chaos: Ravagers were crawling over the walls, Faithful were sprinting back and forth, and a huge melee was taking place where the city gates had once stood. He ordered five of his men to help defend the walls while he took the rest into the battle at the gate.

  Nearly all the guns up here had been discarded — their ammunition spent — and the battle had become a savage scrum of swinging blades, blunt objects, and snapping teeth. Julian had brought fresh Syndicate firearms with him though. He pushed forward through the press of bodies with his men, weapons drawn. Once they reached the front, he gave the order to fire.

  In a flash of light, scores of the invaders pouring through the broken gates fell, their bodies clogging the narrow entrance. The flood of Ravagers getting through was reduced to a trickle. The renewed morale drove the city fighters forward, until the last remaining Ravagers inside the walls were disposed of.

  Julian looked around triumphantly, his blood rushing. He sucked in a lungful of air, realising how much he had missed the thrill of combat. His joy was short-lived though as he caught sight of so many wounded being dragged back towards the makeshift hospital in the arena. ‘Who’s in charge here?’ he shouted above the cheering.

  Before he got an answer, a rhythmic trembling started under his feet. The cheering faded, replaced by confusion.

  Wasting no time, he sprinted to the nearest platform and climbed the ladder. As he looked out over the wall, the sight drained all the fire from his blood. The homeless encampment outside was in pieces, awash in a sea of gore and debris. The remains of the circus tent clung to its frame, flapping in the breeze. Ravagers were gathering up the bodies of the fallen and dumping them against the redoubt walls; there was even the carcass of a bear with green-flecked fur among them. Julian realised in horror that they were trying to climb the walls using a mountain of corpses. One of the Ravagers hissed up at him from below, an unbound hatred showing on his scarred face.

  In the distance, hundreds more Ravagers swirled around each other like a static tornado. They were banging drums. War drums. Julian stared in shock; he had no idea there were that many Ravagers in the entire world.

  Then the drums stopped. The Ravagers froze.

  A moment of charged silence descended.

  It was broken only by their shrieking cries as the entire mob sprinted towards the city with renewed rage.

  Someone beside him struck a match and lit a stick of dynamite before throwing it out over the wall. Julian hopped down from the battlement just as it exploded. ‘We can’t stay here,’ he shouted as he ran back to the gate, his limbs shaking. ‘There are too many, there’s no way we can hold!’

  ‘We can’t let Lightgate fall to the savages!’ someone yelled back.

  ‘We need to fall back!’ Julian shouted. ‘We can fight them in the bottleneck!’ But no one was listening to him now as Ravagers began to charge through the broken gates, pushing aside the bodies of their own. Julian regrouped his men away from the melee. ‘Where’re the rest?’ he called out frantically over the sound of more explosions.

  Someone pointed to the walls where the enemy were scrambling over. Julian ran across to them, unsheathing the fire axe at his belt and dismembering the nearest Ravager with a powerful swing. Then the melee at the gates broke. Faithful fled and scattered in all directions, no longer able to hold the line.

  ‘Syndicate, with me! Back to the stairs!’ Julian screamed as he led his men on a rolling retreat, buying as much time as he could for everyone to get below.

  Ravagers fell over themselves as they sprinted, many running along the floor on a
ll fours. A few broke away and swarmed into the arena; echoing screams followed, before being cut short. Julian’s knew he would be forever haunted by those sounds. If he survived.

  A nearby Ravager charged him, reaching out towards his neck with bloody fingers in a frenzy. Julian swung his axe, burying the blade into the invader’s chest, almost severing it in two.

  Another rushed into the gap, leaping over its fallen ally with a makeshift dagger in hand. Julian tried to raise his axe, but it was snagged in the fallen Ravager’s rib cage.

  Julian froze. The sound of battle around him faded away, and in that split second, as the dagger flashed out, he knew it was the end. He closed his eyes and waited; waited for the cold dark to come.

  But it didn’t.

  As the world started moving again, he opened his eyes to see a serrated saw-blade lashed to a broom handle jutting from the Ravager’s head. The savage crack broke the beast’s skull open and it collapsed to the floor in a quivering heap.

  The sinewy man standing over the body turned, touching his forehead in a mock salute. Julian had never been so happy to see Woody. Orlen appeared beside him wielding a large two-handed hammer, his face spotted with flecks of blood. He put his boot on the Ravager’s chest and yanked out Julian’s axe, tossing it back to him.

  Julian caught it and nodded his thanks. ‘We have to get to the stairs,’ he explained, shaking off the daze of how close to death he had just come. ‘If we stay here we’ll be cut off and surrounded.’