by Emma Couette
The Charger killed my mother.
All these years… All these years he led me to believe the Resistance had done it. I killed them because of that belief. I killed them to avenge my mother, so I could sleep at night.
But they didn’t do it.
Angry tears fall onto the page, drowning the elegant scrawl.
The Charger killed my mother and has been using my fabricated ire as a weapon. The Charger is my real enemy and I have been helping him…
I crumple the letter in my fist, my muscles burning with the instinct to kill.
Not now, I chide myself, you need to remain calm.
I unfurl my fingers and drop the letter on my bed. Then I smooth it out, refold it, and slide it back in the envelope, which I shove in my pocket.
I grab extra weapons from the closet, shove them in a rucksack with a few other trinkets, and leave my room.
I’m not killing Hai tonight. In fact, I’m not killing anyone else for the Guild so long as I live. The Charger has done nothing but lie to me for the past thirteen years and I am done doing his bidding. I want to end him, but I know going to him now would be foolish. I need a clear head and, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m going to need help.
It’s time to seek out the Resistance and offer them aid in taking down the Assassin’s Guild for good.
I take a deep breath.
Are you sure you want to do this?
My eyes darken.
Someone has to pay for what happened to my mother. I’ll do what it takes, even if I have to dance with my mortal enemies.
…
I stay in one of the abandoned houses that serve as my entrances and exits to the Guild that night. I head out at dawn. I move on autopilot, not really aware of my surroundings. Around me, Haven City is stirring—its citizens shuffling to work, children preparing for school if they have the funds to attend—but I am not mentally here to witness it.
Still, I manage to stay hidden as I make my way across Haven to the office building where Avery met with Rachel.
Rachel.
It hits me then what I am doing. I’m going to betray the Guild, all of our closely-guarded secrets, everything we’ve worked for…
No. There is no we. I am no longer their willing pawn.
I need to find the Resistance before whoever the Charger sent finds me. I’m sure my absence has been noted by now. Hai is still alive and kicking. I failed my mission.
I move faster. I don’t relish the idea of being tortured by the Charger once he learns of my treachery. Silent Night, his perfectly trained assassin turned traitor.
When I reach the office building on Charles Avenue, I walk up to it and enter like I own the place. I don’t bother to hide as I make my way down the halls. I don’t have time for that.
My heart falls when I come to the door that should have Avery’s name on it and find it clear.
I kick the door in and turn in a slow circle as I take in the room. It’s empty. No furniture, no garbage, nothing but the wooden floors and white walls. The Charger was right; Avery vanished without a trace.
Curse him.
At least I won’t leave a trail behind either. I sigh and slip out the open window. I’ll find nothing here.
…
I pace Haven furiously as I try to think of another way to contact the Resistance. The streets are growing crowded with the morning rush and I slip down an alley to avoid the hassle. I pass by a huddle of the homeless and throw my hood up to distance myself.
Nothing to see here; nothing to take.
I turn my thoughts back to the task at hand, kicking through piles of garbage as I walk. Avery was the only lead I had. I know of no other Resistance members. We’re forbidden to have any sort of contact with them, for obvious reasons. The only members I’ve met are the ones I’ve killed, and then, well they’re usually not alive long enough to chat. Except… Except Lincoln.
An idea hits me then and I start running towards Haven’s east end. Lincoln wouldn’t have given me that list without leaving a clue behind and, if he didn’t, then I have to hope the Resistance is watching his house. I don’t care if I have to be captured, as long as it gets me into the Resistance.
…
I enter his house from the front this time, after scanning the street for onlookers. I don’t see anybody, but that means nothing. I can’t be the only one who can move undetected.
I don’t bother searching the main floor, knowing he would never leave anything of importance down there. I head straight upstairs, bypassing the guest room and storage room. I don’t look in the storage room to see if his body has been discovered yet and hold my breath until I reach the master bedroom so I don’t breathe in the acrid scent of death.
The master looks the same as it did the last time I saw it, clothes covering the floor and paper covering the desk, which I head over to. I check all the drawers and find the bottom one locked again.
Bingo.
He gave me the envelope. There is no longer any reason to lock the drawer, unless he put something else inside it.
It doesn’t take me long to pick the lock with my bobby pins and I open the drawer to reveal a black envelope this time. I rip it open. Inside is a letter addressed to me from Lincoln.
Silent Night,
If you are reading this, you made the right decision and so did I. I knew you wouldn’t stand for the kind of atrocities the Charger has made you commit. You are no doubt seeking the Resistance now and I can help you with that. The second page of this letter will direct you to our hideout. I trust you will treat this information with care. Thank you for reading the list and understanding. You have chosen the right side.
Sincerely,
Lincoln McColl
I turn the page and find the directions he mentioned. I’m surprised at where their operations are located: directly across the city from the Assassin’s Guild. The entrance I am given is an abandoned warehouse in the north end.
Interesting.
I waste no time. The clock is ticking and I could have hours or mere minutes before the assassin—or possible assassins—catch up to me.
I sprint downstairs and out the back door. I hop the neighbour’s fence this time and continue on through backyards until I reach the street corner. I take a left and slow to a walk. I don’t want to look suspicious, though I suppose the black cloak isn’t a great start.
Oops.
…
Half an hour later, I’m only three blocks away from the warehouse. I expect to encounter scouts, but maybe the Resistance is just as confident in its secrecy as we are. I quicken my pace as I near my destination.
Not too much longer now.
Then I hear it, the sound of footsteps behind me.
I bite back a curse of frustration. I don’t have the time or patience for this. I make a split-second decision. I toss my rucksack to the side and then, throwing caution to the wind, I break into a full sprint, streaking past the buildings on the street. I hear a muffled curse behind me and the sound of footsteps coming faster.
I don’t look back as I weave in between buildings, down alleys, and across fields of pavement. I lead my pursuer in a high speed, high stakes chase across the north end of the city.
I figure it’ll only take a few sharp turns to lose him, but he sticks with me and I’m beginning to tire. I near a corner and see a second cloaked figure out of the corner of my eye coming down the left road.
Shit.
I veer to the right and pick up my speed as the two – men? – race after me. Without slowing down, I pull out my gun, aim behind me, and fire. I hear yells of fear and, as I fire off a second and third shot, a squeal of pain.
Bingo.
One down, one to go, assuming it was a kill shot.
You can never assume, I chide myself.
I risk a backwards glance. They’re both still coming at full speed, one of them holding a hand tight to their arm.
An arm shot? Is that all I can manage?
I scowl and shoot
again. The injured man goes down.
Success.
I turn my gaze forward again and assess my options. Trying to lose him isn’t working; I have to attempt another approach.
Is there a place nearby where I can take a stand?
I scan my surroundings. Nothing but apartment buildings and empty pavement fields.
I hang sharp lefts at the next two consecutive intersections and head back the way we came. It’s time to try something a little unconventional, not to mention dangerous, but danger is my middle name.
I turn left down a side street and head east. Two more blocks to go and I can put my plan into action. Not a moment too soon either. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my pace, but my pursuer must be tiring too.
Finally, I come to Milne Street. I veer right and am soon running parallel to the North River, though heading south. I look ahead as my escape route comes into sight: the iron bridge, an intimidating metal monstrosity, four feet wide and spanning the thirty feet across the river. At least, it used to be. I’ve heard the stories.
The bridge has deteriorated over the years and now there’s a single strip of metal running over the rushing water. It’s about as wide as a train rail and people have slipped and fallen just inching across it on a dare. I’ll be sprinting. My hope is that I’ll make it across and my pursuer won’t be that lucky.
One hundred metres until the turn.
I risk a glance behind me. I’m separated from my tail by a gap of about forty metres. I wait for the right moment before I head for the river shore, making a beeline for the bridge. I hear a curse behind me as I do so.
“Really, Two?” A ragged, dry voice shouts out. It’s a voice I know.
Anane.
I don’t let that detail distract me as I pick up the pace.
Fifty metres to go.
A glance; Anane is still behind me. A sharp wind picks up as I near the river, pulling at my coat and blowing hair into my eyes. I resist the urge to brush it away.
Almost there.
Thirty metres between us.
Twenty metres to go. Full speed now.
My first foot lands on the bridge.
Steady.
I focus on nothing else but the shore ahead of me. I let my feet do the work. If I look down, I will fall.
I can still hear Anane behind me, about ten metres now.
Somewhere beneath me, the water rushes past, carrying refuse and Guild knows what else through and eventually out of the city. I’ve been in it once and that was enough for me. It took me weeks to feel clean again.
My boots touch firm soil and I realize I’ve reached the other side of the bridge.
Please.
A few seconds later, I hear, “Shit!” Then a scream sounds, followed by a splash.
I grin.
Enjoy your dip, Four.
I slow down to a jog as I come back onto the road. I’ve never run so fast in all my life. I turn left at the first intersection I come to and stop to catch my breath. My legs and lungs burn, but I laugh at my victory. Then the laugh turns into a cough and I can’t breathe for a moment.
How long did I run for?
It had to have been at least twenty minutes without stopping, but what can I say? I’m one of the best.
Perhaps Four will need to be replaced. I know Three will. That gunshot was a death wound; no one can survive a bullet to the head. Anane might’ve survived his fall, but it’ll cost him precious time he doesn’t have and he’ll lose me. The Charger won’t be too happy with him. I have a feeling his death is not far away.
I clear my throat and start jogging again, disappearing into the city without a trace.
…
It’s around noon before I make it back to the side of the city where the warehouse is located. I retrieve my rucksack from the alley I flung it into and slow down to a walk, not wanting to appear confrontational in case they are watching.
Can’t be far now.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, I find myself in front of a two-story, decrepit warehouse. The metal walls are rusted and warped. The second floor windows have cracked and foggy glass. One is missing its entire pane, plastic put up in its stead. It ripples in the breeze.
Fancy.
I wasn’t aware the Resistance was a dump.
I analyze the building for a minute, deciding on a course of action.
The front door would be the best.
I have to make the right first impression or I’m screwed. It’s going to be hard enough to gain their trust, best not to slip in through a second-story window.
I take a deep breath and approach the door. The thing is twice my height and a tad bit intimidating. This entire venture is intimidating. I’m only going to join my enemy, people I’ve hated and killed for over a decade. No biggie. No pressure. It’s not like they’d kill me or anything.
I grab the door handle before I lose my nerve.
Here goes nothing.
I ease open the door, giving myself plenty of time to back out. I peer into the crack, but the sliver of light reveals nothing. I hesitate but then stop myself. I am Silent Night and I am not afraid of the dark. I am the dark and all shadows bow to me.
I fling the door open wide enough for me to get through and step inside. I hear the sound of a gun being cocked and drop to the ground. When the shot rings out, the bullet zips over me and out the open door. I swear and roll to my feet.
I resist the urge to draw my own gun and raise my hands above me in surrender. “Please,” I say, choking on the word. “I come in peace.”
I can’t see my attackers. They are concealed in the darkness of the warehouse’s second-story mezzanine. They don’t answer me. Another shot goes off instead, but I’ve already ducked behind a pillar in their moment of silence, not willing to take any chances.
“I’m not here to kill anyone,” I try again. “Please, I need to speak to your…um…leader.”
Again, there is no response.
“Come on,” I say, “can’t you at least give me the benefit of the doubt?”
“Never,” says a voice to my left.
Close. Much too close.
I whirl and come face to face with a dagger.
A man stares me down. “You’re an assassin, we would never dream of underestimating you.”
I feel a presence behind me then and realize I’m cornered. I reach for a knife, but something slams into the back of my head before I can get a grip.
CHAPTER SIX
When I wake, it doesn’t take me long to realize one important fact: I am in a dungeon. The place is cold, dark, and damp. The ground beneath me is rough stone and the wall of bars across from me is a dead giveaway. I swear, loud and colourful, breaking a hole through the endless silence around me. I am in deep shit.
This is what happens when you betray your people, Silent Night, a voice in my head chides me. You never should have left.
Quiet, I snap. They betrayed me.
I couldn’t have stayed there any longer without killing someone and I already have enough blood on my hands. I sigh. I just have to go with the flow and hope the Resistance doesn’t kill me before I have the chance to plead my case.
…
I’ve been huddled in the corner of the cell for a good hour before I hear footsteps. I stand up and reach for a knife, only to realize I have none. They must have stripped me of my weapons after they knocked me out, the bastards. They even found the vial of poison. I look up and see a young man standing on the other side of the bars.
He’s tall, though he looks to be about my age. Straggly brown locks frame his face and blue eyes stare me down.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He crosses his arms. “You said you wanted to talk to our leader. I’ve come to take you to him.” He doesn’t seem happy about it.
“They sent one of you to escort me?”
He shrugs. “You’re just one girl.”
“Just one girl,” I scoff. “You… You have no idea who y
ou’re dealing with, do you?”
“Not in the slightest. I suppose you wouldn’t care to share?”
“And give you the advantage? Never. You’ll have to wait and see.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Assassin,” he says. “I’m going to unlock this door now and you’re going to let me tie your hands. You try anything funny and I’ll kill you. Got it?”
“Sure,” I reply, “but if anyone’s doing any killing today, it’ll be me.”
He pulls a pistol out of his coat. “Listen closely, Assassin,” he says. “You’re not the only one who knows how to use one of these and I won’t lose any sleep over shooting you in the head. Is that clear?”
I sigh in exasperation. “Clear as crystal, now would you get on with it?”
He returns his gun to his coat and produces a large key ring. He also grabs a long piece of rope.
He unlocks the door and pushes it open. I resist the urge to knock him over and run. Even I wouldn’t manage to make it far.
“Turn around,” he says and I obey, though it’s against my better judgment. He proceeds to tie my wrists together behind my back with the rope, tight. I admire the effort, but it wouldn’t take much for me to escape it.
“Now stand in front of me.”
I do as he says, walking out of the cell and around him without making eye contact.
“Now walk. You start into a run and I’ll shoot you. Understand?”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Let’s go then.”
I start walking; he follows close behind.
As soon as we exit the dungeon, the guy pulls a blindfold out of his coat and ties it around my eyes. Apparently, they don’t want me familiarizing myself with the place. Unlucky for them, I was trained to find my way without sight; every turn we make is catalogued in my memory.
So, when he finally takes my blindfold off in front of a metal door at the end of a corridor, I know we took three lefts, a right, staircase with ten steps, left, staircase with fifteen steps, two rights, a long hallway, stairway down three steps, and a final left. I also know I could get to the dungeon in about seven minutes, not that I would want to go back there.