3 - VALE

Winter 32, Sector Annum 106, 16h14

Gregorian Calendar: January 21

 

 

A bush to my right bristles and I hiss on my inhale. I am aware of every sound, every movement, my nerves like a company of soldiers at attention. In the day’s last light, as we near Waterloo, I look through the bleak, leafless trees for any sign of a man-made structure, wishing as I have a thousand times since I left the Sector that I’d brought more mission-ready contacts with me. Without them, I feel blind and claustrophobic, trying to see into the growing twilight with only my natural eyesight. It’s windy, the air is clammy and cold, and a thick layer of fog in the distance signals either a change in the terrain or the temperature. We’ve only got another hour of light left, and the woods are eerie and beautiful, every sound amplified, every shadow exaggerated. I imagine walking straight into that fog and stepping into a different world, or stepping off the edge, into a void, instantly dissolving into a million fragments. Little wisps of myself floating away.

Firestone’s map says the building should be in this area, but it’s not detailed enough to pinpoint exactly where. Kenzie and Jahnu claim they know what to look for once we’re there, but finding the exact spot is the challenge. We’ve yet to see any sign of human occupation and the woods grow oppressive and quiet as the fog thickens. Used to the big skies, wide avenues and welcoming buildings of Okaria, getting acquainted with the verdant Wilds has been difficult, too many places to hide, too many secrets.

We spread out. I prowl ahead, trying to look everywhere at once. If the fog clears, there will at least be a moon tonight. I’m not happy about the idea of pressing on to find the base once the sun sets, but with a little moonlight we’d have a chance at finding it. We’re so close there’s no point in making camp. All of us are on edge, low on food, sleep, and spirit. Even Kenzie’s shoulders droop, and Firestone’s fiery vocabulary has been less explosive than usual these last two days. When he's not cussing, things are really bad. We need to find the outpost.

A whiff of something burning causes me to stop in my tracks. The now-familiar smell of a wood fire drifts through the trees. The thought of stumbling across a few Resistance fighters with a wild pig or some fowl roasting gets my stomach growling. Maybe they’ll even have a few extra homebrewed beers. I try not to get my hopes up, but I’m so hungry I can’t keep my imagination in check. I’m salivating over food I can’t begin to picture. But I start to notice something more in the air, too. Something acrid. More pungent than the simple smell of burning wood.

I cup my hands to my mouth and hoot like an owl. I wait a few second, and then hear crunching leaves at my side. Firestone’s narrow, slouching figure appears through the trees. A few seconds later, Kenzie and Jahnu materialize from my other side.

“Smell the fire up ahead?” I ask. The others nod in answer. “I say we fan out and head into the fog.”

Three heads bob at me in silent accord.

“Jahnu, lead,” Firestone whispers. Jahnu, the quietest of all of us, turns at once and heads downwind. Firestone, Kenzie, and I follow at a distance.

The burning scent turns from appetizing to horrifying. The closer we get, the more obvious it becomes; it’s not just fog that is spreading like a massive plume through the woods. It’s smoke, too, and it thickens as we walk, the air warming with each step. As we get closer, I blink to keep the sting at bay. Kenzie glances back at me, and I know she feels it, too.

The heat.

Forest fires at this time of year? Doesn’t make sense. Everything’s dry and brittle, yes, but frozen at night. It’s too cold. It’s possible, I suppose—anything’s possible, these days.

The dark fear that’s been riding my shoulders these last few hours grips at my throat.The base is burning, it says. There’s nothing left there. Get out now, while you can. But we have to find out. We can’t turn back.

I release the safety on my Bolt, and, following Jahnu’s lead, crouch and run as quietly as possible up over a rise toward what looks to be the source of the smoke. The heat from the fire is intense enough that I start to sweat. Jahnu stops at the edge of the tree line. We're at the top of the small hill looking down on a large clearing. Crouching beneath a bush, he beckons us ahead, and we join him. The clearing, probably a hundred meters long, contains the crumbled, blackened, still-smoking ruins of a building, and the charred remains of trees, bushes, and anything that once lived here. Radiant heat washes over my skin. What a blaze, I think, suddenly reminded of the funeral pyres people built during the Famine Years for the dead. This was the outpost. Was. Here and there, the remains of the building still smolder, orange and white coals glowing in the twilight. It must have been destroyed within the last few hours.

“Fuck,” Firestone swears under his breath.

“What happened here?” Jahnu whispers. None of us has an answer. I squint into the surrounding forest and up at the evening sky—was this the work of drones?—and wish once again I had my contacts.

Then, a shout from across the clearing.

“Nothing my way, Captain. The others are dead or long gone,” a man calls. We each drop to the ground instinctively. The fading light of day has taken on the sheen of cut steel in the smoke and blue twilight. Through the shroud of ash and haze, I can see silhouettes move on the other side of the clearing.

“We’ve still got the woman,” a female voice calls back.

“They got a prisoner,” Firestone mouths.

The man laughs. “And she’s not going anywhere fast.”

“We’re outnumbered,” I whisper. “If these soldiers were here to take out the base, there are probably two squads, minimum. Twenty soldiers. Against four?”

“That’ll make the general’s day,” the man replies.

The general? I shudder at memories of General Aulion, the former mentor whose stoic cruelty left more of a mark on me than any words of advice ever could have.

Firestone glares at me. I can see the anger in his eyes, the defiance. He’s not leaving without a fight.

I shake my head.

“They got a prisoner,” he repeats, more slowly, as if I hadn’t quite understood him the first time. He doesn’t have to say the second part, the threat, the doubt. Are you with us or not, Vale? I hold his eyes for a moment longer, willing him to back down. He doesn’t.

“Fine,” I hiss, between gritted teeth. “But this is pure idiocy. If their airship isn’t already here, it’ll be back any minute. If we’re going to mount a rescue, we need to move now.”

Firestone finally drops his eyes from mine. He turns to Jahnu.

“You’re on point. Vale, Kenzie, shadow him. I’ll rearguard. Leave the packs. We’ll get ’em later.” I see the dull sheen of metal as the three of them ready their weapons. “We’ve got the element of surprise. Take ’em out quietly. Bolts set to mid-range. We want to incapacitate them for a good long while, get the prisoner, and get out. We only shoot to kill if we’ve no other choice.” Kenzie and Jahnu nod. I bite my tongue. The question of how far we’ll get with a wounded prisoner and a squad of armed soldiers on our tail will have to wait.

The dull thud of anger marches into my chest. It’s entirely possible we’re walking into death. My hands shake slightly, cradling my weapon. I beat back the black crawling at my vision and steady my trembling muscles. Now is not the time to let the rage consume you.

We stash our packs about twenty meters back, and follow Jahnu once again towards the clearing. I’m thankful Firestone’s trailing us at a distance. Leaves crackle like kindling under his feet. I lower the power grade on my Bolt and pull it up, ready to fire. I hope none of the soldiers recognize me.

Valerian Orleán. The son of the Chancellor of the Okarian Sector and the Director of the O.A.C. The two most powerful people in the Sector. Now a renegade, a traitor, and a conspirator with a terrorist organization that opposes everything we stand for.

Everything I once stood for.

They’ll have no qualms about killing every one of us. That, we learned for certain at Thermopylae, when the skies lit up with electric death. When Remy’s mother was killed by fire from above. When my own mother, Corine Orleán, made it clear she had no intention of showing anything resembling mercy.

I hear more voices through the trees, more casual, incoherent at a distance, as we stalk along the edge of the clearing. In the smoke, we’re at a distinct disadvantage. Soon they’ll detect our heat signatures with their mission contacts, but it’s nearly impossible for us to see them. If it comes to a direct fight, we’ll be fighting blind.

The thought of waking up back in Okaria, a prisoner, face-to-face with my parents—or worse, General Aulion—sends a chill through my bones.

Jahnu stops moving. Kenzie and I follow suit. There are voices ahead, close. Jahnu waves us forward a few steps and I see them: a group of three soldiers directly in front of us, perhaps fifteen meters away. They’re facing the hollowed remnants of the building, watching it burn low. They are silhouettes, vague forms outlined against the dim glowing embers in front of them, unaware of the approaching threat.

I’ve got a clear and easy shot. I glance at Jahnu and Kenzie, who are both watching me. If we do this perfectly, all three soldiers will drop at the same time. Jahnu looks at me and nods, and then looks back to Kenzie. I can’t see Firestone, but I know he’s watching our backs.

Before I can fire, I hear a yell and one of the soldiers on the edge of the clearing drops. In surprise, I glance over at Kenzie and Jahnu, but it’s clear from the confusion on their faces and the glowing capacitors on their Bolts that neither of them fired the shot.

“Man down! Man down!” comes an urgent shout.

“Holy—is that an arrow?” someone else exclaims.

Shouts of confusion ring out, but any further orders or information must be on their intercom systems, as I can’t make out anything more specific. We watch, shocked, as at least three-quarters of the soldiers in the clearing run off to the northwest, disappearing quickly into the fog, smoke, and shadow of the trees.

“What just happened?” Kenzie whispers.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Firestone mutters. “Let’s take out these last guards and retrieve our prisoner.”

Two guards left behind, their backs at an angle to us, watch as their comrades hunt their mysterious assailants. We creep forward, staying as quiet and low as possible. Jahnu raises his weapon again and, likewise, I take aim at the figure on the left. I breathe to steady myself. I sense rather than see Jahnu prepare to fire. I don’t hesitate. I squeeze the trigger and watch as the two figures fall to the ground, silenced.

“Hey!” someone shouts. I search for the source of the voice—a soldier or a medic, now standing over the soldier with the arrow through his chest. She’s got her gun pointed in our direction, and I duck instinctively. A flash of blue light blows over my head, but a muffled cry of pain from behind me tells me her shot connected with someone.

My training kicks in.

Pivot. Aim. Fire. Cover.

She falls, twitching, into a heap. Unconscious.

“What the—?” Another soldier runs along the edge of the clearing, glancing at his fallen comrade and then staring right at us, trying to triangulate our position. He drops and rolls for cover. I wait. Seconds tick by. Then his head followed by his weapon appears from behind a bush. Pivot. Aim. Fire. Cover. He drops and goes silent.

“Wow,” Kenzie breathes.

“That’s what real military training will do for you,” Firestone growls from behind us. “Which is exactly why we need to get our woman and get out. Let’s move.”

“Firestone!” Jahnu whispers. “Your shoulder….”

I turn, squinting through the dim light. Even in the dusky twilight, I can make out the wafting of burning skin smell and the telltale scent of ozone and electrical burn telling me Firestone caught the brunt of the Bolt that flew over my head.

“Fuckers shot me,” he swears through gritted teeth, as if just now realizing this. I help him sit up and assess the damage.

“Could be worse. Third degree burns, but they just grazed your shoulder. The affected area's not large.”

“Large enough to piss me off. Give me my gun.” Firestone gestures with his good arm, maybe in an attempt to prove he’s not hurt.

“You sure?”

“Give me my damn gun.”

I hand him his weapon, and he cradles it in his good arm. He sucks in a stricken breath as he pushes himself to his feet. He steadies himself and holds the gun up, wincing, his narrow black eyes scrunching up in pain. In the smoke and fading light, he looks downright feral.

“Good thing they shot me in the wrong arm,” he says.

“You’re nuts,” I respond. “Let’s get the prisoner.”

Jahnu stays behind with Firestone while Kenzie and I creep into the clearing.

My gun is up, Kenzie at my side. Smoke floats around us. My eyes cloud and water, and I blink and try not to cough. I duck low, both for cover and to stay out of the smoke. I come to the woman’s motionless figure and find her eyes open, staring at me. Kenzie immediately drops to the ground and pushes her hair back, examining her, looking for a wound, an injury, anything she can splint or bind or stitch. The girl’s strawberry blond hair is matted and bloody, caked to the side of her head, and her body is covered in dirt, cuts, and bruises. Her pupils are so dilated, her eyes look otherworldly.

“Can you hear me?” I ask.

She nods and starts to speak, but coughs instead. Her eyes widen slightly, and I sense she’s recognized me. “You! You’re—”

“I’m here to help you,” I start to put my hands under her back and legs, to pick her up, but she thrashes out at me, glancing at Kenzie as if afraid. She’s so weak her movements don’t do much more than startle me, but I don’t want to carry her if she’s going to fight me every step of the way.

“Listen,” Kenzie says fiercely, “he’s not with the Sector soldiers. We’re part of Thermopylae Team Red of the Resistance. We’re going to get you out of here.”

She shakes her head fiercely. “Too late,” she chokes. Spittle flecked with blood wets her lips. I jerk my head up and around, looking for soldiers. Has she seen something I haven’t? But she reaches up and grabs my jacket collar, pulling me back to her. “Doll’s eyes,” she rasps.

I swear under my breath and glance over at Kenzie, who’s staring at the young woman in front of us, aghast. So that’s why her pupils are so big.

“How long ago?” I demand. Doll’s eyes are poisonous. They kill by attacking and rapidly shutting down the body’s organs. Depending on how many berries she ate, she’ll have between fifteen and forty-five minutes before her heart stops beating. Kenzie’s got a few antidotes in her medical kit, but I doubt she has anything for that kind of poison, and the expression on her face confirms my suspicion. The plant is pervasive around the Sector, but the berries are distinctive enough that everyone knows to avoid them.

The woman shakes her head. “Long enough.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t want—” she rasps, shuddering, her words slurring. “Didn’t want to see—the Dragon—”

Evander Sun-Zi? The director of the Farms? I never had much to do with Farm Operations, so I never worked with Evander, but he was close with both of my parents. He was a closed, impassive man, with a reputation for ruthlessness, but he was never as frightening to me as Aulion.

“Why?” I ask again, confused. I stare at her, trying to understand, as her eyes lose focus and her breathing grows shallow. “What about him?”

She closes her eyes for a moment as if gathering strength, and then looks up, and this time there’s more power in her voice.

“Before the Resistance, I worked the Farms, a Dietician. Got pregnant by one of the workers. A good man.” Her eyes focus on me, intense. “Evander transferred him and took my son,” she says. “My son. Samuel. He took my boy and he gave me this.”

Her head rolls to the side, and she releases my collar from her grip to gesture weakly at her neck. I follow her hand to the side of her neck, where I can see thin lines of white, scarred flesh. It looks like a brand. I lean over her to look at the pattern more closely and realize it’s the stylized image of a dragon.

Evander Sun-Zi. The Dragon.

“I will not give him the pleasure,” she says, her voice barely more than a breath. Her eyes are rimmed with red, but clear as she stares blankly up at me. Her hand goes limp and falls against her shoulder. I press my fingers against her neck, checking her pulse. It’s there, but barely. She hasn’t got long. I glance around. I don’t have much time left before the soldiers come back, unless Jahnu has somehow taken them all out. But it’s better not to count on that.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Lila.”

“Which Farm?

“Doesn’t matter now,” she whispers.

“We could try to find them. Tell them.”

“Too dangerous. Best to let them be....”

“Lila,” Kenzie says, “we have to go.”

She nods weakly.

I take her hand and squeeze against her slack fingers. But her eyes are already closed. I stand, reluctant to leave her to die here, alone. But she’s made her choice, there’s nothing more we can do.

Kenzie turns to run back to the trees, and I follow, listening for sounds of conflict in the distance. Who shot that soldier? Who put an arrow through the heart of a highly trained Sector soldier and then disappeared?

An arm shoots out from behind a tree to grab mine, and my heart skyrockets. I whirl and pull my Bolt up, squeezing the trigger to fire—and then I see Firestone’s matted curls, his narrow eyes.

“What happened? Why didn’t you bring her back?”

“She ate doll’s eyes. She’ll be dead in minutes.” I cast my eyes back towards the clearing, now invisible through the smoke and trees. “Her name was Lila.”

“We need to move,” Kenzie says. “We have no idea how long the soldiers will be distracted.”

“Don’t want to join the growing body count,” Firestone says, with rare urgency in his drawl. “We head to Normandy. Put as much distance between them and us as possible.”

Firestone leads us at a jog through the woods, though his steps are clearly laden with pain. We reclaim our packs and set off at a run, our feet heavy and tired in the dead leaves, no doubt leaving a trail bold enough for a child to follow.

“Who shot that arrow?” Jahnu asks, wondering aloud as we jog.

“Maybe it’s better we don’t know,” Kenzie says.

“You don’t think it was someone from the Resistance?” I ask.

Kenzie shoots me a withering look. “You think we use bows, Vale? Technology from before the Great Wars? Our weapons may not be Sector-issue, but they’re functional.”

“We use bows to hunt,” Jahnu interjects, ever the peacekeeper, “but they’re bulky, and we’ve never trained with them for combat.”

“Outsiders, I’d say,” Firestone pants, his voice thick. “Only folk I know who can shoot an arrow like that.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Met a few of ’em when I was living in the woods,” he says. “Caught me some game a few times when I was damn near starvation.”

After another twenty minutes of jogging, we slow to a walk. Firestone asks Jahnu to lead through the dark undergrowth. We set our biolights as the twilight fades to black and the dull green shadows guide us through the woods.

“Did you know anyone at Waterloo?” I ask finally.

“No,” Kenzie responds. “I know a few people stationed at Teutoburg and Alamo, but that’s it.”

“You don’t know anyone else?” I ask, surprised.

“Of course not,” she responds curtly. “The fewer people we all know, the fewer we can betray if any of us gets caught.”

The fewer we can betray. Of course they would operate in secrecy, protecting their members from each other, protecting the group from the individual.

I focus on running despite my worn and tired limbs. It’s better than remembering how I tried to get Remy and Soren to betray their friends and families, everything they fought for, in the cell where I kept them as prisoners. It’s better than remembering Lila and her dragon-shaped scar, her son taken from her. It’s better than remembering my mother, calling on Chan-Yu to kill Remy, a teenager, a former friend, her son’s first love.

With strength born from the injustice of everything the Sector has done, I pick up my running pace, following Firestone. I drown my exhaustion in anger. One foot in front of the other, I run through the sweat and smoke and blood.