39

The throng of Tremblers swarmed the dome, the sheer mass of hundreds of bodies against the electrified grid filled the air with the scent of burning flesh. Union soldiers lined up just inside, firing tracer weapons, amassing their depleted numbers to fight the onslaught. They shouted, confusion and fear reigning.

The woman’s submersibles skidded onto the beach, dragging forward on mechanical arms as the spinning guns hurled hundreds of rounds a minute at the dome. The bullets hit Tremblers and soldiers alike. The sides of the crafts opened up and dozens of armored Trembler Knights spilled from the bowels. Once empty, the hatches closed and the metal vessels rose on the clawed feet at their bellies, stomping across the sands for the dome, firing as they closed in.

The mechanica at my temples flared, the tone dropping into my consciousness. Harnessing the pulse, I reached out, directing the movements of the men. We climbed the writhing bodies. The other Tremblers invaded my mind, flashes of gnashing teeth, of forlorn dread filled my thoughts, and I pushed back, riling the entire horde on the sands to greater heights of frenzy.

They broke through the failing structure, piling on top of one another, trampling over broken arms and bloodied skin and moved as one undulating horde toward the center of the city. The vapors off the shore spilled in, choking the line of Union defense. They retreated, and I surged forward with the Tremblers swarming in behind me.

We ran down the street, my gaze scanning the terrain. Unarmed citizens scrambled ahead of our charge. I swiped at a slow runner with my baton, sending him crashing to the side. Horses reared and their noise frenzied the Tremblers. They fell on anything that moved, taking down people and toppling vehicles. The numbers flooded stores, and their shrieking filled the streets.

Down the road, the Franco Tower stood amid a sea of carriages used to ferry the governors. Tall and fortified with metal gates, the building was lined with a string of Union Soldiers. They jostled, some gazing in my direction, their bodies tense, ready to run. I closed the distance.

Behind us, the grinding metal legs of the walkers sounded. The crafts swiveled, firing a wave of bullets up at the tower windows. The soldiers gaped and then broke formation, lashing purple tracer bursts as they ran. Glass and debris rained down as I crossed the line and dove into the building.

The plans flashed in my mind. Corridors and flights of stairs. I directed our approach, summoning more and more Tremblers from the wandering horde. They spilled into the tower, spreading out, forcing back anyone who had not cleared out. My knights shook as they followed, their gnashing bites echoing in the stairwells.

Two men ran in from the side of the lobby.

One shouted at us, his tone unafraid.

I turned, registering their weapons.

“Charlie,” he yelled.

Dark haired and tall, something in the way he wielded the sword in his hands gave me pause. An image flashed in my mind. He was close, reaching for me, his gaze piercing me. I shook my head, and the surge of anguish from the Tremblers outside coursed into me once more. I modulated the tone at my temples and motioned toward the men. Four of my knights peeled off and ran toward them.

“Stop, Charlie,” the man shouted through the haze in my head. “It’s Ashton.”

I took another glance in his direction and then turned, climbing the steps toward the summit. We took the stairs and then the hallway. The double doors of the meeting hall were at the end of the corridor. I ran and crashed through the door with my boots.

The men huddled underneath bullet-riddled windows screamed at the sight of me. My knights filed in, shaking and growling. The governors stared, mouths open, the blood draining from their faces. The baton in my hand flared with crackling energy, its silvery light reflecting in their eyes.

Gunfire banged down the hallway and I turned, directing my knights to form a barricade.

They moved as a unit, crowding the entrance with their bodies.

A door off to the side of the room burst open, the dark-haired man ran through. He held his sword in attack position, arm shield unfolding, gaze steady as he approached. “Do not make me do this, Charlie,” he breathed, stepping between me and my directive.

I tilted my head, my lens taking in his stature, the lines of his face, the set of his jaw. Something pulled at my inner thoughts, something painful, but was gone in a moment. I gripped my baton, sending energy down the shaft, flaring the room with light. I raised my weapon and sprang.