The Earth Dwellers (37 page)

“I will,” I promise to myself and her.

I lean down and Elsey practically leaps on me, clutching me fiercely. For once her passion seems to fit the gravity of the situation. “Don’t laugh too much at Roc’s jokes,” I advise. “He might start to think they’re funny.”

“They
are
funny,” Elsey insists.

I release her and look at Roc. “Congratulations. You’ve brainwashed her.”

“All part of my evil plan to take over the world. As soon as Lecter’s out of the way, I shall rise!” He pumps a fist in the air and shakes it.

“God help us all,” General Rose says, taking her turn to hug Elsey. “Be safe, sweetheart. Listen to Roc and Tawni.”

“Yes,” Roc says.

“Or maybe just Tawni,” Anna amends.

Roc groans and I say, “Good call.”

“I’ll pray for you every minute until you return,” Elsey says. I know she’s not lying.

Side by side, General Rose and I step out into the fullness of the light.

Outside, there are a few hundred soldiers, some lounging in the sand, or gazing at the big red sky, or touching the rough skin of the pricklers growing all around us. Exploring the new world that might be the last thing they see.

When we emerge, they cluster together in front of us. Ours is the smallest squad of all those gathering on the earth’s surface, and in the vastness of the desert they look pitifully small, and yet determined.

Should I address them or should Anna? She touches me lightly on the shoulder. I take a deep breath.

“Without fighting today, the Tri-Realms could continue to exist, and our friends and families could continue to live underground, in the dark. But we’d have no choice. Today we fight for a choice. The choice to come aboveground, to see what you’ve seen today, to live wherever we choose.” I pause, scanning the brave men and women who were selected by their leaders to represent the Capitol. Stalwart expressions, nodding heads, steely eyes. Soldiers from all three Realms, brought together for the first time to fight a common enemy.

“But that’s not all we fight for,” I continue. “We fight for the rights of strangers, people we don’t know, people whose peaceful way of life is threatened by a tyrant who seeks to exterminate them like vermin. Already he’s massacred an entire tribe. He must be stopped. It is our duty to stop him. Will you fight?”

A few heads nod, then someone claps and someone else shouts, “Yeah!” More clapping, more shouting. Soldiers doing what they do: whipping themselves into a frenzy.

I point out the direction for General Rose and she begins the march.

The time for speaking is gone. Actions will speak far louder.

Adele

According to Jocelyn, we may only have one chance to make this work. Clambering through the window the same way I came in the previous night is an option, but not a good one. After what I did, there will be many more guards on the prowl. They’ll shoot us on sight.

The better choice is to walk out the door like normal people. Well, not exactly like normal people.

While I stand in the corner, she pounds on the door, gripping the breakfast cart with white-knuckled fingers.

My gun’s in my hand, but my finger’s not on the trigger as I don’t plan on shooting anyone. Not yet anyway.

The lock clicks. The door arcs open, right toward me.

“What do you want?” a voice growls from outside.

“I finished breakfast,” Tristan’s mother says.

“Congratulations. If it wasn’t for the president’s strange obsession with you, I’d shoot you for making me come all the way down the hall just for you to tell me that.” The door starts to close.

“Aren’t you going to take the cart?” Jocelyn asks. She’s doing a fair job of acting. If that door closes, we may not get another chance for hours, when someone comes to take the cart.

The shiny black barrel of a rifle pokes through the doorway. Aimed right at Jocelyn’s head. She backs away, her hands over her head. I don’t think she’s acting now. “Do I look like kitchen staff?” the man says.

My muscles tense. Just a little bit further…

Jocelyn retreats another two steps, until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she sits down. “I’m just lonely,” she says. “Borg’s always busy.”

“He’s kind of in the middle of a war, stupid woman,” the man says, his gun creeping half a foot inside. I can see his hand now.

Take one more step, you bastard…

He does, his foot moving forward, his head coming into view.

My hand lashes out like a whip, clubbing the hard steel of my pistol on the crown of his skull with a vicious
CRACK!
that makes me cringe even as I’m following through and watching him slump to the floor.

Jocelyn’s eyes are wide as she stands. Things got very real all of a sudden. “Help me,” I say, adrenaline shooting through my veins.

Together, we drag the guard away from the door and shove him under the bed. He’s bleeding heavily, but we manage to wipe up the spatter with a pillow case, which we kick out of sight. With any luck, it’ll be hours before he awakes and someone finds him. Either Lecter or we—or maybe all of us—will be dead long before that.

I hold a hand out to keep Jocelyn behind me as I peek out into the hallway. Clean tiled floor, bare, white-painted walls. Lecter’s the poster child for minimalist living.

Moving out into the hall, I can feel Jocelyn behind me. I glance left and then right. Jocelyn motions left and I tiptoe forward, holding my gun in front, chest high. I’ll shoot if I have to, but it’s better if our approach is silent.

We’re halfway to the archway in front of us when an alarm shrieks. Not possible. No one’s even seen us yet. Well, no one who’s still conscious and able to press an alarm button. I whirl around, surprised to find Jocelyn smiling. “It’s our lucky day,” she says. “That’s a citywide alarm. The New City is under attack.”

Siena

The wooloo non-human screaming continues even as we stare at the dome, frozen. Is a new Glassy weapon ’bout to be unleashed on us?

Red lights flash through the glass, almost like torches but without the orange and yellow parts.

One of the Riders thunders back toward us. The huge man—their leader. “What is that?” Gard asks.

“A warning,” Wilde says.

“A warning to who?” I ask.

“Us. Or the Glassy people.” Wilde shrugs.

“We can’t stop now, can we?” I ask.

Wilde looks at Skye. Skye looks at me. “We ain’t stoppin’ for nothin’,” Skye says.

Gard smiles wickedly and wheels his horse ’round, charges back toward his warriors.

Wilde faces the thousands behind us. “Today we fight!” she yells and a roar starts up, rolling ’cross my people like a storm country thunderstorm building in the clouds.

Just as we charge toward the Glass City, we see ’em:

Dozens and dozens of fire chariots tearing ’round the curved arc of the dome, packed with mask-wearing Glassies, their fire sticks poking out every which way like prickler barbs.

Heading right at us.

With a thousand screams, we race toward ’em.

Tristan

After an hour of walking, we see them. Soldiers. Many, many soldiers.

“Subchapter two,” Anna says. “There are more than I expected.”

“No…” I say, thinking. “That’s more than one subchapter.”

She glances at me sharply. “They’ve already started combining?”

I nod. “That’s got to be at least four groups.” A thousand soldiers. Suddenly our small band doesn’t seem so inadequate.

A cheer rises up from the soldiers in front of us. We yell right back, me included, energy pouring through my bones.

I jog ahead with Anna, meeting the leaders of the other groups in the middle. Two men, two women. “Subchapters two through five,” one of the women says. Her blond hair is cut short and dyed with strips of blue. A sun dweller, no doubt.

“Good,” I say. “Any sign of the Glas—I mean, the earth dwellers?”

“Not yet,” she says. “Based on the maps, we should only be an hour out.”

“Then let’s move,” Anna says. If possible, her expression is even fierier than usual, perhaps a trick of the red sun cooking us from above.

As we march onward through the desert, we run into more groups from more subchapters, until our numbers climb above five thousand. The rest will meet us from the south.

Sweat-soaked and dry-lipped, we finally see it. The Dome. The New City. A fortress of shiny glass, so out of place amongst the yellow-white sand and brown rocks of the desert that it should be a mirage.

With renewed vigor, we march on.

Adele

There are shouts ahead of us, but they’re moving away, declining in volume with each step we take.

“Will Lecter leave?” I ask.

Jocelyn shakes her head. “Not a chance. He’ll let his army do the dirty work while he hides here. In the end, all he cares about is preserving his own life.”

“Where will he be?”

“He doesn’t let me out that often, but when he does he always takes me to his command room, where he can control the entire city.” She motions down the hallway. “Straight ahead, down the stairs, and around the curving atrium wall. It’s the room with the huge wooden doors. There will be guards.”

I nod. “Stay close behind me,” I say, turning away.

On a whim, I start to run, the blaring alarms masking my footsteps. I can’t even hear Jocelyn behind me, but I know she’s there. Where else would she go?

At the end of the hall, there’s a staircase, just as she said. I pause for a quick second to listen. I can’t hear anything except the continued shriek of the headache-inducing alarm.

Taking the steps two at a time, I reach the bottom in five seconds flat. A path curves away from me, glass on one side and a white wall on the other. Outside the glass there are a half-dozen guards running away from the building. Are they going to fight whoever is threatening the city? It has to be Tristan. Tristan and the Tri-Tribes. Can’t think about that now. Tristan’s giving me a chance and I have to take it. No, more than that. I have to grab it and squeeze it until it pops. Until it dies. It being Lecter.

Head facing forward, watching for any signs of movement, I sprint along the wall, gun trained on the space coming into view in front of me.

Crap! I slam on the brakes a split-second too late. The big wooden door rises up, flanked by two guards, one of whom has already seen me and is raising his gun, shouting, shooting…

I fall back, hoping gravity will be quick enough to save me.

A bullet whines over my head, shattering the window-wall behind me, sprinkling my face with shards of glass that prick and sting.

Rolling, rolling, rolling, I scramble out of sight, hugging the wall. I prop my gun hand on my elbow.

A guard runs around the bend, perhaps thinking I’ve run off, perhaps trying to be a hero, perhaps just scared and making a stupid decision. Right into my crosshairs.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! I pull the trigger three quick times in succession. The first shot hits him in the midsection, and each successive blast climbs higher up his body as the gun bucks in my hand. The final shot smashes into his chest and throws him back, his automatic weapon spraying bullets into the ceiling, raining plaster onto my head.

I hold my breath, waiting patiently, hoping Jocelyn’s found somewhere to hide out of sight. Two guards. That’s what Jocelyn said and that’s what I saw. But what if there are more? I’ll be screwed.

A gun pokes around the bend. Cautious. Careful. This guard saw what happened to his buddy and he doesn’t want to meet the same fate. I aim at his hand, but there’s no chance I’ll hit him and I can’t waste the bullets as I’ve used too many on the first guard already. Patience is the key.

His head snaps out and then back. He saw me. Knows exactly where I am and that I’m a sitting duck on the floor. No time to lose.

I scramble backward just as he flings himself into the open, fire spewing from the muzzle of his gun. Bullets chew up chunks of the floor I was occupying a second earlier.

BOOM! I shoot, miss, devastating the pane of glass to his right.

He shoots again, takes out more of the floor. Another blast and I feel a sharp pinch in my shoulder. I cry out, drop my gun, clutch at my injured arm, burning with pain.

No. It’s over. No.

Wait.

“Jocelyn!” I cry out, rolling back, my eyes wildly trying to find her. She has to take my gun, has to shoot the guard, has to help me like she said she would.

But no.

She’s gone.

Jocelyn is gone.

Siena

My pointer joins a flock of other pointers, swarming through the air, some clanking off the sides of the fire chariots and others hitting the Glassies riding ’em, sending the baggards flying off into the durt.