The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) (19 page)

twenty-five

I look up to see Slade’s face, a look of surprised confusion carved into it. And a smoking hole in her forehead. She releases her grip and slumps over, her body collapsing on top of me.

I shove Slade’s corpse off me and spring to my feet. Valerian stands stone-faced, aiming the gun at me. I look at the body at my feet and back to her. “
What the hell?
”

Instead of firing, she tosses the gun to me. In spite of my surprise, my reflexes kick in and I catch it.

She sighs. “Try not to botch this mission too, Spark.”

“What?”

But she’s already moving, snatching up a familiar looking rucksack from the corner of the room.

The one containing the weapons I stole.

And the detonator.

She lobs it to me. I catch it and look inside. Everything’s still intact. But there’s a notable addition: a charred silver disc. It’s the remaining concussion charge from my attack on the Emporiums. The one Slade was going to have analyzed by forensics, which would have exposed me. Valerian covered for me …

“I saved these for you, too.” She pulls out Digory and my ID tags from her pocket, as well as the holo recording of Digory’s transmission to Cassius. “I’ve recovered the corrupt data on the disc. You may want to take a look.

Now I’m really pissed off. “I told you to trash those. Why the hell would I want—”

“Shut up and
listen
for once, Spark. When you get out of this, you’ll thank me.”

Reluctantly, I shove the items into the rucksack with the weapons.

The clatter of boots comes to a halt just outside the door. Someone tries the lock but the door remains closed. Fists hammer against it.

“Sergeant Slade! Captain Valerian! What’s your status?” someone shouts on the other side.

I cross the room to Valerian. “What’s going on here? Why did you—”

She shakes her head. “There’s no time.
Hit me
.”

“
What?
”

“I need you to hit me.
Hard
. And make it look convincing. Not like those childish blows you traded with Slade.”

Battering against the door, rattling it from its hinges.

Valerian grips my arm. “Do it
now
!”

I swing at her, knuckles connecting with her face, her nose.
Crunch!

Bone shatters. Blood flies. Her head whips back. She staggers against the wall. When I reach for her, she pulls back, wiping the blood, smiling. “Maybe Jeptha was right after all,” she whispers.

“Jeptha? Cage’s father?” I stare at her as I dig into the rucksack, finding the detonator. I pull it out, slip it in my pocket, and sling the bag’s strap over my shoulder.

The door bursts open.

A half dozen Imposers spill in, weapons aimed. Taking in the sight of Slade’s body, Valerian’s bloody face, and me standing there holding a gun on her.

There’s a series of clicks like the chattering of rodents as every weapon is trained on me. “Drop your weapon!” Ensign Echoes shouts.

I fling the gun to the floor.

One of the officers is communicating via his hand-held. To Styles.

“Just about ready to begin executing the prisoners,” Styles reports. I can see the flickering images of Cage, Drusilla, Tristin, Arrah, and Dahlia just beyond him.

“We’ve got Spark in custody,” Echoes responds. “Proceed with shelving immediately.”

My finger jams down on the detonator in my pocket. I can hear multiple explosions rock the complex like a massive earthquake. The room teeters, and everyone falls to the floor. The lights go out, plunging everything into total darkness.

“What the hell was that?” Echoes’s voice pierces the blackness.

The sound of grinding, screeching metal cuts him off, echoing down the hallways. It’s followed by a series of deafening clangs and a series of smaller explosions.

There’s the sound of running just outside the door as
soldiers sprint past us.

“Defenses have been breached!” someone shrieks. “The enemy’s entered the base! Prepare for ground assault!”

The enemy. I know who they mean even before that dreaded sound shatters my thoughts—

GONG!

The Fleshers have penetrated the outer wall. Infiernos is under attack.

Just like I planned.

I’m ready for the mass confusion. In no time, I’ve donned a pair of infrared goggles from the rucksack and shoved my way past the web of bodies, out the doorway, and into the corridor.

Trying to catch my breath, I careen down the corridors. All around me, the sounds of screaming and weapon fire assault my ears. Imposers run to and fro. Some even slam into me. But they don’t bother to stop, don’t seem to care about my presence at all, and that’s even more disturbing.

I see Corin, dazed in a corner, curled up in a fetal position. The Imps escorting him to Cassius must have just abandoned him here during the explosions and ensuing panic. He jumps when I touch him.

“It’s okay, kid. We gotta move.” Then I’m pulling him to his feet and we’re both running.

Rounding another corner, we spy a cluster of Imposers, their backs to us, firing weapons at something just around the bend that we can’t see.

But we can hear it.

Clacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclack …

Whir …

The chilling sounds of the unseen Fleshers crawl up my spine. Obscene shadows scrawl the walls as something approaches the huddled squad.

We’re on our own now.

We take off in the opposite direction. My mind is dizzy with disorientation. In the vent shafts I knew exactly where I was going. But the sights and sounds of the unseen invaders are wreaking havoc on my senses.

More explosions rip through the stairwell above. Shards of metal and concrete rain down on us. We burst through the doors of the lower level, narrowly avoiding being skewered.

Through the greenish haze, I can make out the entrance to the crematorium. Part of the wall is caved in. I brandish my weapon and we tear up the distance to the entrance.

Arrah, Drusilla, and Dahlia are struggling against the group of Imps who brought them down here. Corin bursts from my side and jumps into action, flinging rocks and kicking out at those around him. The smothering dark has robbed anyone of an advantage. As I glance off to the side, my elation turns to concern. Cage is lying in the rubble, obviously in pain. Part of him is trapped under a mound of debris. Tristin is hunched down beside him.

Aiming my weapon, I take out the Imposers trading blows with Arrah, Dru, and Dahlia.

“Lucian?” Arrah shouts. A grin rips across her face. “That
you
?”

“Who else?” Then I’m dashing over. “Take these!” Reaching into the rucksack, I scoop out more goggles and weapons, thrusting them into each of their hands, even Corin’s.

For the next few seconds, everyone’s busy strapping on belts with guns and grenades.

“We thought you were d—” Drusilla stops midsentence, snapping a fresh clip into her gun instead.

I reload my own weapon. “Yeah. Thought you were, too.”

Dahlia’s eyes flit to Cage and Tristin. “Can you move?”

Tristin shakes her head. “His hand’s trapped.”

I squat beside them. Cage looks like he’s fighting the pain. The lower half of his arm is buried in the rubble almost up to the elbow. I reach for the surrounding debris, straining as I try to dislodge it, but I only succeed in making Cage inhale sharply and wince.

“Sorry,” I say.

He tries to smile but it’s a real effort. “S’okay. I’ve still got another one.”

GONG!

Clacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclacketyclackety!

The horrid sounds are approaching our position.

Fast.

Tristin hugs Corin close. “What
are
those things?”

“Right now, they’re our chance to get out of here,” I whisper. The others are crowded around us, trying to lift the rubble trapping Cage’s arm, but it won’t budge.

And the Fleshers are getting closer.

Cage’s free hand locks around my wrist and he pulls me close. “Spark. There’s no time left. This is the chance we’ve been fighting for. Take my sister and get the hell out of here.
Now!
”

Tristin claws her way between us. “We’re
not
leaving you behind. We would
never
do that!” Her shaded eyes search the group, and I try to avoid doing the same so I won’t see their expressions.

And so Tristin won’t see my own.

She clutches my arm. “Don’t you have anything that can blast through this rubble?”

Instead of answering her, I rifle through the duffle bag, searching for something—a low-impact charge to blast the rubble, some sort of chisel—
anything
.

But there’s nothing. Except for …

My slick fingers brush against the cold metal of the blow torch.

A low hum fills the cramped space. The tip of the torch glows, bathing our exposed skin in purplish orange. It’ll cut and cauterize simultaneously. Destruction and healing all in one slice.

Cage’s firm hand locks around my forearm. He nods. “
Do it
, Lucian.”

Dahlia rips off one of the rucksack’s leather straps and places it next to Cage’s lips. “Bite down on this.”

He does.

I plunge the laser tip down onto Cage’s wrist. His body convulses. An agonized moan squeezes past the leather in his teeth. He whips his head back and forth. Arrah and Drusilla struggle to keep him steady. The last of the bone gives way and I nearly stumble backwards.

I barely catch a glimpse of the still-smoking stump of
Cage’s arm before Tristin is wrapping a piece of torn fabric
around it.

BLAM!
Something crashes through the wall behind us.

“We gotta move!” Arrah shouts.

Without sacrificing a precious moment to look back, I
help her haul the pale and shivering Cage to his feet.

The next few seconds are a blur of strobing lights and discordant sounds. We run, climbing up a mound of rubble to the torn entrance of a vent shaft.

“Arrah!” I shout. “You take point. I’ll take backup and
keep you covered!”

Arrah squirms through the opening, helping hoist Corin
behind her. Tristin climbs through next, turning to help
Drusilla wedge Cage through. Clutching his wounded arm to his chest, he grunts as he squeezes his bulk into the narrow passage and disappears with them inside it, leaving just Dahlia and me.

“After you!” Before she can protest, I push her through the opening.

Slinging my weapon over my shoulder, I grip the edges of the shaft to heave myself inside—

Something clamps my shoulder.

My blood clots. Then my body’s spun around and a massive weight settles on top of me, knocking my breath out. A shadow looms above, eyeing me with burning hatred.

Styles.

He shoves the cold barrel of his weapon against my temple, his face trembling with rage and fear. Streaks of blood line his features and stain his torn uniform.

“You killed Renquist,” he croaks. “And you’re responsible for everything that’s happened here.” His eyes leave me and dart around the room. He cocks the gun; the click
rips through my ears.

CLACKETYCLACKETYCLACKETYCLACKETYCLACKETYCLACKETY!

Darkness smothers us. Styles whips his head around to look. And in that instant, I jam my knee into his groin as hard as I can.

He recoils. Seizing the advantage, I tear the gun from his hand. My fist right-hooks into his jaw, and I feel it crunch beneath my knuckles. Then I’m rolling out from underneath him and crawling into the vent. Unslinging my gun, I aim it toward the shaft entrance in case he decides to follow.

My breath catches.

I see metallic tentacles ensnare Styles, lifting him off the ground. His eyes saucer as they take in a nightmare beyond my field of vision. He looks up at me, fear flooding his eyes. “Spark! Please … help … me!”

His screams almost drown out the mechanical sounds …
that terrible slurping and squishing …

No one deserves that. Not even Styles.

Aiming the gun at him, I let loose several rounds into his chest until all that’s left is the ghost of his last horrific scream, echoing behind me as I scramble down the shaft to catch up with the others.

Breathless, I nearly collide into Dahlia, who’s waiting just around a bend in the duct.

“Spark! I was just about to go back for—”

“Keep moving! They’re right behind me!”

My words are like vocal adrenaline. Everyone picks up speed as we scurry through the tunnels. In the flashes of
weapon blasts that penetrate the slats in the grates we rush by, I glimpse Imposers scuttling every which way, all semblance of order gone as they retreat from the Flesher forces. Human screams mingle with that horrific biomechanical cacophony in a symphony of fear and destruction. Blast after blast rock the complex, vibrating through the shafts, rocking them so thoroughly I’m convinced the entire tunnel will collapse, trapping us under layers of twisted metal.

C’mon. C’mon. Not much farther.

“I can see the grate to the transport platform up ahead!” Arrah’s shout echoes over the din. “We’re almost home free!”

If there are still any ships left …

“Arrah, wait!” I shout.

Everyone halts in front of the grate. Behind us is a loud thumping, followed by screeching and grinding.

They’re coming.

I let loose a volley of gunfire into the darkness. We can’t stop them, but maybe that’ll slow them down. Then I squeeze past the others until I’m pressed against the grate beside Arrah.

“No activity,” she whispers.