The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) (27 page)

thirty-six

The Four lead me through a maze of tunnels that spill out into a smaller hangar bay. I can hear the low thrum of engines even before I spot the sleek lines of the Vulture-class ship prepping for takeoff. The craft is positioned on a circular hydraulic platform that will lift it up a seemingly endless shaft to the surface.

Cassius has his back to me as he gestures to two of the Sanctum escorts, who are busy loading Digory’s encapsulated body into the compartment in the ship’s underbelly, next to Talon’s medpod. I duck behind a terminal as Cassius strides up the boarding ramp, which begins to lift as soon as he disappears inside.

Taking a deep breath, I give the Four a final nod and dart for the ship. I leap and roll into the cargo hold, hoping the sound of the engines have drowned out the sounds of my body bumping the ship.

My muscles tense for a fight as I expect guards to appear in the opening of the hatch any second. But the last sliver of light coming in from the bay disappears with a loud clank as the hatch finally seals. The whine of the engines gets louder. The Vulture is vibrating almost as fast as my heart is.

Then we’re moving, and I can feel the pressure as the hydraulic platform shoots up the shaft to the surface. I take a deep breath as the Vulture lifts off from the ruined city and zooms away at full throttle, leaving Sanctum far behind us.

The cargo hold is small and rectangular. There won’t be enough room to hide once we land and the hatch is opened. But if I remember the layout of this type of ship correctly, there’s a small hatch in the corner of the ceiling that leads to the back of the passenger cabin. Bracing against the turbulence, I reach up and test it. It gives with a loud squeak and I cringe, easing it closed again.

I slide down to the floor of the hold, exhausted. Beside me, I can barely see the contours of the capsule encasing Digory. I crawl past Talon’s medpod and over to it, sidling up against the cold hard shell. Inside, Digory is perfectly still, his body floating in the pool of genetic fluid as if he were merely peacefully asleep.

I touch the glass across from his face. “I’m
right
here,” I whisper. Then I curl up beside the pod and close my eyes.

I’m not sure how many hours later it is when my eyes spring open. Even with all the jostling from the turbulence, I’ve managed to sleep on and off, the steady thrum of the engines creating a kind of white-noise effect that makes it easy to give in to my physical and mental fatigue. But it didn’t stop the nightmares—horrible images of Digory and Cole morphing into Fleshers. The last one was the worst. I thought I’d woken up and seen a reflection of myself in the glass of Digory’s tomb, but something was wrong with my face. The skin was bruised and peeling. When I tried to pull off a flake of dead skin, my flesh began to rip. I couldn’t stop myself from pulling and tearing, my face disappearing in bloody tatters and replaced by a biomechanical machine underneath, staring back at me with soulless eyes—

I was a Flesher.

I awoke from this dream in a clammy sweat, despite the ice-cold air that wracks my body with the shivers. It must be the altitude taking its toll. If we don’t land soon, I’ll die of hypothermia before I ever see the Parish again.

Reaching out a trembling hand, I swipe a clear space in the frosty condensation covering Digory’s capsule, which I immediately have to clear again as my breath fogs it up.

He still looks the same.

That’s when I feel the ship begin its angled descent.

Springing to my feet, I crack open the hatch just enough to look through the cabin windows. The sky is coated in the pink and orange hues of dusk. Even from the limited vantage point of my perch, I spy the billowing mushroom smog from the factories, soon replaced by the cold gray turrets and spires of the Citadel of Truth. I never thought I’d see them again, let alone be happy at the sight. Whatever else it may be, the Parish is still the only home I’ve ever known.

And somewhere down there, my brother is waiting for me.

At least I h
ope he still is.

We’re heading for one of the hangars near the top of the Citadel’s main building.

I take one last look at Digory. “See you soon.”

Then I’m climbing into the main cabin and wedg
ing myself into one of the overhead storage compartments. I’m too big to fit inside completely, but I manage to get the access door closed enough to hide from view just as the ship’s braking thrusters kick in and we come to a bumpy stop. I’m counting on Cassius being too preoccupied with his arrival to scrutinize the cabin.

The engines cut out and the exit ramp begins to lower. Cassius bursts from the cockpit and marches down in seconds. I can hear muffled voices and the grind of the cargo hold opening. I wait until the sounds of footfalls die, and then I ease my aching body out of the cramped compartment and slink out of the aircraft as stealthily as I can, pausing at the foot of the gangplank to make sure no one’s around.

Cassius has obviously landed the ship in his small, private docking bay in the Citadel’s main tower. Rummaging through the hangar’s supply closet, I find a flight uniform and helmet that aren’t quite my size but will do the trick. I could really use some firepower, but the only thing I come across is a flare gun. Not ideal, long-term, but it can do a lot of damage to a human body up close. Stripping off what I’m wearing, I don the uniform, tuck the gun into my pocket, and exit the bay.

I immediately expect to have to dodge squads of Imps making their rounds, so I’m surprised to find that the corridors are uncharacteristically deserted.

I race through the hallways. Several Imps surprise me when I round a corner, but they’re running too and don’t bother to stop as they disappear down the far hall.

It’s then that I realize that the growing pounding I hear isn’t coming from my chest. I pause to listen. The thudding is too uniform to be thunder. It’s the sound of impact blasts and alarms, loud enough to vibrate through the soundproof windows of the Citadel and rock its foundations.

Cage and the others must have been tracked to their rebel cell.

The Establishment’s strike against the resistance is underway.

I dart down the remainder of the hall to where two Imps usually guard the stairwell that leads to the roof of the Prefect’s chambers. But no one’s there and I push the doors open, sprinting up the steps and bursting out onto the Citadel’s rooftop.

The Parish is in chaos.

Attack squadrons of Squawkers soar through the air, spitting out fiery missiles that streak across the horizon like angry talons, tearing great rents in the sky. Loud concussions transform the tenements of my old neighborhood into billowing plumes of dark smoke. The stench of fire and roasting bodies clogs my nostrils and stings my eyes, which pool with burning moisture that streaks down my cheeks.

Right now, the resistance is scrambling, outnumbered,
overpowered. I have no idea if Arrah and the others are
already dead. For all I know, I could be looking at the funeral pyre of the rebellion, snuffed out of existence before it ever had the chance to thrive.

As soon as the last of the bombardment’s echoes die away, all the jumbotrons across the Parish flicker, cutting off with a burst of static, going black, then coming back to life.

It’s Cassius. His face appears saddened, yet stern. Not a trace of arrogance.

“Citizens of the Parish,” he begins. “I come to you in the gravest hour our society has ever known. You are all aware of the tide of insurgence that has plagued us for quite some time now. A short time ago, a pocket of these traitors were discovered, and swift justice was meted out.” He pauses and inhales sharply. “What you do not know is that these criminals have not been acting alone. While we have been searching for them in every crevice of the bowels of our city, the greatest threat to the Establishment is being perpetrated from within the very core of those ensconced in our ruling body.”

The camera angle zooms out to a wider shot, revealing Talon—revived from stasis and looking confused, weak, and haggard—and the members of her cabinet, all being held at gunpoint by Cassius’s elite security team.

That image is replaced by a close-up of Cassius’s face, visibly distraught as if he’s trying to keep his emotions in check.

But I know better. This entire thing is all a ruse.

He looks directly into the camera. “This is going to come as quite a devastating shock to our honored and revered elite Imposers, but evidence has surfaced linking Prime Minister Talon and her cabinet to a plot to undermine the very stability of our society by aligning with the monsters that seek to destroy us.”

There’s a cut to a montage of the information I discovered in Sanctum, including the simulations of Incentives designed to deceive everyone into thinking the Recruitment process could provide a good life for the Recruits’ family members. Cassius narrates the details of the conspiracy, which is intercut with startling footage I’ve never seen before—the friends and families of winning Recruits being tortured and experimented on, some turned into Fleshers, the ones that don’t survive the process dumped into mass graves.

At certain points, there are live cutaways to the faces of
Imposer squads throughout the city as they take in the revelation that everything they’ve sacrificed, all that has made them into the hardcore soldiers they are, the reason for their unquestioning allegiance to the Establishment, has been a great lie.

Cassius is doing the same thing to Talon and her cabinet that he did to
me
on Recruitment Day, masterfully trying and convicting her in front of all to see. I can almost pity her. She’s nothing but a pawn, like I was.

Onscreen, Cassius shakes his head. “I cannot stress enough how disgusted I am that the covert actions of so few”—there’s another shot of Talon and her crew—“have resulted in such devastation to soldiers who have given so much of themselves and provided services so loyally for years.” Cassius swallows hard. “But, my poor citizens, this isn’t even the worst of it.” He clears his throat. “It appears that Talon and the insurrectionists have established an alliance with a dangerous cult of extremists entrenched in the bowels of the forbidden territories.”

Once again, the broadcast switches to a montage. This one depicts the legions of Fleshers attacking Infiernos and readying for combat in the catacombs of Sanctum. Even from way up here, I can hear the gasps of the crowds, feel the fear in the air. And most damaging of all are the images of Talon and Straton. Her smiling as she takes his hand. The huge projection of the Parish map in the Sanctum war room.

So it seems that Talon and Straton met prior to Talon’s recent trip to Sanctum. Unless Cassius is using her unconscious body to create another simulation, like those of the Incentives …

The cameras cut back to Cassius, now holding up his hands. “I urge you all not to panic. There’s still time to avert this tragedy and restore order to our great nation. But to do this, I need you all to join me in our most desperate hour.” The camera starts to zoom in slowly as he speaks. “Despite the differences we may have had, we cannot let the actions of a handful of criminals dictate the survival of our society. It’s not too late to protect ourselves. Protect our families. Protect our
children
. Even as we speak, I have already launched a preliminary offensive on those who seek to destroy us,” he concludes.

Sanctum. If Cassius is willing to betray them too, it can only mean that he plans on gaining even greater power than he already has now.

The screens fill with images of Squawkers zooming through the skies over the still-smoldering Infiernos. And then the statue of the Lady zooms into view. The Lady who’s been such a beacon of the hope and beauty of the old world to Cole and me ever since I discovered her picture in the Parish library.

There’s a series of blasts, echoing through the Parish, that may as well be bullets fired directly into my heart. Each missile blasts into the Lady, who remains defiant if just for a few seconds. Her stone eyes dominate the screen and I imagine I see sorrow there—and pity.

And then she’s toppling to the ground, her body and book disappearing in a billowing plume of black clouds.

One of the missiles impacts the only part of her still intact—her torch—and ignites it in a huge fireball. Then it, too, shatters into a million pieces. And then the Lady is no more. Just a crumpled pile of smoke and ash.

I feel sick with loss.

An extreme close-up of Cassius’s face now dominates every single jumbotron in the Parish. If I didn’t know firsthand how treacherous he could be, even I might believe him.

A fierce determination sears his eyes. “I urge you to
trust in new leadership and join me to defeat our enemies—
starting with these traitors behind me, whose vile corruption has threatened the very core of our existence, but will do so no more.”

In a flash, he whips out a weapon, jams it against Talon’s head, and pulls the trigger. The sounds of the shot tears through the city, magnified by every loudspeaker and screen like a violent storm. Talon is thrown back in a bloody mist and her body collapses.

Then the squad of Imposers holding the cabinet members hostage begin firing, not stopping until every single member of the entourage has been assassinated ten times over.

Cassius turns back to the cameras, droplets of blood bleeding down his face. “I promise to end the plague of corruption polluting our country and restore a peaceful, prosperous society. Who is with me?” he shouts.

That’s when the chanting begins, low at first, then gaining in strength and momentum until it roars like a hurricane.

“CASSIUS! CASSIUS! CASSIUS!”

He’s holding up his hands now, a grin spread across his face, his eyes burning with triumph.

And that’s the moment when I know he’s won. He’s successfully pitted the Establishment against Sanctum and established himself as supreme authority, only having to sit back and pull the strings as everyone he’s manipulated wages his personal war. Every Imposer will be on his side now, carrying out his every order. This time not out of fear of reprisals against their loved ones, but bloodthirsty vengeance against those who’ve wronged them.