Anarchy: Children of The Spear: Book Two Read online

“If you’re going to do something, now would be a good time!” said a high-pitched voice, sounding muffled as though it were coming from the other side of a wall.

  The more he struggled, the more his mind began to wander, anger at his parents boiling to the surface. He missed his life with them. There hadn’t been much to it, but it was his. Spending time in the park even though there were more needles than places to play, summer cookouts, even bad times like the fights with the neighbor where he got his lip bloodied. All gone the day the major-bishop came to his door.

  Thinking about him, the major-bishop—his mentor, his monster, the man who had stolen his life from him—brought the situation into focus, and he found himself thinking about control. It was everything to the wretched old man. He had never met anyone more disciplined. His old commander had taught him that he should be in control of himself, regardless of circumstance. A disciplined mind was a powerful thing. In that moment, Arthur understood. This was a trap.

  ***

  Struggling against the leg that pinned her onto her back, Gwen roughly twisted her body with enough force to knock away the armor-clad man. With a grunt, she flew upright and leveled off. Just as she got her bearings, the thing attacked again, forcing her to dodge right as it lunged for her, arms outstretched, trying to grab her for a bear hug. Thinking quickly, she grabbed one of its outstretched arms with both hands. Gripping it tightly, she spun in a circle like a discus thrower, hurling the thing high in the air with a hollow grunt. Without missing a beat, she closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on the vibrations pumping through her. In a heartbeat, she propelled herself like a rocket into the Manhattan sky, scattering dust and debris from the decimated base, a sonic boom echoing in her wake. Seeing her target ahead and turning to face her, Gwen sucked in a deep breath and thrust herself faster. She hammered the creature in its midsection, folding it in half, the impact driving the very air away, creating a sudden implosion midair, the kick back sending her and the crystal-clad man reeling, tumbling end over end. Gwen recovered in midair, leveling off in time to see a mushroom cloud of dust rising high as the thing landed with a heavy crash. Glancing down at her shredded top and exposed flesh, she blew out her lips in frustration. “I really liked that top, asshole,” she muttered to herself.

  Without missing a beat, she let herself fall, spreading her arms wide while she relished the sensation of the cool spring wind caressing her face and howling in her ears. Moments before reaching the ground, she slowed, her boots gently touching down as she landed next to the fallen monster. Twisted and broken, it lay half buried in a pit of its own making. Its jagged armor glowed weakly.

  She watched, fascinated by the thing in the pit, shocked that it had survived her strike, much less the fall. It had obviously once been human, and something about it seemed strangely familiar. She could see a web of cracks in the crystal covering its torso where she had hit it, its chest beneath subtly rising and falling. Gwen swallowed hard, the reality of how strong the creature was shaking her to her core. If the enemy had more of these, if they could match the strength of ascension like herself on equal footing, things would go from bad to worse very quickly. Shuddering at the thought, her eyes darted in all directions at once, spooked by the idea that there could be more like this thing lurking in the dark.

  A crackle in her ear followed by Captain Macdonald’s deep voice caused her to inhale sharply, worry creasing her brow. “Gwen, are you ok? I’ve been trying to raise you. Why aren't you at the rendezvous with Arthur? They are under attack, and they need you.”

  “Sorry, sir, I was just…I’m on my way,” she said, turning to lift off when suddenly she found herself roughly torn from the air, jagged fingers closing on her throat.

  ***

  The ground was cold and damp, wet with morning dew though the sun hadn’t shown yet, the moon still casting long shadows. Rowen lay hidden in a small rise overlooking an open field, gripping her SIG tight, her other pistol a comforting weight on her hip, waiting. She had spread her team all along the hillside, hidden from sight. Her drone had caught it first, a large contingent of enemy troops fleeing toward their location, many of them having dropped their weapons, desperate to escape from Gwen’s explosive rampage at their base not long ago. Looking at the sky, she wondered what the hell was going on over there. The ground had shaken multiple times, explosions echoing in the night. The last thing they had seen was flashing lights in the sky, followed by another tremor.

  Ignoring it all, she focused on what was coming. They were close now, the sound of their heavy boots loud in her ears, even on the soft grass. Taking one last look through the eyes of the drone high overhead, she picked her targets. Knowing exactly where they would be would make this easier, and it helped that they were panicked, disorganized.

  Peeking over the hill, Rowen was about to give the go order when she recognized the first soldier just hitting the base of the hill. “Timur,” she whispered.

  The soldier from that day in the park almost two years ago. She hadn’t heard from him in almost a year, and she had assumed that he had been sent to the front or gone home. Even at this distance, she could see the wide-eyed panic on his pale face. His combat fatigues were filthy, more stained than gray and white. He barely resembled the soldier she had shared a meal with so long ago, haphazardly dressed, his helmet askew, and body armor hanging open. She took a deep breath, ready to fire…and did nothing. All of the men she could see were too thin, ragged, already beaten. She doubted any one of them could put up much of a fight. Praying she wouldn’t regret it, she made her decision, hesitating only a moment longer before tapping on her ear to open communications to her unit. “Weapons hold, weapons hold. Not a shot until I give the word go.”

  “Rowen, what the hell are you doing?” said her father, speaking quickly in her ear. “Engage, those troops will be on top of you in a few seconds.”

  Ignoring the panic in her father’s voice, she drew her SIG II, briefly took aim, and emptied the clip directly into the sod, stopping the soldiers in their tracks. “Stop where you are, we have you surrounded,” she shouted, her voice augmented by her smart device, praying that they were browbeaten enough, desperate enough to want to avoid a fight. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see other members of her unit following her lead, standing up from behind the rise and taking aim at the hapless men, calling out for their surrender.

  She watched, amazed, mouth agape, as Timur and his fellow soldiers slowly raised their arms, many of the fleeing men going to their knees, those holding weapons casting them hurriedly aside.

  “I didn’t actually think that would work,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  Blake appeared at her side, rubbing his jaw. “What the hell do we do with them now?” he asked, turning to look at her.

  Looking out at the field, Rowen wondered that herself. A few dozen of her people guarding hundreds of trained soldiers was a recipe for disaster. “What we all should have done a long time ago. We talk, maybe have a meal, but let’s not kill each other for no reason.”

  With that, Rowen holstered her weapons, taking determined steps down the hill.

  ***

  He could feel it now, paralyzed, some unknown presence crawling around his mind. It was as though he had ants on the inside of his skull. Staring at the torrent of data swirling around him, he made out portions of it, the thing. It was probing, examining, sifting through his mind, disregarding what it didn’t want and brutally ripping away the rest. Whatever it was, it wanted information, though about what Arthur was not sure yet. The flashes of memory had no pattern, jumping to moments in his childhood as often as those from his ascension. He relived brief flashes of happiness from childhood, going to the beach when he was six, staring out in wonder at the blue-green of the ocean that looked like it went on forever, the grit of the hot sand under his feet. Then to the horror of his days with the major-bishop on top of him, whispering in his ear, paper-like skin rubbing against him. Moments deep in combat, fighting, controlling ma
chines, killing. Worst of all were the memories of Gwen. Just the smell of her made his blood race and his heart pound as though he had sprinted a thousand yards, the horrible guilt he felt after that day made worse by knowing she had survived, full of hate for him.

  The randomness stopped. The day, that day, kept replaying in his mind. Iron Mountain. Hurting Gwen, standing over her, listening to the hollow rattle coming from her throat and doing nothing. How in a moment of rage he had crippled her with the sarin gas. She lived only because of Uriel. A man who should want him dead too.

  Arthur understood now. The thing in his mind wanted to know about Gwen. She was a threat, dangerous—it wanted to know how to kill her, and he had just shown it how.

  ***

  She grasped the jagged crystal hands pressing hard against her windpipe, stealing her breath, spots of darkness dancing in the corners of her vision.

  With a gargantuan effort, she slowly forced its fingers from her throat, her eyes wide with shock as the jagged shards sliced deep into her palms, making her hands slick with blood. Gwen twisted hard to her left, throwing the humanoid off her back and slamming it to the ground with a heavy thud. Glancing down at the creature, she recoiled in disgust as its twisted and broken limbs struggled to right themselves, its legs bending in the wrong direction. She coiled her arm back to strike, hoping to put it out of its misery, when suddenly it emitted a surge of pure white light, blinding her. A moment later she was fighting for breath, the air suddenly forced from her lungs like she had been pounded in the chest by a sledgehammer. Blinking away the pain, she found herself high above what was left of the base, careening head over heels, the creature flying toward her like a missile, its body unbent, somehow having healed itself. Having only seconds to think, Gwen waited until the last moment before ducking low, letting the creature fly over her before giving chase. It took only moments to catch it. The creature was fast but she was faster. Quickly reaching its side, she lashed out, smashing it on the back only to have it lash out with a brutal kick toward her as it lost altitude, clipping her just below her chin, drawing more blood.

  Shaking off the blow, she halted in midair once again, waiting. She could see the monster was more cautious now, less aggressive, drifting slowly toward her, its green eyes wide.

  Taking a deep, rasping breath and suppressing a cough, Gwen knew she would have to end this soon. The last few minutes had pushed her to her limits, and without Uriel to help, she would only get worse—the coughing, the blood leaking from her nose—the pain.

  “Alright, c’mon, fucker. I’m gonna make a diamond ring outta your ass when we’re done.”

  They circled one another for a moment longer before charging, their blows sounding like peals of thunder, each strike so powerful the air around them imploded. The longer they fought, Gwen could feel she was stronger, able to take the creature’s blows with light scratches and give back better in return. She landed an uppercut followed by a two-handed hammer strike on the being's back, but she could feel her breath growing short, her arms weaker with each hit.

  Desperate, she grabbed the creature, pulling it in close, enduring its heavy strikes on her back as it flailed. She accelerated toward the ground, gaining speed with each ragged breath, praying the thing would break her fall, hoping the impact would kill it.

  ***

  The horrible shriek of a drone's rotors in his ears pulled him back to the present. He opened his eyes to see Gibbs bent to one knee, arms outstretched, attempting to hold back the swarm surrounding them all. Arthur could see the veins in his neck pulsing, sweat rolling down his chin. Banishing the images of Gwen from his mind, he forced himself to think of anything but her. He did as the major-bishop had taught him, channeling all his fear, anxiety, all his hate. He found it then, a place of calm in his mind where he was always in control: everything simple, separate.

  He could see the force invading his mind like a virus, burrowing into his memory, copying itself over and over again until there would be nothing left of himself but a shell. It would control him entirely, use him as he used machines. Arthur knew what needed to be done. He could see the invading code in his mind represented by a rough-hewn brick wall stretching as far as the eye could see wherever he looked. He had to find a way in, a tiny crack that he could squeeze through, but he needed to hurry before his mind was gone, and the worm was all that was left of him.

  ***

  These men and women were broken, some of them crying, their tears leaving streaks of clear skin on dirty faces as they sat despondent on the damp grass wet with morning dew. Rowen could see hints of morning peeking over the horizon, soft shades of pink promising a day that would be bright and warm. She sat legs crossed in front of Timur, who leaned back on his haunches, looking lost. He was nothing like she remembered. The soldier she had met so long ago had been confident, easygoing…and always hungry. Now he looked spent, like he had lived the last few months in a concentration camp: hollow eyes, neck bent low, and sickly thin.

  Running her hands through her bird’s nest of hair, Rowen reached out a shaking hand to lift the Siberian man’s chin, her green eyes locking onto his brown ones. “What did they do to you? I thought you had been reassigned, sent to the front.”

  “Da, I was—Washington,” he began, his voice raw and trembling. Without thinking, Rowen handed him a water bottle from her pack, which he drank too fast, greedily, water spilling down his chin before he wiped it away with a thin hand. “My unit was in an armored personnel carrier, part of the ground invasion that would hold the city, like we did here. Then the explosion happened. We were just at the tail end of it, and it was still strong enough to knock the truck into the air, killing most of the men with me. I awoke hours later to pain and the sound of Russian voices. I thought at least we had won. Everything was broken, the pain more than I could stand.

  “When they finally found me, all I wanted was a bullet to give me peace, end my pain.” While he spoke, he shrugged off his combat armor, slowly opening his ragged shirt. “Instead they dig me out, give me this, and bring me back here.”

  Rowen was grateful she was already on the ground or else she would have collapsed at the sight of the fist-sized crystal lodged in the center of Timur’s chest, glowing weakly in the dark.

  “Are all of you like this?” she asked, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she looked out at the hundreds of emaciated soldiers scattered across the field.

  “Da, we were locked behind fence, a few of us taken away every day never to come back. Then tonight, blonde woman fall from sky, destroy base, start fight with Rytsar. Destroy fence, so we run.”

  “Rytsar?”

  “Da, Rytsar. They are like mix between man and god,” he said, rubbing the palm of his hand against his forehead before touching the crystal on his chest. “They use these things to make them. The ones who are strong enough become covered with them, and the rest, like me.” He shrugged, fingering the crystal once more, trying to pry the thing out. Noticing his hands for the first time, Rowen clenched and unclenched her fingers, her lips peeling back with a look of revulsion. Most of his nails were broken, clearly torn off in attempts to remove the jagged shard, leaving exposed nail beds and claw marks on his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Timur,” she said, getting to her feet. “We’ll get you somewhere safe, and get you help. I promise.”

  Timur looked up at her, a half smile on his flat face. “You know, I wish I was brave when Russians came to my village. A real Siberian would have put gun in his mouth, have nice bit of lead for lunch instead of going with Russian pigs. Instead I am coward, and I die here for nothing.”

  “You won’t die; we’ll figure this out,” said Rowen, pursing her lips, not sure how she could make things better.

  “You are very optimist for ginger with bad face,” he said, his wide lips curved into a real smile now. “Just do me favor, and promise I will not die on empty stomach.”

  Ignoring the insult with a wry smile, she reached down, extending a forearm to he
lp Timur to his feet. “You’re not going to die. We’re here to end this shit,” she said through clenched teeth, her anger starting to boil. Looking around at the forlorn men and women sitting on the grass, she began, “If you can run, you can fight. So you and your people have a choice: run and hide like cowards, die a slow death. Or you can come with us, help us put an end to the people who put you in cages, experimented on you, and left you for dead.”

  Looking out in the weak morning light, Rowen wasn’t sure what to expect. Part of her wanted them to cheer, pick up their guns and race off behind her. The reality was only a few of them took to their feet: Timur included. In all, maybe a third of them stood grim-faced and ready. The rest sat unmoving, not having the strength to go on.

  “Dad, did you hear?” she said, putting a hand over her ear, opening the comm channel.

  “Yes. Are you sure you can trust these people?” he said, his voice fading in and out with the signal interference.

  “What is it they say, the enemy of my enemy…”

  There was a long pause before he replied, his voice cautious. “Ok, keep your guard up. Get to Arthur. He looks like his team is in trouble.”

  Rowen nodded to herself as much as to everyone around her. They would have to move quickly, and that would leave them exposed. However, they were a much bigger group now, better equipped to handle whatever was coming.

  She was just about to give the order to move out when her drone, circling high above, pinged for her attention, an image of a fast-moving object suddenly superimposed over her field of vision. Before she could catch more than a glimpse, it was gone, little more than a blur receding into the distance. Rowen was about to dismiss it from her mind when the air exploded with a deafening hiss, growing louder with every moment.

  The object smashed into the earth with a heavy thud, impacting with enough force to send a wave of dirt and rock in all directions, knocking people back and to the ground. Rowen, knowing it was coming, leapt over the crest of the wave, landing gracefully on the other side with weapons ready. When the dust cleared, she watched what looked like a man climb methodically from the impact crater, armored from head to toe in heavy plates of crystal that flashed in tune with the tower high above, from indigo to crimson, blue, and a sickly green. He stared out at the wayward group, many still struggling to their feet. When his eyes fell on Rowen, she felt her entire body go numb, like she had fallen into the lake during a Colorado winter, recognition dawning as her eyes bored into his. Eyes like her mother’s, eyes she had seen angry, that she had seen laugh and cry, eyes that looked exactly like her own. “Jonah.”