Absynthe, page 33
Liam immediately began pressing the buttons in a different sequence.
“He fired his gun!” Jonathan thrust a finger in the direction the scouting party had gone. “They’re going to come back.”
“I only need a minute.”
Stasa had raised his hands to Jonathan, and Jonathan, thankfully, fell silent. “To do what, Liam?” Stasa asked in a somewhat calmer tone.
“Automatons have several save states. I set one of them before everything began. I’m restoring it now, which should hopefully erase whatever changes they made to him.”
Just as Liam was finishing the sequence, he felt another presence from beyond the wreckage of the fallen compartment. Liam turned to see one of the soldiers pointing the scourge their way. The dark pits of the scourge’s black eyes were fixed on him.
As the scourge stalked closer, Liam’s mind was flooded with seemingly random memories and sensory inputs. The effect was more intense than it had been in LuxCorp, the scourge more fully developed than Dakota had been at the time. The man’s base hunger, his desire to dominate, to make Liam subservient, was strong, nearly undeniable.
Liam’s eyes fluttered closed, and he was transported.
He saw Novo Solis, now a broken city, its once-elegant buildings gutted and empty. The rusted relics of civilization lay everywhere, covered by the verdant growth of grasses, vines, and trees—nature reclaiming the land. For a moment, Liam’s memories were swept to the glimpse he’d had of Colette’s dream. The feelings of doom and foreboding he’d had then were eerily similar to what he felt now.
As if he were suspended from above, Liam experienced himself zooming toward the Pinnacle. From the central spire, the building’s eight wings spread like rays of sunlight, the center of some strange new universe. Toward those wings, people with sallow skin and lifeless eyes walked single-file. Near the southernmost point, two men dragged a struggling woman between them. The woman seemed healthy, if bedraggled and thin, her body malnourished. She fought, screamed, but her captors paid her little mind and dragged her into the Pinnacle. They came to a large, circular room where a host of scourges waited. The woman was brought before one of them, an adolescent boy who blinked more fiercely the closer she came.
The thralls turned the woman around, forced her to her knees, at which point the boy approached. With hungry eyes he crouched behind her. He gripped her hair with both hands, leaned close, and, quick as an adder, pierced her neck with the white barb at the end of his tongue. The woman stiffened. She screamed.
And Liam screamed with her. He felt her pain. Felt his world going bright white from it.
Through his own screams he heard the deafening report of a rifle. It came again and again, the sound reminiscent of the battlefields of Wisconsin. Neither the blinding brightness nor the terrible pain receded entirely, but Liam could once again discern the rough trunks of the pine trees, their ponderous branches reaching toward the ground. He saw the man, the scourge, running, stumbling, as bullets tore into his flesh.
Beside Liam, Alastair’s right arm was pointed straight at the scourge, wrist cocked down as bullet after bullet coughed from the barrel.
The scourge collapsed, his momentum kicking up a spray of brown pine needles. Suddenly, the hold the scourge had on Liam vanished altogether. Liam tried desperately to cast an illusion, to hide himself and the others from the approaching Cabal soldiers, but it was no good. Whatever the scourge had just done had burned the ability from him, at least for the time being.
“Hurry,” Liam said to Stasa and the others. “We have to get out of here.”
In a ragged group, they stumbled away as gunfire broke out behind them. Jonathan caught a bullet along his lower back, then one to his head. He fell hard to the ground, twitched, and went still.
The nurse who’d helped subdue Alastair started to run toward him, but Stasa forestalled her. “He’s gone. Keep moving!”
Alastair, ever mindful of others, put himself between Liam and the approaching, black-clad soldiers. He laid down cover fire as they retreated through the trees. Return fire ricocheted off his chest armor, off his legs, off his shining brass forehead. Though Alastair was slowing their pursuers, it wouldn’t be long before he ran out of bullets. When he did, the Cabal would have them.
Stasa shouted in pain as a bright red line appeared along his left arm. The nurse stumbled from a grazing leg wound. Liam was by her side a moment later, helping her to limp forward.
Alastair’s bullets ran out moments later.
“Weave!” Liam called. “Put the trees behind you!”
They did, and it worked for a time. The Cabal’s gunfire punched into the trunks of the trees, but the distance between their groups was starting to close, and they weren’t in the sort of shape they would need to be to flee the Cabal soldiers for long.
They want me, Liam thought. What they mainly want is me.
He’d just begun to slow, ready to tell the others to continue on, to reach safety, when a new sort of gunfire boomed from somewhere ahead.
Liam heard a cry of pain from behind him and turned to see a Cabal soldier spilling to the ground.
Ahead, standing between the trunks of two pine trees was a figure. It was Clay, and he was holding a massive .50-caliber Gatling against his hip. As Liam and the others scattered, clearing a path for his fire, he opened up, cranking the Gatling’s mechanism with his good arm, each report pounding his hip while Clay himself roared a battle cry with a fierce look on his reddened face.
More Uprising soldiers appeared between the trees. They were lined up in an arc, machine guns at the ready. They joined in with Clay.
In moments, half the Cabal forces had dropped to the hail of bullets. Others ducked for cover behind trees. Those farthest back turned tail and ran.
Only then did Clay lower his weapon and smile his broad smile.
“You’re late,” Liam said.
“Still in time to save your sorry ass, though.”
With a pang of regret for Jonathan and the others lost on their wild descent from the Nest, Liam strode forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “Please tell me you have transport waiting.”
“Right over that ridge,” Clay said.
Forty
Several hours after their escape from the forest, Liam found himself sitting alone at a beaten table with four empty chairs. He was inside of an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Novo Solis. Through broken panels in the roof high above, shafts of sunlight angled in, lighting a vast, grimy shop floor. Much of the cavernous space was dominated by three rusty assembly lines that looked like they’d been abandoned mid-shift. Here and there lay old parts: mechanikal heads, limbs, and torsos. From hooks on the overhead conveyors hung rows of unfinished mechanika chassis, most of them grinders with mole-like claws, others run-of-the-mill clankers; there were even a few beefy thumpers.
At the far end of the factory, beyond the conveyors and the massive motors that drove them, was an office that had been cleaned and outfitted by Stasa’s medical team. Morgan and Alan were inside it, both of them sedated. It was hardly ideal. There was no access to the sort of equipment needed to blunt communication via E. sentensis, but with the Nest destroyed and its information and personnel likely compromised, they couldn’t rely on the Uprising’s other safe houses. For now, the factory would have to do.
The door to their makeshift hospital room opened, and Bailey exited.
“Any news?” Liam asked as she approached the table.
“Some,” she said, her words all but lost in the immensity of the shop floor, “but it’s not good.”
She’d gone to inform the SLP about the Cabal’s attack on the Nest and get whatever news she could in return. The SLP had spies embedded in Novo Solis—Bailey was sure they’d have information about the Cabal’s movements.
Liam hadn’t exactly been expecting great news. Even so, Bailey’s grim look made his worries deepen. She sat across the table from him. “Let’s wait for the others,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “They should be back soon.”
Clay had gone to gather news about the Uprising’s efforts to rescue those who’d managed to flee the Nest. Stasa, meanwhile, had taken Alastair to a team of mechanika experts in hopes of reprogramming him.
“Shouldn’t they have been back by now?” Liam asked.
“Our headquarters was attacked,” replied Bailey. “We don’t know how much was compromised, which means we have to be even more careful than usual. Everything’s going to take more time than we think.”
In the heavy silence that followed, Liam took Bailey in—really took her in—for the first time since leaving the Nest. Normally the most energetic of them all, the most optimistic, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. It struck him just how much she would have lost when the Nest was destroyed. It had been more than a base of operations for her; she’d had friends there, people she might consider family.
“I’m sorry for all that’s happened,” Liam said.
Bailey shrugged. “We all knew the risks.”
“Even so, I know it must be tough. You must have known a lot of them well.”
“Thing is,” Bailey said with a faltering smile, “I came from a very small family. After Nick died, it was just me and my dad. Clay’s got a big family back in St. Louis, but none of them approved of our marriage. His mom came to like me. And his dad . . . Well, to say he suffered my presence is probably the most charitable way of putting it. Don’t tell Clay I told you this, but I never felt like they were real family, you know? When we joined the Uprising, and it started to feel more and more like home, they became my family.”
“I understand, but they’re not all gone,” Liam said. “Some will have survived.”
“Yes, but we won’t be able to meet. Not like we used to, anyway. It’ll be too dangerous.” Tears gathered in Bailey’s eyes. “It’s like I’ve lost them all.”
She wasn’t wrong—more than ever, the Uprising would need to keep contact between its various cells to a minimum so that the movement as a whole wouldn’t be compromised. Even so, seeing her so distraught felt like a needle through the heart. He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “You can see them again when we put a stop to De Pere.”
Bailey squeezed back and smiled through her tears. “I hope so.”
Light flooded onto the factory floor as one of the large sliding doors opened with a clatter and Clay walked in. His face splotchy, his breathing labored, he slid the door closed with an echoing boom, then came to the table and sat down beside Bailey. “What?” he said, looking at the two of them.
Bailey reached over and rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing, darling.”
“Uh-oh,” Clay leaned toward Liam and whispered conspiratorially, “she doesn’t use darling unless it’s serious.”
“I use darling to keep myself from calling you a damn fool.”
A broad smile broke over Clay’s face. He leaned over and kissed her. “There’s my girl.”
Bailey laughed while wiping her tears away. “You’re a goddamn fool, Clay Graves.”
They both laughed. Liam did, too. After all they’d been through, it felt good.
“So . . .” Clay retrieved a cigarette and the lighter from the compartment in his left arm. “Things are grim, but it could have been worse.” He lit the cigarette and took a long drag before going on. “A hundred and sixty people were on board the Nest when we were attacked. Seventy-two have reported in. Another forty-eight are confirmed dead. That leaves forty missing.” He blew a stream of smoke into the space above them. “Of those, some will have been killed or captured when the Cabal’s forces stormed seven of the twelve compartments that broke away. We’re searching, but I think we’ll be lucky to get a dozen of them back.”
“And Grace?” Liam asked, praying she’d survived the attack.
“No word yet.” Clay tapped his cigarette, sending embers toward the dirty concrete floor. “As far as we know, she’s not among the confirmed dead.”
Liam was deeply worried. He’d known Grace only a short while, but he liked her, he admired her. He’d begun to wonder what the future might hold for them after the strange war they were fighting was finally over.
His thoughts were interrupted when Stasa opened the factory door with Alastair following close behind. The two of them joined Liam, Bailey, and Clay at the table, taking the last two chairs.
Clay took in Alastair, then Stasa. “Well, don’t keep us waiting!”
Stasa smiled briefly. “The engineers successfully identified the modifications the Cabal made to Alastair’s programming and removed them.”
Everyone was staring at Alastair, who seemed perfectly embarrassed—eyes cast downward, arms tight to his sides while his fingers fiddled—when Clay suddenly bellowed, “You’re sure he’s not going to rat us out again?”
Bailey slapped his arm. “Clay!”
“What? It’s a fair question.”
“It is a fair question,” Stasa said, “if a bit blunt. Yes, Alastair is back to his former self, but as a precaution, I’ve deactivated his transmitter. Alastair can’t contact the Cabal, even if he wanted to.”
Alastair’s blue eyes blinked as he took in each of them in turn. “I would like to say . . .” His gaze lowered to his lap, where his mechanikal hands were clasped. “I would like to say how terribly sorry I am.”
“You were forced to do those things, Alastair,” Liam said. “It was the Cabal’s fault, not yours.”
After a brief pause, Alastair nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Clay stared at Liam and Alastair with a look of sufferance. “You two done?”
Bailey made a disgusted noise. “He feels bad.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll have plenty of time for pity parties when this is all over.” Clay took one last drag from his cigarette, then flicked the butt toward a pile of mechanika skulls. “Our people are scattered. The Cabal’s scaring us out of the bushes like frightened pheasants and picking us off, one by one. And De Pere’s closer than ever to getting what he wants.”
“Yes,” Bailey said, “about that. I managed to reach the SLP. They reported activity all around Novo Solis. De Pere’s getting ready for something big, and the SLP’s top brass are getting nervous. My contact didn’t say as much, but I get the impression they’re not willing to wait much longer before taking action.”
“That sounds ominous,” Liam said.
“Because it is. They’re willing to do whatever it takes to stop De Pere, up to and including a resumption of hostilities.”
“Do they know what De Pere has planned?”
Bailey shook her head. “Not precisely, no, but given that the Cabal have been collecting more and more of the scourges, I’m assuming De Pere is getting ready to move on to the next step.”
“And that is?” Liam asked.
It was Stasa who answered. “We’re not certain, and unfortunately, our primary source of information is gone.”
“You mean Grace?” Liam said.
“No, I mean the mole in De Pere’s inner circle. With Grace gone, our communication has effectively been cut off.”
Liam stared at Stasa, then Clay and Bailey. “There’s no other way to make contact?”
“Unfortunately, there isn’t,” replied Stasa. “Whoever the mole is, he or she has been at great risk feeding us any information at all, always insisting the contact be Grace and Grace alone.”
Liam felt a weight pressing in from all angles. The Uprising in disarray. Grace gone. De Pere close to completing his plans. He didn’t think it was possible, but it felt ten times worse than when Morgan had been abducted. It reminded him of all they’d been through, all they’d done to see Morgan safe. “Do we have access to another of the psis?” he asked, recalling how they’d listened in to the Cabal’s communications in Chicago. “I could work them like I did with Ruby to find out what they’re planning.”
Stasa shook his head. “I’m afraid we don’t.”
Liam’s desperation was growing by the moment. “We must know where more of them are. We could rescue one.”
Before anyone could respond, Liam heard a voice inside his head.
—We don’t need a psi.
It was clear from their shocked reactions that the others had heard the voice too. When Alastair swiveled his head toward the back room, where Morgan was being kept, Liam understood. So, apparently, did the others. Without a word being spoken, they all stood, walked across the factory floor, and entered the makeshift hospital room. Inside, a nurse was changing the bag of fluids being fed into Morgan’s left arm. Morgan himself appeared to be sleeping, but the voice came again as they approached his bed.
—I can feel the other scourges.
“Can you give us a minute?” Stasa asked the nurse, who nodded and left the room.
“Can you hear us?” Liam asked Morgan.
—Yes, came Morgan’s reply, though his mouth didn’t move.
“Are you awake?” Bailey asked.
—Sort of. Not exactly. It doesn’t matter, though. What matters is, I can sense the scourges.
Clay turned toward Stasa, a deep frown on his face. “You said the drugs would prevent the scourges from talking to him.”
—The drugs help, came Morgan’s reply, but they can’t suppress the ability entirely. It’s okay, though. I can feel the scourges—I sense them gathering—but I don’t think they can feel me.
“Where are they?” Liam asked.
There came a pause.
—I can’t sense a physical location, just their proximity to one another. What’s important is, I can feel the thralls as well, plus De Pere and Kohler, who are different than the rest. And one more.
Liam’s fingers began tingling. “Who?”
