Downburst (29 page)

The stars are exploding.

Bright lights streak across the black sky, fiery trails slash open the night, glowing bullets whiz above my head. Scope lamps dance and collide as the owners of the rifles whirl on the wind. Orange bursts of flame spiral through the darkness. It’s like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Until I hear the screams.

The screams. The screams are terrible. Worse than even the attack at the testing center, worse because there are more of them, worse because I can’t see who’s screaming until their bodies smack the side of the mountain.

The bodies are everywhere. Black Rangi, blending into the sky. Gray Yakone, mingling with the ashy snow. Warriors from both sides lie in pools of blood on the frozen ground, the ice reflecting the blazing explosions above so that the whole world seems an inferno.

A burning torrent of ammunition fans out into the night, the machine gun puncturing the air with its repetitive drilling. Someone falls out of the sky in front of me, bouncing off the rock and tumbling down, down, down to the base of the mountain, disappearing into the blackness.

Two scope lamps interlock as a Rangi and Yakone grapple for the upper hand. A blade gleams in the focused light, and then the knife finds its mark and the rifle lands in the snow, its bulb going out just as its owner vanishes into the night.

It’s like the battles in the Aerie, the two sides whirling and diving and spraying their opponents with bullets, but here there’s no paint. No mats to land on, no points to be won. Just your life or theirs.

A blast momentarily lights up the sky, and I watch a Yakone twist into a barrel roll and catch a Rangi from behind, like Rye and Lila used to do back at the camp.

The sky plunges once more into night. Then a stream of fire slices the air, engulfs a Yakone warrior, her flaming body the only thing illuminated against the dark backdrop. She shrieks, slapping at her burning clothes and skin and diving into a snow bank.

The red glow outlines the figure of the attacking Rangi, the flamethrower strapped to his back. He pursues the fallen Yakone, but before he can reach her, he disappears—in a roaring blaze followed by deepest night.

The wave from the explosion knocks me back. I cover my head as pebbles from the ceiling rain down on me, bruising my back and hands. Something loud bounces on the ground, and I look over. It’s the rifle. I pick it up and slam the butt of the gun into the control panel. The door slides shut.

I lean against the cool rock, panting hard. I don’t know what to do, where to go, what to think. I’m trapped inside a fortress under siege, and the people on both sides are after me.

There’s nothing I
can
do. They’re going to find me. They’ll find me and kill me. It’s no use. I can’t keep running.

I sink to the floor. They’ll find me no matter what.

My hand grasps my necklace.

They’ll kill me. Like the others.

In my head, I see Aura’s purple blood. Jeremy’s arching back. Charity’s blackened hair. The dead faces at the camp. See the Rangi plowing them down. Those coiling tattoos.

I hate the Rangi. Hate them. Hate them. My pendant digs into my skin.

I see the crumpled Yakone on the bridge. The shell-filled bodies outside. Hear the screams.

Hate them.

The screams. The blood.

No!
I push myself up. I’m not going to sit here and make it easy for them. I grip the automatic. If I have to die, I’m taking some of those bastards down with me.

My arms shake as I lift the rifle up, shove it against my shoulder. I clench my jaw and hold the gun in place.

Keep going. Make them pay.

I move across the cavern, staying close to the walls as the blue stars roll out in front of me.

When I reach the tunnel entrance, I peek around the corner. It’s empty.

I tighten my hold on the rifle and creep along the passageway. They could be anywhere. I turn right at the first fork, left at the next, the LEDs lighting up the corridor ahead.

Suddenly, the bulbs flicker. A whining clunk shudders through the mountain. Then all the lights go out.

I don’t move. Just hold the rifle and my breath. Then I fumble for the switch on the scope. My fingers find the small lever. I flip it up … and the lamp turns on.

Except for the muffled booms outside, everything is deadly silent. I walk down the hallway, shining my light in both directions. But there’s nothing. No shouting. No crying. No one poking a head out to investigate.

Quickly, I walk toward the nearest doorway. I push back the rug, shine the lamp into the dark room. And then I see the bodies.

Adults. Children too. On the beds. On the ground. Slumped over chairs.

I drop the fabric and scurry backward, slamming into a wall. I cover my mouth, gagging on the acid in my throat.
Did they—are all of them
…
?

I run to the next room. The same horrific sight meets my eyes. I check the next, and the next.

I slam my back against the rocky wall, chest heaving. How many? How many have they killed? Have they found Rye’s siblings, Maize and Teff? What about Sarah and that small girl who wanted honey on her bread?

Monsters.
They’re going to pay for this.

I raise the rifle again, ignoring my trembling arms. At least one of them will pay. I keep walking. Keep going.

A barrage of shells rings through the tunnels.

I throw myself against the wall and cover my lamp, my whole body shaking. I stand as still as I can and listen, but the noise has stopped.

I walk forward slowly, swinging the rifle back and forth, keeping my twitching eyes trained on the swiveling pool of light.

Every time I round a corner, my heart stops beating and my palms grow slicker. I imagine them crouching in the dark with their weapons aimed, just waiting for me to come into view. I grit my teeth. Keep going.

My foot hits a pebble, and the small stone zings against the wall. I freeze, hide the lamp as the noise ricochets down the tunnel. Hold my breath.

When nothing happens, I continue walking, moving slowly, straining my ears to catch the sound of a footfall or the click of a gun, but all I can hear is my raspy breathing and the thudding of my pulse.

Da da da da da da
.

Then I hear the screams, and I burst into a run.

As I turn the bend, the light from my lamp falls on a person standing outside one of the rooms. He’s dressed in black leather. Raising his gun.

I fill him full of lead.

He slumps to the ground, and another person in leather appears in the hallway behind him. I glue my finger to the trigger, emptying the rest of my clip until the second Rangi drops to the floor.

I lean forward, clutch my head, my raw ears. Wait for the ringing to stop.

It doesn’t.

I lurch forward and grab the gun from the first soldier. There’s no lamp. I glance at the man’s face. He’s wearing night vision goggles.

I bend over to grab the mask, but at the last second, I yank my hand back. Instead, I detach the lamp from my old gun and clamp it onto his.

Standing up, I reach for the doorway and pull back the animal skin. Inside,
a man lies on the ground, bleeding from his leg. A woman and four children are huddled around him, crying. When they see me, they start screaming again.

“Stop!” I cry hoarsely. “I’m not going to shoot you.” I look at the woman. “You know how to use a gun, right?” She nods, face pale.

I go back out to the hallway and scoop up the weapon from the other Rangi. Then I return to the room and hand it to her.

“You’re that girl,” the woman gasps. “The spy.” Her finger moves toward the trigger.

“I’m not a spy.”
Kava.
My hand locks on my rifle. “If I were, I wouldn’t have killed them.” I hold the woman’s gaze until she lowers the gun.

“There are night vision goggles on the corpse in the tunnel,” I say. “They might help you protect your family, in case someone else comes along.” She nods tightly.

I’m turning to leave, when I hear her whisper, “Thank you.”

I pause for a moment then duck out of the room, the rifle raised to my eyes once more.

At the next
rukamo
, I stop and look inside. Wide, frightened eyes stare back at me.

“Hide,” I tell the people in the room. “The Rangi are inside the fortress.”

I keep going. Check other caves. Warn the occupants. At first, they react the way the woman did, calling me a spy, reaching for something to use as a weapon. But when I deliver my message, they don’t know what to say. Some say nothing.

Some say, “Thank you.”

I stop at every room in the tunnel, the adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, my finger on the trigger. The next Rangi I meet is a goner.

My muscles are taut as I wind my way through the passages. Taut. Aching. But the adrenaline helps.

Finally, I reach the bridge. The empty chasm is just a few feet away. If I didn’t have a light, I might have walked right off the edge. I shine my lamp down the pit and just barely make out the dark water below. It’s eerily quiet without the noise of the fans.

I keep walking, but I don’t see the rock in my path, and as I stub my toe and stumble forward, my lamp tips down, shining under the steel beams at the edge of the bridge, illuminating something metal. A box. I crouch down, aiming the light directly at the object.

It’s a medium-sized container, shoved into the juncture of the bridge and the beams. On the side is a tiny red light.
Holy kava.

I trace the joists with my lamp and remember the way the entire structure of steel staircases, bridges, and trusses seemed to rest on the huge slab of rock on which I’m standing. What would happen if it were destroyed? Would the whole mountain collapse?

I look back at the box and feel the sweat adding moisture to my already wet collar. I have a feeling I won’t be running into any more Rangi, not if they’re going to blow the
Wakenunat
.

The thought sends me scurrying backward. I should get as far away from the bridge as possible. Maybe if I find a place to hide … No, it won’t matter. Nowhere will be far enough. If I don’t do something soon, everyone in this mountain will die. And so will I.

I smash the butt of the rifle against the wall, press my fingers against my brow. I don’t know what to do! How do you stop a bomb?

You don’t. You get it as far away from here as possible and hope it doesn’t go off while you’re doing it.

Cursing, I sprint back for the box. I unclamp the lamp and pin it to my shirt, carefully scoot the bomb out from under the beams, pick it up, cradle it against my chest.

It’s extremely heavy, and I have to lean back in order to support the weight. The veins in my arm bulge.

I’m turning toward the tunnel when the thought hits me: there might be more.

I pivot on my heel and look back across the bridge. If there are, I can’t tell from here.

I stagger to the other side, trying to walk as steadily as possible since I don’t know what might set this thing off. I bend down to look under the beams. An identical black box greets my gaze.

My heart sinks. How am I going to carry two of them?

I can’t.
I’ll have to remove them one at a time.

Walking as quickly as possible, I enter the tunnel and set the first bomb down on the stone floor—if I don’t make it back, at least the charge won’t go off under a load-bearing beam.

I return to the second bomb, slide it out from under the tresses, clamp my teeth together as I pick it up. Stabbing sensations shoot from my hand to my bicep.

Where do I go? There’s fighting on the east side of the mountain. Maybe the west side will be calmer. But as I look at the endless run of tightly spiraling stairs, I realize I’ll never make it out of here in time.

And then I feel something cool sliding across the back of my moist neck. A draft. I snap my head around. A draft means an open door. It means wind.

I shine my light on the swirling air, but it’s too hard to catch. I close my eyes and try to calm my galloping heartbeat. Then I turn off the lamp. I’m going to have to do this blind.

Climbing onto the railing, I reach out to the air, feel the chilly breeze brush my arms. It’s weak, it’s coming from above, and it’s moving away from the opening. That means I’ll have to ride against the current. I wet my cracked lips. This could be suicide, but I’ve got to try.

I open myself up and feel the tiny stirring inside my gut. Then I seal the bond and leap off the bridge.

For a fraction of a second, I fall once more toward the cistern below. But the connection holds, and I hover in the air.

It’s exhausting—the weight of the bomb wants to force me into the water, and the breeze wants to push me backward. I clear my mind of everything except moving forward, command the current to let me through. And for the second time tonight, I swim upstream.

I move up the current past sector four. Sweat drips from my elbows, but I keep rising, keep straining. Keep going.

When I get to sector three, the draft moves into the tunnels, and the surf becomes stronger. The door must be on this level. I fight the stream into the passageway and then give up and drop to the ground. I almost fall over, but I steady myself and stumble down the corridor.

This time, with the wind as my guide, I know exactly where to go. I turn the lamp back on and move down the hallway, panting raggedly, swaying slightly. Before long, I reach the gathering place. The door on the mountainside is open again. It must be jammed, unable to close with the power off.

I run into the sculpted cavern. Now there’s plenty of wind. I find a current going in the direction I want and reach for it as it shoots off a ramp. I form
honga
, ride out the door.

Fiery bullets still streak across the dark sky, but there aren’t as many as there were on the other side. I turn off the lamp. Zip past the glowing shells. Zoom into the night.

Where do I drop this? Into the canyon?
I wish I knew how powerful it was, what damage it could cause.

I fly through the air, pushing myself hard, going as fast as I can. My connection wobbles as I strain for every extra ounce of speed, the weight of the box making my arms tremble violently.

I reach more deeply into the air, ask it to propel me forward.

Keep going. Got to keep going.

When I’ve gone as far as I dare, I dip into a ravine, find a ledge on the cliff, set the bomb down on the rocky shelf. My blood-drenched arms sag at my side, the adrenaline gone.

I hope this is far enough
. I stumble to the cliff’s edge
.
Now I have to get the other one.

Suddenly, I stop, look around me. I made it. I’m out of the fortress. I’m safe!

If I go back, the second bomb might go off before I get out. Someone might shoot me. I should leave now, while I have the chance.

What about the people inside
?

I bite through the inside of my cheek, jab my fingernails into my leg.

The Yakone aren’t my family—they tried to slice my head off.
I need to leave. Go help my real family. The twins.

I stand poised on the edge of the crag. I look at the open sky then back at the
Wakenunat
. At the sky, back at the fortress.

I feel the wind beckoning at the fringes of my brain.

“No!” I shout. “I won’t! I want to live.”

I got one bomb out, that’s more than enough. More than they deserve. I’m not a Yakone; they hate me. Why should I risk my neck for them?

“I won’t do it.”

I have to take care of myself, have to keep running. I can’t go back there. Can’t throw my life away. I’m free now. Free.

I turn away from the mountain.

And then I see Rye’s face, those calm green eyes. See him holding me after I was shot, carrying me through the storm, watching over me while I lay unconscious.