Steel Scars (8 page)

Only then am I released, pushed to sit.

I whirl in a fury, fists clenched and ready, only to find the Colonel staring back, very much prepared for my rage.

“You want to add striking your commanding officer to your list of offenses?” he says. It's almost a purr.

No, I don't
. Glumly, I drop my fists. Even if I could fight my way past Baldy, I don't want to try myself at the Colonel and his wiry strength. I raise a hand to my neck instead, massaging the now tender skin beneath the red scarf.

“It won't bruise,” he continues.

“Your mistake. I thought you wanted to send a message. Nothing says ‘get your ass back in line' like a blue neck.”

His red eye flashes. “You stop responding and think I'll let that go? Not a chance, Captain. Now tell me what's going on here. What of your team? Have you all gone rogue, or did some run off?”

“No one's run off,” I force through gritted teeth. “Not one of them. No one's rogue either. They're still following orders.”

“At least someone is.”

“I am still under operation, whether you choose to see it or not. Everything I'm doing here is for the cause, for the Guard. Like you said, this isn't the Lakelands. And while getting the Whistle network online is priority, so is Corvium.” I have to hiss to be heard over the crowding arena. “We can't rely on the slow creep here. Things are too centralized. People will notice, and they'll root us out before we're ready. We have to hit hard, hit big, hit where the Silvers can't hide us.”

I'm gaining ground, but not much. Still, it's enough for him to keep his voice from shaking. He's angry, but not livid. He can still be reasoned with.

“That's precisely what you recorded for,” he says. “You remember,
I assume.”

A camera and a red scarf across half my face. A gun in one hand, a newly made flag in the other, reciting words memorized like a prayer.
And we will rise up, Red as the dawn
.

“Farley, this is how we operate. No one holds all the cards. No one knows the hand. It's the only way we stay ahead and alive,” he presses on. From another, it might sound like pleading. But not the Colonel. He doesn't ask things. He just orders. “But believe me when I say, we have plans for Norta. And they aren't so far from what you want.”

Below us, the champions of the Feat march out onto the strange gray sand. One, the Thany stoneskin, has a boulder belly, and is nearly as wide as he is tall. He has no need for armor, and is naked to the waist. For her part, the oblivion looks every inch her ability. Dressed in interlocking plates of red and orange, she dances like a nimble flame.

“And do those plans include Corvium?” I whisper, turning back to the Colonel. I must make him understand. “Do you think me so blind that I wouldn't notice if there was another operation in this city? Because there isn't. There's no one here but me. No one else seems to care about that fortress where every single Red doomed to die passes through.
Every single one
. And you think that place isn't important?”

Corporal Eastree flashes in my head. Her gray face and gray eyes, her stern resolve. She spoke of slavery, because that's what this world is. No one dares say it, but that's what Reds are.
Slaves and graves
.

For once, the Colonel holds his tongue.
Good, or else I might cut it out
.

“You go back to Command and you tell someone else to continue with Red Web. Oh, and let them know the Mariners are here too. They're not so shortsighted as the rest of us.”

Part of me expects to be slapped for insubordination. In all our years, I've never spoken to him like this. Not even—not even in the
north. At the frozen place we all used to call home. But I was a child then. A little girl pretending to be a hunter, gutting rabbits and setting bad snares to feel important. I am not her anymore. I am twenty-two years old, a captain of the Scarlet Guard, and no one, not even the Colonel, can tell me I am wrong now.

“Well?”

After a long, trembling moment, he opens his mouth. “No.”

An explosion below matches my rage. The crowd gasps in time with the fight, watching as the wispy oblivion tries to live up to her odds. But the Mariner was right. The stoneskin will win. He is a mountain against her fire, and he will endure.

“My team will stand with me,” I warn. “You'll lose ten good soldiers and one captain to your pride, Colonel.”

“No, Captain, someone else is not going to take over Red Web from you,” he says. “But I will petition Command for a Corvium operation, and when they've secured a team, it will take your place.”

When. Not if
. I can barely believe what he's saying.

“Until such time, you will remain in Corvium and continue work with your contacts. Relay all pertinent information through the usual channels.”

“But Command—”

“Command is more open-minded than you know. And for whatever reason, they think the world of you.”

“I can't tell if you're lying.”

He merely raises one shoulder, shrugging. His eyes rove back to the arena floor, to watch as the stoneskin rips the young oblivion apart.

Somehow, his reason grates on me more than anything else. It's hard to hate him in a time like this, when I remember who he used to be. And then of course, I remember the rest. What he did to us, to our
family. To my mother and sister, who were not so horrible as we were, who could not survive in the monster he made.

I wish he wasn't my father. I've wished it so many times.

“How goes Shieldwall?” I murmur to keep my thoughts at bay.

“Ahead of schedule.” Not a hint of pride, just sober fact. “But transit could be an issue, once we set in on removal.”

Supposedly the second stage of my operation. The removal and transport of
assets
deemed useful to the Scarlet Guard. Not just Reds who would pledge to the cause but ones who can fire a gun, drive a transport, read, fight.

“I shouldn't know—,” I begin, but he cuts me off. I get the feeling he doesn't have anyone to talk to, if Baldy is any indication.
Now that I'm gone
.

“Command gave me three boats.
Three
. They think three boats can help get an entire island populated and working.”

Somewhere in my brain, a bell rings. And on the floor, the stoneskin raises his rocky arms, victorious. Skin healers tend to the oblivion girl, fixing up her broken jaw and crushed shoulders with quick touches.
Crance will be happy
.

“Does Command ever mention pilots?” I wonder aloud.

The Colonel turns, one eyebrow raised. “Pilots? For what?”

“I think my man inside Corvium can get us something better than boats, or at least, a way to steal something better than boats.”

Another man would smile, but the Colonel simply nods.

“Do it.”

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, COMMAND CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: Colonel REDACTED.

    
Designation: RAM.

    
Origin: Rocasta, NRT.

    
Destination: COMMAND at REDACTED

    
-Contact made with LAMB. Her team still online, no losses.

    
-Assessment: CORVIUM worth an operation team. Suggest MERCY. Suggest a rush. LAMB will hand off and return to RED WEB.

    
-LAMB passing intelligence vital to SHIELDWALL and removal/transit.

    
-Returning to post.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: General REDACTED. Designation: DRUMMER.

    
Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

    
Destination: RAM at REDACTED, LAMB at Corvium, NRT.

    
-CORVIUM suggestion under advisement.

    
-Captain Farley will return to RED WEB in two days.

    
-COMMAND split on punishment as is.

    
-Awaiting intelligence.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: Captain REDACTED.

    
Designation: LAMB.

    
Origin: Corvium, NRT.

    
Destination: RAM at REDACTED, COMMAND at REDACTED.

    
-Request a week.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
—You're a special kind of stupid, kid. —RAM—

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: General REDACTED.

    
Designation: DRUMMER.

    
Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

    
Destination: RAM at REDACTED, LAMB at Corvium, NRT.

    
-Five days. No more negotiation.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

Somehow the farmhouse has begun to feel like a home.

Even with the collapsed roof, the tents wicked with humidity, and the silence of the woods. It's the longest I've been anywhere since Irabelle, but that was always base. And while the soldiers there are the closest thing I have to family, I never could see the cold concrete and mazelike passages as anything more than a way station. A place to train and wait for the next assignment.

Not so with the ruin on the doorstep of the killing grounds, in the shadow of a grave city.

“That's it,” I tell Cara, and lean back against the closet wall.

She nods and folds away the broadcaster. “Nice to see you all chatting again.”

Before I can laugh, Tristan's neat knock jars the shuttered excuse for a door. “Got company.”

Barrow
.

“Duty calls,” I grumble as I scoot past Cara, bumping her in the closed space. Wrenching open the door, I'm surprised to find Tristan standing so close, his usual nervous energy on overdrive.

“Spotters got him this time, finally,” he says. On another day, he might be proud, but something about this sets him off. I know why. We never see Barrow coming.
So why today?
“Signaled it's important—”

Behind him, the farmhouse door bangs open, revealing a red-faced Barrow flanked by Cris and Little Coop.

One look at his terrified face is enough.

“Scatter,” I snap.

They know what it means. They know where to go.

A hurricane moves through the farmhouse, taking home with it. The guns, the provisions, our gear disappears in a practiced heartbeat, shoved into bags and packs. Cris and Little Coop are already gone, into the trees, to get as high as they can. Their mirrors and birdcalls will
carry the message to the others in the woods. Tristan supervises the rest, all while loading his long rifle.

“There isn't
time
, they're coming now!” Barrow hisses, suddenly at my side. He takes my elbow and not gently. “You have to go!”

Two snaps of my fingers. The team obeys, dropping whatever isn't packed away. I guess we'll have to steal some more tents down the line, but it's the least of my worries. Another snap, and they fly like bullets from a gun. Cara, Tye, Rasha, and the rest going through the door and the collapsed wall, in all directions with all speed. The woods swallow them whole.

Tristan waits for me because it's his job. Barrow waits because—because I don't know.

“Farley,”
he hisses. Another tug at my arm.

I cast one last glance, making sure we have everything, before making my own escape into the tree line. The men follow, keeping pace with my sprint through tangled roots and brush. My heart pounds in my ears, beating a harried drum.
We've had worse. We've had worse
.

Then I hear the dogs.

Animos-controlled hounds. They'll smell us, they'll follow, and the swifts will run us down. If we're lucky they'll think we're deserters and kill us in the forest. If not—I don't want to think about what horrors the black city of Corvium holds.

“Get to water,” I force out. “They'll lose the scent!”

But the river is a half mile on.

I only hope they take the time to search the farmhouse, giving us the window we need to escape. At least the others are farther on, spread wide. No pack can follow us all. But me, us, the freshest, closest scent? Easy prey.

Despite the protest in my muscles, I push harder and run faster than
I ever have before. But after only a minute,
only a minute
, I start to tire. If only I could run as fast as my thundering heart.

Tristan slows with me, though he doesn't need to. “There's a creek,” he hisses, pointing south. “Shoots off the river, closer. You head for it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can make it to the river. You can't. And they can't follow us both.”

My eyes widen. I almost trip in my confusion, but Barrow catches me before I can, sternly helping me over a gnarled root. “Tristan—”

My lieutenant only smiles and pats the gun slung across his back. Then he points. “That way, Boss.”

Before I can stop him, before I can order him not to, he leaps through the trees, using his long legs and the lower branches to vault over worsening ground. I can't shout after him. Somehow I don't even get a good look at his face. Only a mop of red hair, gleaming through the green.