The Dream Widow (16 page)

A trio of hunters crouched beside her, waiting to take over. At their backs and farther up the trail was the snow-covered mound of an underground bunker Simpson had constructed last week.

Badger fired twice more and Zhang touched her shoulder. She fired again and Zhang pulled her away from the fight.

She jogged a short distance up the pass and passed a dozen village men with rifles, ready to fire if the Circle charged out of the granite choke-point.

Inside the bunker, Hausen waited with another dozen hunters.

“Status,” he barked.

Badger tried to rub the cold out of her nose. “They’re still coming. On and on, like the devil’s at their heels with a red-hot poker.”

“How much ammunition do you have left?”

“Four. The other three have about a dozen.”

Hausen gave her a handful of golden shells. “Here’s more. Tell them we’re pulling back in ten minutes.”

“What? This is easier than target practice––we’ve got them bottled up and running straight into our sights!”

Hausen shook his head. “We’re too far from the village and the snow is falling harder and harder. The Circle has more rifles and men than we do–”

“What does that matter? They can’t shoot around corners.”

“No, but they can rush all their men forward, instead of the dribs and drabs they’ve given us so far. Once we get them out in the open with a clear field of fire they’ll drop like flies. Our rifles are long-range, not like those toys they’re carrying.”

“If the snow keeps coming down like you say, we won’t be able to see them in the open,” said Badger. “Much less hit anything.”

“I don’t have time to argue,” said Hausen. “Get some water and rest.”

Badger stared at Hausen’s worn, dirt-streaked face for a moment. She jabbed a finger at his nose.

“Don’t tell me what to do. And don’t make stupid mistakes.”

Hausen looked away. He opened his mouth to say something grim but Badger had already squirmed out of the bunker’s tiny exit.

She knelt in the growing flurry of snow and used her fingers to count the remaining men. Thirty-six. Three dozen to hold the pass. Plus forty back at the village with Yishai in case there was a break-out. Nelson and ten men guarded the trail that ran over the shoulder of Old Man. All but one of the Medics were back at the rectory and the Runners were busy carrying messages, ammunition, and supplies.

The big, loutish Mast jogged along the path from the village. He stopped near Badger.

“There you are,” he said. “Wilson said he’s going to the Tombs.”

“So?”

Mast shrugged. “He just wanted me to tell you.”

Badger sighed. She pulled Mast and the eight remaining students into a huddle.

“Work in pairs––one using a trick and one ready for a rescue. If we keep a grip on things right here the Circle can’t break through. If they do attack in big numbers, don’t fight it and just fall back to the trenches. Got it?”

 The students all gave a thumbs-up.

Badger pointed at Robb. “You know how to climb, right?”

The redheaded teenager nodded.

“Check your rifle and bring ten rounds,” said Badger.

She left her empty brass with the resupply boy and walked a short distance up the trail toward Station. At a set of small ledges in the sheer rock she slung her rifle on her back.

“The hardest part is the first five meters.”

Badger tightened her shoes and gloves and began to climb hand over foot. She pulled herself over the top of a wide ledge with Robb right behind. The pair inched sideways along a narrow lip on the granite wall. They squeezed through a wide crack and lay on a flat rock.

Snow skidded over them and whirled down to a long line of Circle troopers around a corner of the rock canyon. All were crouched and gripping those short rifles in their hands. Near the bottleneck defended by the villagers, a pair of bodies lay bleeding in the snow. From the eastern, Circle-controlled end of the pass Badger heard a steady hammering and faint shouting.

“Sounds like they’re making camp,” she whispered.

Badger bit the finger of one glove and pulled it off, then lay it at the edge of the drop-off as a cushion for her rifle. She lined up the post and pillar of her sights on the farthest Circle trooper and fired. He slumped into the dirt as the sound of the shot bounced on the walls of the pass. The other soldiers swiveled their heads left and right. Robb’s shot panged off the rock wall and the troopers looked up.

Badger and Robb reloaded as dirt and chips of granite spattered on them from the missed Circle bullets. Badger slid to the edge and shot a man trying to drag away the first wounded soldier. Robb’s second round cracked into the black carbine of another soldier, blowing it apart in smoke and shards of flying metal.

“Got one!”

“I asked if you could climb,” said Badger. “I should have asked if you could shoot.”

The Circle pulled back with the wounded men, but not before Badger had shot two more and Robb finally hit a soldier in the leg.

Badger handed Robb the rest of her shells. “Stay up here. I’ll bring some furs and water.”

She inched back along the narrow lip and carefully descended along the same small divots in the rock she’d used before.

Mast ran up to her from beside the dugout.

“Kira! I just heard from a messenger––”

“You already told me. Wilson went underground.”

“That’s not it. One of the Runners saw Mary at the cafeteria. She said the machines are ripping the Tombs apart.”

EIGHT

T
he spout of the brown teapot clinked as Tran poured hot water into a painted cup.

Delmar slapped the wall next to his bed. “Tran, she’s already had three cups. Mother will grow fangs if she drinks that much tea.”

“Mind your business,” snapped a pert, grey-haired woman who knelt on the floor. She continued to roll clothing into tight bundles. “This village is doomed and I need the energy.”

Tran handed the cup to Flora and sat in a far corner of the room. He watched as she took a long slurp of tea.

“Just listen to the gossip,” she said. “The women in this place are looking forward, not backward. They’ve been stuffing everything into packs and sacks, bags and boxes.”

Delmar sighed and pulled the blanket higher around his chest. “I won’t leave without Kaya.”

A knock sounded at the door and a smiling girl with brown hair walked in.

“Speak of the devil,” said Flora. “Anyway, Tran will need help carrying you.”

Tran’s face turned red and he stared down at the patterned rug on the floor.

“What do you mean?” asked Kaya. “Who’s carrying what where?”

Delmar waved his hand limply. “Mother thinks we’ll have to leave Station because of the attack.”

“It’s not just me, the other families are packing,” said Flora, nodding like an angry hen.

“They’re preparing, but I’ve only heard good news about the fighting,” said Kaya softly. “Wilson destroyed a tank and a great, silver bird flew from the mountain and killed hundreds of the Circle. Did you see it?”

“No, dear. I’ve been here the whole day.”

“I saw it,” said Tran, from his corner.

The door vibrated from a rapid knock.

“Check for a line of visitors out there,” said Flora.

Kaya opened the door. A boy stood in the corridor––Alfie, one of Wilson’s Runners.

“We need help in the rectory,” said Alfie. “Too many wounded and not enough hands.”

“Oh! I didn’t know,” said Kaya.

She left a small bundle of food with Delmar, then kissed him on the cheek.

“If you have clean clothes or blankets, please bring them,” said Alfie.

Kaya nodded as she left the room.

“Tran,” Flora pulled a roll of blankets from under her chair. “Take these to the rectory.”

The boy held the blankets in his arms and shuffled to the corridor. He waited until Alfie had closed the door, then grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Do you need help? A fighter?”

Alfie looked puzzled. “Hausen said you have to stay with Flora.”

“It will be fine.” Tran chopped his hand forward. “I want to fight.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Tran stared at Alfie. “I promise. It will be fine.”

WITH THE HELP of the sight-trick Wilson took the metal steps two at a time into the heart of the Tombs. A deep rumble and a muffled, repeated clanging filled the stairwell.

The air warmed. Wilson guessed the air circulators were offline but it gave him the strange feeling that he was descending into Hell.

At the bottom he opened the access hatch to the cavern slowly. A chaotic mass of machinery sounds burst inside. A silver spider-arm whizzed by the doorway, a whining drill in its metal claws. Squadrons of robotic appendages sped around the ceiling, clumsily banging against everything in the room like an insane contest of drunken hummingbirds.

The ring of glass-domed controller beds suffered scrapes and pings from low-swooping mechanical arms. Only Father Reed’s dome glowed with a blue light––Jack’s light had finally faded away and was no different from the other dead controllers.

Wheels squealed nearby and a hard surface slammed into Wilson. He fell and slid halfway across the cavern. As he got to his feet, Wilson noticed the floor and his hands were covered with a slick chemical that smelled faintly sweet, like rotten apples.

The Zoomba sped out of the shadows toward him, a waist-high rounded white cylinder. Four silver arms waved around the central axis of the machine. One arm ended in a brush and the others held similar, harmless-looking tools.

Wilson tried to step out of the way at the last second but the Zoomba turned and slammed into him again, knocking him off his feet. Wilson yelled in pain as the machine pushed him across the slick floor and smashed his shoulders into a concrete wall.

The cylinder backed off and circled the floor of the cavern, a trail of slick chemicals bubbling after it.

Wilson pulled out his pistol and fired two shots at the machine as it curved back in his direction. The weapon flew out of his hand as the Zoomba shoved his legs into the wall. Tools waving erratically, the cleaner went back to its route once again.

Wilson felt his knees and ribs where he’d been struck. He stood from the floor shakily and controlled his breathing, hands at his sides.

Half a minute later the robot whirred straight at Wilson. The instant before it touched him, Wilson flashed away and shoved it into the wall with a yell. The cylinder exploded into metal chunks and thousands of white plastic fragments, most of which skidded or bounced across the slick floor to the opposite wall. The round wheelbase of the Zoomba whirred like a dying top until the last spark of power faded away. Wilson brushed gray dust and pieces of wire from his face and jacket.

The spider-arms still zipped and clanged around the ceiling. Wilson kept his back to the wall and crept to the door of the medical section. The opener button failed to respond when he pushed it, and he couldn’t get a grip on the smooth surface of the door to use his enhanced strength.

He inched his way further around the wall of the noisy cavern. As he crept along, he kept his eyes on the clanking machines and tripped over a tarnished, ancient box. When he stood up a gang of spider arms were clustered noisily around the stairwell door. Badger stood a few meters into the room, her hunting knife throwing a flurry of sparks as she sliced at the snapping metal pincers around her.

“Kira! Move back to the wall,” yelled Wilson.

Badger dodged a quartet of jabbing claws and back-pedaled to the wall. She kept her hand on the concrete and followed it around old metal boxes and green cylinders to Wilson. The silver spider-arms went back to spinning around the ceiling and fighting with each other.

Badger hugged Wilson around the neck.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine. Just a few scratches.”

The left sleeve of her leather jacket was ripped and bloody. Wilson had an extra bandage in his pocket and wrapped the laceration firmly.

“How’s Reed?”

“I can’t get close enough to tell,” said Wilson. “But his dome is still lit and those other lights at the base are working. He might be alive, but who knows?”

Badger wiped sweat from her forehead. “It won’t matter with all these idiot machines flying around.”

“I need to find a way to reset the systems. Maybe snapping the power off for a few seconds will do it.”

Badger laughed. “And maybe you can shoot lightning from you eyes. How in the three bloody cats are we going to turn anything off? You don’t even know where the reactor is.”

“Such language from such a pretty face! It’s not true––there’s a corridor at the far end of this room that leads to the power control room.”

“When did you figure this out?”

Wilson took a yellow and blue roll of paper from his jacket. “A week ago, when Reed found this map of the facility. We decided not to tell anyone else. Hausen would shut the whole place down rather than spend time studying it.”