Dawnbreaker: Legends of the Duskwalker - Book 3 (51 page)

And then he felt something, another wave of force, this time not from Asher. From Wren.

He opened his eyes and terror seized his heart.

Where Wren had been just moments before, there stood now a towering being of divine wrath and judgment; ten feet tall, forged of lightning, wreathed in flame. And even as Asher drove Painter forward, he resisted, his fear temporarily overriding Asher’s influence.

Painter had seen this before. It was only Wren. It was only little Wren, doing his trick. Doing what the woman Lil had taught him to do. It filled Painter with terror for some reason, but he knew it could do him no harm.

The wave of Weir slowed and for a moment looked like they might balk, but again Painter felt Asher extend himself, and the Weir resumed their surge. Painter had assumed that whenever Asher found Wren, there would be some sort of dialogue, some exchange before the end. Or at least that Asher would toy with his kid brother. Now, it just looked like Asher was going to erase him.

And then the strangest thing happened.

As the Weir drew near to Wren, when they met the radiance of his shimmering image, they fell. Fell as if their minds had been instantly extinguished. They fell in piles, heaped up one upon the other until the crush could stop its advance. The Weir stopped, crowded into one another, trapped between the compulsion to drive forward and the terror of what lay before them.

And then Wren walked towards them, and as he approached, they parted, scrambling to get out of his way. Wherever one failed to escape his aura, it too fell and lay as dead.

Asher burst his way into Painter’s mind.

“Oh look. Little brother’s learned some new tricks,” he said. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

Asher issued some wide area command, and Painter understood intuitively that he was being directed on to Greenstone. But as he stepped forward, Asher spoke to him.

“No, Painter, not you. You stay. You will bear witness, so that you may proclaim my final victory.”

And then, with Painter as witness, Asher leapt upon his brother.

T
he Weir had rushed
in after most of the civilians had been cut down. The people hadn’t fought particularly well, or even bravely. Theirs was pure desperation, and it had made them easy targets. At first, jCharles had thought it a foolish tactic, to throw bodies at the wall. But as the Greenmen around him started calling for extra magazines, he soon realized what effect it had really had. The Weir were advancing much more quickly, coming much closer to actually reaching the gates, and as more and more Greenmen were forced to reload their weapons, the volume of fire dropped off. Each time it did, the Weir made leaps towards the gate.

“Holl! Send out that alert!” jCharles yelled.

“Yeah,” Hollander called back. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

jCharles hadn’t really had time to look back behind him, but he’d heard some screams and some scuffles. Some folks had gotten the idea early enough on their own. Soon after Hollander sent out the alert, though, it got a whole lot noisier. The streets filled with citizens, all rushing towards the one place the vast majority of them had avoided at all costs. Downtown.

As expected, the plans for a well-ordered evacuation were immediately blown, and though the chaos in the streets wasn’t as bad as that just outside the wall, jCharles knew many lives were going to be lost before the night was through. Why hadn’t Hollander just listened to him?

And then, the call came in. The eastern gate was under attack. By a much larger force.

The Weir that jCharles had been fighting, the one that was dangerously close to breaking through to the gate, had merely been a diversionary force. And jCharles knew then that all his worst nightmares of this night were coming true.

C
ass was relieved
to reach the bottom floor without any sight or sound of another Weir. Kit was breathing a little harder than anyone else, but otherwise they all seemed to be in good enough shape to finish the job. Though Cass hadn’t counted the stairs, she was pretty sure that they weren’t as far down here as she’d been in the other node access. Like the other, however, the stairs terminated at a single door and when they opened it, the small chamber they entered was, to all appearances, identical.

Cass closed the door behind them, and then pulled Swoop and Kit closer. They spoke in whispers.

“I don’t know if the layout’s going to be the same beyond that door,” Cass said, “but we’re looking for a single, big machine, about ten feet tall. Swoop, you remember the one back in the governor’s compound?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“It’s like that one, but much larger.”

“Check.”

“How much time are you going to need to rig it?”

“How bad you wanna hurt it?”

“I want it dead.”

“Hexcord’s prepped. Just got to slap it on and activate. Forty-five seconds, if you can keep ’em off me.”

“We’ll do it,” Cass said, looking to Kit. Kit was grim-faced, resolute.

“We have to,” she said. “So we will.”

Swoop adjusted the satchel so it was hanging around front, but still out of the way of his weapon.

“When we go in,” he said, “if it looks familiar, you take point. If not, leave it to me.”

“OK, check,” Cass said.

Swoop nodded, and he and Cass executed the same door-opening routine she’d learned from Gamble. The room was clear, at least as much of it as they could see, and they rolled smoothly in. To Cass’s relief, the layout seemed to be identical; racks of machines forming aisles, same pristine environment. She nodded to Swoop, and moved up front. He kept close behind as she began to lead them towards the location of the target machine.

It was remarkably quiet, except for the pleasant drone of the machines and the cooling fans. The only real difference she noticed between this node and the first she’d found was that the blue status lights on the machines seemed to be brighter in a few locations. She didn’t remember that variation before. It was as she came around a corner that she discovered the source.

A cluster of Weir was waiting for them.

Cass didn’t wait, she just unleashed with the jittergun and cut down four before they reacted. But it was only a few seconds before she realized just how much trouble they were in. Cries sounded from all around the room, and Weir poured towards them from three directions.

“Back!” Swoop shouted, “Back!” and he unloaded with his heavy weapon, mowing down their enemy and momentarily checking their advance. Cass and Kit withdrew behind him, Cass with a hand on his harness, pulling him along behind her to guide him. Kit backpedaled and fired clean, controlled shots,
pop pop pop
, one after the other.

But the Weir kept coming, kept forcing them back. Back.

And Cass recognized what was happening, too late. The Weir drove them back by sheer force of numbers to a wall, and ringed them in. The machine. The Weir had waited in ambush, and then steered them away from the machine.

They were cut off. Surrounded.

W
ren sensed it coming
, that initial impact of Asher’s signal, and without thinking he shifted his mind, redirected the attack, robbed it of its energy. The next seconds, or minutes, or hours, were a white hot blur of reaction, reflex, and training, as Wren’s mind and body fused into one entity and strove against Asher. All the cold, all the exhaustion, all the fear and adrenaline and pain, every ounce of what Foe had put Wren through paled in comparison to the experience he now endured. Asher had grown tenfold, a hundredfold since Wren had faced him last. His signal had grown in complexity, and the processes came from multiple directions.

But Wren remembered the petals, how overwhelming they seemed when he had tried to focus on each one individually. And his mind gained a new perspective, saw everything, but only noticed the processes that could truly harm him. Still he strove to grasp Asher’s signal, to attach to it, to find his opening.

And then, a lightning flash. Wren saw it. The opening. And as soon as he saw it, he executed the plan, just as he had countless times under Foe’s watchful eye. After all of the struggle just to hold on, the strike was surprisingly easy. Wren attached, and clung to Asher’s signal, locking him down in Painter’s mind.

He felt it then, the moment when Asher realized his danger, the moment of panic. Asher flailed and thrashed against Wren, but for all his power, he couldn’t break free. He had never experienced anything like it, this simple capture protocol. He didn’t know how to escape and though surely he had the power, he was too frantic to find a counter.

And here, now, was the moment, the one Wren had been visualizing, had been training for. The instant he thought it, his body was in motion as if of its own volition.

Draw from holster, raise from hip.

Sights on target.

Finger on trigger.

Painter stood frozen, eyes wide. Asher seemed to scream within him, pure rage, but Painter was paralyzed by fear.

No, not by fear.

Wren saw it in his eyes now. Painter wasn’t panicking. He was
holding
himself still; resisting, in fact, Asher’s commands to move or attack or anything.

“Do it,” Painter said, his voice strained. “Do it, Wren.”

Smooth pressure.

Painter stood bravely, facing his death.

Justice.

But this wasn’t justice. Wren knew it in his heart. Asher had proven himself time and again, had shown his will; he would destroy until he himself was destroyed. But Painter, Painter had been deceived, enslaved. Killing him may have been revenge, or it may have been mercy. Either way, in the end, he would be another life that Asher had claimed. But a life that Asher would claim by Wren’s hand.

No, he wouldn’t.

Wren released the pressure from the trigger, took his finger out of the trigger guard.

“Wren,” Painter said. “Wren, hurry! I can’t hold him much longer!”

Wren didn’t lower the gun, just kept it centered right on Painter’s chest. He would have gotten him, easy. He would have done it.

Painter cried out and fell to his knees, clutching his head in both hands.

And Asher slipped free of Wren’s hold, and turned all his wrath upon his brother.

B
y the time
Hollander and jCharles made it to the eastern gate, they knew it was going to be lost. Too few Greenmen remained, too few of Bonefolder’s hired guns, too few of everyone that jCharles needed, and too many of the enemy. 4jack came up close behind with the team of Greenmen they’d brought from the northern gate.

A thundering blow rattled the gate, followed by a guttural howl unlike any sound jCharles had ever heard.

“That plan of yours,” Hollander said. “Better get to it.”

“Get everyone off the gate,” jCharles said, “and get your men Downtown.”

“We’ll cover our–” Hollander started, but jCharles cut him off.

“Just go!”

Hollander stared at him for a hard moment, but then issued the order for the Greenmen to withdraw. Most of them did, though a few stayed on the wall despite his repeated orders. 4jack slapped jCharles’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna get in place.”

“Yeah,” jCharles said. “See you in a few.”

4jack nodded and took off, and jCharles didn’t stick around. He ran to the nearest stairwell, made it down to the ground level.

Gamble was waiting for him, along with Sky and Finn.

“We set?” she said.

“Almost,” he answered. He swapped out the magazines on both jitterguns. “Hoping to get those last few off the wall–”

The gates shuddered again. A moment later, Sky’s rifle hummed once, and then twice more in succession. jCharles didn’t see anything through the gate yet, but when he looked up, he saw Weir on the wall. They’d topped it somehow. There were still Greenmen up there.

“We’re going,” Gamble said.

“There are still–”

“They’re dead,” Gamble said abruptly. “Finn, hit it.”

The gates shuddered a third time, and the squeal of flexing metal rent the air. It held, but the Weir were swarming the top of the wall now, and jCharles saw the last of the Greenmen fall. Seconds later, a clap of thunder struck so loudly the ground shook and a shockwave passed through him. The gate was smoke and fire, and whatever had been on the other side of it had evaporated. Most of the Weir on top of the wall had been thrown off, one way or the other, or were laying stunned atop it.

“Mouse,” Gamble said, “Gate’s down. Moving in ten!”

“Check,” came Mouse’s reply. Finn had dialed jCharles into the team’s channel, and he was getting a front row seat to how they operated.

“Finn, Sky,” Gamble said, and then she motioned with her hand. The three moved out into the street in a wedge and started dumping rounds through the smoking husk of the gate.

“Four... three... two...” Gamble counted down, “one, Alpha’s moving!”

“Alpha moving, check!” Mouse said through the channel. Gamble and her two teammates started falling back, just as the first of the Weir came stumbling through. Sky picked two off. jCharles fell into position with them, jitters at the ready but holding fire. As expected, the Weir saw them first, and immediately charged.

“Go!” Gamble said, and they all took off on their route.

It was the worst twenty seconds of jCharles’s life. He didn’t dare look behind him, but he was certain that at any second claws were going to drag him down. The howls of the Weir were devastating, echoing off the buildings and narrow streets of Greenstone. jCharles was the last to make it through the designated alleyway, and the instant he crossed, two loud pops sounded just behind him, followed by a strange metallic whine. He didn’t stop, though, until he reached the cover point. He leapt over a three-foot concrete barrier and ducked down. Only then did he risk peeking up and over.

A fibrasteel mesh now covered the end of the alley they’d come through, like a web up to about ten feet. A horde of Weir stacked up against it, those in front forced into it by those in the rear. A few moments later, jCharles saw thin metal cylinders tumbling down from the rooftops, reflecting the gaudy lights of shop signs as they fell. They disappeared into the churning crowd of Weir, and a second later, a series of white flashes lit up the alley, like lightning on the ground. jCharles didn’t have time to see what the effect was. Gamble and her crew were already up and running.