DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (25 page)

The vans started up and pulled away, vanishing from my peripheral vision, but I didn't care. Fire. We needed fire of some sort, here. “KHALID! DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING COMBUSTIBLE?”

“Yes. Can you get clear of them?”

I took a precious second, blocked the fingers scrabbling for my mask, and glanced to Ballista. “ON THREE?”

He nodded, and at the count of three I dodged right, pushed the one nearest me as hard as I could. At the same time Ballista stepped forward and slammed his hands into the remaining two. All flew back, tumbling and rolling across the beach... and Khalid charged in, tossing something low and underhanded.

WHUMP!

I don't know what the hell it was. It looked like orange fluid spraying everywhere. And after a second the fluid started to flicker with light and heat. Flames, red, angry flames started to rise up, erupting like grasping fingers as an oily smoke filled the air.

“Stay clear!” He shouted. “That's Greek Fire!”

I had absolutely no idea what that was, but I joined the three of them in backing up.

One of the berserkers, now coated in flaming goo, came running out of the smoke. I drilled him with a beanbag round to knock him back into the inferno.

Then there was nothing but shrieking, and the smell of roasting meat. I gagged and I wasn't the only one, Roy and Ballista looked about ready to throw up. Khalid though, he stood with his arms out, hands holding the hilt of his sword with the blade planted down in the sand. He was leaning on it, and I glanced over to him.

“YOU LOOK AWFULLY SPRY FOR SOMEONE WHO CAUGHT A BULLET WITH HIS KIDNEY EARLIER.”

“In honesty, I think it hit my liver.” His face didn't change as he watched the fires burn. “My kidneys are perhaps bruised, but I doubt they were ruptured.”

“THIS DOESN'T NEGATE HER POINT.”

He shook his head, glanced back. “We should look to the wounded. Joan—”

“WHAT?”

Oh no...

“WHAT HAPPENED TO JOAN?”

“She was caught outside when they came. She's in the sickbay, but it's not good. I have her on—” The rest of his words were lost, as I ran toward the sickbay shack as fast as I could go.

Ballista jogged alongside me. “So, I wanted to apologize. I ran into Roy at the hospital when I was being treated, and he explained things. I didn't know—”

“NOT NOW, OKAY?”

He shut up, but I had no time for him as I reached the curtain, peppered with bullet holes, and swept it aside. I burst into the room, and took the scene in with horror.

Joan, on a cot to the side, her clothes bloody and her face twisted to the side.

A bloody hammer on the cot next to her.

And Tugs, fucking Tugs, was busy pulling an IV out of her arm. He stared at me in shock, and I noticed the wet drops of blood spattering his face. He had two first aid kits under one arm.

“YOU KILLED HER.”

“I... I... M'sorry...”

“YOU STOLE AND YOU HIT HER BECAUSE SHE FUSSED OR YOU WANTED TO KEEP HER SILENT WHILE YOU STOLE HER MEDICINE.”

“M'sorry.” He dropped the first aid kits, backed away from me.

I reached up, pulled the coilgun down, aimed it at him. Behind me, Ballista grabbed my shoulder. “Hey! No! Don't kill him!”

“HE WAS TOLD.”

“M'sorry!” Tugs wept, falling to his knees. “I just... I...”

“VERY WELL. SHE WON'T SHOOT HIM.” I released the coilgun, and Ballista let go of my shoulder.

“Good. Look, I can take him in to the cops. He'll get a cell and a trial—”

“THE COPS WORK FOR THE BLACK BLOODS AROUND HERE.”

“What? Bullshit. Look, I can—”

I reached down, scooped the hammer off the cot. Before Ballista could react I took a step forward and brought it down on Tugs' skull with every bit of strength left in my clumsy arms. My weakened muscles were augmented by the hydraulics of the armor, and the outcome was never in doubt.

Tugs fell dead to the floor, and I regarded the bloody gray chunks sprayed around the room without any particular emotion.

“What did you do?” Ballista whispered behind me. I dropped the hammer, used my hands to tilt Joan's head towards me. It lolled lifelessly, and I knew she was gone.

“HE MUST HAVE THOUGHT THE BLOODS WOULD WIN, SO HE TRIED TO ROB US AND FLEE. HE WAS WARNED AND HE DID IT ANYWAY.”

“That's not— That's not justice.”

“JUSTICE?” I pushed past him, and opened the curtain of the tent. I gestured to the mob of people walking among the dead and wounded, trying to save who they could. They were calling out the names of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, everyone they loved was all right. “OUT HERE THERE'S JUST US. NO JUSTICE BUT WHAT WE MAKE.” I turned to face him full on, and saw his olive-skinned face gone pale as milk. He really was young, now that I had the opportunity to study him.

He shook his head. “I was going to help you, you crazy... you... I can't, now. Heroes don't kill. Heroes don't let villains kill people.”

“MM.” I looked at the burning pyre where the berserkers were turning to ash, then turned to study the lightning-fried gangers strewn across the dunes. “YOU MIGHT WANT TO TELL THEM THAT. DIRE IS SURE THEY'LL APOLOGIZE, AND GO HOME. BUT UNTIL THAT HAPPY DAY, THIS IS WAR. AND THEY SHALL PAY A THOUSAND TIMES OVER FOR JOAN AND EVERY OTHER INNOCENT THAT DIED TONIGHT.”

“I can't help you.” With a last, horrified look at me, he twisted and threw himself into the air. He accelerated as he went, turning what initially seemed like a small jump into an unending arc that soon moved out of my sight.

I looked back down as Khalid and Roy came limping up, supporting each other.

“What happened?” Khalid wheezed.

“TUGS. HE—” I took a breath, composed myself. “HE TRIED TO ROB THE PLACE WHILE EVERYONE WAS OUT. TOOK A HAMMER TO JOAN. SHE'S DEAD. DIRE KILLED HIM FOR... FOR...” My shoulders shook, as my composure broke. I turned off the mask's voicebox, slumped down against the wall of the shack, and sobbed freely. Khalid considered me for a moment, his face bleak. Finally he moved through the curtain into the sickbay.

Roy sat down next to me, back to the wall as well. After a while, he fished in his pockets and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”

“No.” I whispered, before remembering that my voice was off. I got the last few choking sobs out of my system, blew snot out of my nose, and ignored the gross splotch it made against my mask's screen. I flicked the menu up, and reconnected my voicebox. “NO, THANK YOU.”

He took one, lit up reflectively as he watched people move among the dead. It had been a victory, but a costly one. I sat still as a few survivors were dragged, groaning and shrieking, past me and into the sickbay.

I looked at Roy, found his face crinkled with a sneer.

“WHAT ARE YOU GRINNING AT?”

“Ah.” He folded his lips back down. “Just a bad joke I heard once. Sorry, the painkillers are makin' me loopy.” He pulled a bottle of pills out of his coat, shook it. The side of it was plastered with warning labels.

“SHOULD YOU BE TAKING THOSE?”

“Probably not,” he said, popping open the lid and throwing a handful into his mouth before chewing with a thoughtful expression. “Want some?” He said through the mouthful.

“PASS, THANKS.” My pains had faded to a dull ache. I was tired, more than anything. Tired and sick. I'd been too late to save Joan, too late to save the other bodies that were being dragged down the beach. Too late to save the wounded people being helped into the sick bay, too late for the line of people stacking up outside, the walking wounded making do with bandages and tourniquets. They'd gone through minutes of gunfire, after all. The Black Bloods insistence on cover had meant that the camp was a good ways away from their vantage points, but that had been a lot of lead going into the air. The distance hadn't saved my people from harm. Perhaps thirty wounded, I estimated. Perhaps eight dead.

I watched three men struggle with a large body, noted the old, grungy cloth tied around its jaw, and the shaved head. Rick was dead as well, then. Though I hadn't known him as well as Joan, I felt the loss with an odd indignation. I had to break his jaw, after all, just a few days back. But since then he'd been doing good around the camp. It wasn't fair that he should die now, like this.

After perhaps a few minutes, perhaps half an hour, Sparky rolled up to us. “Ha! We made it. Holy shit! We showed them!” And to my utter surprise, the wounded in line cheered. The people around laughed. The solemn spell was broken, as a happy babble started up.

What the hell was this?

I shook with indignation, started to clamber to my feet... and stopped, as Roy grabbed my shoulder, and rose with me. “Let them have this,” he advised in a quiet voice. “They'd be dead without you all. You're a real hero, yeah?”

“SHE'S NO HERO,” I muttered, remembering the feel of the hammer as it struck Tugs in the forehead. I felt no guilt for that; it had been a long time coming. Just regret that I hadn't done it sooner.

“Well, right now y'are,” he advised. “How you holdin' up, anyway? Hard to tell with that armor on ya.”

“One minute.” I popped the armor open, started to clamber out, and almost screamed. My arms... oh sweet heavens, my arms...

I clenched my teeth. “Roy?” I whispered, ignoring the ripping pains all up and down my arms. “Can you get her into sickbay? Without pulling on her arms too much?”

“Ah... shit. Shit, sure.” He wrinkled his nose at the smell of roasted me, and managed to help wrestle me out of the armor. He helped me up the steps, and the people waiting parted for me. There were murmurs of dismay as we got into the light, and I looked down to see that my arms from the elbows down were bright lobster red, split and weeping blood and watery fluid. My stomach throbbed with every stumbling step, and Khalid simply took one look, and pointed to a partitioned-off cot in the back.

“There!” he commanded, before turning his bloody, rubber-gloved hands back to the screaming woman on the central cot. “Forceps,” He commanded, and Abernathy handed over the tool. She stood ready for the next request, twisting her hands nervously as she stared at me. I stared back, as Roy helped me cross the room and lie down. As I did my stomach clenched in a sudden cramp, and I curled up in pain.

I lay there, trying not to shift my arms, and eventually the pain eased up enough that I could stretch out a bit. My eyes shut, I simply rested and tried to go inactive to regenerate the energy that I could. Dear lord, tonight had been a workout.

After perhaps an hour the curtains rustled, and Khalid entered, to look me over. “Dear God, woman. What did you go up against? Those are at least second-degree burns. The rest of you looks lightly toasted as well.”

“A faulty thermal buildup from a forcefield that really wasn't made to handle so many impacts in so short a time,” I summed up. “Also got hit in the gut when a berserker broke part of her armor plating.”

He sighed, started rolling up my shirt, and winced. Looking over, he put a hand on my forehead and checked my eyes. “No concussion. These are signs of dehydration. Abernathy, some water?”

“While you're here,” I muttered, “perhaps we can discuss a few things. Like, oh, that sword, the bullet through your liver that you pretty much walked off, and the green smoke?”

Khalid smiled, and there was a faint hint of sadness to it. “I was hoping not to have to show you those things.”

“Well, Dire was hoping to avoid getting roasted tonight. Guess we'll both have to learn to cope with disappointment.”

He glanced behind him. “Can we perhaps get some privacy?”

“Who's still here?” I asked.

“Roy. Sparky. Martin and Minna are waiting outside.”

“Then no. Call them in. We all talk. All lives are at stake here, so all get to hear your explanation.”

He tightened his lips, squinted at me for a minute... then chuckled. “I had my doubts about you at first. But no, despite the villainous trappings, you are a worthy leader.”

“Not going to cut and run like Ballista did? Not going to judge her for killing Tugs?”

He glanced back. “You heard the lady. Please call Martin and Minna in, then shut the curtain.” When he looked back at me, his eyes were miles away, and his face was hard and stern. “I have seen worse than your actions done for less reason, and deemed it right. The times have changed, perhaps, but these are not usual times. It is done.”

“What did you do with Joan's body?” I asked.

“In another niche, covered over. Mr. Sparky insisted on it.”

I nodded, and my neck gave a twinge of pain. “Tonight for explanations. Tomorrow we mourn.”

After a minute, Martin and Minna filed in. Anya was asleep in Minna's arms, and the woman's hair was bloodied. She was silent and seemed distracted, almost lost. Martin looked angry, hands jammed into his pockets, glaring at the floor. Sparky rolled into my view from the left. Roy followed with him, a hand on his shoulder. Sparky had been crying, judging by the dirty trails on his face. He'd left his mantle outside, thankfully. Roy alone seemed unruffled, probably still flying on whatever was in those painkillers. I didn't envy him his crash when he came down.

The shack wasn't big, and we filled it. That helped a bit, gave it warmth against the chill of the night. The space heaters in here did what they could, but it was still winter next to the sea.