Halo (Blood and Fire Series (A Young Adult Dystopian Series)) (43 page)

“Trust me. You don’t.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t want to see the cloudy expression on my friend’s face. I don’t argue; I just don’t have the heart. The vista changes gradually as we make our halting progress along the riverbank. It’s blacker than pitch by the time we reach the aqueduct and Ryka spends ten minutes trying to find the section where the others cut through the fence. He’s gone far too long and I begin to get nervous. My brother has turned grey, and his breathing sounds like the wet rasps of a file on metal, like the ones August uses in his forge.

“Don’t die. Don’t you dare die,” I hiss at him. “You haven’t even been born properly yet.” He lets out a shallow groan and a shiver of adrenalin powers through my torso and my limbs, making me jittery. He’s not done fighting. Ryka emerges from the trees after a low whistle to let me know he’s coming. The look on his face is grim.

“I found it,” he says. “The ground’s pretty torn up on this side of the fence. Looks like there was a fight. We’re gonna have to be really careful.”

Fear floods me on the tail of my adrenalin and I’m reminded of my halo. The synthetic drug used to control our emotions, our hopes and our fears, tasted of sickly sweet almonds when it affected us. In comparison to the metallic blood taste filling my mouth right now, it actually wasn’t that bad.

“Okay,” I whisper, and we chase through the forest, following the fence line until we come across a five-foot tall gash in the metal links. The ground is torn up like he said, churned, with huge, smeared boot marks. I slip sideways through the narrow rent in the fence, holding back the sharp, snapped metal for Ryka and my brother. We’re moving again, letting the dark of the forest envelop us as Ryka sets another torturously fast pace.

It feels like I’m a machine these days, and placing one foot in front of the other and propelling myself forward as fast as I can is pretty much all I’m good for. The night blends to dawn, a cold, bleak kind of morning, and then stirs itself into a grey and dismal day, and we do nothing more than run. Everything becomes a rhythm of fours. The sound of my boots hitting the forest floor, tripping steadily after Ryka, who never complains once about the increasingly heavy burden my brother poses. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, three, four, two. It’s all the same. I’m so lost in the rhythm that I’m almost hypnoti—

The sound of a gunshot startles the birds out of the trees. Ryka drops to the ground quicker than I’ve seen him move before. “
Kit, get down!
”

I know I have to eat dirt, but I can’t seem to get my body to respond fast enough. I’m too busy trying to see where the shot came from. “Kit! Ryka sweeps my legs out from underneath me just as another bullet zips through the air. I feel it buzz my hair and I know without a doubt that if he hadn’t sent me to the ground, I would be dead. I gasp and scramble closer to him, dragging the gun out of the waistband of my pants.

“Who’s out there?” I pant. “How many?”

“Don’t know,” he grits out. “Quickly, move!” He rises to a crouch and drags my brother behind a moss-covered boulder. I follow.

“I’m going to scout. Stay here.” Ryka disappears into the murky green undergrowth, nothing more than a quick black and gold shadow, and I’m left alone. More bullets rip through the air, but this time they’re not aimed at me. They’re aimed to the left, where Ryka is. I bite my lip and look over the boulder. I see them: black figures with assault rifles planted against their shoulders, aiming towards the river. Three guards. Their backs are to me, so I move without giving myself time to panic.

I am silent as I sweep behind them. The shortest one doesn’t make a sound as I give him the quickest, cleanest death I can; I thrust my dagger swiftly upwards into the base of his neck, and his body spasms and then falls limp. Even though he was good enough to die without gurgling or yelping, the sound of his rifle dropping to the floor tips the others off. They spin and open fire before even seeing me. None of their bullets are even close, although that doesn’t stop me from panicking. I drop and roll, just like in the arena. I scramble to my feet, using the vast trunk of an oak to protect me, and from there quickly assess my surroundings. Nowhere to go to the left. Nowhere to go to the right. My safest option is to head back behind the boulder, but my brother is still there, broken, and I can’t lead them straight to him. There’s no other option but to wait.

So I wait.

My heartbeat is the sound of thunder in my ears, making it hard to think straight.

“Come out, girl! It’ll be better if we can take you back alive!” one of the remaining guards shouts.

I blow out a sharp laugh. Better for whom if I go back alive? Certainly not me. I will die here on the forest floor before that happens. The snap of wood under rubber soles marks their approach, and I continue to wait. The handle of my knife is slick in my hand, ready to strike. The sound of their breath comes out in slow, even draws, and that’s enough to tell me these are the medicated, halo wearing kind of troops from the city. No point trying to reason with them. I spin the knife over in my hand once, twice, and then I launch myself from my hiding position.

“
Kit, no
!”

The two men in front of me, faces hidden behind their tinted riot masks, swivel at the waist when Ryka comes burning out of the shadows. They’re torn between the two of us for a second, and that’s all the time I need. I grapple the muzzle of the gun away from the guard on the left, pointing it to the ground just as his finger squeezes the trigger. The rattle up my arm jars my teeth together as a spray of bullets thud into the ground at our feet.

I yank him closer to prevent him from re-aiming and pull my weak arm back, striking with my elbow. Pain spirals up through my shoulder, and I feel a wet sensation as fresh blood trickles down my arm. My wound is freshly open, and the nausea that washes through me is epic, takes my breath away. Worse, the blow had no effect. The guard wrestles the rifle out of my grip and lifts his booted foot, slamming it into my leg. Too late, I twist and the force of the strike lands on the side of my kneecap, sending me to the floor.

With teeth gritted, I react instinctively. There’s no way I can do anything else, with the barrel of the rifle inches away from my face. I draw my dagger upwards and slam it down into the guard’s foot. My years of habitually sharpening my knives pays off; the blade sinks straight through his boot like it’s butter, not toughened black leather.

The guard gasps in surprise, not pain, and he does the stupidest thing possible. He reaches down and yanks out my knife.

Like I said—stupid.

Blood immediately wells up out of the narrow hole in his boot, a vivid crimson against all the different shades of green. “You’ll regret that,” I say. He grunts and retaliates with a sharp thrust of his gun. The scuffed metal butt connects with my temple and light explodes inside my head, accompanied with a high-pitched singing that keeps climbing in octaves until I can’t hear it anymore. Just feel its presence flowing through me like electricity. My hearing returns when another loud crack fills the air. A gun shot.

“Ryka!” I want to scream. I don’t know if he’s hurt. That shot could have been the end of him, but it could easily have been the end of the guard he was fighting, too. I scramble up and fly at the man in front of me, drawing the very last of my energy reserves together, and smash into him. We tumble into the dryness and earthy musk of the forest floor, and then we are both fighting for our lives. I finally get it
―
how being without my halo makes me better.
 
The guard is well-trained and persistent, but I am a hellcat, possessed, and unwilling to fail. His unwieldy body armour makes it difficult for him to move, which is good, but it also makes it hard to hurt him. The Kevlar in his stab vest makes it impossible for my knife to cut through, but I have other options available to me.

Surprised that I still have it, my hand closes around the grip of the gun. I twist myself up and tangle my legs around those of the guard, and then I’m on top of him. I can just make out the wide whites of his eyes beneath his riot mask, a dead giveaway. He knows it’s over. He scrambles beneath me, his hands trying to push me off him, but my position is strong. No more time to waste. I wrap both hands around the gun and press the muzzle directly over his heart. The guard goes still.

He stares up at me, panting from exertion now, and I hesitate. The reality of our situation hits me. I can’t see it, but underneath the black riot gear, he’s wearing a halo. He didn’t leave the city walls to hunt me down and exact revenge, or out of a malicious desire to wipe me from the face of the planet. He came because he was told to. And he can do nothing else with those drugs pumping around his body. My hand shakes on the gun handle, rattling it against his chest.

A mistake.

The guard twists underneath me and lunges, grabbing hold of something. I don’t see what, but I find out a second later. My own dagger, the one I stabbed through his boot, is buried hilt deep into my leg. I scream, my cry piercing, not sounding like me at all. With a series of quick, jolting shoves, the guard pushes me from him and crawls to his knees. I tumble onto my back, clutching at my leg like holding it is going to make the pain any more bearable. The guard lifts the visor on his mask and pulls in two laboured breaths before stooping to collect his gun. Where is Ryka? I don’t have the stomach to have his lifeless body be the last thing I see before I die. I feel really stupid now. Really, really stupid for never admitting that I love him. Because I do; it’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt and I can’t deny that this harrowed feeling of regret coursing through me isn’t because I’m about to die. It’s because I never got to share my life with him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, still holding my leg, and wait for the abrasive sound of his gun signalling my end. It doesn’t come, though. When I open my eyes, the guard is still standing, although his body seems to be wavering.

He tumbles to the earth, boneless, showcasing the elegant dagger
―
Ryka’s
―
buried in the back of his helmet. Ryka staggers forward, his bright blond hair now matted together with blood, and he yanks the blade free.
 

“Are you ready to go?” he asks me. I just stare at him. Like on the riverbank after we’d made it through the aqueduct, I want to laugh hysterically. But I don’t have the energy this time. He heaves me to my feet and I crumple into him, burying my face into his shoulder. I breathe in the smell of him for two seconds, finding enough strength in that to somehow stand on my own.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Ryka, I’m sorry. I need to tell you
―
”

“It’s okay. I know,” he says. I give him a small smile, thanking him silently for not making me say the words. They live there, though, between us.
I love you.

Ryka binds up my leg and collects my brother, and we leave the bodies of the guards behind us. We head for Freetown. We head for home.

******

We smell something acrid and foul before we see the smoke. It’s too dark at first to see much of anything, but as we make our staggering journey towards our destination, the dull orange glow on the horizon spells trouble.

“What’s going on?”

Ryka answers my question by quickening his pace. “It’s the night fires,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t believe that. Another ten minutes later Jada appears from nowhere. She rushes Ryka, slamming into his legs and barks like crazy. Her coat is filthy and she smells like burned hair.

“Where’s Jack, girl? Where’s Jack?” Jada tips her head to one side and barks again, then disappears into the darkness.

“Gods…” Ryka murmurs under his breath. We find more energy from somewhere and charge the remaining mile through the treacherously black forest. When we break the tree line, complete devastation awaits us. Since arriving here, I had always thought it: an open fire in Freetown was a terrible idea. But after all the death and blood horror of the last twenty-four hours, I doubt this destruction came from a rogue flame. I get the distinct impression this nightmare is an engineered one.

Freetown is burning.

Ryka almost stumbles and drops my brother when he sees it. “You know what this means, don’t you?” he exhales.

I take it all in: the screaming and shouting; the still-burning scraps of fabric that float up on the thermals of the fire, savagely beautiful against the night sky. “It means they struck out against us.”

“More than that.” He shakes his head, a look of cold steel transforming his face. I watch the change come over him, and his determination is frightening. “The Sanctuary have cut us, Kit, and we’re bleeding. You know as well as I do what happens next.” He turns to face me, and my stomach lurches. There’s a promise of pain and blood in his eyes. He takes a step, sucking in a deep breath, and I close my eyes, knowing, just like he said. For the people of Freetown, there is only one answer to this attack, one that will mean death and loss for everyone.

“War,” I say softly. “We are going to war.”

The technician flicks the syringe and a jet of noxious green fluid arcs from the needle. “You’re competing again today,” she says. Her voice is so familiar. I look up from my position on the surgical steel gurney to find that I recognise her face as well. Above her halo, a thick band of blue and black bruising rings her throat. She gives me a curt smile and takes hold of my arm. The needle tip hovers above my skin while she pauses, studying me with curious eyes.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, Kit. Please answer them as honestly as possible.”

I nod stiffly. There’s no requirement for me to speak yet, but I want to. I want to find out if her neck hurts, if she’s angry at me for knocking her out back in the Colosseum. She pushes the needle into the crook of my arm and presses the plunger down, and fire lights its way up my arm. When it reaches my neck and burns into my mind, my brain starts flickering.

On and off.

On and off.

The Colosseum, the Pit, the Colosseum, the Pit.