Pieces of Autumn (39 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Gods and Monsters

Tate

We were readying our assault on those who remained.

I'd barely slept, pacing the room, while Autumn dreamed soundly. There were too many conflicting thoughts and feelings in my mind and my heart, now that I'd realized what I had done. What she had done. Who she really was.

Innocent.

And now, she was going to Stoker.

She might die. We might both die. I was starting to think that would be better off.

I hadn't seen the place in years. The thought of those gleaming walls, the sterile smell, the echoes of screams in the halls - my stomach flipped, and I was suddenly grateful I hadn't eaten.

Don't be fucking ridiculous. It's just a building. A building guarded by kids who will fold at the first sign of trouble.

We were gathering in a convoy, just outside the city. Joshua clapped me on the shoulder.

I glared at him.

"This is what it's all been for." He was grinning, seemingly oblivious to my irritation. "Couldn't have done it without you."

I mumbled a response, looking for Autumn. Last time I'd seen her, she was fairly glowing with purpose. Something bitter twisted inside me, seeing her like this, knowing that I could never inspire her the way Joshua and the Syndicate did.

I wasn't like him. I never would be. After seeing what I'd seen, idealism died a pretty quick death.

"I can't believe we went to all that trouble," Autumn was saying, as she reappeared beside me. "And not a single one of them tried to run."

"You didn't give them a chance," I pointed out.

"Neither did you." She smiled. "Well done."

Well done, indeed.

Stoker looked the same as always - on the outside.

Inside, I knew it would be teeming with nervous activity. All the drones, trying to figure out what the fuck to do. Of course, that was assuming Joshua's intel was correct - if they had a deputy, some kind of power structure and emergency system in place, we were probably all fucked.

Then again, maybe not.

We pulled up around the corner, more or less out of sight. There was no telling how many of the cameras were monitored anymore. Everything was just an educated guess, and this whole thing was insanity.

But we were driven. I could feel the determination surging through the group, the outrage, the need for some kind of justice to be served.
 

We were well-armed. Even Autumn, in all her compassion, had agreed that we needed to protect ourselves, and the girls, by any means necessary. The drones would be given a chance to surrender, but if they didn't, their lives were forfeit.

I wasn't sure when she essentially became Joshua's deputy, but she wore the role with an incredibly ferocity and grace.

My chest ached when I looked at her. I wanted...

Oh, I wanted so many things. I wanted everything.

We approached the doors with a battering ram, carried by six of the strongest soldiers on each side. Once, twice, three times. The bulletproof glass shuddered. Inside, someone was shooting at us, forgetting that the glass worked both ways.

"Get ready to open fire, if necessary," Joshua shouted.

"Let them waste their bullets," Autumn added.
 

By the time the door came down in a hail of jagged shards, the guns had all been tossed aside, and all but one of the guards was running away.

The one holdout stood, his machine gun clutched in both hands. Pointing it right at us.

At Autumn.

She walked towards him, and my voice froze in my throat before I could tell her to stop.

Finally, inches from him, she stood with her chin held high.

"Let us pass," Autumn said, her voice deathly calm. "We're here to save anyone who wants to be saved. Anyone who's been abused, and beaten. Anyone who realizes that what happens here is wrong. Whatever role Stoker put you in, whatever they made you do, whatever they made you believe - we'll help you." Her eyes hardened. "But if you try to stop us, we'll cut you down."

The young man's resolve was wavering. He must not have been here long. He still had that peaky look to him, underfed, confused and afraid.

I extended my hand towards him.

"Give it over," I said, gesturing at the gun. "It'll be much easier for you this way."

He stared at me.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"Adam," he said, his voice shaking.

"My name's Tate," I said. "Maybe you've heard of me."

The last of the color drained from his face. He turned the gun butt-first and passed it towards me.

"Thank you," I said. "Now, get out. Go somewhere safe. We'll come back for you."

We made our way through the rest of the building like that. Mostly, all the posts were abandoned. The headhunters were like cornered animals, their eyes wide with fear.
 

They were so fucking
young
. Was that how I looked, when they found me?

Only a few of them refused to yield. We did the best we could, but a few bodies fell, in the name of saving the rest. I could see it in their eyes - they were proud of what they did. There were always a few people like that. The ones who grew up to be one of the Seven Devils, fully convinced of their own superiority. Fully believing that no one else mattered.

The deeper we went, the thicker they crawled.

One of the Syndicate took a bullet to the arm, but he gritted his teeth and went on. We all went on. My head pounded, memories flooding my mind, but I went on.

Rounding a corner, we were ambushed.

In the chaos, the spray of gunfire, I heard someone shout - "THAT'S HIM! HE'S THE ONE!"

I whirled, too slowly, and was knocked off my feet from behind. My gun skittered out of reach, and with everyone else fighting for their lives, I went unnoticed. Panic clawed at the inside of my throat.

They unlocked one of the cells, and they threw me in. Alone.

They slammed the door.

I was trapped.

My mind was on fire.

Screaming. Screaming. Rivers of blood. Pain.
 

I thrashed against the fear, the panic, some remote corner of my brain understanding this was not real. But it wasn't enough to overcome the clawing terror that had taken over my mind. I was going to die here, and it wasn't going to be on my terms.

This was my worst nightmare, come to life.

I couldn't survive this. No one could. How had I let it all come to this, after how hard I'd fought? How far I'd come?

Autumn. Autumn. She would never forgive me. Not for this.

Blackness was swallowing me up, leaving nothing but a tiny pinhole in my vision. I thought I was hurling my body against the door, fruitlessly, until my bones cracked and shattered, but I realized it only felt like I was. My knees were hugged into my chest, in the further corner of the tiny room, just staring. Staring at nothing.

I tasted blood in my mouth.

A moment later, I remembered why.

It all came in flashes, everything that had happened to me here. Feelings and sensations, disconnected from the images, all of them equally horrific.
 

It was a never-ending nightmare.

"Tate. Oh, God."

"Back away. Give him space."

"Tate. Tate."

"Get the fuck out! He needs to breathe. Leave the door open."

I blinked. Once, twice, a few times more. My vision didn't quite clear, but I recognized her voice. I reached out for it, my hand finding something. I grasped onto it, feeling warmth. Comfort. Something.

"Breathe," she said.

I heard someone gasping, hyperventilating, and I realized it was me.

"In," she said. "One, two, three."

"Out. One, two, three."

She counted my breaths, forcing them to be longer, slower, forcing me to get enough air. I blinked a few more times, and I saw her face.

"The door's open," she said. "Look."

I peered over her shoulder. She was right.

Instantly, self-awareness flooded my mind, along with a healthy dose of shame.

"I'm fine," I said, roughly, letting go of her arm and trying to steady myself on the floor, to stand up.

"You're not fine," she insisted, her hands resting gently on my chest. "You're not fine, Tate. And that's okay. You're allowed to be not fine." She took a deep breath. "But there's nothing to be afraid of. Not anymore. We cleared the place. There's no one left who's going to hurt us."

The feeling was starting to come back to my legs. I hauled myself to my feet, while Autumn looked on in concern.

"The cells," I said. "Have you opened the cells yet?"

She shook her head. "We thought you might have some advice on how to handle that."
 

Stepping out into the hallway, I looked at the rest of them. Daring them to judge me, with my haggard face and bloodshot eyes. But there was nothing but respect and compassion there. All eyes on me, waiting for the next word.

"It's going to be bad," I said. "No matter what we do, they'll be afraid. Most of them won't come willingly. They won't believe us. They won't think we're here to help them."

Autumn nodded, steel resolve in her eyes.

"Is everyone ready?"

They were.

Walking down the cell block, I felt removed from reality, something dead and numb scratching inside me. Some of the girls were quiet, their eyes pale and hollow. Others screamed and bit and punched. We took them to the convoy, one by one, Autumn and Mary and the other women speaking to them soothingly and making an effort to gain their trust. It would be a long journey, but eventually, they might.

Autumn came and found me, when the bulk of the work was done. She looked tired, but triumphant.

I could only imagine what I looked like.

"Time to go home?" she suggested, with a smile.

One last night in my house, before we joined up with the Syndicate.

I let her believe I was coming.

I let her believe, because I didn't know how to explain that I wasn't.

There was a painting in my living room.

"I thought your house could use some cheering up," Autumn was saying.

I stared.

"That's a joke," she said, helpfully. "But not really. Because even a sad painting is better than no paintings - don't you think?"

It depicted a knight, slouched on a white horse. He stood at the head of someone's grave, on a desolate landscape. Two paths diverged behind the headstone.
 

"Why?"
 

Now, of all times,
why
?

I still felt numb inside, every nerve shaking from the assault on Stoker. And still, everything I'd gone through couldn't compare to what some of those women had suffered.

And I was staring at a God damn painting.

Because apparently, I was a knight on a white horse. No matter how much I tried to fight against it, she would always believe that. She'd always see me as her hero. I couldn't shatter her delusions about me.

"Sorry," she said, looking confused. "I thought you'd...I don't know. I thought you'd laugh."

I managed a half-smile. "Thank you," I said. "I just...didn't really expect a gift."

She shrugged. "It wasn't that hard to get ahold of."

It was a thoughtful gesture, and I was being an asshole.

We'd managed to chop down my bedroom door, so we had a proper place to spend the night until our trip tomorrow.

Their trip.

My journey would be a different one. I didn't really know where I would go, but I knew I could survive anywhere.

I hated the idea of leaving my garden, of leaving Chimaera. More than anything, I hated the idea of leaving Autumn.
 

But there was no happy ending for us. After everything I'd done, everything I'd said.

And there was still something I'd never tell her.

I never met Birdy when I was still with Stoker. He wasn't a colleague, or a customer. He preferred to go about things a different way. Less civilized, Holland would probably call it - more brutal. As if there was anything civilized about what we did.

But Birdy, he was a different class. He didn't operate under any rules, and he answered to no one.
 

I encountered him more or less by chance, because he got involved with the interception of a shipment I'd ordered. A lot of the supplies I needed to maintain my quality of life were difficult to get, particularly the anti-venoms and other specialty medications. I often had to deal with people I'd rather not, but it was a small price to pay.

When I met Birdy for the exchange, he had a girl in tow. Not one of Stoker's. She had no brand. It had been just over a year since I left them, but I still felt my heartbeat quicken at the sight of someone so broken.

She kept her eyes down, no reaction to anything around her, except a slight flinch whenever Birdy's voice got too loud. He was foul, and angry, and he spat acrid tobacco juice whenever he spoke.

And because of my reputation, he wasn't as careful as he could have been.

I had a chance. He'd already transferred his take to the armored car. It was gone. There was no way for me to recover it, so he wasn't concerned with my betrayal.