The Uprising (The Julianna Rae Chronicles) (16 page)

‘After the skirmish at the road block, figured you proved yourself worthy. I told Isis about it. You’ll have your own camp once this is all said and done.’

His comment blind sighted her. Again! The no more dancing comment was making sense.
No wonder he offered no explanation.
She put her hands on her hips to help compute his words. The idea of Commander appealed. The idea of more freedom appealed, but working closely with Isis and Caden didn’t.

Yeah sure, not a hope.

She shook her tightly lipped expression with her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

It’s their way of keeping a tight lead on me
.
This one’s about being the Seer
.              

‘Don’t want the job. Thanks anyway.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘Countryside that way, behind me is Sector One. Got it,
Commander.
’

She stepped over a large stream of water. The grate was across from them.
Julianna bent down to shuffle through the tunnel and when she turned Caden watched with contempt.

‘I may get lost sometimes…
’ she said and sat on the edge of the crawl space before swinging her body into it. ‘But I’m not ignorant.’ She didn’t need the ability to read anyone when their intentions were blatantly obvious.

*    *    *

There had only been one other conversation between them for that day. Caden was busy preparing final plans and stockpiling weapons for the mission, but when they crossed paths on the roof where she sat, listening to Hensley waffle on about his homeland as they pointed snipers together, his tone was cool.

‘Why are you up here?’ Caden had asked.

She remembered looking blankly between him and Squad Leader ‘
Irish’
Hensley, before disengaging the rifle to push it into Caden’s chest. He’d cut through her, had said something about not following his command and being on active duty without permission, and she’d silently excused herself downstairs.

Now she sat in the mess room alone, plucking at a
n unraveling thread that poked from the sofa, which exposed the foam inside the cushion. She stopped tugging at it and looked around. Everyone else was in their respective rooms, or on duty somewhere in the building, preparing for the night yet to come. Only a skeleton crew would stay, and as far as she could tell, Squad Leader ‘
Irish’
Hensley was in charge once the others departed. He mentioned it before Caden chastised her, in front of her safe house comrades.

She sucked in her breath. The frustration she felt at his expense. Caden was meeting with the general and
other seniors in the building, and she was alone. The quiet was welcomed after the eventful shit week – even the city streets were having an evening off – but the frustration tapped away inside her mind in the form of Devo’s voice.

Daniel’s your brother and you’re the freakin’ Seer.

She sat back in the sofa, old
but comfortable, and reminisced about the nights she had spent on its cushions. The thread twirled between her fingers again. She tried to push it all away.

But you’re the freakin’ Seer.
Great,
she thought.
So what does that mean exactly?
Huh Cade, what does that really mean, and by the way, thanks for telling me about it – my brother and my father; and by the way, still haven’t mentioned where I could find my old man, like you promised.

She pushed
the thought away. The trembling in her body was in tune with her annoyance. Every time she stressed, her fingers trembled more.

Think of something more pleasant
– the Militia…there you go, knew you could do it.

She smirked at her own factiousness. The Militia, the Rebellion, everything before it got ugly. The recruitment campaigns when it initially started
– she was old enough to remember that part, but it was a lifetime ago.

She looked down at her fingers, drumming out the math quickly. Sixteen months. Sixteen months since me
eting him. How things change so much in sixteen short months.

The day’s results left her feeling more than unremarkable. Caden’s words churned in her mind. Initiation, transformation, commander, own camp. It was too much. Being something she never really cared for, was another matter. The seizure last night hammered that one home. She didn’t ignore it.

If he doesn’t let me go, I’ll go anyway.

She
closed her thoughts, sensing he was listening, tapping in and out, with the expectation she may disobey a direct order again.

She conceded Caden
knew her better than she initially thought. One step ahead, every time.
Christ, I wish I could have coffee right now. Yep, think of something else.
Her attention was taken with a spoon left from someone, on the table in front of her. 

She lowered her feet from its edge and sat forward.
Its shape, color, weight and length struck her curiosity. Why it had taken her attention she didn’t know, but anything was better than Caden and his plans.

D
amn it, stop thinking about him!

The spoon moved.

She checked over her shoulder. The room was empty. She stared at the spoon in its open space. It was alone, with nothing on the table to cause its disturbance. Nothing rested in its way. She bent down, checked under the table, searching for the magic trick that wasn’t there.

Seeing things. It never, really happened.

She thumped her hands against her head and braced her feet against the floor. The spoon moved again.

’Is this really happening?’ she whispered.

Like Caden had done so many times in front of her, she brushed her hand through the air, swatting the imaginary fly. The spoon moved with her hand’s pattern. Her eyes widened, her nose twitched. Her invisible touch slid the spoon to the end of the table, suspending it from the edge.

‘Fuck me sideways,’ she whispered. ‘This really can’t be happening right now.’

Her disdain for the spoon returned it to its original place, center of the table, pointing at her, mocking her.

The Sector paper
rested beside her, taking her attention. She cut her hand faintly through the air, barely moving. The paper turned itself to page four under her silent command before closing. The front title painted across the cover in bold, red capitals screamed,
THE BULLETIN.
She glanced over the contents with her heart in her throat.

Each Sector had its own contributions, e
ach week it said the same thing: obey and you’ll be okay with the Militia, rat your friends out, and it’ll be all good. Noncompliance will see you arrested, or killed, blah, blah, blah. The bulletin continued to bullshit, and her mind continued to dance.

She moved
her gaze to the boarded windows stretching over the far wall. The large congregation room, with its peeling paint and worn carpet, was abandoned, but for the scent of coffee wafted through the air and into her nose. She turned into the cup presented over her shoulder. Caden stared down with his usual pout and sat on the sofa across from her, sipping his coffee in silence and scratching at a white mark on his black pants. She hated the uniform that made him resemble the senior Militia.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

He was surprised with her question.

She wondered if they were they still fighting
while glancing back at
The Bulletin
, feigning interest on the printed contents.

‘The General was surprisingly accepting of the whole situation. He thinks I should let you join us. Isis on the other hand…’ he sipped his coffee and leaned into the chair. ‘He’s fiercely protective of you.’

‘He pisses me off,’ Ju
lianna looked into her coffee. The chipped mug rested comfortably within her curled fingers. She savored her first sip. She’d wished for coffee and he’d brought it to her. He’d piggy-backed her thoughts after all.

Double crap!

‘You okay, Jay?’ his gentle tone surprised her. 

‘What’s not to be okay about?’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’ She returned to her coffee with nowhere else to look, but at him. ‘Worried about Bas
—’

He cut her off. ‘
Not what I’m talking about.’

She
reached for the thread in the sofa cushion again, stopping herself as the coffee threatened to spill. She steadied it in her hands and pulled a nonchalant expression instead. They were alone, no risk of them being interrupted. It bothered her. She wanted a distraction.

‘You can’t keep going like this,’ he stated.

‘No idea what you’re talking about.’

Caden’s eyes reached her from under his furrowed brow. Was it a look of concern, she wondered. The expression wasn’t straight forward, wasn’t pouty. He was extremely serious.

He leaned over his coffee. ‘How long has it been going on for?’

She played. ‘Has what?’

The spoon moved until it held itself out against the edge of the table precipice. The neck of it tipped as the body suspended in midair. There was no gesture, for him it was a parlor trick.

‘Days, weeks?’ he stared with her, studying the spoon. ‘It hasn’t been months, you’re not at that stage
, and you’re too calm.’ The spoon slid back to its original position.

S
he rolled her eyes. ‘Fuck, Cade, here we go again. Don’t go all Council on me. It’s a sure way to piss me off right now.’ She tucked her legs beneath her.

‘At your age,
if last night was your first break, then you’re in for a hell of a ride.’

‘Don’t care,’ she sipped her coffee. ‘You’re trying to scare me.’

‘You’re a full-blood.’

‘My mother’s a walker. Makes that impossible,’ she snarled.

‘Makes you
ignorant
of your heritage.’

The thought was beyond her reach. She wanted to know the outcome of the discussion be
tween him and the other seniors instead. His expression wasn’t a happy one, and she figured for a second she may have had a win.

‘So…Commander,
am I playing with you tonight, or not?’

His expression changed and only when he grinned did she understand the irony of the language. She rolled her eyes as he nipped at
her mind with his own dark and playful thoughts.

‘Am I joining you at the Summit?’ she corrected. The question pushed him into his chair.

‘Yes,’ he sighed. It was his turn to twirl a stray thread. ‘Yes you are, much to my protest. You damn well won your own way again.’

5th May, 2018, 1420 hours.

Central Command, Sector #1

Taris waited at the large double doors leading into the interrogation wing. The main area of Central was abuzz with the last minute preparations for the Summit. Black uniforms crisscrossed everywhere, moving up and down the large grand staircases that overlooked the main area. Two officers bumped into each other as they walked with their heads down in files. He observed the state of affairs while waiting for his new head of security to join him.

The processing had taken time. The induction had taken more effort than he’d anticipated, but eventually, after deliberation and twice the amount of serum used on his half-breeds – and some heavy hands – the experiment became more than that. He’d successfully turned a full-blood into Militia, and what timing to show his accomplishment before the summit. Bastiaan Madison had returned to the Militia under his hand; circumstances were improving, the proverbial tide was turning.

He smiled and glanced over his shoulder at the double doors opening. The newly formed team, with the
ir Lieutenant leading, stepped out in his crisp, black uniform, heavily armed.  It was all in place.

Taris approved. His nod
was returned from the solid man holding his head high and proud, giving the salute of the New World Order. Taris responded likewise, knowing his men had been briefed.

Lieutenant Madison followed his Commander along the quadrangle, with his men falling
closely behind him. Three rows of three formed perfectly; in step, compliant and decisive. He looked comfortable behind his newly acquired sniper, held across his body with his Sig strapped against his thigh, his blade in its holster on the other. He prepared for an attack; mentally analyzing each plausible situation, and its outcome. His commanding officer was protected, but he’d have his men go first. He wasn’t stupid.

Taris surveyed his new wing man over his shoulder. The thoughts coming from him were loud and unobstructed. He gave his renewed cousin another nod. Caden and the Seer would meet with their maker soon. The situation called for a heavy hand to control it, one that was unexpected. Bas was the man for the post.

The patrol squad followed Taris through the security gates. The evening air was cool but pleasant, and a fine layer of mist blanketed them as they approached their transport.

The car doors opened for the seniors. Bas slid in beside Taris, and they waited patiently for the car to drive out. The finally tuned engine purred, and Taris stared through his window. The streets were clean and quiet. Militia operatives and their families walked their children to a corner park, for a last minute play. No curfew
– there was none needed. Those living in the prime land of Sector One avoided the risk of dismissal. Everyone behaved.

They arrived at the
Gate Four post. Taris lowered the back window, dismissing the sentry with a flippant wave. They saluted in panic. He saluted back and they drove into Sector Two, anticipating the gates at Sector Three would be different.

Bas’s
induction revealed that a Corporal Browne played both sides at this gate. Taris would wait for the reaction, knowing it would be subtle, but it’d exist all the same, according to his new Lieutenant.

The detailed description of the young Corporal’s movements between the safe house and Central explained the past failures. It explained a hell of a lot, and as they continued down the neighborhood and Taris watched a mother comfort her child, he thought of the four traitors they had housed in the interrogation wing before leaving.

He felt himself change and worked hard to push it away, to return to the plan at hand. Bas would end the matter before the news reached the safe house. Taris exchanged glances with the man beside him, who once had a reputation that the Devil himself feared.

The car continued its drive along the streets. It still wasn’t a bad Sector to live in, he thought. The street conditions were reasonable; he ensured the dirt was to a minimum. Taris didn’t want Sector One positioned near squalor and it
gave the public an incentive to obey.

See, not every Sector is like Sector Eight. Loyalty earned you a spot here. Be loyal, and I’ll repay in kind.
His perfect toothed grin widened.

So tell me more about this safe house, Bas. What else do I need to know?

Bas nodded to his whisper. Keeping a low profile, in hindsight of the traitors in their ranks, was imperative to their cause. There’d be more defectors, Taris thought. Bas knew about some, Taris doubted he knew them all. Some would represent the Guild; and there were the independents, trying to cash in on secrets between sides.

‘Driver, what’s your bloodlines?’ Taris asked. He wanted to be sure.

‘I’m a walker, Commander.’

‘Good. Very good,’ Taris said. He leaned in to Bas.
Waste him, when we’re done.

Bas nodded.

The tunnels are a good way to attack from the back. They’ll run for the tunnels with the first approach. We can corner them in the west sector. They’ll have nowhere to turn.
             

‘Nowhere to go, it’s a good vantage point,’ Bas said out loud.

‘We’ll set up a perimeter. You have the troops at your disposal, make sure you use them to your advantage.’

‘Looking forward to it, Commander.’

They approached the Sector Three border patrol gates. Two guards stood in the posting area, discussing events and the paper. One held
The Bulletin
and shook his head passionately. The young counterpart, a stocky but pretty woman, shook her head in disagreement. The young man who Taris knew as Corporal Browne slapped his hand hard on the counter while holding the paper. Taris saw their argument.

The car braked. The Corporal
slapping his hand didn’t speak when Bas eased himself out of the backseat, straightening his uniform. The paper fell heavily onto the counter and Corporal Browne stepped cautiously from the booth to conduct his first procedural check for the shift.

Taris watched from the back seat, waiting and scrutinizing t
he eyes darting nervously about.

‘Papers, Sir,’ he asked.
His trembling hand reached for them.

‘Don’t need papers, Corporal,’ Bas said sharply. His
hand hovered over his side arm. ‘You know our agreement.’

Corporal Browne glanced at the stocky girl flicking ideally through
her newspaper. 

He lowered his voice
away from the girl eyeing an article with sudden interest. ‘C’mon, man, putting me in a situation here. What’s with the uniform?’

Taris cocked his head to one side, pleasured with the convicting words. He opened the door, took the rifle
beside him and stood tall for the Corporal to see. He rested an arm lazily over the roof of the car. The Corporal’s ignorance of the rifle he tipped between his fingers behind the vehicle, pleased him.

‘Commander, my apologies, had no idea you were with him.’ He stood to attention.

‘At ease, Corporal,’ Taris smirked and perched his sunglasses on top of his head. ‘Just passing through. Lieutenant Madison doesn’t require papers when he’s with me.’

‘Yes, sir!’ the Corporal focused his eyes ahead, with his hands behind his back. They diverted to Bas briefly, subtly. The look Taris had anticipated.

‘Something wrong?’ Taris said.

The Corporal straightened. ‘No, Sir.’

‘It’s like you’ve seen a ghost in our strange little world.’

‘No, Sir. I just thought the Lieutenant was an enemy of ours, Sir.’ A single bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

‘Lieutenant Madison has been Militia the entire time. It’s his brother we worry about.’

Taris s
ensed the officer’s heart rate increasing and smelled the sweat beading on his skin. The drumming of the heart hungered him. The time between feeds had been too long; though he’d never taste the blood of another man, no matter how desperate.

He
rested the rifle on the car roof, to mess with his prey’s mind. Every moment passing with the power in his hands, was a moment of pure bliss. He looked down the scope to see a large frightened eye staring back. It was a very, easy shot.

Taris glanced up from the scope
, to the stocky female in the booth’s doorway. ‘Turn away youngin’, and make the call for a cleanup team, if you know what’s good for you.’

She
’s cute
, he thought.
Maybe on the way back I’ll stop for some playing if time permits.

‘Go on now darlin’
, do as I ask.’

She turned for the radio behind her. It hissed in response to her lips, when the control room affirmed her request.

The Corporal’s face crumpled under her words. Taris watched his chest quicken with its rise and fall of each panicked breath, as he listened to what was ultimately a cleanup crew for the part which ensued his death. The beads of sweat flowed into his shattered expression.

‘The Lieutenant mentioned the word
traitor,
then he mentioned your name. I didn’t believe him at first. I couldn’t. Do you know how disappointed I am right now, Corporal?’ Taris stated. ‘What do you expect me to tell your dear old mother this evening? She was so proud when you graduated from the academy. Ecstatic
,
in fact.’ The bolt action of the rifle slid into place.

‘S...S...Sir, I’m...I am not a traitor.’

Taris looked through the scope. ‘Me thinks you are.’

‘Have you got him, Commander?’ Bas stepped to one side and his hand left
his Sig in its holster.

‘Yes I have, Lieutenant. Thank you. Might want some distance though. That’s a clean uniform you’re wearing.’

‘Sir, please,’ Corporal Browne begged.

Bas opened the door to slip
across the backseat of the car. The soft interior welcomed him with its leather scent as he sat back to skim a copy of The Bulletin. 

The young Corporal didn’t feel the bullet lodge between his eyes. The hit was instantaneous, punching a hole in
to the side of his head. The splayed pieces of meat and bone splashed over the road in wet clumps, before he could utter a cry.

The girl held her mouth to the radio. The cleanup crews were a few minutes away; busy in fifth Sector with another hover drone problem. She didn’t notice the chunk of skull
landing inside the doorway; and the skin near the curled up paper, now flipping pages in the wind.

Taris returned to the backseat and Bas retrieved his rifle from his commander’s hands, to clean the barrel of the gun with a readied cloth. He prided himself on his rifles, and hummed a strangely fa
miliar song quietly to himself – a Barry McGuire classic – as he polished the barrel.

Taris
savored the red and white chunks sliding down his window. He peered through them, to the girl now watching them leave, neither shocked, nor afraid.

‘She’s a fine specimen that we have there, Lieutenant,’ Taris said.

‘Fine indeed, Sir.’

Bas dra
gged the rag shining his rifle. He glanced at a stubborn chunk of skin matted with hair, sticking to the window as the car moved on. The rain would wash the mess away, and if not, they’d find some water. They needed to keep a low profile around the safe house while they scoped it out, at least until the attack.

It was the one move they couldn’t afford to screw up.