Rising Tide (39 page)

“I'll be right back.”

“Be careful, Ben,” Miranda says.

I open the door quietly, slipping out into the afternoon air. The wind carries the smell of smoke to me, though I have no idea of determining where it's coming from. I hear another scream. Then another. A woman and a man. I run off toward the sounds.

Tamoanchan's streets, at least in this part of the island, are arranged into grids. I pass one intersection, then another.

Then I catch sight of them. A man clutching at a bloody arm, his sleeve ragged and torn. A woman, close-cut hair of grey, supporting him. They stumble toward me.

I move toward them and then catch sight of something big, moving fast.

Coming at all of us. What they were running from.

I focus on it, and the numbness I've been feeling wavers under a sudden flush of adrenaline through my system. It's a Feral, bounding toward us. But not any ordinary Feral.

This one is large, thick with muscles that bunch and unbunch as it races across the street on all fours.

I flash back suddenly to something I saw when I was moving through Gastown's helium plant. A Feral—huge and muscled like this one—that they fed prisoners to.

The memory shutters, pushed down by the need for action. I draw the revolver and fire. I aim for a leg and hit, but the creature still comes on, pumping its grotesquely muscled limbs.

I fire again, and the second shot takes it in the chest. The third misses. The next hits its arm.

Still it comes, and it's now just moments away from me. I hope the man and woman have kept moving.

Somehow forcing my brain to take control, I fire again for the wounded leg. I hit it, and the beast tumbles, sliding against the ground, and I fire one more shot into its head.

It stops moving.

As I start to shake, the fear and adrenaline still rushing through me, I notice a few things. One, the Feral is naked. Dark hair and, now, blood are the only things on its skin. Two, it took me six shots—
six
—to take this Feral down. Three, I realize I'm hearing more screams.

I get it, then. The Cabal has been breeding mutant Ferals. I know that. They are attacking Tamoanchan on two fronts—in the air with their ships and on the ground with the Ferals.

We are well and truly fucked.

I catch sight of more people running through the streets as I quickly reload the revolver. I grab a man with tear-stained cheeks and a look of horror on his face. “I need you to go find a Keeper,” I say. “Tell them they need to organize a force to come defend this side of the island.”

The man nods to me, then goes running off, but I'm not sure if he'll actually do it.
Peacekeepers
, I think, shaking my head. There's no peace to keep anymore.

I run back for Miranda's place, and when I run into her room, she has the automatic pointed at me. “Nice form,” I say.

“I didn't know it was you,” she says.

“Exactly,” I say. “You just keep doing that.” I move to a box I stashed in the other room. Call back over my shoulder. “It's bad out there, Miranda. They've dropped mutant Ferals on the island. Like the one I told you about back in the helium plant.”

“What?” she asks. I can barely hear her. “Here?”

“Yes,” I say. I open the box that contains my spare ammunition and I load my pockets. All of them—coat, pants, the two chest pockets on my shirt. I take out another automatic and stuff that, too, into my pocket. Then I grab the shotgun that's also nestled inside, adding ammunition for the two new weapons.

Miranda's eyes widen as I move back to her room. “That bad?”

I nod.

I lean in and kiss the top of her head. “Stay here. Keep the gun. I'm going to barricade you in.”

“What?”

“Luckily, the place doesn't have any windows. I don't want any Ferals getting in. If I can pile some things in front of the door, you should be safe.”

“But then you won't be able to get in.”

“I'll get in once this all is over. Once we beat them back.”

“And if we can't?”

I meet her eyes. “Then it's a moot point.”

She nods.

I grab my scarf and my hat and my glasses. I place a gloved hand on the side of Miranda's face. “When I get back, we'll have a long talk.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I kiss her dry lips. “I'll even tell you my middle name.”

She smiles. “Deal.”

“Good,” I say. “Now sit tight. I'll be back later.”

With my free hand, I drag a box outside, also a chair and whatever loose furniture I can move. I shut the door to Miranda's house and pile as much as I can against it. It wouldn't keep out a determined Feral, but they will be chasing the moving targets, the ones they can see. They have no reason to know that Miranda's inside. At least, I hope they don't.

Once I'm sure it's reasonably secure, I move down the street.

Toward the Ferals, not away.

The streets of Tamoanchan are pretty simple affairs, dirt paths cleared of grass and debris, suitable for foot or rickshaw traffic. Houses or shops lining up on either side. They've even gone so far as to put in a few parks. They're mostly areas where the natural foliage has been left untouched, but unlike the rest of the world, overgrown and overcome by vegetation, here it's carefully groomed.

On any given day, you can hear sellers hawking their wares, people stopping to have conversations with their neighbors, even laughter. There's that low hum of humanity that usually, for me at least, brings a sense of comfort—that here's a place where people have come together, survivors looking to build something.

That hum has been replaced with cries of terror, screams, panicked noise, and the sound of weapons discharging. Above us the drone of ships—enemy and allied—thickens the air. Down here on the ground, gunshots occasionally rip through the daylight.

The smell of smoke filters through the air.

I'm crossing an intersection when a large shape leaps toward me.

I whirl and fire the shotgun at the blur of its body, and it moves away from the blast. Another of the mutated Ferals.

As it turns back to me, I see this one is female, though its breasts are lost in the mass of muscle on its chest. It roars at me and lowers into a crouch.

I raise the shotgun, but before I can fire, gunshots come from the side street.

The Feral turns, bounds toward the shots. I see blood leaking from at least one gunshot.

I run after it. If it comes into contact with whoever shot it, the Bug could spread.

I fire, running, and one of my shots hits the thing, I'm sure of it, but it barely slows.

I see ahead of me a Keeper, rifle out, firing at the Feral. I'm behind it, firing at it. It's almost on her.

I stop, aim for the leg, and fire my last shell into the thing.

I hit what I'm aiming for, and it stumbles long enough for the Keeper to get a shot in its head.

I rush forward to her. “Did you get any blood on you?” I search for any splatter.

“No,” she says. “It was too far away.”

“Thank God,” I say.

“I shot at it so many times,” she says, her face full of panic. “The two of us barely brought it down.”

“I don't think they feel pain,” I say. I grab her and meet her eyes. “Hey, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I need you to find a rickshaw, and I need you to get back to the Council headquarters. See who you can find. We need more Keepers here.”

“All of the Keepers were called to report to the eastern side, to help with the anti-aircraft efforts.”

“That's because they don't know what's happening here. They need to know. Need to know these things are attacking. Can you do that?”

She looks blank for a moment. Then nods. “Yes.”

“Good. Now go find a rickshaw. And keep alert. There are more of these things.”

“How many?” she asks.

“Too many,” I say. “Now go quickly. Bring whatever help you can.”

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

“Whatever I can,” I say.

I loop back around to where Miranda is because I just want to content myself that the house is okay. Which it is. As strong as these Ferals are, I don't think they can get inside. But I'm not completely sure, so at least checking gives me a small bit of peace of mind.

I hope Miranda's awake and still has that automatic.

Then I hear more gunfire and I head toward it.
What are you doing, Ben?
My hidden voice says.
You're running
toward
danger.

But what else can I do?

Three people surround one of the mutants. Two have rifles and one a pistol, and they're unloading into it. The Feral is covering itself with its massive arms as shot after shot tears into it. And as I move closer, reloading, they move in on the Feral.

It slumps forward.

Then erupts into a chaotic flailing, arms swinging, legs kicking. One of the people goes flying into a nearby house, colliding with a sickening crunch. With the other hand, the Feral grabs another of the people, drawing it close, sinking teeth into the person's face. All I can see are the eyes around the scarf and hat, then everything is red.

I move forward, firing with the shotgun, aiming for the creature's head. Once. Twice. Shot explodes into the thing's skull. At least that seems the same as a human's. Not as protected by thick muscle. It falls to the ground, missing the top part of its head.

The person without a face is dead, and the one that hit the wall isn't moving. But the third person is writhing on the ground, a deep wound in her side. She looks up at me, as if to plead. And here it is, one of those moments. Because I can't do anything to save her, and she may just be infected by the Bug. These Ferals may be mutated, but they're still Ferals. I think about shooting her, but she may survive. “Hold tight,” I say. “Help is coming.”

It might be a lie. I hope it's not a lie.

I turn around, fish out a knife from my pocket, lay it on the ground within her reach. “If things get bad,” I say.

Then I keep on moving.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

M
ore screams. More gunfire.

To the east I see a smoke trail climb into the sky, see an airship take fire on its nose. Score at least one for Tamoanchan.

When I round the corner, I see a mutant bent over a body. It's pulling out entrails, stuffing them into its mouth. It looks up at me. I level the shotgun at it, aiming for the head. I'm pulling the trigger when I hear the growl behind me.

Instinctively, I move to the side and my shot goes wide just as the Feral behind me tries to swing at me.

Fuck me.
Two of them.

I unload the shotgun on the one closest to me, then, when that goes dry, I drop it and pull out my pistols. The revolver is in my right hand, the automatic in my left, and I aim one at each of them, firing one at a time. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Until I realize I'm wasting ammunition on poor aiming.

I back away.

The one that I shot with the shotgun moves to his friend and, feeling outnumbered, I run.

I barrel down the street, my breath loud and fast, and I'm sure both of them are behind me. I need to figure out a way to get the advantage. Especially since their legs are stronger than mine.

I weave in and out of streets, cutting around houses, hoping that the quick movements will increase my lead. I'm afraid to look behind me.

Don't look behind yourself, you idiot.

I hear a growl behind me, and I dive to the side just as the Feral pounces on where I used be. Ignoring my aching body, I pull my pistols and fire at the thing, unloading on its head with both pistols.

It goes down as the pistols both click on empty.

And I look up into the other one's face. This one is male. Dark-skinned. Muscles bulge everywhere I can see. It moves toward me, spit dripping from its face.