Banished (The Ravenmaster Chronicles Book 2), page 12
Brohn’s fingers curl around my shoulder, and he leans in to kiss my cheek.
Normally, that’d be all I’d need to leap up and spring into action. But right now, I’m defeated. I lost a fight and my sight. I’m not the girl I was or the heroic girl he deserves to have by his side. I’m broken, beaten, and useless.
With no vision—not through my eyes and not through Render’s—I have no choice but to imagine the pity in Brohn’s own eyes.
I’ve heard the phrase, “icing on the cake” before. It means the best addition to something that’s already great. I don’t know if there’s an opposite, but if there is, I’m currently coated in it. I lost all the best parts of my connection with Render with only pain remaining between us. I’m not sure when Reality gained so much weight, but right now, it’s pressing in on me as relentlessly and with as much unforgiving pressure as Bondo did down in the cavern. It doesn’t matter anymore that I’ve got Render on one side and Brohn on the other. Even they’re not enough to stop the tears from soaking the bloody bandage around my eyes.
Brohn doesn’t say a word. I don’t think he’s even breathing. He just pulls me a little closer, holds me a little tighter.
When the shocks have eased and my body stops shaking, my sobs morph into a morose chuckle. Leaning away from me, Brohn asks what’s so funny. I raise my head from where I’ve had it burned in my hands and pat the bandages again with my fingertips. “I don’t even know if I’m actually crying.”
“You don’t have to have tears to be sad.”
“I’m not sad. I’m mad.”
“Mad?”
“About losing that fight. Losing my sight. And worst of all, a small part of me is mad that I didn’t listen to you back at the airport and let Bondo just go off and blow that damned arcology into one big pile of bits and bodies. It was tempting. One final blitz, one big blast, and everything would reset. There’d be no more Devoted or Wealthies in one of their biggest hubs in the country. And whoever came here next could join forces with whoever was left, and they could all start over.”
“No. You were right. I didn’t think it through.”
I gesture vaguely in what I think is the direction of the arcology. “Or maybe I thought it through too much. I hate everything that thing represents. The arcologies have meant nothing but pain and confinement for us. I don’t know about you, but for me, they’re a constant reminder about the pointless disparity of wealth that led to the country being like this in the first place.”
“Krug didn’t invent an enemy and kill half the population just to be rich.”
“No?”
“No. He did it because he was an insecure, power-hungry, overcompensating, and mentally disconnected little asshole.”
That makes me laugh. I rest my head on Brohn’s chest, and he squeezes me a little closer.
“Not so tight,” I warn him. “You’ll make me crush Render!”
Brohn eases his grip but thankfully not too much.
Render does a little shimmy in the crook of my arm, repositioning himself and cackling out a gurgle of vague annoyance. It must be excruciating to the soul to want to rest, recover, and fly all at the same time.
“It’s weird,” I confess.
“What’s that?”
“I wish the arcology—all the arcologies for that matter—would get blown up.”
“I know. I get that.”
“But if the Goldsmith Arcology weren’t there right now—if Bondo and his Renegades had had their way—we wouldn’t be here, either. Instead of following Render through the city in search of the Fallen, we’d be dead underground under a few million tons of earth and synth-steel.”
“I get why the Unsettled had to banish their two leaders.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because they were each leading them into a no-win scenario. One wanted to end the cycle. The other wanted to keep it going until he could find a way out. Either way, the Unsettled were doomed.”
“So what’s the answer?” I nearly cry. “If Bondo was wrong for wanting to blow it up, and if Angel Fire was wrong for wanting to find another way…”
When Brohn doesn’t answer right away, I think maybe he thinks I was asking a rhetorical question. But right now, with the shape I’m in and with all that’s gone wrong, I could really use an actual answer. Any answer. Nudging him with my elbow, I ask, “Well…?”
“I don’t want to say.”
“Go ahead—tell me. I need to know what you think.”
“What I think and the actual answer to your question are two very different things.”
“Tell me anyway and let me decide.”
“Okay,” Brohn sighs. “Not that you need any more pressure on you, but I think maybe you’re the answer.”
“Me?” I laugh.
“Think about it. Your father’s work. Your tattoos. Your connection with Render. And this whole crusade of Epic’s to control the future of humanity through techno-genetics.”
“What about it?”
“It’s all puzzle pieces.”
“Yeah?”
“I never thought about it when we were kids back in the Valta. Not at all. And even after Recruitment…it wasn’t something I considered all that important. But then, with what we’ve been through over the years, it’s become all I can think about. In my mind, I think things are clearing up. I think I’m starting to get the picture.”
“The picture?”
“The Big Picture. The way things are fitting together. The way we’re fitting together into something bigger and better than ourselves. I’m starting to see our role, Kress. I think I’m starting to see why we are…and who you really are. There’s something about you, something important.”
“Important? To you?”
“Yes. But also to the future.”
“Great,” I sigh, slumping against the wall in defeat. “You can see all that, and I can’t see a thing.”
Fatigue overtakes us pretty quickly, and almost before I know it, I’ve slipped away into a world of dreams where I can see, but more important than that, I can fly.
17
BLINK
In the morning, we slip our boots on, brush the dust from our pants, and start to make our way deeper into the city. I carry Render for a while, but he’s fidgety and annoyed, so I ease him down to the ground. I hear the rustle of his feathers, but I can’t tell if he’s fluttering, floundering, or flying.
I ask Brohn if Render’s okay, and he drawls out a long, uncertain, “Is there something worse than okay but better than dead?”
“Maybe I should try carrying him again.”
“If you think it’s best. You know him better than I do. But right now, he looks like he wants to spread his wings.”
“Okay. But please keep an eye on him for me, will you?”
“I’ll keep one eye on you and one on Render, okay?”
“Great. That’ll leave you with no eyes left to watch where we’re going.”
Laughing and assuring me we’ll be fine, Brohn tells me there’s no one around and no sign of life, “Which is both depressing and refreshing.”
“Sure,” I agree. “No one to save us, but at least there’s no one around trying to kill us. I’d say it’s a wash.” I drag my arm across my forehead and do my best to tie my dirty, sweaty mess of hair back with the elastic-leather band I pull from my pocket. “It’s hot out.”
“It’s always hot out. And it’s still early.” Brohn stops and asks me if I’m sure about going back toward the arcology.
“Yes. But not too close. The Fallen know their way around a lot better than we do. If we can find at least one or two of them, I’m sure they can lead us to the others. How far is it?”
“Hard to say. Maybe half a mile. But there’s a lot of wrecked roads between here and there.”
“We’ll manage. Just don’t let me fall into a pit or anything.”
“I’ll do my best,” he laughs. And then, after a pause, he adds, “It looks like it’s dancing.”
“What does?”
“The arcology. The heat is turning the air wavy, and the arcology looks like it’s doing a little dance just for us.”
“How nice of it. It’s probably mocking us for failing to blow it up. Which side of it are we facing?”
Brohn takes a second to answer, and I can only assume he’s scanning the impossibly high and monstrously bulky tower so he can provide as much detail as possible. “Remember the part where you found me?”
“The wing that was under construction?”
“From where we are right now, that section is on the right side of the arcology. I think it’s its north-eastern side. If that makes sense.”
“It does. Give me a second.”
Without Render to help, navigating is going to be more than a little tricky. “I’m trying to remember what direction I was facing in relation to the arcology when Tallynne and Dove were taken by Sylvia and Christopher. If I can work that out, I think I can get us to the two compounds and then it’s a matter of backtracking to find the powder blue house.”
“Where Simeon got trapped, right?”
“I remember something about a hill, a broken bridge, and a forest of dead trees. Do you see anything like that?”
“Actually, yes. There’s a business park not too far ahead. The cars in front of it are a huge mess of a wreck. But the buildings are mostly intact. I don’t see any signs of life from here. And there’s a bridge that’s collapsed in the middle. Lots of crushed and burned-up mag-cars under some pretty big slabs of concrete. On the other side, there’s a hill and a bunch of dead trees.”
“Burned on one side?”
“Yeah.”
“No leaves?”
“No leaves. And a lot of them are tilted over. They’ve got half their roots above ground.”
“That’s it. That’s the direction we need to go. Can you get us there?”
“Or die trying.”
“Let’s hope that’s not your evil-omen shirt talking. How’s Render?”
“He’s trying to keep up.”
I get so sad hearing Brohn say that. “It’s usually the other way around, isn’t it? Us trying so hard to keep up with him.”
“He looks like he’s recovering. Faster than I would, anyway.”
“I could use a bit more recovery time, myself.”
The word “recovery” sounds hollow in my own ears, and I wonder if the entire idea of me and Render getting better is nothing more than wishful thinking. After all the struggles, obstacles, and setbacks, at what point do your wounds just stop healing?
Brohn takes my hand in his and leads us on a meandering path through what he describes as a wide, rubble-filled road. “Store front,” he calls out. “No windows. Parking lot. Twenty-foot-deep hole in the middle. City bus on its side. No wheels. Stop sign. Mostly melted. Downed power lines. More melted mag-cars. Broken glass and bricks all over the place and a lot of garbage. Clothes. Shoes. A little family—”
“A family?”
“Of shopping carts, not people. Also mostly melted.” Brohn chuckles and gives my hand a little squeeze as he guides me over a concrete barrier in the middle of the road. As we meander on, he continues to fill me in.
It’s not the most pleasant commentary in the world, but it gives him something to talk about other than my damaged eyes or Render’s bloodstained feathers. I’ve seen what the city looks like, of course. But Brohn’s descriptions make it seem less deadly, like something in a book or a movie, something that can be wiped clean with a turn of the page or restarted after the credits roll.
I notice he doesn’t mention the bodies—most of them long dead and cadaverous but some recently deceased—along the way. He doesn’t have to. I can smell them.
Even more than that, though, I can kind of see them, only without using my eyes. There are flashes of light…only it’s not really light. It’s more like patterns and shimmering bursts happening somewhere inside my head but also flowing through my body. I’m not sure what’s happening, but it’s disorienting, and I clench Brohn’s hand a little tighter.
“You okay?”
“I think Render is trying to reach out to me, maybe share something with me.”
“I thought you two always shared your sensory perceptions when you were connected.”
“True. Only, we’re not connected right now.”
“I can’t tell without being able to see your eyes go black.”
“This is different from before. I was hoping he could be my eyes. But it’s not working. There’s something less in him and something more in me. Or maybe it’s the other way around. I hate being so mixed up in my own mind. What if all those enhanced senses I’ve been feeling are coming at the expense of Render’s health?”
Instead of answering, Brohn stops so abruptly that I wind up crashing into him, and it’s like slamming into a brick wall.
“What is it?” I ask, rubbing my sore nose.
“Devoted.”
“What? Where?”
Brohn pauses, and I get the sense he’s looking around. “Um. Everywhere.”
A man barks out for us to freeze. For good measure, he adds, “If you so much as blink, you die.”
Instinctively, I put my fingertips to my bandaged, unseeing eyes. Blinking. Right now, it’s the only thing in the world I don’t have to worry about doing.
18
SURROUNDED
All around us—in front, off to the side, and even from somewhere overhead, a rooftop or maybe a balcony—I hear the unmistakable sound of guns—a lot of guns—being drawn from holsters or slung forward on neck straps.
My ears are good but not good enough to make out the exact model of every weapon being trained on us. At some point, though, it doesn’t matter if you’re about to be shot with a revolver, a pistol, a shotgun, or a sniper rifle. One way or another, death is on its way…at about seventeen-hundred miles per hour. That’s Death backed up by a lot of high-caliber speed.
Fortunately, I have Brohn on my side.
The fact that he mutters, “This is not good,” however, doesn’t inspire the kind of confidence I was hoping for.
The hand-squeeze I give him is probably hard enough to shatter the bones on anyone else. Brohn doesn’t so much as wince as I plead with him. “Please tell me we’re not going to die here.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Kress…”
“Yeah?”
“That’s it. I’m not going to lie to you. We’re surrounded. And there’s an alarmingly good chance the Devoted will ask all their questions and do all their investigating over our dead bodies.”
“You know, for a superhero, you give terrible inspirational speeches.”
“Listen, if we have to go out, let’s at least…”
“Die together?”
“I was going to say kicking as much ass as possible. But sure, together is good, too.”
I’m blind. My body aches. Render is a fluttering, damaged mess. But Brohn can still make me smile. It’s a smile I’d love to live for. But if that’s not in the cards, then I guess dying for it is the next best thing.
“Okay,” I tell him with enough bravado to blow up an arcology. “Let’s give them a fight they won’t forget. Um…I guess surrounding them back is out of the question.”
Brohn tilts his head down close enough for his breath to tickle my ear and make the stray hairs that have fallen out of my ponytail dance at the base of my neck. “Remember the lesson we gave the kids a few months back?”
“The Outnumbered and Surrounded Strategy?”
“That’s the one.”
“Which version shall we try?” I ask with a forced smile, not sure if Brohn will even be able to hear me over my trembling lips and knocking knees.
“Oblique Pre-Counterattack and an Evasive Serve. There’s a building with an open doorway eighty feet from here at two o’clock. We’ll have to get past ten of the Devoted and four of those women dressed like flight attendants. Those brainwashing Converter women.”
“Oh. Is that all?”
“Nope. There’s a concrete Jersey barrier, a couple of cars, and a waist-high pile of burned-out electronics equipment.”
“And that’s all?”
“Nope. A three-man strike team is ducked down behind a junction box forty feet to our left, and there are snipers on the rooftops at nine and three o’clock. I’m going to get us out of here. Just stick close and listen for my signals.”
A man’s voice bellows out for us to “get your asses on the ground and lace your fingers behind your heads!”
As sure as if he were being interrupted by a petulant three-year-old, Brohn snaps at the man to give us a second. “We’re talking here!” he barks as I clamp my eyes, set my jaw, and wait for the hail of bullets to rip through my body.
Brohn groans like he’s been not only interrupted but also personally offended. “People with guns have no patience.”
“I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been conditioned to resolve all your problems with a twitch of your trigger finger.”
“Are you ready?”
“Nope.”
“Me, neither. And, hey, if we don’t survive this…”
“I hear the afterlife is very nice this time of year.”
Harnessing every ion of energy in my body, summoning my other senses, and calling up every second of every combat training session I’ve ever taken or taught, I dig my bootheel into the ground and prepare to charge blindly—literally—next to Brohn through a Devoted firing squad.
Brohn’s more or less bullet-proof. I’m not.
He whispers directions to me, telling me in detail what we’re about to do. With one last squeeze of my hand, he says, “Go!” and we bolt hard to the left and then straight ahead in a full sprint as blasts of gunfire fill the air.
On Brohn’s signal, I vault the Jersey barrier and land on the other side, but I turn my ankle hard as I hit the uneven ground. It’s enough to stumble me and make me cry out in pain, but I manage to stay on my feet.
