The Hallowed War: A Military Sci-Fi Series, page 23
Lincoln stood nearby, crouched and ready for an opening. He looked calm, almost Zen.
“Legs!” I shouted, to Lincoln.
He dived, throwing himself into the Mute’s legs and wrapping his big arms around them. His impact and weight took the Mute sideways, slamming it down this time, with Lincoln on top. Working together, Ashford, Prescott, and I all manhandled the monster onto its back.
We had it pinned, finally. It continued to thrash and click, but it wasn’t getting away from us. Yet how would we kill it? We had no weapons. It wasn’t like we could stab it to death with forks.
A sound like a giant fan rumbled overhead, and plates and glasses rattled in their cabinets. The whole café trembled. I grinned, because I heard that sound every day on patrol. That was the roar of Cloudhopper engines, which meant armed Hallowed inbound.
Shouting sounded outside, probably Cam. Soon a soldier in silver Hallowed armor stomped into the café, followed by another shouldering a Crater Puncher.
I checked the numbers on their shoulders. Six. Sergeant Kelly led Squad Six, and we’d just spent the past week incinerating Mutes together. He was a good soldier, if not exactly a friend.
Kelly pulled a glowing blade off his back. It was a two-hander like the one that Caley used. He raised the humming, glowing blue blade and stepped forward. “Three,” Kelly counted.
His meaning was clear. It wasn’t like we had to discuss it.
“Two. One,” Kelly said. “Now.”
Prescott dived aside, freeing the Mute’s spiraling back arm. Less than a second passed before Sergeant Kelly drove his two-hander through the Mute’s neck, through the tile below it, and through the concrete below that. He buried his sword halfway through the creature.
The Mute shrieked angrily. Kelly wrenched and twisted his sword, neatly popping the Mute’s head clean off its tattered body. It kept thrashing as its head rolled, and Ashford, Lincoln, and I kept hold of our respective limbs, yet we all knew the worst was over.
No Mute survived after you severed or destroyed its head. These convulsions, while powerful, were simply its death throes. Soon enough, its body stilled.
Whoever that woman had been before she turned, I hoped she could rest in peace now.
Kelly ripped his sword out of the tile, leaving a cut so deep I couldn’t see to the bottom. His blade hummed briefly before the blue glow faded. A metallic clang echoed through the café as he set the blade back on his back, using its magnetic scabbard.
I released the Mute’s arm, gasping for breath. I thumped onto my back, on broken tile and shattered glass. A few bits stung the back of my head, but my jacket was thick enough that nothing else got through. I was too tired to care about a few bits of glass in the back of my head.
Cam stumbled inside her devastated cafe, eyes wide. “Holy shit,” she whispered again. “You people do make a mess, don’t you?” She rushed to Ashford.
Ashford knelt in the center of the café, breathing heavily. Cam threw her arms around Ashford from behind, hugging her tight. Ashford reached up to wrap her arms around Cam’s. Lincoln stood, rubbing the back of his head as he looked around the devastation with mild regret.
“This really was a nice cafe,” Lincoln said quietly.
Kelly offered an armored hand. I gripped it in both hands, and he easily pulled me up. I recognized his narrow nose, light skin, and piercing blue eyes. He kept his black hair buzzed close.
“Morning,” I said. “It’s my day off.”
Kelly nodded. “Everything all right here, Corporal Riven?”
Outside of combat, Kelly had a warm, comforting voice with a trace of a drawl. I appreciated that comfort today. I nodded and stepped back. “Got a handle on it.”
“Seems you do.” Kelly dropped his own salute. “We’ll talk more in a moment.” He turned to look at his squaddie, a woman I recognized as Lee. “Get started on the perimeter. Special Tactics should be here soon, but I don’t want even one of these bastards slipping away.”
Lee glanced my way, grinning past her long black bangs. “Nice job in here, folks.” She spun and marched out, slowing for the moment it took the apron-clad cook to scurry out of her way. She raised one arm and spun it in a “circle up” signal I knew well. “Let’s get that perimeter set up!”
I realized then we weren’t alone. Other than the three other fully armored Hallowed standing outside, a sizable crowd had gathered. All had phones raised in the air, most likely filming their little hearts out, and there was even a full-blown camera crew with eyes on us. They had a giant shoulder-held camera and everything. What the hell was a news crew doing here?
Kelly’s steady gaze returned to me. “Seen any more of them?”
We hadn’t. I ran Kelly through the Mute’s arrival and what had happened after, briefly, as Ashford walked outside with Cam in tow. Prescott followed her and Lincoln followed Prescott, leaving me alone with Kelly. I suppose these were the burdens of command.
Once we’d wrapped, Kelly clasped my shoulder gently, given his armored hand could crack my bones. “Don’t think anyone has taken down a Mute without armor before.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t do it alone. Did it with Squad Zero Two Five.”
Kelly frowned. It took him a moment, but then he smiled. “Nice.”
Prescott was Squad Zero, Sato’s squad. Lincoln was Squad Two, under Sergeant Ford, and Ashford was Squad Five, under Sergeant Varma. I was squad no one, since I was now a roaming cannoneer, but adding “null” to our designation didn’t make us sound near as cool.
Kelly released my shoulder and stepped past me, probably to scout the back of the café for threats. If he ran into any more Mutes, he’d call the rest of his squad in for backup. I exited the café to find the crowd now large enough that it stretched down the street in both directions.
The other four members of Kelly’s squad had taken up point at the decorative fence, holding the raucous, now cheering crowd back. A tall, leggy, red-headed reporter already had a microphone jammed in Prescott’s face, rapid-firing questions. While Prescott didn’t look happy about it, she did answer a few of them, and she looked professional doing it. She was always a consummate professional.
And I hoped the CNC would at least let us eat before they called us back home.
21
FIFTY-FIFTY, IF I’M BEING HONEST
After Special Tactics arrived, and they and Sergeant Kelly’s Squad Six pushed all the civvies outside the perimeter, Angelo’s now busted Café got real quiet again. Cam and her chef, the actual Angelo, insisted we stay and eat despite the attack. Cam even had a private table set up in the back, between two five-story buildings, that was blocked in both by those and a tall fence at the back.
We got menus, food, and beer on the house. We sat around a rectangular table, with benches, and I got to sit beside Ashford again. Lincoln sat on the other side, with Prescott, but they left a lot more space between them than Ashford and I left between each other. I didn’t think about that too hard.
Finally, even though our fight had wrecked the inside of the café, Lincoln got his bacon and eggs. Ashford ordered some long sandwich of meat, bread, and vegetables I’d never seen before, and Prescott ordered a salad for reasons I could not remotely comprehend. I got a juicy bacon cheeseburger and fries, at Lincoln’s suggestion. And yes, as it turned out, bacon was really fucking good.
I’d wasted my life, when eating, until now.
Cam also broke out a six-pack of the good beer, Dawn Harbor Panacea. One sip assured me it was good shit, far better than I’d had in Rocham or, basically, ever. I didn’t care that the rumors around Cloud Nine said drinking this stuff—or specifically, the small amount of sweet panacea included—was what caused people to mutate. I mean, it’s not like I could mutate more.
Still, Ashford grabbed the bottle from Cam, then set it aside. “Not for you.”
Cam frowned. “And why not?” She plopped down on the bench right between Prescott and Lincoln, almost on top of Lincoln. “If nearly getting killed isn’t an excuse for daydrinking, what is?”
Lincoln stopped eating, staring straight ahead. He seemed terrified to even look at Cam, who now sat almost on top of him. Her proximity left him absolutely flustered.
Ashford grimaced, then glanced at me. I nodded, then looked at Cam. I was the one who always seemed to be giving out classified information.
“There’s lots of rumors going around Cloud Nine,” I said. “One of them is that the reason people keep mutating is because they drink this stuff.” I raised the bottle of Dawn Harbor Panacea as if making a toast. “I mean, I drank panacea-laced alcohol before I mutated. Of course, so did Chen.”
Cam frowned. “Who’s Chen?”
I grimaced at the memory of a kid not much older in me chopped in half by a flying door. “Just a bad memory, now. But the thing is, Chen drank a lot more panacea liquor than me, and he never mutated.” I thumped my bottle down. “It’s just a rumor.”
Ashford gripped Cam’s hand. “But there is a chance,” she said firmly. “So no drinking anything with panacea in it, all right? Tell everyone, even Uncle Luca.”
Cam snickered and pulled her hand way. “Like he’ll listen to a word I say.”
Ashford sighed. “You’re probably right.” She took a big bite of her sandwich. When she pulled it away, a trickle of red liquid dribbled down her chin. I stared.
Cam leaned across the table, grinning. “Red vinaigrette. Care for some?”
Blushing, Ashford grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her lips. She mumbled something, but her mouth was still full of sandwich.
I glanced at Prescott, who offered absolutely no help, then at Cam. “Why would I?”
Cam sat back and eyed me with keen interest. “Where did Mia find you, anyway?”
I shrugged and grabbed a fry. “Rocham.” I dipped it in some ketchup and shoved it in my mouth, chewing and savoring. Angelo’s Café made really good fries.
Cam’s smile widened. “Ooh, a bad boy. Mia loves bad boys.”
Ashford lobbed a pickle slice at her. Cam yelped and flailed, smacking it with a hand. It bounced off and landed directly in Lincoln’s dark hair.
He froze, a spoon filled with eggs halfway to his mouth, like a grenade had just landed on him.
Cam delicately plucked the pickle off Lincoln’s head with two fingers, brushed down Lincoln’s now wet hair, and flicked the pickle away. “Rude. You know how expensive those are.” She patted Lincoln’s arm and smiled at him. “Those eggs okay, hon? You look a little flustered.”
Lincoln was now blushing so red, I worried he might bust a vein or something. Cam really did love messing with people. Though honestly ... was she messing with him?
Prescott took a long drink of her Dawn Harbor, chugging vigorously. She slapped it down on the table. “I can tell you this. I know there’s plenty of people out there who’ve drunk this stuff and haven’t mutated, but no Hallowed I know has not.”
Now Cam frowned in what looked like genuine concern. “But ... why would they even sell it, then? If even a little bit of panacea is turning people into Mutes, they wouldn’t be allowed to sell it. And all the news out of Cloud Nine says it’s perfectly safe. Healthy, even.”
Prescott gave her the side eye. “Do you even know what panacea is?”
Cam frowned at her, then looked at Ashford for help. Ashford took another bite of sandwich and said absolutely nothing.
Cam deflated a bit, resting her elbows on the table. “I mean ... isn’t it a supplement? Like protein, or a vitamin?”
I swirled a fry in ketchup and shook my head. “I don’t think even the techs at Cloud Nine know what it is, only that it’s useful. And you have to admit, it does make everything taste really good.” I took another swig of slightly sweet beer. “Might even be addictive. Who knows?”
Cam frowned at us. “You’re all fucking with me, right?”
It would be only fair. Still, I shook my head. “You should take your cousin’s advice.”
After a moment of watching me, Cam nodded. “Maybe I will.” She hopped up. “Still thirsty, though. I’m going to grab some beer that won’t mutate me. Any of you need a refill?”
Prescott raised her now empty bottle. “I’ll take another.”
Cam grinned at her. “Coming right up.” She leaned down, right beside Lincoln’s ear, and rested one hand on his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere, hot stuff.”
Lincoln damn near choked on his eggs. I was almost worried Prescott would have to thump him on the back. He recovered by the time Cam was out of sight, back in the cafe.
Ashford set down her now all but demolished sandwich and sighed. “I’m really sorry about her. This is just how she’s always been.”
Lincoln blinked. “She’s um ... she’s nice.”
Prescott elbowed him in the ribs. “I bet you think she’s nice.”
At that moment, no less than fifteen people all tumbled out of the back of Angelo’s Café. The chorus of “Mia!”s was all but deafening. A crowd almost as large as the one I’d seen outside swarmed the table, and us. I barely grabbed my plate and burger and cleared the table before they mobbed Ashford.
I supposed Angelo, the chef we’d saved earlier, had let everyone else in Ashford’s extended family know she was still alive. I was certain she’d planned to do that herself, eventually, but she’d wanted to wait until we’d had time to eat. So much for that idea.
Prescott got clear just like I did, without issue, but poor Lincoln ended up surrounded by the mob. Everyone started thumping him on the back and patting his shoulder, shouting about how amazing he was, how’d he’d singlehandedly saved Camilla and Mia and the café.
I backed away carefully, right alongside Prescott, and thankfully, no one came after us. The backslapping, hugging, and dramatic gesticulations continued as Prescott and I watched bemusedly from a safe distance. She snatched a fry off my plate. I took another big bite of my burger.
It didn’t look like we’d get Ashford or Lincoln back anytime soon, but that was fine. I finished my food and didn’t protest as Prescott gripped my upper arm, not roughly, and steered me onto the narrow porch of a door just off the back alley. It wasn’t that private, but it screened us off from Ashford’s adoring mob. Prescott’s features looked grim, and I couldn’t imagine why.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. There was obviously something wrong.
Prescott glanced around the corner of the porch, then leaned close. She pitched her voice down low. “I didn’t want to say anything until Ash was distracted, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Does anything about what happened today feel off, to you?”
What was she getting at? “Off?”
“Here’s what just happened, in case you forgot. We all agreed to take a day of leave together. No one had any idea where we were going, until Ash randomly suggested Lynbrook. She went straight to her cousin’s café, and twenty seconds after we arrived, a Mute shows up.”
I shrugged. “Bad luck, I suppose. They’re popping up everywhere.”
“Yeah,” Prescott agreed. “But what was it doing on her fucking roof?”
I frowned back. That did seem odd. Had the Mute just been chilling up there, eating someone?
“And it’s not just that,” Prescott continued. “Did you see that reporter, the redhead who shoved a mic in my face? She and her news crew got here before Kelly. They filmed half the fight, and she asked questions like she already knew the answers. Questions about how strong Hallowed are, advances in Cloud Nine weaponry, and all the good we’re doing for Dios. How we’re going to protect it.”
It was weird a news crew had gotten on scene so quick. “Lucky for them.” Yet they’d gotten some real good shots of us fighting that Mute, hadn’t they? Front page news.
Prescott nodded. “Lucky. Sure. And how long, on average, would you say it took Squad Six to get on scene?”
Everything had happened so fast. “No idea?”
“Five minutes,” Prescott said, dead serious. “Five minutes from the moment that thing dropped behind Cam until Sergeant Kelly walked in and killed it. Who called in the attack? Cam? She dropped her tablet. Angelo? He was scared shitless behind a counter, not doing a damn thing.”
I felt a trace of worry. “Maybe it was the woman with her kid.”
“Maybe,” Prescott agreed, though it was obvious from the look on her face she wasn’t convinced. “What’s the fastest response time your squad ever managed?”
Now I really felt like paying attention. “Eight minutes. We’d just finished up another call in the same area, so we got lucky.” And Squad Six had gotten here in five minutes. Sergeant Kelly and Squad Six were competent, but they weren’t that good.
I was almost afraid to say it out loud. “So you’re suggesting Cloud Nine ... set this whole thing up? They air-dropped a captive Mute on Ashford’s cousin, hoping they’d get some footage of us kicking its ass?” I shook my head. “Cam almost died. We almost died. There’s no way they’d risk that.”
Prescott frowned. “You sure about that, Grant? Absolutely sure, in your bones?”
I wasn’t, not remotely. Every time I got an anti-Mute injection, I thought back to my first conversation with Captain Sato, after I left Rocham, and her insistence I’d go Mute if I didn’t get one.
I’d ceased caring if Cloud Nine was lying to us about the anti-Mute injections months ago—whether they were lying or not, I got paid—but if Cloud Nine was lying to us about that, it suggested a pattern. It suggested they’d say and do whatever they had to in order to win this war.
And as I considered the massive amount of positive press that would likely come out of this whole debacle—heroic Hallowed on camera! Rapid armored response! A dignified officer in a dress uniform assuring the people they’d be safe!—it did smell a lot worse than it had before.
“What do we tell Ashford?” I asked.
Prescott looked away. “Nothing. We can’t even let her think it, or let Linc know. He’ll blab.”
