The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (22 page)

“Another traitor,” Mistress Ann laughed. “You learn fast.”

“We should be careful. We do not need another hero pleading his case before the Council.” Leader Sala was stating the obvious just so she could go on record.

“Dead heroes are honored before the Council and then forgotten. Only live ones stand to plead their case.” Breen patted the young girl’s arm in a fashion one would a child. “Speaking of heroes, when will Kimraig return from the roof of Number 4 Building?

“Due to his injuries, I knew he would be unable to complete the hands-on-diligence that made him famous. I will convince him to turn over the operation to his two supervisors. He will return to you tomorrow. The machines will take a little longer to deliver to your new home.”

Mistress Ann paused briefly, her glare demanding attention from both her guests. “I will arrange an accident for him during the trip back. That road has proved dangerous before.”

Breen buried her qualms and spoke. “No, I need him today. We must set up the construction crews as soon as possible. His abilities far outweigh the problems he causes.” Her Mating Ritual flashed ever so fast into her memory. Kimraig had been more than adequate. Killing him would be such a waste.

“How do you intend to deal with this rag tag private army of his?” Mistress Ann leaned forward. She wanted him gone at any cost, if not...

“Simple. We will let him filter them in a few at a time until the construction crews are full. For now, the lockdown in all our buildings will keep the remainder of his army contained. We are having trouble with Ergots. Once he gets them controlled we will revisit your plan to replace him.” She sat back, fighting the memories.

“Well then, we are done. I am sure you, as The 6th of Six, have work to do,” Mistress Ann said and walked out. No doubt, her bodyguards would appear from nowhere.

Well. That should make it official,
Breen thought but she could not use that title since the Wicca had stripped it from her, along with everything else she had earned. She set it aside, and forced her attention to the task of getting back what was hers.

“What information do you have for me Leader Sala?” Breen was in a hurry, she had a building to develop.

For once Leader Sala did not babble. “Your spies did well in reporting the details of your abductions and keeping us informed on everyone’s status. Number 2 Building’s all-Female Battle Groups, attacked the Crossers enclave as soon as the Prime Minister returned.”

“You withdrew as soon as they recognized you were part of the Alternate Gender army and not a Builder’s battle group?”

“They were waiting. I do not know who they thought we were. They beat us back easily. Best we could do was plugging up the reserves meant for Number 6 Building.”

“You have blocked their tunnel?”

Leader Sala shivered. “Blocked already, full of those things you call Ergots.”

Breen stood and held out her wrists for handcuffs. “Do we have Battle Groups going back with us?”

“Three, Mistress, riding in SHORTS per your instructions.”

Good that would give her a total of four.

She would not wait for Kimraig to return to the basement, since she did not trust that Mistress Ann would not have him killed. Breen needed Leader Sala on her side. Perhaps if she displayed a little personal interest, besides sex, she would gain her complete support.

“I see you did not ware that little lapel pin, the one with the intertwined gold and bright blue lightning bolts,” Breen said.

“I gave...lost it the other day when I was working in the weight room.” Leader Sala fought hard not to blush. It had been a gift to someone she spent the night with.

Briskly, so there would not be more questions, Leader Sala forcibly led her captive out the door. It was a short distance down the hall to the garage. Here they would meet their escort. To most anyone looking, they appeared to be jailer and captive.

* * *

Unsatisfied with both Leader Sala and their meeting, Mistress Ann returned to her quarters in Number 1 Building. Leader Breen had entirely too much emotion tied to that Kimraig. The woman had never tired of ignoring her directions on how to handle this upstart; phrased that way she should know it was not a suggestion.

She herself had tried to end him many times. The first attempt was in his training classes for the rank of Hunter. Proud young boys always preferred to fight rather than wait another day. She, through the Wicca Council, had all family names stripped from their subjects. That boy would choose to fight, not give in.

Thanks to the help of two busybody-training instructors, he had dropped the name and partitioned the council for reinstatement. Did him no good, The Council never changed their
Wiccan Codex
. She did not win, nor did his supporters. She did gain a proper vehicle—Battle Group 301—a Wicca sanctioned illegal force designed for the demise of him and all his little friends.

She had manufactured the noose to strangle them all—The Hoarder Riots. When these riots reached critical rage, she would send in the little tykes to quell a slight disturbance.

Her minions tapped the heart of Number 5 Building’s government. Their orders were simple, hoard all food, starve the people, and force a rebellion. The process baited the trap for Battle Group 301. These babies’ would destroy themselves attacking men who were experienced soldiers of other wars.

Her C-link had summoned her that morning long ago. Her unusual greeting still amused her.

“This is Mistress Ann. How may I help you?”

“Please excuse the interruption Mistress,” Grant said, his missing arm itching as it always did when he was nervous. “We have the Hoarders getting slightly out of hand which required our emergency call for a Battle Group. There must be some mistake. The group they sent is ‘in training’ and it does not have a Queen.”

“Is the woman in charge named Viral?”

“No one is in charge, but there is a child named Viral.”

“There is no mistake. Show them where the trouble is.”

“But Mistress, there are men, men with swords and spears and big clubs. They will chew these kids up.”

Let us hope so
, she mused. “If you want to wake up tomorrow morning, do as you are told. Now, provide the information my Battle Group needs, and call me when this is finished.”

For a long, long time the caller sat without knowing what to do. He was speechless, which had happened maybe once in all his considerable years.
Bitch,
he thought. He knew a whole bunch of descriptive nouns but he could not use them. Because first, the most descriptive were part of a woman and the second is part of every other human stuck in this building. She was something worse, for which he had no words.

He knew that female voice from the old building whose name he could not remember, along with his age, and his name and, half the time, where he was.

He knew this, tomorrow morning could come or not—no biggie. Those little kids were a different matter. Now he remembered that voice. He would teach them just as he did that Bitch when she was a rinky-dink analyst in that think tank, only this had to be a crash course. No weapons needed either. They had their own—nice ones too. Now, where did I leave them? Oh, yeah, right outside my door where I could not lose them. What is that little girl Queen’s name?

* * *

“Excuse me sir, our Queen is called Viral,” the Hunter just outside the door supplied. “She has detailed me to lead the first assault. I am Hunter Kimraig.”

The boy gave him a fine salute, just like he was their commanding officer. It had been a long time since he had received one of those. Outstanding, the way the kid had deflected attention from his wavering Queen by slipping in his unspoken philosophy,
I will take the responsibility here if anything goes wrong.

Changing his mind about giving them only the location of the riot, he described in detail troop strength, armament, distances from point A to point B—exactly as he had reported to his commander in that far off land without water, where only heat and death lived.

He explained that the first three floors were all the same. Drawing sketches and maps against a door was easy work compared to drawing on hunched, armor clad backs in that hot place. In absolute detail, without leaving one thing to chance, he estimated depths of each room. He gave them the composition of the walls and doors, and what he estimated were their enemy’s weakness and strengths—lots of strengths and not very many weaknesses. These troublemakers were pros working at what they knew.

The next thing to register, he quickly repressed...he was back there, along with his arm, and screams, and the Humvee baking everything at 150 degrees...he did not try to remember.

As they moved up the stairs, Kimraig used their old training instructor, Boomer’s way of leading as a template, mimicking her orders as she had lead them in mock attacks up fractured stairwells and dusty hallways until they were blue in the face.

He split their force into quarters for their first “for real” battle. This was Boomer’s favorite attack formation—“Cutting Edge” she called it—cuts going in and pulling out. She had adapted it from a battered copy of a book on warfare about a race of people who had enslaved the known world, way back in the time called B.C.

Kimraig would lead in the middle of the first row of three, behind him a second row of three Troopers. Then Viral‘s row with her in the middle. The last three, with Jake protected their rear. He preferred this spot as the tail, where the exposed position itself added uncertainty.

Either end could shape itself into a sward blade with a Hunter as the tip. This tip forced the enemy, single file, along the edges of the formation, against more than one trooper, each able to cut them down as their backs wedged against the wall in the narrow hallway.

This was not training this time. This was war in its simplest form—kill or be killed.

The Hoarder’s first attempt to break their formation was not a fair test of the new formation. Twenty soldiers boiled out of two rooms, charging them full on, only to have their forward momentum brake as Kimraig gave his first order. “Form the edge. Now!”

He had taken a single step forward, his shield and short spear ready for attack. His two Troopers closed up, locking their shields with his. They formed a wedge, the tip of the sword’s cutting edge. The Hoarders flowed to both sides, trapping themselves against the walls, losing the advantage of their numbers. For the first time, their Battle Group marched in pools of blood.

Kimraig realized they had not expected resistance from children. That would not happen a second time. Quickly the memory of their former instructor took over again. “Secure both ends and attack the middle,” he ordered, his voice sounding like Boomers.

Someone shouted his name, Kimraig Llu—him, his entire name.

Jake assigned two Troopers to the ascending stairwell and stood ready with Macy at their assigned door. Kimraig left two of his Troopers by the stairwell at his end and stood ready by the fourth door. Viral had taken the middle, covering the elevator and the two middle doors. The threat was greatest here, because an attack could come from any or all three directions. She would not attack, she would hold, protecting both of their open flanks.

Raising his clenched left fist aloft, Kimraig began his attack on the sash surrounding the door. With two powerful thrusts of his heavy sword, he tore through the thin wood to the lock. He could hear it snap as his shoulder rammed hard into the door. A second blow and it gave. Had Rat not held him by his weapon’s belt, he would have tumbled into a Hoarder’s heavy club smashing down across the partial opening. He coughed blood as Rat’s spear caught him in his side, driving the body back into the room.

Jake reported to Viral first, his telepathy working like a new toy.
Inside the rooms now, resistance is light. The Hoarders have disappeared into the room next door, through a hole in the wall. Kimraig and Rat are following. They are coming your way.

Viral got into the battle now, her reluctance forgotten.
Understood,
she replied as she signaled two Troopers to stand beside the remaining doors. Should anyone inside open the door a crack, and make a quick check of the hallway, the wall that the two women pressed against hid them from sight. Viral remained in the middle of the hall facing the elevators, prepared to move either way, with spear or sword—she was ready.

The elevator doors opened and more Hoarders attacked from inside the metal box. At the same time both the doors Viral was tending, tore off from inside spilling what remained of the original Hoarders into the hallway. For one single moment, they thought they had won. Kimraig and Jake fought to Viral’s side, doing as their training dictated—protecting their Queen. When the remaining Troopers pinched into the fight from each end of the hallway, there was no contest.

Just like that, Boomer’s formation, the “Cutting Edge,” proved itself.

One additional command she had pounded into them prepared them for what they had to do. “These formations are light and fast. Prisoners slow them down.” They made sure there were no prisoners.

No battle dressings needed. Led again by Kimraig, they attacked the next floor, from each end this time. Only light resistance that quickly melted away in front of their shields. When the fourth floor proved to be empty, they withdrew to the lobby.