The Earth Dwellers (27 page)

In three days’ time, we attack the Glass City.

Time’s moving too fast, leaving me feeling breathless all of a sudden.

We march on, Circ and my footsteps in sync without even trying.

We’re at the head of the column, just behind Skye and Wilde, who’re still leading the march. And as I’m looking out in front of us, watching the rise and the fall of the dunes as the desert breathes, I see something that ain’t right, ain’t natural.

The sky is full of what at first look like black clouds…but no, they’re moving too fast, much too fast, and diving at the earth and fighting with each other, and croaking and cawing and carrying on. And beneath the clouds-that-ain’t-clouds…

“Circ…” I say, my voice fading away like the last light from the dying sun.

He sees it, too, ’cause he grips my hand harder.

And then I know what I’m seeing, what ain’t right, what’ll never be right, and I know Skye knows what we’re seeing too, ’cause she stops, dead in her tracks. Wilde steps in front of her, trying her best to block my sister’s vision.

We’re not nearly as far east as I thought we were, ’cause I see ’em like the images burnt forever in my mind. Only they’re not images, they’re real, setting in front of us like a nightmare.

Carts and packs of supplies and hundreds and hundreds of bodies.

An army of vultures and crows fighting over the spoils, feeding, feeding, cawing and screaming at each other…

We’ve come to where the Icers were slaughtered by the Glassies.

Skye pushes past Wilde and starts running toward ’em.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Tristan

“K
ill me if you must,” Aboud says. “But I won’t fight with the likes of her.”

My sword is catching the light and reflecting it in a slash of white on the general’s chest. He’s weaponless—there’s no way he could stop me from sending him to whatever hell my father is surely in. I’m sure the ex-president would love the company.

If I do it though, am I just like my father? Killing anyone who disagrees with me, who challenges me? Would that make me a dictator too? If this man had something to defend himself, would it make any difference if
I
was the aggressor?

Even if I want so badly to ignore them, I know the answers to those questions like they’re a part of me. Maybe that’s why my mother believed in me, why she trusted me with a responsibility that seems well beyond what I’m capable of. She could see the truth in my heart. I’m not like my father—will never be.

Would she be proud yet? Or do I have dozens more moral decisions to make before I can proudly declare “I lived up to my mother’s expectations!”?

I shove my sword back in its sheath. The heat of a dozen stares burns my cheeks, but the one I feel most is from the screen. Is that…a hint of a smile on her lips? Surely not. If General Rose were me she’d slash through the generals in an instant, wouldn’t she? Maybe she’s not all kill-strokes and snap decisions like I thought. Maybe she’s got a bit of Ben in her too.

“That’s what I thought,” Aboud snarls. “We’ll take Lecter down, that’s for damn sure, but we’ll do it without the help of the traitors.”

“No,” I say calmly. “You won’t.” Aboud’s face turns red and he’s about to speak, but I step forward and cut him off. “You will follow my orders or be dismissed from your position.”

“I was appointed by your father for life,” he says. “We all were.”

“For
his
life,” I say. “Which is over. You remain generals only on my command now.”

He laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “
Your
command. You’re a child, regardless of whose son you are. We’ll run the army as we see fit.”

“Your choice,” I say. “Commit to fight against Lecter with a united Tri-Realms, or you can leave right now.”

The general’s smile is as ugly as a bat’s. “I’ll leave. But I’ll take the rest of the generals and our army with me.” He spits at my feet and stalks off. “Follow me,” he says to his comrades.

Three of the men follow immediately, then a fourth. A fifth turns halfway, and then turns back, looking at the remaining four generals, as if torn.

I meet his eyes. “Do what you have to do,” I say, “but I’ll show you no mercy on the battlefield.”

“And neither shall I,” he says, and then exits behind the others. Nearly two-thirds of my leaders are gone in the blink of an eye.

The four left look like they want to throw up. One of them is the man with the blue-plated glasses. General Marx. “What do you want us to do?” he asks.

“Prepare for war with the other generals,” I say. “We must defeat them tomorrow or there might be no one left to save by the time we get above.”

Through the speakers, Adele’s mother clears her throat. I look at her. Is that pride in her eyes? “I’ll get together with the leaders of the moon and star dweller armies. We’re coming to the Sun Realm.”

“Get here fast,” I say, motioning to Tawni.

She raises the controller and cuts the connection, and I’m left with two of my best friends and my four remaining generals.

~~~

The communications technician looks at me and nods. A red light blinks above the camera.

I look down at the script Roc and Tawni helped me compose over the course of an hour, after only managing to grab about two hours of sleep. I fight off the urge to yawn as I skim the fancy words and the calls to action and the “together we are strong” line that I liked so much at the time, but which now just sounds like a bunch of fake nonsense. Halfway through preparing the speech, the reports started coming in that large portions of the sun dweller army had abandoned their posts under the leadership of the six deserting generals.
Good riddance
, I think, lying to myself.

I know I should be saying something, because I’m live and the entirety of the Tri-Realms is watching me right now. But I don’t, I just stare at the paper for a few seconds, and then crumple it in my fist. When I look to the side, Roc’s there, barely out of the range of the camera, grinning that I-told-you-so look that’s so annoying but is so justified in this instance, because he’s the one who told me to just speak from my heart when I asked him to help me write something.

I chuck the balled-up speech at him and he ducks, letting it hit the wall behind him. That Roc: He’s a wily one, all right.

Turning back to the red blinking light and the glass circle that means millions of people are watching me, I place my hands on the table, trying to steady my nerves. “My—my father lied to you his whole life…” I can imagine the gasps from the sun dwellers, the nodding heads of the moon dwellers, the shouts of “No surprise there!” from the star dwellers. “He told you the earth’s surface continues to be uninhabitable, and in some ways it is, but”—I pause, knowing even the moon and star dwellers will be waiting in anticipation for my next words—“there are people living there.”

I wait for it to sink in, if that’s even possible. I remember the outraged cries of denial from my friends when I told them. Hell, I don’t think Trevor ever believed me. How could a secret so big be kept from everyone?

I go on to tell them about the New City, about the Tri-Tribes, about the good people I met who just want to live their lives in peace, like we all do. When I tell them about what I saw, about how the earth dwellers massacred the Icers, I hope their eyes are wet, that they feel something. If not, then the fight is already lost.

“And now I ask you…no, I
implore
you, to unite as one, to cast aside your differences for another day, to help me and the other leaders of the Tri-Realms build a new world. A better one.” I pause again, praying my words are more than just the dry rock dust I feel in my mouth. “There will be those who even now are plotting against us, who will tell you a disparate, separate world is a good world, but don’t listen to them. That was my father’s way and it only ever led us to rebellion and war. I can show you a new way. Be ready because it’s coming.”

The light blinks off and I slump back in my chair, sighing deeply. Roc comes over.

“Not bad,” he says. “Maybe you won’t be as crappy a president as I expected.”

I don’t even have the energy to punch him for that comment. Public speaking takes a lot out of you. Just another thing I’ll have to get used to. “Any word from the generals?”

“I got a note that said two more have left and taken their troops with them.”

“What?” I say, my fists clenching.

“Just kidding,” Roc says, chuckling to himself. Now I do find it in me to punch him in the gut, soft enough that he’ll keep his breath but hard enough to tell him what I thought of his joke. “Ow! Okay, okay, the note said they’ve briefed their soldiers and that they’re ready. It also said the other generals are marching their armies to the border tunnels. Looks like they’re going to try to stop the moon and star dweller armies before they can get here.”

In other words, everything’s a huge mess, and I’m the one who caused it.

~~~

The day is half gone and the anticipation is killing me. The non-military citizens are hiding inside their beautiful flats and apartments and homes, peeking out their windows as we pass through the streets.

I’m at the head of one of the platoons from the portion of the army that I still command, marching toward one of the border tunnels that leads to the Moon Realm. General Marx is by my side in the back of a truck. We received a comm from the moon dwellers that they’re transporting several of their own platoons through this tunnel.

Evidently the enemy generals intercepted that comm, because even before we reach the cavern wall, I can hear the whisper-roar of a large crowd. When we round a bend with our force of at least five thousand soldiers strong, we see an ocean of darkness, standing stock still and going silent when they spot us.

The deserters have cast off the red uniforms that the army behind me wears, and replaced them with black clothes, as dark as oil.

Presumably on a command from one of their generals, they raise their guns, pointing them right at us. All around me, not needing a command from Marx or me, our soldiers mirror the enemy’s movements, clicking and shouldering their weapons. Maybe I should’ve ridden in the back like Marx suggested. No, that’s what my father would’ve done; or worse, he would’ve stayed in his palace fortress, safe while his men and women died for him.

If anyone must die, I’ll die with them.

A voice bellows from the black swarm, amplified by a bullhorn. “President Nailin. Before we kill each other, may I have a word?”

Even distorted by the electronic ting of the amplification device, the voice is recognizable. General Aboud.

Marx hands me a bullhorn. I raise it to my lips. “The time for talking is past. You have abandoned your posts, committed treason against your own people, your own government. Stand down or face the consequences.”

Before Aboud can respond, there’s a shout from further back, somewhere near the cavern wall, where a massive inter-Realm shipping tunnel sinks into the rock like a huge, black eye. “They’re coming!” More shouts, loud and wicked and almost excited, but even they’re not loud enough to drown out the echoes from the tunnel. Drumbeats. No, not drumbeats—feet marching in unison, spilling out of the tunnel mouth.

The Lower Realms have arrived.

~~~

There’s a flash of red fire and more screams. An explosion rocks the city, sending shards of black and red through the air amidst a thick fog of gray smoke.

A grenade. The moon and star dwellers are coming in firing.

Shots ring out and at first they’re distant, like Aboud’s soldiers are firing into the tunnel, but then they’re closer. A dozen soldiers cry out around us, the air spotted with tiny pink clouds. And then the cracks of weapons exploding are so loud it’s like they’re in my ears, as our force returns fire. Black-clothed soldiers fall, but are quickly replaced by the next line, illuminated by flashes of orange explosions from the muzzles of their weapons.

Marx pulls me off the truck, behind a shield of metal and rubber. My head is buzzing; I can’t hear properly. My heart is racing and I realize I’m clutching my own gun to my chest with two hands. I’ve fought plenty of times, but not like this. Not when I’m just one speck of dust in a mountain of dirt. Not when the enemy might kill me even if they’re not aiming at me.

I take a deep breath as Marx sticks his gun out the side of the vehicle and shoots. He doesn’t even look, just pulls the trigger, again and again and again, until his gun starts clicking. He withdraws his hand, pops out the spent cartridge, reloads.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he says. His voice sounds muffled, like he’s speaking underwater. He doesn’t wait for my response, just rolls to the side and starts shooting again, like it’s as simple as going out back to take a leak.

What am I doing? I’m no soldier. I know how to shoot, yeah, because my father made me spend hours on the range, but not when the enemy is a black wall, individual people as indiscernible from each other as a single ant atop an anthill.