The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) (28 page)

“Stay down. Just put arrows up there. Keep him pinned.”

He signalled for several men to begin to flank the hill.

Lurking in foliage, breathing heavily, Jeremy listened to the ragged bursts of gunfire.

It was all beginning to unravel. Essamon should have held off from attacking Great Onglee. The plan was spinning out of control. The beacon would not be lit. The Archbishop would live. The Holy House would exert its influence over Ennpithians forever. He was angry. His eyes were tight, his lips drawn over his teeth. Reverence Morning would continue. His father would kneel and pray and sing and no one would know of his sins.

He looked at the cottage. Stone and Nuria were gone. He glimpsed Quinn with a brown haired girl.

Spots of rain touched his skin.

He licked his lips, took the pistol from his pocket and crept toward the cottage.

TWENTY ONE

Omar led.

Cooperman and Nichols followed several paces behind, accompanied by Adina.
All four wore noise protectors but the deafening sound of machinery still penetrated them; the relentless slamming and hissing, cranking and grating. Men in heavily stained overalls with goggles and noise protectors ignored them as they marched through the factory workshops. It was late into the night, tipping into the early hours of the morning, but the area was windowless and it really could have been any time of the day. For Nichols, it was disorientating. She had heard rumours that Omar had introduced twenty four hours shifts to increase output and now she saw the proof of it. These men should be at home with their families.

The air was coarse with overpowering fumes, acrid and metallic and Nichols coughed as her throat spiked with flakes of ash. Ahead several men with power tools were crouched around a long metal tube. Cables snaked across the floor and she stepped over them. There was a shower of yellow sparks as they worked.
The power had been here for centuries, beyond her comprehension and interest, in truth, but she was aware Omar had honed its usage, blacking out areas of the city to favour more production for the League. She was growing more uneasy at this rushed meeting.
He wasn’t even one of them. It didn’t matter that he held the title of Governor. He was not Kiven born.

They reached a caged area with red and black NO ENTRY signs. There was a guard with a submachine gun across his chest. He unlocked the wire gate and Nichols edged nervously around him as they were ushered into a sterile corridor illuminated by overhead lights. The noise of the workshops became more bearable the further they walked until it gradually faded. Nichols slipped off the noise protectors. The ceiling lights buzzed. They passed closed doors with lights showing behind panels of frosted glass.

“What are you working on at the moment?” asked Nichols.

“We have our supply lists from the city,” said Adina, boots echoing along the concrete, hips swaying. “Naturally, they’re our first priority. But we’re always looking to restore new things that the salvage crews bring in. That is one of the mandates of the League.”

Nichols was irritated by the arrogance in her voice and her mood was soured further by Adina’s overtly suggestive walk. The woman was physically perfect. There was no need to flaunt it in these circumstances. It was wholly inappropriate. She glanced at Cooperman but he was mute and seemed content with the unfolding circumstances.

“I see you have moved to twenty-four shifts, Adina. The Alliance needed to sanction this increase. Once more it’s a violation of protocol.”

“I understand your concern, Governor Nichols,” said Adina, sweetly. “You look around and worry that the military wing of the League is expanding too rapidly and that we will neglect what our citizens need. But you must understand that our mandate is broad and not only one of restoration. Our sworn duty is to protect and we need to modernise and improve to do this.”

She paused.

“Restoration and modernisation require personal sacrifice. Only then can we reclaim our position in the Before. Those are the words of my father, Governor Nichols. Would you have ever questioned his passion or sincerity?”

There were no more questions.

They arrived at a set of double doors, plain, no glass, manned by two men armed with automatic weapons, curved and ribbed magazines.

There was an immediate drop in temperature and the lights were much dimmer than that of the corridor or the hectic factory floor. There were rusted pipes and cubes of metal overhead and a floor to ceiling metal screen at one end. Nichols adjusted her eyes to the gloom and saw a large table with a roughly sketched map of Ennpithia pinned to its surface. There were small pieces of metal dotted across the map. She let out a short gasp as four soldiers followed them inside, securing the doors. The men carried crossbows and wore holstered pistols.

Omar, who had been mostly silent, now faced them, smiling brightly, gesturing with his hands and rocking on the balls of his feet, acting as master of ceremonies.

“Governor Nichols, Governor Cooperman. Thank you for attending us at such a late hour. It will not be a wasted journey or an uneventful one.
As you are both aware, I am not Kiven born but I do not see that as a negative.
Indeed, what I bring is a more clinical eye. You see, what Kiven lacks, what it sorely requires, is an ultimate weapon, a weapon of such immense power that, when used, will allow us to trample the bones of our enemies as we turn the Ennpithian’s ugly world of green into a paradise of dust and beauty.”

They stared at him, open mouthed.

“What?” said Nichols.

“Enemies?” said Cooperman.

“Do you not have enough weapons? We’ve all seen your armoured vehicles, Omar. Your remit is to defend Kiven but not by waging war.”

He shook a clenched fist. “The only way a man defends himself is to attack first. Fast and without mercy.”

“The League did that once before,” said Cooperman. “It failed. An ultimate weapon is dangerous territory. Look at me, Omar. This is the result of war. And you appear to have suffered in battle as well.”

Adina saw a flicker of pain in Omar’s eyes.

Then it was gone.

“The League’s primary protocol is to aid in the restoration of what we have lost,” said Nichols. “That is why you work closely with the Society. We underpin your work, bringing cultural aspects to your developments. Finding a joint path back to the Before, back to who we were. And Governor Cooperman’s Ministry strive toward the future. This is how Kiven works, Omar, this is why the Alliance was formed. We are interlocked. We are balanced. No one voice is supreme.”

He waited.

Then clapped, slowly.

“Noble. Truly noble. But I have made adjustments to the
primary protocols
of the League and the Alliance. Now be quiet.”

She looked to Adina. “What is he talking about?”

He yelled. “Silence, bitch.”

Nichols recoiled. Even Adina was startled by the boom of his voice.

Omar swept an arm before him.

“Our enemies.”

He signalled to one of his men. The soldier moved to the far end of the chamber and began to crank a large handle. The metal folding screen grated against the concrete floor as it revealed a pod of clear panels. There were bright spotlights angled toward it and Nichols and Cooperman were shocked to see it was occupied by three men, a woman and a child. The pod was empty except for the prisoners and there was nowhere for them to hide. At one end there was a door, clearly locked, and a simple ventilation unit.

Cooperman took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the cold sweat from his face.

“
What gives you the right to take prisoners, Omar?” It was Nichols, voice hoarse with shock.

“They’re not prisoners,” said Adina. “They’re test subjects.”

The five prisoners flocked toward them, mouths opening and closing, fists beating, hands slapping, nails scraping; soundless desperation.

“You’re monsters. Both of you. Let them out of there. Please, let them out.”

The prisoners pushed themselves against the clear panels of the pod, tears barrelling down their cheeks. Cooperman heard a scraping sound from behind. The soldiers had drawn their pistols. He realised they would not leave here tonight and Kiven would blink from democracy to dictatorship.

“Ennpithians,” said Omar, brightly. “Your enemies. Our enemies.”

He stepped toward the pod. Nose to nose with the prisoners. There was nothing in his eyes as he looked at them.

“Healthy Ennpithians,” he said, wheeling around. “Living, breathing, walking, consuming, procreating. Clean bodies living in an ugly world, worshiping an ugly being who is dead, but alive, and invisible, but everywhere, and is nailed to a wooden cross.”

Omar shook his head.

“Their faith is as confusing as their world is hideous.”

“You keep saying that,” said Cooperman, dispelling with his games. He wanted answers. “What do you mean their world is ugly?”

“Do you not think Ennpithia is ugly?”

Cooperman frowned. The five prisoners wept against walls of the pod.

“No, of course not, what an idiotic thing to say. It’s a beautiful land. This is one of the reasons we stupidly went to war with them ten years ago. We do not want to live in the Black Region.”

“The Black Region is the zenith.”

“It’s a wasteland, Omar. Nothing grows here. It’s a place of death, violence, plague.”

“Yet you have survived,” said Omar, beating a clenched fist into his scarred palm. “Adina has taught me your history. You have existed in the Black Region for centuries. Your people have thrived. Look how modernised you are compared to them. They are weak, they are nothing.”

Cooperman shook his head. “You understand little of our history. Of the real cost of all this.”

“Omar,” said Adina, the urgency in her voice alerting him.

Nichols was struggling to breathe; bent at the waist, hands on her hips, she trembled and gasped for air.

“You must let these people go. Omar.” She loosened her shirt. “Please, don’t hurt them.”

Cooperman cupped her elbow, straightened her. “Don’t talk. Take long deep breaths.”

The prisoners wailed in silence.

“He cannot let them go,” said Cooperman, evenly. “It will be an end to the peace and trade agreements if the Ennpithians discover what is happening here tonight.”

“Governor Cooperman understands,” said Omar.

“No, Omar, I don’t understand,” said Cooperman. “I’ve accepted you, even though you’re not one of us, because a man doesn’t reach our age without guile and you certainly have plenty of that. I do believe there is a future in Kiven for you. But this, this is beyond the pale.
You
are the one who engaged the Ennpithians for a trade treaty and now
you
have kidnapped their people. I’ve led men into battle and I’ve watched them die for nothing. Don’t make the same mistake as the men who came before you. Don’t throw away this new treaty …”

“The treaty is a blindfold,” shouted Omar. “Nothing more. By the time they remove it … it will be too late for them.”

“You’re insane,” said Nichols, composing herself. “Adina, you must see what he is doing is wrong. It goes against everything the League of Restoration was founded on.”

“You do not dictate the League to me,” said Adina, firmly. “The Alliance is fat and weak and you are both a disgrace to your factions and the people of Kiven. Omar is the man to lead us forward.”

Omar called out and a side door opened with a loud hiss. A bulky man stepped slowly through carrying a small case. He wore black armour and heavy black boots and his face was obscured by gas mask. He opened the case and carefully removed a grey canister. He disconnected the air supply and attached the canister to the ventilation unit.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, with horrified looks, Cooperman and Nicholls saw a gas appear inside the pod.

“It will take an hour for the initial signs of infection to show. I will make you both more comfortable.”

Omar nodded to his men.

“Tie them up.”

Jeremy reached the door, took a deep breath and burst into the cottage, waving his pistol around.

Kaya shrieked; Quinn, dozing in her brother’s chair, leapt to her feet and reached for her gun but Jeremy fired and a bullet ripped silently at her feet. She froze as he aimed at her, the muzzle fixed with a silencer.

He’d thought of everything, she guessed.

Jeremy snatched her pistol, tossed it.

“Put your hands on your head,” he said. “Both of you. Do it.
Now
.”

Seconds morphed into minutes, minutes formed an agonising hour as the gas floated and shifted around the clear prison. Nichols was crying. Cooperman was stony faced. With no fresh air supply it was impossible for the trapped Ennpithians not to inhale the substance.

Omar relaxed against the long table with the map. He ordered his men to bring food and calmly ate, chewing on freshly cooked meat, the succulent aroma swirling around the chamber.

“Soon,” he said.

First came the sweats.

Then the eruption of red blotches.

And the griping pains. And the silent screams. And the bleeding … from the eyes, the mouth, the ears, the anus.

“I have aggressively accelerated the composition. The early test subjects were taking far too long. Some of them were lasting days. It was tedious, ineffective.”

Nichols sobbed quietly, ashen faced. It was Cooperman who spoke. His voice was scratchy.

“Why?”

Omar scraped his teeth against bone. “The ultimate weapon.”