Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series) (34 page)

“What’s the plan?” one of Ravan’s men asked.

“We wait,” she replied.

“For what?”

The big doors vibrated as an explosion rocked the platform outside. Then another one, this one accompanied by yells of alarm. Gunfire echoed outside, sounds of battle.

“For that.” Ravan studied the rebels, about sixty now with her old crew joining up. “We’re outnumbered, but they don’t know we’re here. Hit as many as you can before they regroup, then take cover and wait for the cavalry.”

“When exactly’s that?” one of her men asked.

“Whenever it feels like it, Jackson,” Ravan replied. “You in a rush?”

Everyone smiled back, even Holt. “One. Two.
Three.
”

Holt kicked open the big doors and rushed outside with the others. He was limping, but he moved just as fast as everyone else. Memories of him standing on that gas valve with primed grenades entered her head. As conflicted as her feelings were right then, the thought of losing him was a tangible fear. He’d done nothing but hurt her … but that didn’t change the fact that he was more important to her than probably anyone else on the planet. Besides, if he died … what would have been the point of any of this?

Ravan pushed the thoughts away and lunged after him into the chaos.

*   *   *

HOLT DASHED INTO THE
fighting, and quickly wondered what he was thinking. He planted himself against a cabled stack of barrels and flinched as explosions flared all around the platform and Rogan West’s gyrocopters streaked through the air, dropping bombs, right on time. Still, it felt good, oddly, caring whether or not a bullet took his head off. He felt like he was coming back to himself, albeit slowly, and probably never again like he’d been, but it was something. It showed things could change.

To take advantage of it, though, he’d have to survive the next few minutes.

Holt stared up through the metal rungs of the giant flare tower and watched the gyros circle. One of them took a blast of gunfire, wavered, then fell and crashed out of sight.

All around him, the rebels pushed onto the platform from the refinery, guns blazing. The pirates on the other side didn’t see it coming, and more than two dozen were cut down before they figured it out.

Still, they returned fire brutally, taking cover of their own. Holt saw six rebels fall before they could get behind something.

“We got a problem, go figure.” Ravan ducked next to him, slamming a new clip into her rifle. Gunfire echoed everywhere, gyrocopters roared past, bombs detonated.

She pointed past him, to the rear of the platform, the part that faced out onto open desert. No one was there, all the fighting was up front, which was part of the plan. What wasn’t part of the plan were the lines of metal storage containers that had been put there. Two lines of them, eight each, blocking the entire rear edge. They were new, they hadn’t been there last night when the plan was made, probably part of some kind of storage runoff. The Menagerie had gotten lucky.

“Splendid.” Holt sighed. If they didn’t clear a path through those things, the rest of the plan was screwed. He studied the containers, looking for possibilities, and saw the only thing that looked like an option: an old, rusted forklift near the far end.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ravan asked, looking at the same thing.

Holt nodded. “Just like Tucson. You have rope?”

“Yep.”

“Who’s driving?”

“You’re the cripple.”

He started to argue, but she poked him in the ribs and he groaned in pain. “Fair enough.”

Ravan smiled … then seemed to stuff it back down. Holt could see the cracks forming in her walls where he was concerned, and the fight to maintain them. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing.

“Get ready,” she said, then glanced at the rebels around them. Two more fell from hits, and the circling gyros were almost out of bombs. The battle was about to take a bad turn.

Holt took a deep breath … then darted out from the barrels. He heard bullets buzz through the air around him, and pain shot through his legs and ribs as he ran, but he ignored it. He made the distance and lunged inside the old forklift, slamming into the seat with a groan. Bullets sparked all over the cabin.

“Hurry!” Ravan yelled, pointing into the desert.

Holt looked, but knew what he would see. Giant plumes of purples and blues that marked the sails of the
Wind Rift.
It was about half a mile away, closing fast. Olive had it right on schedule.

“For once I wish someone would be late,” he yelled back, gripping his Beretta.

“Quit whining.” Ravan ducked through the gunfire toward the rear of the forklift, pulling a length of thin-gauge rope from her pack. As she did, Holt aimed at the back window of the vehicle and shut his eyes. His gun flashed, the glass exploded outward.

Ravan jumped onto the back, tossed in one end of the rope. Holt grabbed it and wrapped it around his waist, tied a quick barrel-hitch knot and pulled it tight. More bullets slapped into the forklift. The gyros roared over, banking hard to the right, headed back to the Machine Works, out of bombs. It meant if they didn’t clear this landing zone for the
Wind Rift,
the whole thing was over.

“Hit it!” Ravan yelled, firing and hanging off the rear.

Holt cranked the forklift, shoved it into gear, and stomped the gas. The machine jumped forward and Holt aimed it for the nearest pair of containers, stacked one in front of the other. There wasn’t time to lift them off the platform, he’d have to take a more direct approach.

The machine slammed into a container at full speed, the twin teeth of its loader punching right through the metal, and the wheels kept spinning. Sparks shot out from under the containers as they were shoved forward along the platform.

A second later, the first one cleared the edge and fell. Without the extra weight, the forklift lurched forward. The second container was about to go too.

“Ravan, go!” Holt yelled. He heard her leap off, but he didn’t look back, had to keep the wheel straight.

The second container tipped over as it was pushed off the edge … and the forklift whined as the back wheels lifted up. Its teeth were stuck in the side of the container, it would be pulled right over with it, and Holt watched the world upend, felt gravity start pulling him down …

He groaned as the rope around him went taut. As the forklift fell, he stayed in place, pulled right through the back window he’d cleared earlier, watching the machine and container crash violently into the ground below.

Holt just hung there, suspended off the edge of the platform. He could hear the gunshots from back where they’d been, could see the
Wind Rift
barreling toward him.

Above him Ravan appeared, staring down in amusement.

“Remind me again why the ‘cripple’ gets this job?” Holt asked.

“Because it amuses me,” she answered.

The giant Landship sailed closer, almost on him. Ravan lowered her hand. Holt took it, scampered up and over the edge, right as the huge ship shuddered to a stop against the platform. The gangplank crashed down in the gap left by the containers.

Holt, exhausted, watched as a hundred rebels, led by Rogan West, poured off the Landship, running forward onto the Pinnacle, rifles ready, most already firing. He gave Holt a wink as he dashed past with the others.

Holt and Ravan didn’t follow. They just sat down and leaned against a container, watching as the Menagerie broke and ran, seeing they were out-positioned. When they were gone, West and his men hit the stairs, sweeping upward through the numerous shops and living quarters along the flare tower, clearing them, completely dominating the Pinnacle … and taking very few prisoners.

Holt looked at Ravan. They’d pulled it off, in spite of everything. “Guess we still got it.”

Ravan studied him back wearily, though there was a softness behind her eyes. “If you say so.”

Holt watched her gaze drift down to his right wrist and the half-finished image there.

“You can make the top half a different color,” she said quietly. “Or … make it into a gryphon or …
anything
else.”

“I still don’t understand why.”

“God, you don’t see anything but yourself, do you? You don’t see me or how I feel. That you’re the only person who ever made me want to be something besides what I was.” She looked up at him, and there was pain in her eyes. “You brought out parts of me I … was scared to let myself have, feelings I had no business with. Everyone—
everything
—else in my life I put there to keep me
alive
. You were there … because you made me
feel
alive. Do you ‘understand’ now, you idiot? I
love
you. I always have, and that tattoo was supposed to mean something. Now I’ll have to look at it every day and know it’s not for real, that you did it … because you
had
to, not because you wanted to.”

The admission was startling. As long as he’d known her, as much as they’d shared, she had never expressed as much sentiment and emotion to him as she just had. His chest tightened, he felt feelings rise, old ones …

He could see it in her eyes, the hope he would say what she wanted to hear. He knew the words, knew the way to restart their journey, one that had meant something to him once, but as much as he might want to, the sad truth was, there was a part of him he hadn’t yet let go of. A part of him, regardless of what he knew to be true … still, somehow, believed Mira was alive. That she was still here. It was like he could still feel her, out there, and it was unfair. Not just to Ravan, but to him too. Why wasn’t he allowed to just move on?

For all those reasons, Holt couldn’t tell Ravan what she needed. Someday maybe. Maybe even someday soon, but not now. Not yet.

Ravan held his gaze a moment more, then turned away and shook her head. She stood up without looking at him, hefted her rifle, and moved to join the others.

“Don’t take that tattoo,” she said as she moved off. “Don’t you dare.”

Holt watched after her, but she never looked back.

27.
TERMINUS

MIRA HELD ONTO THE EDGE
of a train car, letting the dizziness pass. The Assembly were in her head, and it was worse than it had ever been, but that might be because in her grief and guilt she’d stopped fighting them. They ripped through her mind, the feelings of desolation and loneliness, their eagerness for her, replacing her thoughts with their own, and that was just fine, because right then, she didn’t want her own thoughts.

She made herself move through the yard, one foot in front of the other. She could see the Citadel in the heated haze of the distance, across a hundred miles of desert. It reminded her there was something she had to do and, walking toward it, she didn’t feel the apprehension she expected. There was no other choice, really, and that brought with it a strange calm.

As she walked, she caught glimpses of the White Helix on the old train, watching interestedly. She wasn’t surprised: they enjoyed conflict, and they probably had a sense of what was coming.

Mira rounded the side of a tanker car, and saw what was left of the Wind Trader fleet assembled near the eastern edge of the yard. The charred wrecks of the rest, dozens of ships, lay where they’d burned into ashen heaps after the attack.

There were only eleven left. What had been the Wind Trader fleet, one of the most amazing creations on the planet, was decimated, a way of life was gone, and it was Mira’s fault. Still, it didn’t change what she had to do. She moved toward the assembled group of Captains nearby, watching as their crews loaded the last of the supplies and making ready to depart.

Dresden was amid the others, and he studied her intently. He, like the White Helix, probably had an idea what was coming as well, but she was unclear which side he would eventually end up on. He had just as little reason to stand with her as the others.

“I need to talk with you,” Mira announced, and her voice was firm and unwavering, in spite of the projections in her head. “All of you.”

The Captains turned with a mixture of emotions. Some saw her as a villain, who had overseen the destruction of their way of life. Others, a compatriot, who had been through hell with them and played a role in any of them getting out alive. All of them were wary.

The projections from the Assembly swelled. The world spun, but she forced herself to keep her eyes open, to say what she needed to say, to not show weakness.

“I want to ask you to stay, to help me finish this.” Their reaction was a foregone conclusion. Most turned away in disgust, the rest studied her in genuine dismay. To them, there was nothing left to “finish,” it was already over.

“You can’t be serious, Mira,” Conner said without malice. He just looked exhausted and defeated.

“I am,” she answered. “I still need your help, and we still have a deal.”

“There’s no deal
left
!” the Captain with the British accent spat viciously. “The fleet is gone, burned to the ground, all thanks to your
deal.
There’s no one left to honor it.”

“There’s you,” Mira told her, and the girl glared.

“You realize,” Dresden began, “our fleet notwithstanding, you’ve lost almost two-thirds of the force you set out with, and you’re not even to San Francisco yet.”

“Our numbers have dwindled, yes, but the ones who remain are stronger.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the Helix on the cars. The Wind Traders seemed less impressed.

“Mira, you had to know the answer would be no,” Conner told her. “We’re leaving in less than an hour, and when we’re gone, we’re not coming back. We have to rebuild and start over, and I certainly hope we have the ‘strength’ for it, but don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

She felt Dresden watching her curiously as she reached into her pocket and grabbed what was there. “You’re strong enough. I know it. But the truth is, there is
no
starting over.”

Mira threw a handful of quarters at their feet. They were Strange Lands quarters, and the Captains flinched, expecting them to explode, but they only sparked and fizzled and nothing else. It was a pathetic display, and everyone stared down at the coins in confusion.