Chapter 7

“What do you mean “No one knows”?!”
Tavian had been roaring this way for almost ten minutes. As always, Alix was a model of composure, checking data sheets and receiving more and more golems, none of which brought news the Adjudicator wanted to hear.
“Well?!” Tavian demanded. Alix took another breath.
“As I said, my lord, there has been no sign of Marek. We know for certain he checked in at the proper port city, received supplies and then headed back into the Wasteland. We have our best trackers out there but at some point, his trail just vanishes.”
Tavian swore, but calmed down.
“Likelihood of betrayal?”
Alix calculated silently before answering.
“Marek is slippery and ambitious but was as high as he could reach as a neophyte, thanks to you. Nothing could be gained from betraying you, no one else has a better offer. He would know that. More likely he was captured or killed.” Tavian shook his head.
“Marek plays the fop but he's a formidable fighter. I've heard he picked up a few things from Heydrich.”
“Like a disease?” Alix muttered under her breath. Tavian let it pass.
“My guess is he found something else. Not knowing the significance of his mission, he considers something else more beneficial to pursue.” Alix nodded, recalculating.
Tavian paced his chamber. The room was dark, only a few artificial lights lit the corners, giving every object monstrously long shadows.
“People are simple,” he repeated, absently. The ornately decorated ceiling was high, a round skylight open to allow golems entry, too small for anything else. The Adjudicator was a firm believing in combining aesthetic beauty with paranoia level security. Tavian continued, the headache at his temples threatening to expand to full head migraine.
“And the twins?” he asked yet again, closing his eyes against the pain. Alix looked at her board, though by now she had the information memorized.
“Commanders Kristallnacht landed in PC Midnight. Proximity to mountain made visual confirmation impossible. We assume they and their team made contact with the unknown enemy. Almost immediately we lost communication with them. The scout team we sent claims the PC is a ghost town. There is not only nothing living, the only activity they observed was a handful of NIL's who appear to have wandered in the open gates. Any evidence is therefore likely eaten.”
Tavian sat down on a soft green couch, his head resting on the back. Alix stood with her hands folded. The Adjudicator rarely exploded as he'd done today but never in public and never for long. She needed only to wait it out.
“Alix,” Tavian began slowly, “Write an order. Commanders Tiberius, Maksim and Kamsomol are to get their troops together. Dashkov is to step up security, to compensate here. A detachment of four KingKillers is to accompany the soldiers down to the surface. We must find the Dark Army. The story will be that we are sending reinforcements to Midnight. En route, there will be a technical malfunction and the Pandora and the Orpheus will be forced to land close to where we lost Marek. The KingKillers will act as Scouts.”
Alix thought carefully about her response as she wrote down as she'd been told.
“Three battalions, lord?”
Tavian sighed.
“I know, Lucretia. But my preferred method of stealth has failed and time is not our ally. I'll take no more chances.”
Alix considered.
“Perhaps better than sabotaging our skiffs, we could make it a training exercise. Ensuring the troops are in top form.”
Tavian turned and threw his legs up on the armrests.
“You really think they'll buy that?”
“Some won't. Lord Denisovich won't. But he won't trust anything. Keeping it simple means less can go wrong.” Tavian nodded but appeared unhappy.
“I liked my story,” he pouted, though his eyes twinkled. Alix smiled, but was still bothered.
“My lord...what about Midnight?”
Tavian stared up at the skylight and the artificial illumination wafting down from it.
“The Dark Army is worth more tan two warriors. Even if they are the best,” he answered quietly, “I have to trust that they will find a way out but for now, the twins are on their own.”

~~

Journal Entry #24

Why did I think this was a good idea?
Wandering around with only the vaguest sense of direction...Hard when you know only where you don't want to be. That place where you you're a toy, forced to play their games, by their rules.
But I can't lie. I hate this place.
There is simply nothing here. I expected to be fighting for my life every step of the way but not even the NIL's bother coming here. No life to feed on. It also appears I underestimated the size of this strip of desert. I've walked for almost two weeks. So far haven't had to pop a LiqNit cylinder but it won't be long now. Otherwise, if something DOES bother, will be too weak to do anything against it.
Writing by moonlight. Pressing on.
Hoping the structures I glimpsed are not just illusions.

Denisovich lifted the sand-glasses from her face and held her breath, afraid her eyes betrayed and the slightest disturbance would blow the apparition away.
Buildings, skyscrapers...built in a style long obsolete. Relics of the height of human domination.
She was not sure what was the more breathtaking—that there were such artifacts from a lost time, a sprawling city of likely great importance...or the degree of devastation which left these structures blown out, scalded shells.
A dead city.

There was a strange ethereal beauty to it all. The broken glass carpeting cracked and crooked streets, blown out from thousands of windows. Corpse houses, blackened walls and twisted metal. Her mind was incapable of processing everything her eyes took in. The air was still, the long shadows cast by high towers cooling and stagnating.
The subdued sounds of her leather boots against pavement the only sound. She tried to imagine what this city must have been like in its prime. Judging by the rate of decay...the extent of moss chocking the pillars, the disintegration of stone and steel...she guess this to be one of the later cities to disappear. So not a capital or anything of military interest, she reasoned. Were most human cities like this? Unlike the cramped technolopolis, where everything had been pushed together even before the vampires took over, the city was spread out, full of alley ways, sidewalks and what seemed to be the remnants of tree pots.

Despite the restless loveliness of the city, she knew instinctively it was not the one she sought. Like every other town, city, and random collection of structures she had encountered, none matched her end quest. Just another trove to be picked clean for any goods other scavengers had left behind.
Passing the majority of skyscrapers—undoubtedly office buildings, none of which would hold anything of interest for her—she left the more industrial area for what seemed to be a downtown. A line of shops appeared more intact that their surroundings, having been sheltered from much of the destruction by their steel bigger siblings.
“Jackpot,” she murmured, an archaic phrase no one remembered the context of anymore. The identifying signs above doors and in windows were long gone, but she'd seen enough of the same type to make educated guesses.
The first building proved to be picked clean, the next boasted a caved in ceiling. She smiled at the third building which still carried a lock on its door, offering hope. With a quick tug, she yanked it off, furtively glancing around in case the noise had attracted unwanted, drooling attention. She opened the door slowly to avoid creaking, but the bell over it sounded out like a bullet breaking the porcelain sky.
“Stupid,” she muttered. Too long alone in the desert. Careful to hold the bell as she closed the door, Denisovich took quick stock of the store. Many shelves still carrying placards were devoid of the food and sweets once put out for quick purchase, as were a variety of useful items. She smiled wryly at the giant display sign which read “SURVIVAL KIT.”
Behind the counter in a locked glass case, she found what she was looking for. Already running for their lives, most humans had wisely avoided adding unnecessary weight and items. Especially items which marked them with a smell that drew NIL's faster than the cancer the little white sticks promised as a bonus. Luckily for her.
Her feline eyes scanned the glass for her favorite brand.
“Can't be too picky,” she quietly reminded herself, glance finally resting on them.
She pulled seven boxes of the Red Tops (having long decided the Gold Tops had no kick and the Blue Tops smelled nastier than they should), slipping six in a thick pouch she carried for just such an occasion, and the last box in her pocket. Turning, she looked for the accessories which were never far from such cases. Unfortunately most of the flame making tools—matches, lighters, etc—had been stolen, for their intended use and for the fuel inside them, undoubtedly. No matter how many times I see it, I'm still surprised what humans thought up to get around us, she thought. Underneath the counter she found another locked case, this one not displayed behind hollow glass. Jerking it open she found additional products, silently waiting to be put on shelves for customers that would never return. Among the litter of items, most of which were now obsolete and few she even recognized, she spied success. Pulling two lighters and a carton of matchbooks from the very back of the case, she straightened, feeling her spine pop. Everything but one of the lighters disappeared into her ruck sack. Quickly, she turned off her Breather, and pulled it down around her neck. Opening the Red Top box, she pulled a cig out and lit it up, taking a slow breath. A happy smile worked across her face.
“Honest to Seladore, the best thing about this place,” she mumbled around it, stuffing the last two items in her pocket and walking out.
A few more blocks down the road (or what she assumed had been a road), Denisovich found a gap in the city. A seven foot wide chasm split street and building for what seemed to be hundreds of yards in either direction. Denisovich knelt and peered into the dark to determine the depth. Instead, what she saw was a pile of bones and rubble. Having been protected from the elements and with the lack of animal scavengers, flesh still hung off bones, flaps of skin stretched over agonized faces and twisted limbs. She stared at them for a bit and, seeing none had anything worth climbing down to get, she left them to their rest. A few steps backward and a sprinted leap later, she was across the chasm. Almost immediately, her sharp ears pricked at a misplaced sound. Taking a final drag, she flicked the cigarette away, swiveling her head to determine the direction of the sound as she returned her Breather to the lower half of her face. Automatically, she canned for a place to store her ruck sack, finally deciding on an knocked over tree pot. After setting it, and her long coat inside, she covered it with some dirt, to camouflage both the sight and smell. Then she returned to the center of the street where there was more open space.
More noise reached her, and now she could tell it wasn't all coming from one place. She closed her eyes and sighed, reaching behind her shoulder to pull her barbed sword from its strappings. Inside, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was long past the time she should be without feeding, but she ignored it. When she opened her eyes, they were steeled with the resolve that she could hold her own just fine without the benefits of fresh blood. The noise, which had previously been confined to shuffling and the sound of glass being kicked around, rose as moans filled the air, echoing off buildings.
She spotted the first NIL shamble over a large piece of shrapnel, most of its hair gone, an eye hanging out of one socket uselessly. Huge gashes along its arm indicated it was a Second Wave victim, one who had been attacked and turned by the horrors created by the Death Winds. Two more appeared around the corner of a tower, arms dangling at the side, heads lolling around. After 20 she stopped counting as more joined and closed in around her. Her sword gleamed in the pale sunlight as she hefted it with both hands. All the NILs spontaneously changed demeanor, becoming ravenous with prey so near. They snarled, faces contorting into something that barely resembled humanity and rushed at her, functional arms reaching out, broken fingernails reader to tear and scratch. She took a deep breath to avoid inhaling the smell and swung. The first blow caught a zombie in the side of the skull which imploded in a spray of bone and brain matter. Another flesheater leapt low at her, but her sword tore into its neck. A quick jerk upwards and the spine was severed, a junk of vertebrae still hooked on a barb. Three more attacked at once. The first was dispatched easily but Denisovich swore when her blade became embedded in the torso of the second, despite her considerable strength. Letting it go, she grabbed her long curved knife from its holster at her side. Lacking the head-removing force of the larger sword, even wielded by her kind, it was useful for quick cuts and jabs, able to pierce through the skull or sever the spine from behind. Taking care of the third NIL, she utilized a few seconds to grab her sword out, blood and gore spewing to the side. Now carrying a blade in each hand, she whirled, chopped, stabbed; slicing an arm off with this blade to provide an opening for knocking a head off with the other one, dodging bites and claws. Drool, blood and ichor was splattered across her shirt, but she'd been careful to get none on her Breather. Shoving another monster away from her, Denisovich raised her head to see how many were left. Because of this, she was able to see the dark figure in the shadow of a high-rise window before the first shot exploded the skull of a NIL behind her.
A rain of bullets, ranging in all calibers from the sound of it, collapsed corpses and blew apart the moving dead. Denisovich crouched, her sword raised above her head as she tried to identify her “rescuers”. In less than forty five seconds, the City was quiet again. Denisovich stared at the NILs strewn around her, some actually bearing expressions of surprise, a feeling she could easily sympathize with this time. Heavy, assured footsteps echoed out of the darkness, precluding the figure that emerged. He was dressed simply in heavy pants, a turtlenecked sweater and light brown vest. Close cropped brown hair looked like a dark cap, matching deep set eyes. Behind him, a half dozen humans fanned out, all staring at the last standing figure intently. Meeting their eyes, Denisovich could see the hostility and guessed their assistance was not born out of any love for her species.
Suddenly, strong arms gripped her from behind, giving no way to lift her blades and a prick at her neck caught her off-guard. She struggled against the assault but could already feel her strength draining, the result of whatever drug was now slowly making its way through her bloodstream.
“Hold still, suckhead,” the voice growled at her ear. She managed to push her head back, giving her a glimpse of the face so close to her own. Her eyes opened wide in shock as they locked with cobalt blue.
“Marek?”