Wings

Page 32

I grab Natalie around her waist, lifting her onto her feet.
“I can’t leave her!” she wails.
“She’s dead!” I say, dragging Natalie kicking and screaming down the rest of the stairs. I don’t let go of her until we reach the hangar deck.
The place is in chaos. Bodies are strewn across the floor, their blood pooling around our feet. Most of the Transporters are on fire. There’s a burst of gunfire as a group of Sentry guards spot us. Roach and General Buchanan take them down with their semiautomatics.
“That one!” Garrick says, pointing toward a Transporter nearest the exit. It’s one of the few aircrafts that isn’t ablaze yet.
We sprint across the hangar.
Pop-pop-pop.
Garrick grunts and stumbles, nearly falling over. He clutches his stomach. Blood spurts between his fingers. I wheel around. Sebastian is standing in the control room at the end of the hangar.
“I knew you’d come down here!” Sebastian shouts, pointing his gun at us.
“Sebastian, son, please don’t do this! Think about what you’re doing!” Dr. Craven says.
Sebastian’s silver eyes narrow. A snarl crosses over his lips. “I know what I’m doing. Cleansing the world of Impurities, like you.”
He squeezes the trigger. The bullet grazes Dr. Craven’s arm, ripping his jacket. The doctor is so stunned, he doesn’t move when Sebastian pulls the trigger again. I knock the man out of the way just in time. The bullet brushes past my cheek, scorching my skin.
General Buchanan and Beetle shoot at Sebastian, covering us, while we race toward the Transporter. Natalie’s mom punches a button on the outside of the aircraft, and the hatch opens. Lucinda and Elijah help Garrick onto the aircraft. He grimaces in pain, clutching his stomach. He’s left a bread-crumb trail of blood in his wake. We all stumble onto the aircraft and quickly close the hatch behind us.
“Can you fly the ship?” General Buchanan asks Garrick.
The man grunts, shaking his head. His skin is slick with sweat.
“Don’t you know how to fly it? You’re in the military,” I say.
“I’m army, not air force,” General Buchanan replies.
Bullets hit the outside of the aircraft, thwamp-thwamp-thwamp. Sebastian is returning fire. Without saying anything, Day places the glass jar containing Theora’s heart on one of the metal benches and marches over to the pilot’s seat. She sits down and turns on the engines. They whir into life. She mutters under her breath as she flips a few switches and buttons, running through the commands.
“Buckle up,” she calls over her shoulder.
We all take out seats, hurriedly putting on the harnesses as Day takes the controls. Lucinda grabs the glass jar, holding it close against her. There’s a thunk of metal as the clamps are released, then a bone-shuddering jolt as the Transporter jerks forward. We speed through the access tunnel, accelerating at an alarming rate. Natalie grips my hand. Elijah screws his eyes shut. Beetle just grins. The others mutter a prayer under their breath.
Day yanks on the controls and the aircraft lurches upward so fast, my ears pop. There’s darkness, darkness, darkness, and then brilliant light as we burst out into the blue skies. We’re going so fast, I think we’re going to crash into the Destroyer Ships hovering a few hundred feet above the compound. The airships are easily five hundred feet long and painted white with a red rose on the side: the emblem of Purian Rose. They get closer, closer, closer, filling the windscreen, so close I can see the screws holding the metal sheets together.
“Day!” Natalie screams.
Day yanks the controls to the right, and the aircraft tilts. We zoom through a narrow gap between two of the Destroyer Ships, darting between them. The ships drift closer, threatening to crush us. Fragg, fragg, fragg! I clutch on to the bench. Day punches a few buttons and unloads the missiles into the sides of the ships as we pass. Fire blooms across their surfaces, creating enough force to push the airships apart a few meters, giving us space to fly through. She pulls up on the controls again and the aircraft rockets up, up, up, so high that pressure balls behind my eyes, until we’re flying above the Destroyer Ships. We’re soon swallowed by the clouds. Good luck finding us, I think. I suspect this aircraft can’t be easily detected on radar.
“Nice flying, babe!” Beetle shouts.
Day doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s grinning.
General Buchanan unfastens his seat belt and gets up, pressing a hand against the metal wall to brace himself as the Transporter bumps up and down on the rough air.
“Is everyone all right?” he says.
Dr. Craven clings to his medical bag, his face pale. I’m not sure if he’s feeling sick from the turbulence or because his son just tried to murder him.
“His eyes were silver,” Dr. Craven mutters. “Did you see? He’s not my boy anymore, Jonathan, he’s . . . he’s—” The doctor buries his face in his hands.
Elijah is sitting opposite me, his eyes shut. Tears slide down his bloodstained cheeks. I look away, unable to take any more pain. My heart feels bruised from so many blows. Natalie rests her head against my shoulder. There are soot smudges on her cheeks.
“I’m such an idiot,” Natalie says. “I trusted Destiny; I thought she was my friend. But she just wanted to retrieve you and the Ora, then get us all back into one place so she could blow us up.” She looks up at me. “Ash, what are we going to do?”
I stiffen, saying nothing. I have no idea.
Dr. Craven wipes his red-rimmed eyes, then picks up his bag and tends to Garrick’s wounds.
“Where are we going?” Day calls from the pilot’s seat.
“Centrum,” Mother says. “I have friends there who will hide us.”
This is met with a mixture of complaints and murmurs of assent.
“We should go to the Northern Territories,” Dr. Craven says. “There’s no reason for us to stay here and die, Siobhan.”
Beetle scowls, his brown eyes flaring with anger. “We still have a duty to bring down Purian Rose! This isn’t over yet.” He looks at Sigur. “Is it?”
I glance at him too, hoping for some guidance on the matter. I’m so out of my depth.
Sigur sighs, a heavy, defeated sound. “We do not have any weapons. The Sentry rebels are dead, my people are in the Tenth, and most of the Humans for Unity have been captured or killed,” he says. “I am struggling to see what the thirteen of us can do.”
My fangs pulse. That’s not what I expected him to say. I know the situation is dire, but I never in a million years thought he would suggest that we surrender!
Beetle looks challengingly at me. “Is that what you think too, mate?”
Natalie sits up. Everyone turns their attention to me, waiting to hear what I have to say; even Natalie’s mom seems eager to know, and it suddenly hits me: they’re expecting me to lead them. What I say next will change everything. So the question is, Do we stay and fight, even though in all likelihood we’ll die, or do we go to the Northern Territories and live?
There never was a choice.
“No, that’s not what I think,” I say fiercely. “Purian Rose has tortured us, killed our loved ones and torn our families apart, and now he’s infecting people with a deadly retrovirus. He needs to be stopped, and we’re the ones who are going to do it. He needs to learn we will never give up. We will never back down. We will not be governed by fear!”
“NO FEAR!” Beetle chants.
Roach pumps her fist. “NO POWER!”
Day punches in the coordinates for Centrum.
PART 3
THE GILDED CITY
26.
NATALIE
THE TRANSPORTER DIPS through the billowy white clouds and we emerge above the city of Centrum, the capital of the Dominion State. I gently move Ash’s arm from my shoulders, and get up. Everyone is asleep, all of us physically and emotionally exhausted. I stretch my legs, which are achy from the eight-hour flight, and join Day in the cockpit.
“I’m sorry about Martha,” she says.
“Thanks,” I murmur, too tired right now to feel anything but numb.
Day turns the control stick to the left and we swoop over the city. The soaring giltstone skyscrapers glimmer gold in the sunlight, and the streets and sidewalks sparkle like they’re coated in diamonds. An enormous turreted wall made from glossy marble and giltstone encases the whole city, topped with thousands of orange trees and rosebushes.
Built into the walls of the skyscrapers are vast digital screens, easily ten times bigger than the ones in Black City. Some stream the latest news from SBN with February Fields, others display advertisements for the upcoming public Cleansing ceremony on Tuesday, and the rest show a constant loop of government propaganda messages: ONE FAITH, ONE RACE, ONE NATION UNDER HIS MIGHTY! HIS MIGHTY SEES ALL SINNERS! We fly over the unmistakable gold dome of the Golden Citadel, where Purian Rose lives. Down in the enormous plaza outside the citadel, Workboots are busy erecting a large stage, similar to the one I saw being built in Gallium.
Footsteps approach the cockpit, and I turn to see my mother. Her hair tumbles in loose black waves around her narrow shoulders, and her normally flawless skin is scratched, her jumpsuit covered in soot. Even so, she looks beautiful. Slung around my mother’s narrow hips is a black leather gun belt. The handgun’s grip pokes out of the holster.
“Head toward Catherine Street,” Mother says, giving Day the coordinates. “You’ll see a round building with a Transporter pad on the roof.”
“But that’s where Emissary Bradshaw lives,” I say, and then my eyes widen. “Oh! He’s the Commander?”
Mother nods. I now understand why they had to keep his identity a closely guarded secret. Emissary Bradshaw is in charge of the Dominion State, which is the most coveted of all the emissary positions. He’s second only to Purian Rose in terms of importance in the government, and—I thought—a loyal supporter of the dictator. We stayed with him last year, after we were evacuated from Black City during the air raids.
“I can’t believe he’s been working against Purian Rose all this time,” I say.
Mother gives me a wry smile. She types something into the com-screen built into the control panel. A moment later a message appears on the screen. “The Commander says it’s safe to land.”
The others awaken as Day dips the Transporter to the left. It rapidly descends as we reach a familiar round tower, fifty stories high, each and every one of them belonging to Emissary Bradshaw. He has everything he needs at his disposal in the building: numerous apartments, offices, a spa and gymnasium, a fancy restaurant to wine and dine his guests, and even a private doctor’s office for any secret nips-and-tucks he wants done. This isn’t even the Sentry headquarters, which is an intimidating building shaped like a shard of glass, more than two hundred stories high, like a dagger piercing the heavens.
“Guys, I’ve never landed a Transporter before,” Day says nervously.
The Lupine, Garrick, grunts as he gets up from the metal bench nearby. He’s pale and sweating, his furlike mane matted from sleep. He staggers over to the copilot’s seat, gripping his injured side. He flicks a few switches and starts grunting instructions at Day. Her knuckles turn white as her hands tighten around the controls.
“This is going to be bumpy,” Garrick says as the building rushes toward us.
Ash grabs the jar with Theora’s heart while everyone else grips their seats. Day approaches the landing pad a little too fast, and we thump down on the roof. The aircraft judders, and I bump my head against the metal wall and let out a groan, my thoughts spinning. There are a few cries of panic from the others, followed by a smattering of nervous laughter when the aircraft doesn’t erupt into a ball of flames. Day turns off the engine and grins at me, pushing her glasses up her nose. I smile, rubbing my bruised head.
We head out of the aircraft, all of us a little shaky on our feet after the dramatic landing, and cross the breezy roof. The air is warm and fresh, and smells like roses. We enter the access stairwell, which leads us down to a wide corridor outside a penthouse apartment.
The plush white carpet is spongy underfoot, and the walls are gilded with gold leaf. Modern art hangs on the walls. They’re by some renowned artist and worth millions, but they just look like splashes of blue and red paint to me. Memories come flooding as I take in our surroundings. My mother, Polly, Sebastian and I lived in this building last year, although our apartment was on the thirty-eighth floor. It’s weird being back here.
Mother presses the bell outside the white double doors, making a tuneful ding-dong sound, and a moment later we’re buzzed inside the apartment. It’s decorated in a similar fashion to the hallway, with pristine white carpets and gold walls. We’re in an enormous living room, with curved windows that overlook the glimmering city. In the middle of the room is a circle of white leather chairs. On the opposite side of the room are a set of gold doors, which—if memory serves—leads to numerous bedrooms, a dining room, a bathroom, a library and a kitchen.
To our right is a marble fireplace. Hanging above the mantel is a huge portrait of Emissary Bradshaw—a bloated man with ruddy cheeks, thinning blond hair and pale blue eyes. He was probably a handsome man in his youth, but years of attending lavish state banquets have taken their toll on him. The gold doors open, and the real Emissary Bradshaw sweeps into the room, dressed in a midnight-blue frock coat, dark pants and a patterned waistcoat that stretches over his large belly. He spreads his arms wide and smiles.
“Siobhan. So lovely to have you back in my home.”
Mother embraces him. “Thank you for having us.”