Stealing Light

The man with the rifle stopped, a wary look on his race. ‘You’re Consortium, right? I’m head of this convoy, and we’re carrying refugees away from Port Gabriel.’

He glanced past Dakota’s shoulder, but she’d already dragged the bodies of the Freehold dead back inside the orbiter’s hull. ‘Are there any machine-heads back there?’

‘Why do you ask?’ Dakota replied. She kept moving towards him, but he didn’t lower his rifle. Behind him, she could see, a lot of children were emerging from the transport, looking lost and scared.

The two of them were almost face to face now, and she could hear the exhaustion in his voice as he replied: ‘We were warned to get out, after we started hearing reports over our comms about machine-heads going crazy and killing people.’ He nodded towards the distant plumes of smoke. ‘I had the feeling maybe things aren’t going too well for us right now.’

He was taking a good look at her for the first time, and Dakota realized her stubbled scalp was still partly visible under the thin layer of insulation she’d pulled over her head. That was as good as holding up a ba

The Freeholder with the rifle suddenly backed away in alarm, levelling his weapon. She could see his knuckles turn white as he aimed at her chest.

The ensuing shot came from out of nowhere.

The approach of Severn and the others had been hidden by the ruined orbiter’s hull as they made for the highway. None of the refugees had meanwhile been expecting danger to approach from off-road.

Part of the Freeholder’s shoulder dissolved into red slurry and he collapsed with a shriek, writhing and gasping. His rifle clattered to the ground.

The refugees who had already disembarked scattered instantly. Most, but not all, ran back towards the ground transport they’d just stepped down from.

Dakota’s Ghost informed her that Severn’s companions were Elissa and Bryon. Bryon in particular looked like he’d endured a pretty rough landing, but it was also clear the Holy Spirit was doing a good job of keeping him going. Despite obvious pain, his eyes were bright with faith. All three of them were armed.

Chris Severn ran over to Dakota and hugged her, still gripping the pistol he’d just used to kill the Freeholder.

Shots sounded from the direction of the ground transport, where refugees were still cramming back on board. The nearest of the other transports had already started to retreat, reversing wildly back down the road. Dakota could see several ant-like figures milling outside a transport that had skidded into a long ditch. She wondered if they had good enough weapons to snipe them from that distance.

Dakota and the other three machine-heads instantly rook cover behind the orbiter’s hull. More shots headed their way and they began to return fire. They heard the shatter of glass, followed by terrified screams.

Elissa went down in a spray of blood as one Freeholder, who’d climbed on top of the transport, took her out with a carefully aimed shot when she momentarily broke cover. Bryon stood up and screamed in horrified anguish, before taking the sniper down with a fusillade of shots raining on to the transport’s roof.

The huge vehicle’s rear wheels spun and skidded, and then the whole thing tilted, one end sliding into the roadside ditch just a few metres away from the mutilated statue of Belle Trevois. Bryon pulled a slim black grenade out from inside his jacket and tossed it towards the transport with the last of his strength. When he began to shake violently, Dakota noticed his suit had been badly ripped during the past minute or so. He was freezing to death. Bryon pulled himself back under the shelter of the hull and curled up in a shivering, helpless ball.

It was all down to Severn and Dakota now.

They left Bryon where he lay and moved out from cover. As the grenade detonated, the whole front of the transport lifted a couple of metres off the road before crashing back down in flames amid shattering metal and glass. The body of the vehicle split open, spilling bodies out on the frozen highway, though the screams were fewer this time. Dakota and Severn ran towards the crippled transport.

The killing didn’t take long. They both carried pistols capable of firing small explosive charges that they used to maximum effect. Their victims continued to scream, but most were now trapped inside the burning transport.

They burned just like Belle Trevois had burned at the hands of the rioters who had set her aflame inside the temple. They burned just like martyrs-but for Freeholders there could never be any salvation.

A few even managed to pull themselves free of the ruins of the transport, but Dakota and Severn chased after them relentlessly, shooting non-stop as they hurdled over the charred corpses already scattered across the frozen roadside.

Most of the refugees were not wearing protective gear or even breather masks, so only managed a few dozen metres before the intense cold took them down. Others tried to crawl to safety out of sight along the roadside ditch, but they were picked off easily enough. The freezing cold would probably have dealt with them anyway, but Dakota wanted to be thorough.

And then there was only the sound of flames licking over the exposed bones of the ground transport, and the high-pitched blowing of the wind from over the mountains.

The angel was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been there.

Severn was shivering so violently, at first Dakota thought his insulation suit must have ripped too. But it wasn’t that.

‘Dak… Dakota. Listen to me, Dakota.’

He had fallen to his knees, staring at the desolation around them. Dakota was at a loss about what to do next.

The air all about was stained with the acrid fumes of the burning ground transport. Dakota knelt by Severn and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘What is it?’

‘The angel. Where’s it gone?’

‘I don’t know, Chris. Are you all right?’

‘No.’ His shivering became worse. He brought his pistol in close to his chest, hugging it there in both hands as if he were cradling a baby. ‘Something’s wrong, Dakota. Something’s really very wrong.’

Dakota tried to deny it at first, but something was wrong, a sense of unease that had been growing within her for several minutes. At first she couldn’t figure out what it was.

The voices from the Circus Ring came back to harangue and plead with her again. They were getting harder and harder to ignore.

‘We’ll be fine, Chris. We’ll be fine.’

‘No. No, we won’t. We won’t be fine at all.’ He looked at the landscape around them, at the devastation, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘What just happened here?’