The Earth Dwellers

Abe grabs the other soldier from behind, around the neck, twisting his head viciously to the side. The Glassy drops and Abe bends down to pick up his weapon.

No one notices except me, as the Icers and Glassy soldiers are equally distracted by the continuing scene with the man and the soldier. Now the man’s moving forward again, his arms out, as if trying to reason with the soldier. He points to the sky, at the sun, as if trying to say that the heat’s making everyone a little crazy, a little quick-tempered.

My eyes flick back to Abe, who’s striding around the arc of the human circle that is the entire population of ice country, all three thousand of us. He doesn’t run, just walks calmly, confidently, deadly.

A large form draws my attention on the other side of the circle. Hightower, having risen up from wherever he was crouching, is walking in the opposite direction, closing in on another soldier, who’s looking the other direction, toward his comrade who’s dealing with the irate villager.

And then, and then…

—Tower’s arm is raised, his clenched fist like a club, high above his head, and he

—drops it like a falling tree, right onto the crown of the soldier’s head.

The soldier crumples without so much as grunting.

I whip my head back to the other side, where Abe is swinging the fire stick like an axe at a tree, cracking it off the next soldier’s skull.

Finally, someone besides me notices. A scream, loud and shrill, pierces the murmurs of the crowd. Heads turn and feet scramble as everyone tries to figure out what’s happening. Who screamed and why? The remaining soldiers are doing the same, turning, realization flashing across their faces, because three of the other soldiers are missing, out of sight below the height of the people.

And they’re shouting, too, trying to make their voices carry over the rumbles of the village, growing louder and louder and—

—there’s a CRACK! sharp and like thunder, and right away, even though I’ve never heard it before, I know what it is. The sound of a fire stick being used. One of the soldiers has hurt an Icer, maybe even killed them.

Everyone’s screaming and ru

The noises come fast and furious and provide the perfect, gruesome accompaniment for the fearful screams of the crowd.

“Dazz!” Jolie yells, clutching my leg. I grab her and throw her up onto the cart, where Buff is already corralling any of his brothers and sisters who clambered off when we stopped. They’ll be safe from the stampede up there.

People are charging around us, trying to get away, ru

The mob parts and there he is: Abe. He’s got the stolen fire stick raised and there’s a soldier lying flat on her back before him, her own weapon discarded to the side, her hands held out in front of her. Abe goes right on up to her, shoves the tip of the fire stick to her head, and

CRACK!

I see a spray of crimson liquid from her head and she slumps, unmoving. Dead. Abe killed her with the Glassy weapon. He knows how to use it. Somehow, he knows.

As the villagers continue to rush past, between them I see the bodies behind Abe. Two more soldiers. As lifeless as sacks of rocks. The cracks I heard weren’t from the Glassy soldiers—or at least not all from the soldiers. They were from Abe’s stolen fire stick, as he killed them.

Abe marches forward, his weapon raised once more. I follow his aim. There’s one soldier left, the original one, the distraction. The Black District rep is lying motionless in the dust in front of him. The Glassy’s pointing his weapon, but not at Abe, at Hightower, who’s stomping toward him, looking every bit like the giant that he is. Behind him are a few more fallen soldiers.

CRACK!

The soldier shoots and Tower’s shoulder twitches back slightly, like he’s been punched, but he keeps on coming, grabbing the Glassy’s fire stick, yanking it out of his hands, and bashing him over the head with it.

It’s over.

No, not yet. Abe approaches his brother, gently nudges him aside, points his stick at the head of the final soldier.

CRACK!

Now it’s over.

Chapter Nineteen

Adele

The truck lurches forward once more, but I don’t open my eyes. Can’t open my eyes because it’s too soon and I’m afraid they’ll betray me, show the lie.

The metal truck bed rumbles beneath me, and it’s a welcome distraction from my pounding head and throbbing arm. Tristan didn’t hold back, not one bit, for which I’m glad. The tenacity of his attacks might be the very thing that saves me.

I feel the truck turn and a wave of nausea fills my throat, either because of Tristan’s blow to the head or the vehicle’s movement—or perhaps a combination of the two. Even as I swallow it down, I wonder whether I should succumb to the urge, whether lifting my mask and vomiting on the soldiers’ feet will add further credibility to my story.

I hold it in. Is it my first mistake?

I don’t have time to wonder as the truck shudders to a stop and I feel the scramble of the soldiers as they jump out. “What the hell happened?” a gruff male voice barks.

“She’s not one of ours,” a female voice answers, stopping my heart. It’s over already. How did they know? “Must be part of another platoon.” My heart continues beating, albeit twice as fast as normal. I force myself to breathe evenly. She just meant I’m not part of her squad.

“Scan her,” the gruff voice orders. My jaw clenches. I’ve got no chip.

“Shouldn’t we get her to medical first? She’s hurt pretty badly, looks like a blow to the head. They’ll scan her there.”

There’s silence for a couple of seconds. “Okay, move her.” My jaw unclenches and I focus on keeping my eyes closed, my body relaxed and rubbery.

Someone pries off my mask. Hands pull me from either side, sliding me along the truck bed and onto something hard. I’m tempted to tighten my arms to my sides, but instead I let them flop down, hanging lifeless over the edge of the backboard. Someone lifts them up and crosses them over my chest. “Soldier, accompany me with her to medical,” the female voice orders.

“Yes, ma’am!”

And then I’m floating, drifting through space, being spirited away. What’s my next move? They don’t know I don’t have a chip—that it’s been cut out of me by the “enemy”. They don’t suspect a damn thing yet. But when I get to medical things will cascade pretty fast. When there’s nothing to scan, they’ll have plenty of questions for me, and I can’t fake unconsciousness forever. Nor is there time to. The Tri-Tribes and Tristan are counting on me to make a difference as soon as possible, maybe immediately.

I need a new identity. A chip.

I risk opening my eyes, just slits, seeing only darkness through my eyelashes. Close them again.

There’s a slight jolt and a quiver as I feel my legs angling higher than my head. We’re going up a ramp or steps. My legs drop back to level, and the heavy black behind my eyelids gives way to a dull yellow glow. Lights. I sneak another peek and see fluorescent lights above me, stark white walls on both sides, and the green-brown back of a dark-haired soldier in front of me. The woman who temporarily saved me, her hair falling halfway down her spine.

Is she the one who has to die so I can live?

I grit my teeth and silently promise myself I’ll do whatever I have to do to stop Lecter. After all, could any of his followers really be i

But the first thing I have to do is ditch my escort. We turn a corner, head down another bright hallway, lined with doors on either side. They have signs on them. X-Rays, Exam Room C, Administration, Maintenance, Electrical Room, Exam Room D, etc. It’s the middle of the night and this place is empty, save for us, the hollow footsteps of the soldiers at my front and back echoing away. Do I make my move?