Nick James - Crimson rising

I try to wind around inside my little vision, see if the image will let me zoom out and reveal a path to our Skyship. No luck.

Water. Rocks. That’s it.

I open my eyes and notice a ball of red light blotched on the ceiling-a flash like the ghost image left behind after looking at a lightbulb for too long. Another second and it’s gone. I continue to stare, squinting to see if I can make the red appear again. It doesn’t.

Water. Rocks. Red. My mind’s playing tricks on me. Maybe it’s an aftereffect of the meds Alkine pumped into my system last night. Or maybe I’m just going crazy.

I sigh, trying to forget the entire thing. That’s when my bracelet starts to hum.

Cassius deactivated the communicator and clicked it to his belt, letting his tattered jacket conceal as much as possible. It was his only important possession, and now that he had it, he could leave.

He crouched behind a row of overflowing trash cans, perched diagonally across from the half-collapsed building he’d called a home for the last several weeks. He needed to take a moment to catch his breath and prepare for the long journey out of the city, but more than that, he’d had an idea.

Being the victim of subterfuge had taught him a trick or two, and once he’d recovered from the panic on the coast, he remembered his training. Fleeing without gaining information on his pursuers would be a wasted opportunity. The more he learned, the better he’d be able to defend himself. And if someone from the Unified Party knew that he was in Providence, they’d likely know which building he lived in as well.

So far the morning had proven fruitless. People littered the street before him, crawling out of their dank, miserable little hobbles for another day in hell. The entire place stunk of garbage and feces, both animal and human. Cassius had just about gotten used to it, much as he hated to admit it. It was a far cry from the sterile grounds of the Lodge-the private chefs and hot showers and endless credit. But it was how it should be now, after Seattle. He didn’t deserve those things, not after everything he’d done.

He brushed thoughts of Fisher from his mind. He could never tell if his brother was being serious or not, especially about coming aboard Skyship Academy and playing happy family. It rang suspiciously of a trap, but maybe that was Cassius’s default mode. Everything was a trap. He watched a crowd of children kick a brown, dirt-covered soccer ball through the streets, blissfully unaware of a Serenity deal going down in the far alley. Then, a dark figure entered the street.

Its combat suit was black from head to toe, its face obscured by a mask seamlessly connecting with the rest of the outfit. With all of the protective padding, Cassius couldn’t discern gender, though he assumed it was a man.

Cassius watched the reactions of the residents who stared at the figure with a mix of curiosity and fear as they moved about. He’d never seen a Unified Party soldier dressed like this, not even covert ops. Maybe the Slum Lords sent him. Either way, something was definitely wrong.

The figure moved confidently to the entrance of Cassius’s building, pushed on the wobbly door with his foot, and peered inside. The guy was thin, and lacked the bulk of a foot soldier. Cassius could probably take him in a fight.

Something shifted behind him. A footstep. A splash of puddle water. Cassius spun around to see a second figure, dressed as the first but dangerously closer.

“Cassius Stevenson,” the figure said, voice low. This one was definitely a man.

Cassius didn’t give him time to respond. He darted out from behind the trash cans with instinctive speed. The first figure noticed this immediately, releasing his grip on the door and joining the pursuit.

So much for gaining intel.

Cassius pushed through crowds of startled onlookers as more and more of the black-clad figures shot from alleyways and side streets like a flurry of blow darts. Sneak attack. They’d all been waiting for him to move.

He cursed himself for staying back. He should have left the city when he’d had the chance.

The thickness of the crowd kept the soldiers at bay, giving Cassius the few seconds he needed to change direction.

He barreled down a twisting corridor. Shacks and hobbles were arranged like a mixed-up jigsaw puzzle around him. At times the path required stepping through someone’s house, but in this area it was hard to distinguish shelter from trash heap. His pursuers didn’t know the slums like he did. It was the only advantage he had.

Arriving on another crowded street, he paused for a moment and surveyed the surroundings, searching for hiding places. The breath caught in his throat.

A tattered flag hung high above him on a crooked pole, a sign that he had entered the southeastern corner. Locust Territory. That was all he needed.

He paused to decide on a course of action. Mistake.

The crowd scattered in front of him. He turned to see the entire fleet of dark soldiers move into the street, spilling from the city block with impossible speed and coordination. Ten of them, he thought. They were moving too fast to get an accurate count.

Slum dwellers retreated into buildings and alleys until Cassius stood alone in the center of the street, surrounded by a half-circle of silent Government Agents. They approached as one unit. He didn’t have time. Running wasn’t going to cut it. He needed to act.

He sunk to the ground and lay his right hand on the dirt, closing his eyes. He’d have one good chance, one opportunity to blow them away in a single motion.

He felt his insides boil. This had to be big. Even bigger than back in the park.

The heat spread to his shoulders, then down his arms until it reached his fingers. Focus, he told himself. Focus on the pathway, the arc. It’s got to be just right.

Fire exploded where his hand met the ground and arced around him in a half-circle before spreading outward like a deadly scythe, tearing through the figures on its way to the wall of shacks beyond. He prayed it would cut off before catching on any of the buildings, but once it had left his body, there was no controlling it. The old wood went up instantly. The fire spread through the city block with dangerous speed.

Worse yet, the figures remained standing, completely immune to the flames. Cassius stumbled to his feet and stepped back, realizing with horror the true nature of their black bodysuits. Fireproof. Of course. If they had been sent to capture him, why wouldn’t they take the necessary precautions?

Now he’d started a blaze in the most dangerous part of the city for nothing. People would lose their homes. There would be fatalities. It was the Washington Chute all over again. He’d killed. He’d been stupid and he’d killed.

The figures approached with ferocity now, surging at him like one multi-limbed monster. Two grabbed his arms and pulled him to the ground. Others restrained his legs. He struggled, but they were too strong. There were too many. Fire didn’t hurt them. Fire was all he had.

One remained standing. Cassius watched as the soldier removed a tube from somewhere at his hip. As the object neared closer, he recognized it as a syringe filled with a paleblue liquid. Cassius’s eyes widened as the figure crouched low, straddled his legs, and brought the point of the needle to his neck.

Then, with his free hand, the figure ripped off his mask.

Cassius’s mouth dropped. For a moment the horror and futility of the situation melted as he stared at the face of Avery Wicksen. Fisher’s girl. The same one who had disappeared in Seattle, who had been captured and brought to Unified Party quarters. She’d helped Fisher run away from Madame. She was one of Alkine’s good guys. Or at least, she was supposed to be.