J. Mitchell - The Severed Tower

Scion. We return. There was a sense of desperation to its thoughts now, it was something she had never felt from it before. The sensations startled her. She could feel just how much she meant to it.

“Zoey!” Holt shouted frantically. Her fingers moved for the knife again.

More Hunters burst into the courthouse, trumpeting, plasma fire already spraying. Two more kids spun wildly and hit the floor dead.

The Hunters advanced, joining the other two, targeting lasers lighting up the dispersing smoke. The kids, whoever they were, were in a lot of trouble, and more Hunters were on the way. Zoey could feel them. They were about to be overwhelmed.

“Be ready!” The same female voice again. A shotgun blast lighted up the smoke, and sparks burst off the frozen semitruck barreling through the wall. The girl, whoever she was, had shot it intentionally. Zoey’s eyes widened. She knew what was coming.

There was a flash—and then the truck and its impact roared to life.

It blew through the wall in a violent explosion that sprayed brick and mortar and fire everywhere, ramming into the batch of new walkers, slamming them into the floor and burying them as it exploded past and crashed to a stop.

“Damn!” Holt exclaimed in shock, eyes wide.

Three kids rushed through the smoke toward them. As they did, they shouldered their shotguns, and Zoey screamed as they grabbed her and started pulling her away.

“Zoey!” Holt yelled behind her, struggling frantically against his bonds.

Zoey screamed again as they dragged her into the smoke. At the same time, she instinctively projected her terror outward. The Royal responded instantly.

Scion! We return!

The gateway of light lit the smoke in dreamlike patterns as she reached it. It was pure white energy, and if there was something on the other side of it, Zoey couldn’t tell. She struggled against her captors, trying to break free, but they were much older, and they were too strong.

You are of us, another ferocious projection from the Royal. We will find you.

Zoey wasn’t sure if she found the thoughts alarming… or comforting. Then her mind and vision filled with the color red as she was dragged into the gateway.

HOLT WATCHED AS THEY DRAGGED ZOEY into the smoke. More kids appeared from the haze. A plasma bolt slapped into one and flung him to the ground. He didn’t get up.

The remaining kids grabbed Holt, started pulling him away, too.

“Who the hell are—” Holt started.

“Shut up, goon,” one of the smoky shadows said. “Lost three of my friends getting you out of here. You better be worth it.”

Worth it? To whom?

They dragged him by his feet through the smoke. It was all surreal and dreamlike—sizzling plasma bolts flying through the air, flashes of gunfire. Ahead, the bright white circle was coming closer. The kids were retreating back through it, and Holt was pretty sure now that this entire thing had been arranged to rescue him and Zoey. But why?

The kids dragged Holt through the strange gateway, and as they did he was blinded by the color red. It wasn’t a light or anything specific, the color red simply flooded his senses in a jarring, violent blast, and he felt a rush of intense cold from head to foot.

It only lasted a second. The red vanished, so did the cold. He could see again.

The afternoon sun shown down on him. Hundreds of strange, light brown reeds brushed against his skin and tore at his clothes as he was dragged through them. Wheat stalks, Holt realized. He was out in the open, away from the ruined city, in some overgrown field, who knew how far away.

Behind him, the remainder of the kids were jumping through the gateway. Some of them were helping their injured fellows pass back over. The last of them made it just as one of the green-and-orange tripods lunged through after them, its plasma cannons spinning and firing.

“Shut the gate!” a girl’s commanding voice shouted. “Blow the artifact if you have to!”

Two shotgun blasts rang out, and Holt saw the dark object underneath the portal explode in a shower of sparks. The white circle hovering in the air died and vanished, cutting off the path back to the courthouse.

But they weren’t out of the woods yet. The lone walker whirled around, firing sporadically at whoever was closest. Another boy fell to the ground.

There were dozens of kids Holt could see, all around the walker. They raised their shotguns and fired as one, pumping new shells into chambers, firing again, over and over. The sound was deafening, even in the open air of the wheat field.

The walker trumpeted wildly, shuddering from each blast, sparks spraying off it in pulsing flashes, from one blast after another. Fire shot from its exhaust ports. There was a great whine as its internal mechanics failed, and the thing collapsed in a heap. It spasmed once, twice, then went still.

Everyone covered their eyes, they knew what was coming.

Brilliant golden, wavering energy flooded up and out of the destroyed walker, blindingly bright, even in the afternoon sun. As it floated up into the sky, it formed into a complicated crystalline shape. Holt’s mind filled with intense static, so powerful and consuming it blotted everything else out. By the way some of the kids dropped to their knees, he could tell it was having the same effect on them.

The mass of pulsing light rose into the air, higher and higher, moving westward, until it finally faded away. And when it disappeared, so did the static.

Holt took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Still bound and lying on his back, he could see very little except the tops of the reeds as they wavered in the breeze. But he could hear the kids all around him, congratulating themselves, reciting stories of the mission and laughing. There were also moans of pain and hurried calls for help.

“Holt!” he heard Zoey shout from somewhere. The wheat parted as she ran to him and kneeled down, her eyes full of fear. “Holt, they took your knife.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled. “We’ll get it back. Did they say who—”

The sound of barking cut him off, loud and exuberant. A dog exploded through the reeds, leaped onto Holt’s chest, and started licking his face with unlimited enthusiasm.

With shock, Holt realized he knew the mutt.

“The Max!” Zoey shouted, her fear vanishing. Max leaped for her next, and she petted and scratched him and laughed. Holt stared at the dog in astonishment. Everything seemed unreal. How could Max be here? Holt had left him behind at the Crossroads. But there he was, jumping all over Zoey.

A realization came to him then. If the dog was here, did that also mean…?

Someone else pushed into view. When Holt saw her, everything suddenly made sense. At least on the surface. He could add the pieces together and see what they pointed to—but it still felt like a dream.

Mira stood above Holt, staring down at him amid the blowing, golden stalks. Her red hair hung loose just past her neck, gently brushing her collar bones. Her eyes were clear and green. She was disheveled, dirty, and clearly exhausted, but to him, right then, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. In spite of the odds of finding him, in spite of all the reasons she had to do otherwise—she had come for him.

Mira smiled at him. It wasn’t as warm as it had once been. She was conflicted, unsure. He didn’t blame her. Things had changed between them, but still… she was smiling. And that was something.

“Goodness. Gracious. Sakes alive,” an alarmingly familiar voice said from somewhere nearby. Holt knew that voice. His thoughts worked themselves back together. He placed the voice to a face, and that face to memories—and his blood ran cold.