J. Mitchell - The Severed Tower

Now she felt nothing for it but revulsion. This thing that, if what Gideon and Ben believed was true, had arranged every little detail of her life to bring her to this point. And for what? To die? To be beaten and in pain? What was the point of that? She hated the thing now, whatever it was.

As the Vortex roared around her, she thought of Gideon’s idea, of the paper dragon, the pain that came from opening it, the image it had seared in her mind. She saw the mirror, her own reflection, but it hadn’t been her. It had been everything she wasn’t—strong, confident, and assured.

She remembered what Gideon told her, that maybe the mirror was the important thing. Not the reflection. But what did that mean? She was supposed to find something that reflected a true image. Something—or maybe, the idea occurred to her— someone.

Holt’s last words rang in her head. I believe in you.

They had stirred something. It wasn’t just the words, it was how he had said them. Forceful and pointed. He wasn’t just telling her what she needed to hear. He was telling her something he felt, and it had moved her. She wanted it to be true.

Mira realized something then. Looking back, she knew why Holt was different from Ben. He gave her strength. Since her father had disappeared, he was maybe the only one who ever had. Not Lenore, not even the Librarian—and definitely not Ben. Ben took her strength, intentionally or unintentionally made her rely on him. Holt made her feel like she could do anything all by herself.

If he made her feel that way… maybe it was because it was true.

It was him, she suddenly knew. It was Holt. Holt was her mirror. It had been there the whole time, but she had never seen it.

The realization filled her with renewed strength. The world snapped back into focus; and with it came pain. Horrible, lancing pain in her broken arm and leg. The pain helped focus her as much as the thoughts of Holt.

She stared with anger back up at the Tower looming over her. “Let’s see what you know,” Mira said in a cracked voice. “Let’s just see!” She couldn’t walk, not with her leg, but maybe that was for the best. Every time she stood up the Vortex ripped her off her feet.

Instead, this time, Mira rolled onto her back, keeping her arm around Zoey and the plutonium, and pushed back with her good leg across the empty ground, toward the Tower. One leg length at a time—and each push was agony.

Mira’s vision blackened, but she kept at it. Kept pushing, over and over, through the raging Vortex. She was doing it somehow, and she kept pushing until she hit something and stopped.

She opened her eyes. A figure stood over her, wrapped in a similar cocoon of blankness that repelled the Vortex, holding a brightly flaring glass cylinder.

“Mira?”

It was Ben.

* * *

HOLT WATCHED TWO OF the Menagerie in front of him spin and fall as he ran. Ravan cursed next to him, but kept moving. Holt had a feeling she was going to lose a lot more men before this was over.

There was no way to tell how many Hunters the Menagerie and White Helix had killed, but there didn’t seem to be any end to them. They kept dashing into the streets from the south, and Holt knew the bulk of their force was still to come.

Ahead of them were two Mantises, their colors stripped bare, firing at the tripods chasing after Holt and Ravan.

“Get behind the silvers!” Ravan shouted to her men.

She didn’t have to answer Holt twice. He and Max lunged behind them as more plasma screamed by. Giant footfalls came from a few blocks away, and Holt saw the hulking form of the lone silver Spider, its huge cannons flashing and booming, sending bolts screaming toward the green-and-oranges.

Any other time, being relieved at the sight of an Assembly Spider walker would have seemed ludicrous, but Holt didn’t have time to ponder the irony.

The rapid-fire pops of automatic gunfire echoed down from above. Ravan’s men were still at the top of one building, holding their position, and they’d even managed to drop one of the gunships, sending it spiraling to the ground and exploding.

“Get those guys out of—” Ravan started.

The top of the building exploded, as four gunships targeted the shooters inside, blasting it with plasma until it was just a burning skeleton. Ravan glared up at the building with silent fury.

“I’m sorry,” Holt said, shouldering the Ithaca and pulling loose his Sig, ramming in another clip of ammo.

Ravan did the same thing with her own rifle, peeking back out behind the Mantis. “Don’t be. We got bigger problems.”

Holt followed her gaze. Several blocks away the White Helix reappeared, jumping toward them and flipping in flashes of color between the rooftops. There weren’t as many as they had started with, but that wasn’t what bothered Holt. If they were falling back, it wasn’t a good sign.

Seconds later it was confirmed. A swarming mass of movement appeared. Hunters, hundreds of them, pouring into the city, plasma cannons firing up at the Helix. Holt watched one of the warriors take a hit and slam into a wall, tumbling downward a hundred feet and out of sight.

Holt and Ravan looked at each other somberly. They could both do the math. They weren’t getting out of this one. None of them were. Even so, it didn’t mean they were about to give up. They would make as many Assembly pay as possible.

“We need a choke point,” she said.

Holt nodded, looking around. He saw something that might work a block away, and darted out from cover, whistling for Max. He felt Ravan, and what was left of her men, on his heels.

He led them to where two semitrucks had jackknifed into each other years ago, their trailers arcing out in a V shape. Dark Matter Tornadoes had warped and blended the vehicles together in a strange, disturbing mix of melted metal. If they got in between the trailers, any Hunters that followed would have to bunch up. They could take them one at a time.

“Get to those Dumpsters!” Ravan shouted, and her men dashed toward two big rusted metal trash containers at the end of the street. Holt saw what she intended. They’d make nice cover—at least until they got shredded.

Holt helped the Menagerie push the Dumpsters into position between the trailers. Another irony, he and the Menagerie working together.

“Get behind!” Ravan yelled. The onslaught of Hunters rushed forward. The silver walkers stood in between them, but they wouldn’t last long. “Fire in turns. You run out, you get at the back, reload.”

No one said anything, they just leaped over the Dumpsters as plasma bolts sizzled past them.

Holt saw two of the Mantises explode and fall, saw the five-legged ones charging and ramming the tripods back, but it wasn’t enough. The Hunters swarmed past like a tidal wave, their cannons firing—and then they were on them.

The trailers did their job. The walkers had to enter one at a time, and when they did the Menagerie opened fire, dropping each one in turn, creating a pile at the entrance that the walkers had to leap over to get past. But it took a lot of shells to hurt the Hunters. The first line ran out of ammo, cycled back, and Holt and Ravan moved up, opened fire, dropping more in bursts of sparks and fire.

The strange, glowing fields of energy rose out of the machines, lighting up the dark and bleeding into the air, unable to form.

Holt’s rifle clicked empty, and he grabbed Max and dashed back, started reloading with Ravan.

The trailers on either side shook as two Hunters landed on top. Holt fired up at them—and then shoved Ravan to the ground as one returned fire. It got one of her men instead.

They both stared up at the machines, their targeting system tracking them, guns about to fire…