J. Mitchell - Midnight City

He reached the ship just as it started rolling, running alongside it. He looked for anything he could grab on to—a window, a railing, anything—but the ship’s wooden hull had been polished smooth. There was nothing to grip at all.

“Holt!” a voice cried down, and he looked up and saw Mira as she tossed over a mass of rope and wooden planks. When it extended, he saw what it really was. A rope ladder. Holt didn’t waste any time—he grabbed on, found purchase with his feet, and pulled.

It wasn’t a graceful process—he slid along the ground precariously, spitting rock and dirt behind him—but he finally managed to scramble onto the ladder enough to get his feet off the racing ground.

Above him, he saw the captain and some of his men grip the ladder’s ropes to start pulling it up. Behind, Max barked desperately, chased by the four tripods that were closing the distance fast.

Holt whistled three short notes, and the dog hit the afterburners, galloping after Holt with all the energy he had left. The ship was gaining more speed: he had only one shot at this. Holt gripped the ladder with one hand, and then reached out for Max with the other.

The dog leapt forward with the last of his strength, the tripods closing in…

…and Holt scooped him into his arms, held him against his chest tightly.

The dog didn’t seem very grateful—he squirmed and kicked, and it was all Holt could do to hold him with his one arm. “Max!” he shouted in annoyance.

Above, he heard yells as more of the ship’s crew grabbed his ladder and started pulling. The ground dropped away under him… and just in time, too.

The tripods finally caught him, but it was too late: he was out of reach now. Holt saw one was painted differently from the others, its markings the same colors yet individual. Bolder. More striking. He stared into its eye, and to Holt, it felt like the machine was glaring up at him with a burning, electric hatred.

This was the second time Holt had beaten it. It didn’t seem to sit well with the machine… or with whatever was controlling it.

Plasma fire erupted from the tripods, and Holt flinched as hands yanked him onto the deck right as it seared past his head.

“The Max!” he heard Zoey shout from somewhere, and the dog squirmed out of his grip and rushed to the little girl. Holt frowned. Max had a real problem with gratitude.

Holt stood up… and was instantly wrapped in a crushing embrace. Lithe arms hugged him, and he felt Mira press into his chest. “Holt…,” she said, and the emotion in her voice was plain to hear. She had been worried; he could feel it in her embrace. Slowly, hesitantly, Holt put his arms around her, too, and hugged her back.

Holt put a lot of energy into resisting caring about others. So much so that he’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone care for him. It was… not at all unpleasant.

Mira pulled away from him, blushing, looking up into his eyes. Holt looked back, and he could feel the beginnings of a smile form on his face.

“See?” Zoey said from his left. “Holt always comes back.”

Holt looked down to the little girl. “That’s right, kiddo,” he said, smiling for real now. “I always—”

A stream of plasma bolts sliced the air, and Holt felt one rip hard into his left side. The impact sent him spinning crazily in a haze of pain and fog, and he slammed onto the deck of the Landship, then lay unmoving.

He heard Mira scream above him, felt her lunge on top of him protectively, saw the rest of the Landship crew hit the deck and take cover.

In slow motion almost, as his vision receded and darkness pressed in, he looked behind them. In the distance, explosions flared along the river as the last of the red Spiders fell in sparks and flames into the water. On the ground below, the small green and orange tripods pursued angrily, but they were being left behind as the huge ship gathered speed. Their plasma cannon fired, sending bolts streaming after the ship, and Holt stared back at the differently marked walker again. Even over the distance between them, he could feel its gaze on him, just like before, hungry and full of malice and dark intent.

And then everything went completely black, and the world flashed away.

IN HIS SLOW, PAINFUL RETURN TO CONSCIOUSNESS, Holt glimpsed the world through strange vignettes of imagery that came and went and were punctuated with blackness. As unpleasant as they were, he preferred the waking moments to the unconsciousness, if only because in that confused, detached blend of sights and sounds, he wasn’t dreaming. The dreams had become more vivid than ever. He knew where they were leading him… and he didn’t want to go there.

As the blackness receded, he pushed the fog and the haze away. When he opened his eyes, he blinked at the brightness of the world. He was in a small room made completely of polished wood. The ceiling was rounded and smooth, everything blending seamlessly together, and the bed he was on seemed to have been built out from the wall. There was a wooden chest at the other end, and a small stained glass window—maybe from an old church—allowed colorful streams of light to float in the air.

And he noticed something else, too. The room rocked occasionally, shaking and jarring. It felt like the whole thing was moving….

“Hey, Hawkins,” said a voice he recognized. “Thanks for joining us.”

Holt looked to his left and saw Mira sitting on the floor next to his bed, watching him. He wondered how long she’d been there. The idea of her protectively looking over him was both pleasing and discomforting.

“Where are we?” he asked, slowly sitting up. He regretted the movement almost instantly. His head swam and there was a burning pain along his left ribs. Now that he was moving, he could feel the sticky restraint of fresh bandages around it. Someone had treated an injury, and with the realization came the memory of the plasma bolts and the world spinning as he crashed down.

“Might want to take it slow, killer,” Mira said, noticing his pain. “You took a nasty hit. I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.” Her voice was laced with a hint of concern. “You’ve been out a good twenty hours. We’re on the Wind Shear, ” Mira continued. “It’s taking us to Midnight City. Zoey’s up with Max on the deck.”

“The Landship from the trading depot?” Holt asked, remembering he had been running for it when the green and oranges had appeared. The rest of his memories were hazy at best. It explained the rocking motion of the room. “You got their… whatever it is fixed?”

Mira smiled. “The Chinook, yeah. They traded for a bad Focuser at the depot. I had another one, helped them rebuild it.”

Holt cradled his head, letting the pain and the dizziness pass. And then something occurred to him. Something bad. “Midnight City,” Holt sighed.

“Yeah,” Mira replied. “I know it’s the opposite direction you were hoping to go, but I figured you’d prefer that to being left behind.”

He looked up at her. “Guess you’ll do anything to keep me around, huh?”

Mira smiled. “It’s possible you’re flattering yourself right now.”

Holt looked away, thinking. It meant a longer trip for him, and more chances of running into Menagerie along the way. But there was nothing he could do to change it now; he’d just have to figure it out. He closed his eyes again. It was all coming back, and with the return of his memories, he realized just how lucky they’d been.

So did Mira. “Those Hunters were almost on us,” she said, “and the others were blowing each other to bits. I’ve never seen that much plasma fire in one place.” She looked at him pointedly. “Something happened with Zoey. Didn’t it?”