Shadowsiege

One

One

Brice couldn’t remember the last day without rain.

His clothes clung to his skin, the chill seeping through. His boots rubbed his ankles as he slid in the mud once more. Water bounced off leaves to attack him from all sides, the tiny explosions on his skin no longer registering.

If Brice’s lattice wasn’t playing up, he could warm himself and dull his aches and pains.

But at least he was outside. At least he wasn’t stuck in the increasingly claustrophobic atmosphere of Haven.

“Cage still okay on your back?” Ryann asked, from her position behind him.

Brice turned his body‌—‌moving only his head wasn’t an option. “Daman really wants us to catch one of these things?”

“We only have to set up the trap. We don’t have to be anywhere near when a shade approaches.”

“There any around?” He turned, the base of his spine complaining, and looked into the shadows of the trees.

Ryann paused before responding. “Always. But they’re staying back. We’re safe.” She tapped the torch strapped to her chest, the beam illuminating her face and rising into the canopy of leaves. Like everyone else, there was another torch strapped to her back, as well as one in each hand. The only weapon that worked against the shades.

It wasn’t dark yet‌—‌not even Daman would send anyone out after nightfall‌—‌but with the constant storm cloaking the dim afternoon light, they couldn’t be too careful. They walked in a bubble of sol lighting.

They approached the trees, and in the gloom Brice saw the path. That was where Daman wanted his trap.

The man was an i***t.

“Still don’t know why he wants one,” Brice said, to nobody in particular, but loud enough for everyone to hear. He would have sussed it, but with his lattice still not fully back on board, this was one option unavailable to him.

“Ours is not to reason why,” Ryann said, but she didn’t continue the rhyme, and nobody else took it up. Maybe it was too close to home.

“We’ll never get one anyway,” Ronat said. She was just in front of Brice, the water running through her close-cropped hair. She didn’t turn, but Brice could imagine the stern look on her face. “They’re too intelligent for that.”

“Maybe we should use Daman for bait.”

Ryann sussed. Of course, Brice couldn’t respond like that, but at least the remnants of his lattice allowed him to listen in.

Because even with the protective light, and the afternoon sun‌—‌what there was of it‌—‌the shades were still a danger. There had been too many suicidal attacks recently, with the beasts rushing from the shadows, only to be burnt by the light. A couple of times they’d reached people with their claws, and there had been a few fatalities.

Brice didn’t intend to be another statistic.

Farrell sussed, from his position on point.

Ryann responded.

Farrell stopped just before the branches closed in over his head, and he shone his torches forward. Mariner pulled up behind him, large enough to hide Farrell from Brice’s view, even without the other part of the cage that he carried. The big man shone his beams to the right. Behind him, Dara played her torches to the left, even as she stepped as close as she could to Mariner, her head barely reaching the tops of his shoulders.

Brice, when he reached the others, pointed his torches into the air. The beams were powerful enough to reach the clouds‌—‌or maybe the clouds were closer than he imagined. Maybe they’d be walking back to Haven encased in mist.

Just what he wanted‌—‌more wet and cold.

The path was wide enough to walk five abreast, and Brice had done so once. But that was with his old crew, before Cathal had become the first of the infected, and before Tris had been taken by the shades. And Keelin refused to leave Haven now‌—‌refused to even leave the Deck.

There were no more crews anyway. Haven’s chief, Arela, had pulled back all but the most essential missions, and then only allowed ones that remained walking‌—‌or running‌—‌distance from the base itself.

Haven was collapsing. And all because of the bloodsucking monsters that besieged them.

They walked single-file; Farrell on point, then Dana, Ronat, Mariner with half the cage, Brice with the other half, and Ryann at the rear. Brice still couldn’t get used to not having Cathal on his heels, calling him ‘Green’ and pulling up the crew to ask what they thought. To Brice’s mind, Ryann should still be on point. She was the best tracker Haven had, after all‌—‌if anyone could detect the movements of the shades, it was her.

But nothing was the same now. Even the forest had changed. Where once the warths had been the biggest threat‌—‌and they were no danger if they were unprovoked‌—‌now only a fool would go walking amongst the trees.

But a fool with power, like Daman, would send others out to do his pointless work. What the hell was he going to do with a live shade anyway?

Dana sussed, aiming her words at Ryann but keeping communication open to everyone.

she replied.

Shouldn’t. Not wouldn’t. Brice knew that wasn’t a slip by Ryann, and he shuddered.

Farrell sussed, bringing the non-crew to a stop.

The woman pointed, and Brice could make out the metal box high up, just beneath the first major ring of branches.

Brice let Mariner answer. No point breaking silence unless he had to.

Dana answered.

Ryann sussed.

Those words reminded Brice of Cathal, but he pushed any thoughts of his old commander from his mind as he unshouldered his pack. With Mariner, he did what they’d practiced far too many times, but at least this time the paper-pusher from the company wasn’t watching.

Mariner sussed, tight to Brice.

Brice knew the man was talking more to himself, but he responded anyway, keeping his voice low. “Did they work?”

Mariner tightened a bolt and snorted a laugh.

Brice pulled another pole into place. “So how did you get rid of them?”

Mariner shrugged. “No idea. I shipped out after a couple of months.”

“You weren’t interested?”

“Not my problem.”

They screwed the last pole into place and opened the door. Mariner checked the mechanism with a branch, and the door slammed shut. Brice heard Farrell curse.

Ryann asked.

Mariner replied.

Brice looked up, peering through the ball of light high off the ground. If he had his lenses and filters, he wouldn’t need to squint like this, but he could still make out Ronat, leaning back against the webbing she’d wrapped round the trunk, tinkering with the sensor. She seemed comfortable up there, as if being off the ground gave her extra security.

As if the shades couldn’t climb as easily as they could walk. As if the shades couldn’t leap from tree to tree.

Mariner’s voice dragged his attention back to their own job. He’d covered the cage with the cloth they’d bought‌—‌Daman wanted a live shade, not a burnt offering‌—‌and Brice had the last job.

He pulled the plastic container from his pack. “You got the door?”

But Mariner was grinning, one hand holding the door. Brice smiled in return.

He played his torches inside. Under the cover, the beams cast an eerie glow, and Brice had to take a long breath before he entered. He placed the container at the back as fast as he could and lifted the lid. The bloody tang of fresh meat made his stomach churn.

Ryann sussed.

Brice had no problem with that.

Mariner sussed when Brice emerged.

Brice had to smile. Mariner would never survive without his burgers.

But it didn’t sound like Ryann was happy about that.

Farrell walked fast, and everyone followed in close formation. Ahead, through the rain, and framed by the trees on either side of the path, Brice saw the pod, the sides curving upwards. They’d left through Stores, because that exit was closer. Nobody wanted a long walk outside anymore.

The path took longer, and Brice wanted to reach the end. He wanted to see the expanse between the edge of the trees and the pods of Haven, where they’d cleared more trees to give a wider protection zone. With sunlight during the day, and arc lights burning sol all hours of the night, only the most suicidal shade would attempt to reach Haven. A few had tried, and their charred remains still lay in the middle of the clearing, left as a warning.

Brice thought back to an earlier time‌—‌was it only a couple of weeks?‌—‌when he’d run a full circuit as a warm-up to training. He’d leave from the Hulk, where his quarters were, then head clockwise, round the separate pods. First the large pod of the Deck, where the craft landed and took off, then round the Medi-pod, maybe take a detour to the separate Generator, back past Stores, and finally to the Hulk once more.

But there was none of that now. Even the gardens, penned in by the walkways connecting the outer pods, were only open during daylight, and even then only with express permission. Gone were the days of leaving the rec hall and having a drink outside.

If Brice wanted to make a circuit now, he had to use the walkway around the rec hall. And that was growing crowded.

He almost didn’t want to head back. Haven felt too claustrophobic.

But outside was worse.

Up ahead, Farrell raised a hand and stopped. Brice saw him crouch, turning to his right.

Ryann sussed.

His voice wavered on the final word.

Brice looked to the left, bringing his torch up high into the trees. There was movement, but that could have been the wind and the rain. Or it could have been the shades.

And then there was a grunt from Dana, and Brice saw her stagger to one side.

She held a hand to her head.

Brice swallowed. He knew what was about to happen, but he couldn’t get the words out quick enough to warn the others.

The onslaught began.

The first rock to strike Brice hit his hand, and his fingers opened wide, the torch dangling from his wrist. The next one hit his thigh. Then another struck his shoulder.

Ryann sussed.

They ran. More rocks flew, and Brice saw Ronat stumble a couple of times. He heard grunts and cursing. Light swirled around, mainly on the ground.

Farrell asked.

The shades continued their barrage of rocks and stones. Some came from the sides, but others fell from above, and Brice’s heart missed a beat as he imagined the creatures just over his head.

Mariner swore, and staggered to the right. Ronat jumped to one side, leaping out of his way.

Brice stopped, holding out a hand. Mariner grabbed it, and Brice saw the blood streaming down his face from the wound on his forehead.

“Come on!” Brice said, pulling Mariner to his feet. A rock struck between his shoulders, and he yelled out.

And then Mariner was pulled from his grasp.

The hiss from the angry shade was unmistakable, as was the stench. Rancid meat, but also burning.

The shade threw Mariner to the ground, and fell on him. Its hide bubbled as the light hit it, blisters popping and a smoky mist forming around its body.

But the beast’s hunger was too strong. Hissing in agony, it lowered its head and opened its jaw wide. Fangs glistened in the torch-light, and it sunk them deep into Mariner’s neck, even as it writhed and staggered.

Ryann pushed Brice forward as he saw another shade leap from the trees, landing by the first. It shrieked as the light hit its body, but it, too, fell on Mariner. Mariner’s foot twitched, and Brice thought he heard a cry.

There was nothing Brice could do for the man. He turned and ran.

But more shades bounded into the light. It was suicide, but they didn’t seem to care. Bloodlust, Brice thought, that word springing bright red in his mind.

Brice let his right torch dangle from his wrist, and he grabbed the knife he always wore. His fingers were damp‌—‌sweat or rain, it didn’t matter‌—‌and he gripped tight. He pictured, briefly, the shade back in the Hermes, the one he’d attacked. The one he’d stabbed in the back of its neck. The one they’d killed.

He didn’t know if stabbing them like that killed them outright, but it definitely slowed them down.

A shadow shot from the right, and Dana flew left. Ronat twisted and fell.

Brice leapt after Dana. The shade rolled, steam already rising where the light hit its body. But it rose to its feet and opened its arms, razor-sharp claws stretched out. It cried, part in agony, part in victory, and it lunged.

Dana was quick, but it caught her wrist, and she cried out as the claws dug in. Blood erupted, warm where it hit Brice’s face.

He threw himself forward, towards the stench of the shade. He yelled, bringing his knife down as hard as he could, sinking it into the vile leathery skin.

The shade spasmed beneath Brice. Something popped, close to his head, and another spray, this time cold, hit his face. It stunk almost as much as the creature itself.

He pushed, driving the blade in deeper. The beast buckled, and collapsed. But it still had the strength to throw Brice from its back.

His knife slid out of the wound, and Brice rolled away, pushing himself to his feet. The shade spun at him, claws flashing in the light, and Brice ducked, swinging his knife up and across, like he’d practised so many times. He felt pressure in his muscles as the blade bit into flesh, and fetid breath rolled over him.

The shade staggered, and Brice jumped to one side. There was a sharp pain in his left arm, and when he pulled it back he saw blood. His left hand still held a torch, and he thrust this forward into the creature’s face, ignoring the throbbing. The thing’s lips bubbled and cracked, and dark liquid oozed out. It staggered, then collapsed on the ground, its pained cry fading away.

Dana was on her feet, Ronat by her side. And Ryann was next to Brice. Just beyond her, Brice saw the open ground around Haven.

She grabbed an arm and pulled him on. He ran. What else could he do?

They burst from the path and sprinted across the open area, the arc lights bathing them in wonderful sol, almost blinding in its intensity. Brice swore he could feel the warmth. Behind him, hisses and shrieks filled the air, but there were no more attacks.

They didn’t stop running until they came to the small side-hatch in Stores. Farrell punched in the code, speaking the letters and digits like he needed to kick-start his brain to remember it, and then they tumbled into the safety of Haven.

Dana collapsed. Blood flowed freely from her wrist, and the gashes looked deep. Ronat took off her jacket and used this to stem the flow.

Farrell leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. Ryann, hair plastered to her face, had that faraway look in her eyes that meant she was sussing, probably calling up help.

And Brice’s arm was red. He brushed the blood away, and saw where the shade had punctured his skin.

Not gashes, like those the claws had left in Dana’s wrist, but deep, ragged puncture wounds, where the shade had sunk its fangs into his flesh.