Marked

Chapter Forty

"Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat."

*****

The world went pitch black for a moment before the light of the pale moon outlined the extinguished buildings.

Instead of structures they now resembled misshapen mountains except that these were perfect in every way but one: they needed electricity to keep going.

The crowd surged forward, pushing Rachel out of her thoughts and into action, with no other choice than to move toward the patrolling officers. Their unsuspecting backs facing her, she almost felt sorry for them.

Their shocked exclamations were short-lived and quickly cut off as they were shot through with bullets. Their bodies landed on the ground, eyes staring up into the sky, still open in surprise.

It was over in an instant—it had taken her longer to breathe than it had taken for them to conquer the capital's entrance. But of course, she knew the rest would not be so easy.

The purring of engines drifted down from the skies, causing a few heads to turn upwards. Three white aircraft moved through the air, quick and fast as bullets, swift and docile, like doves, yet menacing in their actions. A swell of relief rushed through her and made her a little more confident in their plan.

The first of the bombs hit the floor, sending tongues of fire licking into the deadened sky.

"Move forward!" Yalina shouted.

Hundreds of boots thundered against the paved streets, eager to oblige. The closer they drew to the buildings, the more foreign the world seemed to become.

The sidewalks were belted runways. With no electricity to feed them, the cane to a gyrating halt. Sleek, metal cars whose shape was like oblong bubbles lined the sidewalks, their windows transparent, giving a clear view of the techy operating panels within. A breeze blew between the buildings but it smelled sour and metallic, nothing at all like the pure mountain air she was used to.

Another round of bombs punished the earth with deafening booms. Fire lit up the darkness, enough that Rachel was able to follow the others towards the heart of the city—towards CN headquarters—without tripping over her own feet much in the process. She kept her gun poised, each flutter and each movement making her jerk with panic.

There were no people—only very faint, distant screams and the sounds of the bombs crashing against the earth. Other than that, the city was a ghost town, no definitive signs that life dwelled within.

Forlorn and lonely streets stretched out before them. Thousands of gadgets filled the window shops to her left as if they had entered some sort of shopping district. The giant screens she'd seen before stood like guarding sentinels, waiting to report to their leaders, though with no power they were as still and useless as tombstones.

Each assigned officer led their group forward watchfully. It was clear that the bunker people knew what they were doing. They'd learned the art of war back in their underground prison. Little had they known that those skills had been intended to serve the capital whose plan had now been foiled and whos eagerness to build soldiers would likely be their downfall.

She wondered if they felt as much pleasure at making fools out of the capital as she did.

Rachel tried to draw from the calm and poise of the soldiers around her, tried to mimick their cunning eyes and smooth movements.

Where is everyone, she thought. Surely someone has heard the bombs by now.

That's when she heard them, as though she had called to them with her thoughts, the first of the poachers. They came barreling from the tops of the buildings, their bodies suspended by metal ropes that allowed them to skid and walk across the glass as if they were on the ground itself.