Warchild: Pawn (The Warchild Series) (19 page)

CHAPTER ● TWENTY-FOUR

Panic. Fear. Defeat.

These emotions mar the faces around
me as everyone rushes past us. They’re scrambling as they try to carry their possessions
and flee at the same time. Fathers pick up children. Mothers hold babies close
to their breasts. If their bags are too heavy, and we see someone struggling to
carry it, we shout and tell them to leave it. Whatever possessions, whatever
remnants of memories may be inside, aren’t worth their lives.

“Go!” I scream. “Go south as fast as
you can. The capitol is over that mountain. Hurry!”

I feel like I’m standing in the
river near our village after a heavy downpour, watching the water surge past
me. I could drown in their terror.

“Caroline! Caroline!” I look over
and see James pushing toward Finn and me. Bodies bounce off him. He picks up a
child and hands the boy to his father. “We can’t make it.”

I have to make a decision, but I
don’t know what to do. We’ll never run fast enough. They don’t have any energy
left. They’re not soldiers who have trained to be fit and strong. My people are
simple families who have been surviving on what little they can scrounge up.

James says, “Look at them. So many.”

I follow his gaze, back to the tree
line where we were thirty minutes ago, and see them swarming like ants pouring
from an anthill. It’s difficult to see from this distance, but I can barely
make out their flag bearers and drummers marching side by side, as the main
body of the vanguard breaks around them at a full sprint.

It’s pointless. We’ll never make it.
I should tell my people to stop and save their energy for the return march to
the north. Then it occurs to me…maybe Finn and I could… “James,” I say, “you
go. Get in front and lead them.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Just go. Get them as far as you
can, and, and—” I don’t want to say it, but James and his band of Republicons
have helped us for as long as they can. They don’t deserve to become slaves for
the mistakes I’ve made. Taking too long, allowing the horde to rest too much,
not sending runners to the capitol so they could bring relief…these mistakes
are entirely my fault and mine alone.

We could’ve been there already. James,
Marla, and the rest could’ve been safe days ago. I tell him, “If they’re
overrun…take your group and get into the mountains. You’re faster there. Better.
That’s all I can give you as thanks. Let their army focus on us while your
group escapes.”

“No—”

“Go, James. Lead.”

His nostrils flare. He huffs and
wraps his massive bear hands around me, pulls me in close and kisses the top of
my head. “I would say thank you, but I know we’ll see you at the top of the
mountain.” The last I see of him is his massive body pushing through the flow
of people, shoulders above everyone else. I wish I had his confidence in me.
What I’m about to suggest is madness.

Finn says, “I know what you’re
thinking.”

“Will it work?”

“I don’t know. Us instead of them?”
he asks, pointing his chin toward our flock. “Two Kinders instead of a thousand
people? No.”

“Why not?”

I can barely hear him over the
screaming. A young girl trips next to me, and I help her to her feet.

“Because they’re greedy bastards,
Caroline. They want the cake
and
the pie. Thousands of workers,
plus
two Kinders? Those men will go home heroes.”

“Then what do we do?”

Finn bites his bottom lip and looks
back at the approaching vanguard. I do, too. They’re moving so much faster than
I expect. They’ll be here in minutes. My people will be in chains before dusk. He
says, “You go. Get away. You’ll do more good as a free woman than a captured
one.”

“No. Not a chance.” I say it with
such determination that he doesn’t bother arguing.

“Then this is our last option.” He
takes off his backpack and slings it to the ground. He does the same with his
coat, and then his shirt. His muscles flex underneath skin that stretches tight
across them. Swells and crests ripple across his stomach.

If we were in a different place, I
might have paused to admire his physique. There’s no time for that now. I
notice the symbol tattooed on his upper arm. It’s bright blue, unlike the faded
tattoos that the children back in my village use to draw on their skin with
berry juice. It’s a chess piece. A pawn. That’s what I feel like right now. An
expendable piece in a war bigger than one girl standing in a pasture.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Fighting.” He cracks his knuckles.

“By yourself? You can’t.”

“Then come with me, Caroline. You’re
a Kinder.”

“
Tomorrow
is my birthday. I’m
not. Not yet.”

“You’ve always been one. Always. Since
the day she fed you the blood.
Believe
.”

Finn leaves me standing, sprinting
north toward the approaching DAV vanguard, dodging the last of my remaining people
as they escape to the capitol. He leans forward, driving his arms, thrusting
his legs, and picks up speed. I’ve never seen a human move so fast.

Before I can convince myself that
this is lunacy, that I’m running to my death, I chase after him. At first, I
don’t believe. My legs are strong from running through the forest back home for
so many years, but I’m tired and weak from marching for days. I’m not moving
any faster than I normally do. I can’t
make
myself go any faster.

Not until I see a little boy, maybe
five years old, who’s clutching his father’s hand. They’re the last of the
group. Tears stream down the boy’s face, and he’s so scared. I don’t recognize
the man, but he’s hobbling on a single crutch. He’ll never make it. His boy
will never make it. They have no chance to get away.

This whole idea of fighting for my
people has always been too big, so much bigger than me.

Armies fight. States fight. Nations
fight. I’m
one person
. This entire retreat, I’ve been wondering what I
was doing and why. One single person, trying to make a difference. Have I
changed anything on the way back? Does it matter? How can I make a difference
when wars are fought over ideas and beliefs, religion and territory? Those
things have taken hundreds of years to build, develop, and control. I’m just a
solitary pawn in a valley.

I run past the father and the son. The
boy wipes his eyes. His shoulders shake, and I hear the father saying, “It’ll
be okay. I
promise
.”

It’s then that I make up my mind;
I’m going to fight for the two of them.
They
are my reason. Let
governments wage war over their grandiose concepts that are so much larger than
one moment on a field. I’m fighting for that boy and his crippled father.

When I have a reason—a
purpose—that’s when the warmth begins to flow through my body. I can’t define
it. There’s a change. Like Finn told me days ago, I feel a sense of being…pure.

Pushing my legs harder becomes
effortless, and I’m hurtling across the meadow, getting closer to Finn, gaining
on him, wondering what in the hell we’re going to do next.

We don’t have weapons. We only have
ourselves.

Our
bodies
are weapons.

I scream Finn’s name, and he slows so
that I can catch up. At his side, shoulders inches away now, sailing over the field
like rocks fired from a slingshot, we glance at each other.

He grins at me. The vanguard is two
hundred yards away. Five hundred men propel themselves in our direction,
bellowing battle cries as they dash around the drummers and flagmen.

Boom, boom, ba-boom. Boom, boom,
ba-boom.

The DAV blackcoats raise their guns
and fire while they’re running.

Finn raises a hand as if it’s a
shield.

I watch as the bullets get close,
slow down, and then whisper around us.

Finn did that. Finn altered their
trajectory. I’m in awe. I wonder if I can do the same. I remember how he said
that each Kinder was different. So far, I have speed and strength. I’ve been
able to move through time while those around me drag along like they’re
swimming in honey. I can hear thoughts in another’s head. I can fly, somewhat. Is
that all? What else can I do? Am I supposed to know?

As we get closer, maybe fifty yards
now, the blackcoats seem confused, bewildered. Their bullets have no effect. Through
their eyes, we should’ve been dead already.

A man in front, wearing a uniform
that bears a red stripe from his left shoulder to the right side of his waist,
lifts an arm high over his head. He must be a commander because he shouts,
“Form up!” The front line of soldiers drop to their knees and pull their rifles
up to shaky shoulders. Those behind them scramble to a halt and bend over,
while the ones bringing up the rear either stand behind, or spread out to the
sides.

“Finn?” I say, with more panic in my
voice than I intend.

“Don’t worry. Watch this.” He speeds
up, and I let him go.

The commander shouts, “Aim!”

The blackcoats steady their weapons.

“Fire!”

Finn takes a bounding leap, then
another, and launches himself thirty feet in the air.

I watch him, but I can also hear the
bullets coming. I take a breath and concentrate. I
believe
.

Time slows for everyone else but me.
Even Finn is drifting, drifting, slowly coming down. Bullets litter the air as
if someone emptied a bag of dried corn kernels. I duck, sway, dodge, and move
around them, grabbing some and throwing the warm hunks of metal out of my way. It’s
smooth, painless, and effortless, and once I’m past the first volley, I exhale
and let go of whatever is inside. Time returns to normal, and I emerge thirty
feet from the first row of blackcoats. They’re stunned that I slipped through
their shots. Some try to stand. The jaws of others drop as the commander
shouts, “Fire at will!”

Only one soldier is focused enough
to pull the trigger, and I easily dip around the racing bullet.

Finn lands amongst the soldiers,
disappearing into the mass of angry men. A body flails through the air,
flipping end over end, screaming. Then another, and another. There are gunshots
and squeals. A soldier flies straight up, twenty feet above us.

I barrel into the first row,
knocking five men down and out of my way.

I hold my breath. I believe.

Every person on the battlefield,
Finn included, again wades through time like stepping in molasses.

Thoughts drift out of their minds.

Kinders!

What in God’s name?

I thought they were all gone?

I hate that ability. I focus on silencing
it. I grab a blackcoat’s arm and swing him like a club, sending soldiers flying,
then I let go of him and watch as he flies away. Forty feet, fifty feet, and
then he lands. Arms reach for me. I step to the side and deliver a punch to a
throat. Slow motion choking. Gasping. The bearded man falls, drifting down.

From behind, I feel a knife piercing
my side. As it enters my body, it’s that slick, sliding sensation of a blade
parting skin. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. I expect it to, but I’m bending time.
I should know better. I spin and the blade wrenches free from his hand, still
buried inside me. I growl, yank it loose, and watch as his eyes slowly open
wide. I bury it in his chest.

Finn and I meet in the middle, and
once we’re together, I exhale and allow time to resume its normal march through
infinity. We fight in unison, throwing punches that send men three times our
size tumbling like children half our size, or we land blows so hard that I can
feel bones crushing and lungs collapsing.

We are one. We fight with precision.
We’re in cadence. We’re a battle song.

We have our own war rhythm.

As we land blow after blow, as
blackcoats drop one after another, I can hear it in my head…

Boom, boom, ba-boom.

EPILOGUE

I don’t recognize Captain Tanner—the
DAV commander who had my entire village murdered—until after we have defeated
the whole of the vanguard, except for a handful of soldiers who retreat into
the woods.

Finn shouts after them, ordering
them to tell their leaders to bring all they have, because we’re here, and
we’re not going anywhere.

We make our way through the mass of
fallen bodies, some dead, the rest wounded or unconscious, and collect a number
of weapons to take with us. We can carry more, but it’s awkward, so we spend
our time breaking or bending the barrels of the rest like they were as soft as
dandelion stems.

We know these men won’t come after
us once they wake up or can get to their feet again. They won’t do it. Not
unarmed. Not after they saw what we can do.

Captain Tanner lies on his back,
staring at the sky and pretending to be dead. When I see him, when I recognize
his face behind the gray beard he’s grown over the past week, I want to
make
him dead, but Finn says he has a better idea.

Rather than allowing Captain Tanner
to send a message to his superiors, we take him with us. He has important
information, and I can think of a few ways to get it out of him. None of them
will be easy for the grizzled old murderer to tolerate. I assure him of that.

He stumbles, coughs, and winces. He
claims his ribs are broken, and he can’t move as fast as we want.

Finn says, “Let me check for you,”
and delivers a sharp, powerful punch to Tanner’s side. Bones snap. The captain
howls in pain, but Finn won’t let him fall. He makes him keep walking.

The three of us catch up to the
others just after dusk. They’re all standing at the uppermost point of Black
Rash Mountain—a thousand PRV citizens and a small gaggle of Republicons. When
we’re close, they cheer and clap. They slap our backs in appreciation. They
say, “We saw it. We watched you. You’re heroes!” and ask things like, “Are you
really a Kinder? What does it feel like?”

James stands in the middle with a
smile so wide that it seems to wrap around to the back of his head. Beside him
are three familiar faces. Big Blake, Little Blake, and Squirrel, who looks well
and rested.

We hand Captain Tanner to Marla and
some of the others. “Don’t kill him, but feel free to be a little rough if he
tries to get away,” I tell her. “His ribs hurt. Maybe he could use some…
help
.”

She nods and winks.

When Tanner’s gone, cursing me and
struggling as he leaves with Marla, James shakes my hand, then Finn’s. He says,
“I always thought Kinders were legends.”

Finn says, “Legends come from
stories. Now you’ll have one to tell.”

James laughs and agrees. He puts an
arm around me and says, “Let me show you something. You, too, Finn. Come look.”
We walk south, past more cheers and smiling faces. I see the little boy
standing next to his father, who leans on the single crutch. They wave, and the
father leans down to the child, saying, “See? I told you it would be okay.”

James guides us to a clearing, and
below, down in the valley there’s a break in the clouds with a patch of blue
peeking through. The capitol city glows orange from the setting sun. It’s too
far to make it before nightfall, but I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s
beautiful. Tall buildings, short buildings, glass reflecting the last light of
day. It’s guarded by a large wall with a single road entering from the north
and one from the south. If they have weapons down there—some secretly locked
away in direct defiance of the Peace Pact—and I pray to God that they do, it’ll
be easy to defend, at least for a while.

Finn grabs me and wraps his arms
around my body, laughing with relief. His embrace is warm and soothing. He
says, “Look at that, Caroline. You did it.”

“No,
we
did it.”

James’s smile fades as he looks to
the north. He points at something. It looks like tiny, flickering lights, miles
and miles in the distance. There are three at first, then a fourth comes around
the bend, followed by another. We count twelve total before he says, “What are
those?”

I shake my head.

Finn says, “I know what they are.”

I don’t like the tone of his voice.

“Get everyone moving,” Finn adds. “The
DAV tanks are here already. We need to get inside those walls as soon as we
can.”

My voice is a whisper. “No…”

The clouds collapse around the sun. A
gust of wind pushes through the trees, and the eternal rain begins to fall once
again.

***