Cinder’s Reach (Book Three of The Echo Chronicles) – First 2 Chapters
Copyright © 2013 by Mark Hamner
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1: Ash and Flame
This can’t be happening.
As an acrid wind sent clouds of grey ash swirling into his face, Trinidad Shepherd found himself once again facing the scorched door of the New Boston Town Hall.
He hated this door; hated it with every fiber of his being. Because though this particularly horrid nightmare had tormented him dozens of times, the terror waiting beyond that door still chilled his very soul.
Unable to wake, Trin opened the door.
The NewBostonTown Hall, or what was left of it, again stood before him. A thick coat of grey ash and burned paint chips littered the floor. The walls were covered in scorch marks, and small fires still burned in the corners of the hall. The air reeked of smoke; the air reeked of death.
Please let it be different this time.
It wasn’t. Acting on their own accord, Trin’s legs began to slowly summit the stairs. As his worn caver boots crunched down in the ash, the wood groaned in agony under his weight. With the exception of the stairs’ agonized protests, the silence enveloping this once happy place was deafening. Trin’s heart began to race as he neared the top of the staircase.
Wake up. Please wake up!
As Trin reached the second floor, a cold, raspy voice greeted him, as it always did.
“Trin.”
The Echo leader closed his eyes tight. That never worked.
“Oh come on, Trin. That’s no way to greet me, after all we’ve shared.”
“You’re not real!”
A cold hand brushed across Trin’s face. “Not anymore, I’m not. Thanks to you.”
Ignoring the protests slamming through his mind, Trin’s eyes opened. There she was. Her clothes were in tatters, her skin horribly burnt and peeling. What was left of her hair hung in wispy threads on one side of what was left of her face. Her eyes were a pale, milky white, with neither irises nor pupils to lend any shred of humanity to her visage. The Echo leader began to tremble. “Melissa.”
“There’s my hero.” The scorched specter of Melissa Williams, General and leader of the enclave of New Boston, smiled, her lipless gums revealing crumbling black teeth.
“Mel, I’m sorry. I didn’t know!”
“Oh, Trin, you silly boy. What did you think was going to happen? You convinced me and my entire enclave to stand up to him. That worked out well, wouldn’t you agree?” The specter laughed, sending bits of ash flying into Trin’s eyes.
“I didn’t think he would use the weapon!”
“Trinidad, Trinidad,” Melissa said, her voice taking on a teasing tone of sympathy, “don’t beat yourself up too badly. It’s my fault, really. I trusted you.”
“Mel, I –”
“Shhh! It’s okay. Don’t worry, I found someone to make it all better. For me, for Kaylee, for all of us.”
“Mel, no….”
With that, the man Trin knew was coming, but still dreaded to see, strode slowly out of the burned ruins of General Williams’s office. Dressed in all black, his shining blades mounted securely to the back of his long black jacket, Vartan Craven smiled at Trin. “Hello, Trin.”
“You monster!” The Echo leader tried to lunge at the cruel mass murderer standing before him, but, as always, his legs were like boulders.
“Trin, Trin, you continue to disappoint me. I’m not the monster here, my friend, you are.”
“You killed them all! You murdered thousands of people here!” Trin screamed.
“No, Trin. You did this. This is your fault. This is all you. You killed the people of New Boston. You killed Melissa. You killed little Kaylee.” Craven paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “You know, you’re not very good at protecting those you care about. Isn’t that right, Hayden?”
Please wake the hell up!
“That’s right, Emperor.” Hayden James, battered and bruised, a bloody arrow lodged in her stomach, walked to the madman’s side.
“Wow, Trin. It’s a really bad idea to be someone under your protection,” Craven said, his eyes wide in mock surprise. “Wouldn’t you agree, Serena?”
“Yes, Emperor.” Serena Garland, her clothes ripped to shreds, her body a horrific tapestry of bloody cuts and bruises, walked out of the general’s office to face Trin.
“You see, Trin, there is no point in opposing me. Opposing me brings only death.”
“He’s right, Trin.” Doctor John Meadows lumbered slowly out of Melissa’s office, several arrows still lodged in his back.
“You were supposed to keep all of these people safe, Trin. You have failed so completely that it shames me to be in your very presence.” From the inside pocket of his black jacket, Craven produced two data cards – keys. “But that’s okay. I can make this better. Shall I make the pain go away, my subjects?”
“Yes, my lord.” In unison, Melissa, Hayden, Serena, and Doc turned their backs to Trin and knelt in the ash before Vartan Craven.
“Then by all means, be free!” Craven raised the keys, one in each hand, high above his head. As he brought them down, the four specters burst into flame.
As the four manifestations of Trin’s guilt writhed in agony on the ground, Craven locked his intense green eyes on the Echo leader. “This is your fault, Trinidad Shepherd. This is all your fault.”
Gasping, Trin opened his eyes.
“Another nightmare?” Dalton asked, looking over at the small mattress on which Trin sat, panting.
Trin nodded.
“Him again?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, man.” The Echo junior member paused. “Well, if you’re up for it, I was about to patrol,” he said, grabbing his black crossbow from the corner and sliding it onto his back. “And, well, you know…” Dalton looked over at the mattress on the far side of the room, where Karen Watley lay, curled into a ball, muttering to herself.
Trin did know. When he asked, Cipher frequently assured him that she was okay; that she was just tired. That was obviously a lie. During the time they had been camped in this tiny apartment on the outskirts of NewD.C., they had all been traumatized; they had all been scarred. None of them would ever be the same after that terrible night six months ago, when they witnessed Vartan Craven’s dramatic ascent to power; when they witnessed him murder the entirety of New Boston with a nightmare weapon from their desert. But Cipher broke fully about two months ago. That was the night everything went so unexpectedly wrong so nightmarishly quickly. That was the night they lost Creed.
Chapter 2: That Night
It had been a routine patrol. Like most nights, three of the four Echo cavers made their way through the back streets and alleys of New D.C., looking for opportunities to engage Craven’s forces. After Craven took control, his guards, and particularly the sadistic praetorians, now leaderless with the loss of Commander Stanton, began to take pleasure in tormenting the citizenry of NewD.C. As their primary targets were often the poor and helpless, the Echo crew found it most beneficial to patrol areas off the beaten path, where the poorest often hid, huddled in fear of the praetorians.
They had trekked along in silence most of the night, as was becoming more and more common anytime both Trin and Creed found themselves on the same patrol. Things had become increasingly tense between the Echo leader and the swordsman since the destruction of New Boston. Creed and Cipher had grown closer, often sneaking off after patrol to an adjacent apartment. Yet Cipher continued to spend other nights sitting up with Trin, talking for hours, just like they had done since they were kids. Creed had made no secret of the fact that he resented that. Though Cipher constantly reassured the swordsman that there was nothing between her and her best friend, the sometime-couple’s fights over the matter often resulted in them not speaking for days. And Trin and Creed never spoke. Not one word. Not for months.
That night, Cipher had stayed home, wanting to spend time continuing the arduous task of figuring out, through a series of ridiculously complex calculations, which codes went with which keys. So it was Trin, Dalton, and Creed who approached the group of eight huddled figures crouching around a small fire in a dark alley.
“You guys want some food?” Dalton asked, reaching into his pack and pulling out some bread they had stolen from the local praetorian stockpile.
“Yes! Yes, please,” one of the men said, reaching a trembling hand from beneath the tan blanket covering his body.
The Echo crew had developed a certain mythology among the residents of NewD.C. As they had no way of fighting Craven directly, Trin and crew had decided to make a difference in smaller ways, such as feeding and protecting who they could, when they could. The poor in the alleys were almost always happy to see the strange looking cavers in their desert jackets, because that generally meant either food or protection, or often both.
As the man began to tear into the bread, a rustling from an adjacent alley snapped the Echo cavers to attention. Dropping to their knees, their backs to one another so that all directions were covered, all three drew their crossbows, mounted their bolts, and waited.
And there they were. Two praetorians, clad, as was their custom, in black, came into view at the front of the alley.
“That’s a few less than normal,” Dalton whispered.
Trin nodded. Craven’s elite guards usually walked in groups of ten, so as to assure an advantage over anyone they faced, or, more appropriately, harassed.
“I hate these things,” Creed mumbled, fighting with his crossbow, his bolt continually sliding off its mount.
“You know we had to switch,” Dalton whispered, recalling how the Echo crew had reluctantly scrapped the longbows given to them by the NBDF in favor of crossbows. The reason was simple: the praetorians were now using crossbows, and, frankly, taking from Craven’s men was now their primary means of gathering ammo.
As the elite guards turned to look down the alley, Trin, Dalton, and Creed stood, aiming their bolts directly at the praetorians’ heads.
“Drop your weapons and packs,” Trin said.
The Deltas were caught off guard and outnumbered. This usually resulted in a quick surrender and frantic escape by Craven’s men. But tonight something was…off. Rather than drop their weapons, the men just smiled.
“I said, drop your weapons and packs!”
“Tell you what, Echo scum, why don’t you drop your weapons and packs!” one of the guards yelled back, grinning from ear to ear.
It was then that Trin felt the blade at his throat. Glancing back, he observed the eight men they had endeavored to help standing, clad in black, their weapons drawn.
It was a trap.
As each praetorian brandished their knives at the throats of an Echo caver, the guard from the end of the alley strode confidently toward them. “You see, Echo garbage, we had intel that you might be in this area tonight. You’d be amazed what these pieces of rubbish” – he waved his hand at the surrounding area – “will do for a scrap of food.” The man laughed. “So, drop your weapons and –”
“Nope!” Creed Reynolds slammed his black NBDF-issued boot hard into the shin of the guard behind him.
As the man toppled backward, chaos ensued. Trin grabbed the guard holding him captive by the hair, flipping him over his shoulder and sending him with a thud to the pavement.
As the fight erupted all around him, Trin noticed Dalton was nowhere to be seen. Scanning around, he immediately saw the horrific reason. Their junior member, the man who had engineered their escape from DeltaCave, was lying against the brick wall of the alley, holding his bleeding throat with both hands.
“Dalton!” Trin rushed to his friend’s side.
“I wasn’t quick enough, Trin. He got me. I – I’m sorry,” Dalton said, struggling to speak.
Trin peeled Dalton’s fingers back, an exercise that reminded him a little too much of Matt and his eye injury all those months ago. Fortunately, the praetorian’s blade seemed to miss Dalton’s main artery, but the junior member was still losing a considerable amount of blood.
Suddenly, a puzzling thought came into the Echo leader’s head. How was it that he had time to attend to his fallen friend? The answer immediately became clear. Looking up, Trin saw that Creed, in true Creed form, was somehow commanding the attention of all ten praetorians. Trin’s eyes went wide. This was too many, even for the swordsman.
“I’m coming Creed!” Trin screamed. Looking back down at Dalton, he said, “Keep pressure on that. We’ll get you back to base as soon as we can.”
“Trin, no!” Creed said, panting as he parried blow after blow after blow. “Get D back to base. I’ll buy you some time!” It occurred to Trin that these were the first words the swordsman had spoken to him in a long time.
“Creed, I can’t leave you here!”
“Damn it, Trin! We can’t let Dalton bleed out over there. Get him back. You and Cipher stitch him up. I’ll meet up with you soon!”
Amid the chaotic clashing of steel, Trin knew he had a decision to make. Looking down at Dalton, his skin a sickening shade of pale green, then back up at Creed, his arms clearly becoming tired from parrying the constant onslaught, Trin realized he was, yet again, going to have to choose between two hideously awful choices. He shook his head. He made his decision.
“Come on, D,” Trin said, grabbing Dalton and hefting him onto his shoulder.
As the Echo leader and his injured junior member scurried out of the alley, Trin heard a loud clang. What had just happened? Regardless, he knew he couldn’t stop.
Just as he was almost out of earshot, he heard a noise that would live with him forever. “You’re beaten, Echo scum. Don’t move. You are under arrest for high treason against the Reunified American Empire.”
Creed Reynolds, the best swordsman in all of the cave systems, had been taken prisoner.
Cinder’s Reach comes out Monday, May 27.
