Knight of Novus Page 9

  "Drive," James commanded. "They're behind us."

  Thomas leaped into the car, and James lunged into the passenger side back seat. Thomas instantly started the engine, and they were off before any of them were buckled.

  "Where is he hit?" Thomas rasped, leaning forward over the steering wheel, keeping his eyes locked on the road.

  "In the shoulder," Mill answered for himself. Thomas glanced back briefly to see James hastily unbutton Mill's shirt, pull it off and expose the nasty, bloody wound in Mill's pale right shoulder. Thomas' stomach turned, and he hurriedly looked forward again. He heard James snap open the small compartment in the back seat to pull out a medical kit.

  "How many are following us?" Thomas shot an anxious glance at the rear-view mirror. He saw nothing. His headlights cut through the darkness before him, and he continually swerved to try to avoid the pot-holes they revealed.

  "Four," James gritted. "I heard cycle engines rev up when we got into the car."

  Thomas swallowed. He perceived Mill shifting in his seat.

  "Hold still," James commanded.

  "They've got us," Mill stated.

  Thomas twisted his head around to look.

  Thomas only saw two blinding headlights at first, but when they passed into a clearer part of the forest and the moonlight illuminated everything, Thomas' eyes flashed.

  Two motorcycles bore down on them, driven by men wearing Storm uniforms. But on the back of each motorcycle perched a black-clad Knight, aiming both guns at the car.

  Thomas swore.

  Gunfire exploded all around the car, and Thomas reflexively ducked his head as he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The car shot forward.

  "This is good!" James shouted sincerely over another salvo.

  "What?" Thomas cried. James pressed a blood-soaked bandage down hard against Mill's wound.

  "The more that follow us, the fewer Cannon has to deal with," James stated through his teeth.

  "Right." Thomas swiped the cold sweat from his forehead and pressed the engine for more speed as they raced headlong through the inky darkness.

  The hair on the back of John's neck stood up. He instantly slowed, approaching a large, black, ornate double door. His eyes narrowed. The door stood slightly ajar.

  They meant for him to enter it.

  Checking his ammunition, he strode forward, his footsteps almost silent, and stood before the threshold.

  He set his stance. He reared and kicked the wood. Hard.

  The door bashed open and he leaped inside, both weapons flashing to the ready.

  The chamber within was pitch dark.

  He could feel its depth, its height, its immense length. Every surface within was hard.

  Overhead light suddenly blazed to life. He blinked, his hands tightening.

  He stood in a long, black, marble hall. Empty. Windows lined the wall to his right. Directly ahead, at the far end, stood a simple ebony desk, just like the one Viceroy Mengalus used to crouch behind. To his left—

  John blinked again. Slowly, he straightened out of his tiger-like stance and stared.

  A giant tarp covered the entire wall. Written in very small, black letters, organized into official-looking columns against a white background was a vast list of names:

  Brian Johnson

  Emily Brown

  James Rambert

  Wendy Cambell

  Harry Gordon...

  John's brow furrowed as a ghostly uneasiness began to gnaw at him. He vaguely recognized one or two of these names.

  "What is this?" he breathed—and the chamber seemed to try to answer, using his tones to whisper back.

  "I wonder if my face looked like yours when I first saw my list."

  John snapped his right revolver up again, pointing it directly at the source of the voice.

  Sir Edward Herald stood calmly in the far left corner, his dark uniform causing him to blend in with his surroundings. Herald turned his head, just slightly, his bright eyes eerily focused.

  "Curious about our hall decoration?"

  "No," John gritted. "Where are my children?"

  Herald went on as if he had not spoken.

  "I had no idea that the Novus kept records like this, but apparently there were many things I didn’t know back then." He said flatly. He glanced at the banner. "Apparently, every Traitor or Rebel shot and killed by a Knight was identified and logged along with the Knight's personal records."

  A chill passed through John's bones.

  "We knew you were coming, Cannon," Herald took a few steps toward him. "We knew it even before we came and took your offspring. We knew it before Scarlet Weston boarded her plane to begin a mission that would end with her death at the hands of all my Knights just a level below us." Herald glanced down at the stones, as if he could see through them.

  John's ribs constricted.

  "That is why we took the trouble of arranging this for you." He gestured toward the names. "This is your list, Cannon. It is an impressive one. The longest of any of us." His voice lowered. "Over forty-three thousand."

  Scarlet Weston and Matthew Angel pelted through the forest, branches slapping their faces and tearing their clothes.

  "We'll find the road eventually," April gasped to the man at her side. "We have to travel a bit east, now, but we can't risk the road now."

  "I know this was the plan, but we should still hurry," Angel knocked a thicker branch away with his palm. "Seventeen Knights can surround us."

  The Knights had poured out of the front door of the mansion, running in obsidian ranks, their footsteps perfectly in-sync, their deadly, passionless gazes fixed on the two who had fled the yard before them. Now April heard them mere paces behind, dodging through the trees, crashing through underbrush—and occasionally firing shots that pitted the ground right where her foot had just been.

  "Turn!" April commanded in a low voice, and as one, they swerved to the right, leaping over a small stream just as they saw it, landing on the other side, then leaping onto the road. Their boots scuffed the cement. Of course the Knights heard them. But now that their terrain was mostly level, they made much better time.

  April gripped her guns. A branch cracked loudly behind her. She whirled, kept running backwards, and fired at the first movement she saw. Light flashed along with the percussive boom.

  Someone cried out in pain and surprise. She continued her twirl and faced forward again, catching up to Angel.

  "The car," he pointed. They pounced on the vehicle, slapping their searching hands against its cold metal, then flinging the doors open. April started it. She gunned the engine before Angel had fully shut the door.

  "Good," she panted. "Now all we have to do is lead them toward Base and—"

  An explosion rocked the car, nearly deafening both of them. Then a terrible grating sound assaulted them.

  "Our tire's been shot," Angel gasped.

  "All right," April gritted, pushing down on the gas. "This thing will run on the rims for a while."

  "Not very long."

  "What now?" Thomas cried.

  Just then, one of the Knights fired true, shattering the entire back window down onto James and Mills' heads and shoulders.

  Thomas swerved violently, then had to yank the wheel back around to avoid diving into a bombed-out section of the road. He risked a glance behind to the other two, his heart thundering.

  "Are you oka—"

  "Drive!" James roared.

  They broke out of the woods and reached a straight, open stretch of road that led to the bridge to the Pale. Thomas opened up the engine and hit ninety miles an hour in a few seconds. Dawn had begun to tinge the east.

  Thomas glanced back into the shaking rear-view mirror. The wind-whipped Knights, who looked like they were standing in stationary pillars rather than speeding cycles. They bent their knees and tapped their drivers' helmets. The cycles sped up.

  "You can lose them in the Pale." James brushed glass off himself and Mill. It clinked as it hit
the seats. Mill's breathing came in short gasps through his teeth. Thomas didn’t answer. He just tightened his jaw and clenched his hands on the wheel as they jetted over the bridge and entered the Pale.

  "Great," he hissed to himself under the sound of the roaring wind. "In addition to being shot at, we get to drive through an old mine field."

  When the next tire got shot out from beneath them, April lost control.

  The car tipped sideways and slipped into a ditch, then slammed head-first into a tree.

  Instantly, she shoved the airbag out of her face, unbuckled and jumped out of the car, the scent of burned rubber scorching her. Angel followed her, staggering into knee-deep water.

  "Come on!" April gasped, sure that her wrist was broken.

  "You okay?" A bright line of blood marked Angel’s face. He grabbed her upper arm. She nodded.

  "Yes. Let's—"

  "Enough."

  They froze. A Knight stood up on the road, his arm extended, his gun pointing at them.

  "Come up here to the road," he ordered. Angel did not let go of her. Slowly, they maneuvered up the steep ditch, then their feet hit the paving. The Knight did not budge his aim from them.

  The sun was rising. April could almost see him. He was tall, powerfully-built, and she could glimpse edges of his chiseled features.

  "Well, it's been interesting," he said. April blinked. Slowly, holding her injured left arm, she took a few steps toward him, never taking her eyes from his. Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. The light of dawn illuminated him more and more. He had dark hair streaked with red and blonde, and his features could be called classical, judging by the few paintings April had seen—much like that marble statue of David.

  "Levi?" she whispered.

  He raised his black eyebrows, just barely.

  April's eyes flashed, and a dart of poison raced down through her gut.

  "Oh!" she whispered, and impulsively reached out to him. He instantly backed out of her reach.

  But he was suddenly shaken.

  His gun rattled, then lowered, and he stared into her eyes.

  "Levi Marland," she breathed, her brow twisting. "What are you doing here?"

  He swallowed, then pressed his left hand to his throat, as if to feel his pulse. Then his eyes widened.

  "I..." he stammered. "My chip..."

  "Levi," April said again. But then a jolt of pain lanced through her arm and she winced. Just as impulsively, he stepped toward her.

  "Are you hurt?"

  She stared at him. He stared back.

  "Levi," she breathed. "What—"

  "Marland!" The voice rang through the early morning.

  He froze.

  April glanced past him. Sixteen Knights emerged like wraiths from a haunted wood.

  "Sir Marland—kill them!" one shouted. April's breath caught. Her gaze locked with Levi's. He moved to lift his gun.

  John Cannon's gaze unwillingly dragged over to the names covering the banner, the black shapes of every letter searing through him. His shoulder muscles trembled.

  Helen Wane

  Nathan Terrace

  Gerald Phillips

  Andrew Seamus...

  "I..." His voice rasped. "I never counted. I couldn't have—"

  "Of course you could," Herald dismissed it. "You were the Eldest Knight, the single most skillful and deadly of our number! You were famous for taking down ten to twenty traitors a day. Sometimes as many as fifty." His tone quieted. "We all admired you for that, Cannon. We all ambitiously wished to be like you."

  John swallowed. The pain of the motion continued down to his knees. He turned back to Herald.

  "What do you want with me?" John demanded. Herald spread his hands.

  "Only to talk. You may lower your weapon. As you can see, I am not holding any. And if I made a move for one, I am sure you would adequately protect yourself."

  John held his empty gaze for a long moment. Then, gradually, he brought his arm back down so it rested at his side.

  "What do you want?" he snarled.

  "I want you to see clearly, Sir John," Herald answered. "What has your life been like since the so-called 'Awakening,'? Peaceful? Prosperous?" He stopped and stared at him. "Happy?"

  John did not answer. Herald's words remained calm.

  "Or have your nights been plagued by nightmares, and your days filled with uselessness?" Herald moved to stand before him. "Do you feel as if you have no direction, no guidance—that nothing you do can wash away the stains of your past?"

  Herald's voice needled through John's bones. He still did not answer.

  "I know your mind, Cannon," Herald told him, stopping his paces and clasping his hands behind his back. "I know because your mind is like mine, and like that of every Knight within this building."

  John clenched his jaw.

  "No."

  Herald looked at him sideways.

  "No? Do you not see the connection? Before The King's downfall, before the interruption of the chip and the restructuring of the government, you had confidence, purpose, a mission, useful skills, and an unshakable peace that followed you all day and night. You were a leader." Herald lowered his head, his eyes never leaving John's. "Now, what do you have? Misery. Pain. Regret. Uncertainty. Doubt follows you wherever you go, and sits on your shoulder during every decision. Instead of being one of the most esteemed men in the Kingdom, you are nothing more than a glorified scavenger hunter." Herald pressed closer. "And there is also rage. Pain so deep that violence fills you, threatening to explode and tear into whoever is near you."

  John shivered. But he did not look away.

  "And what of the violence, the chaos that ensued after The King was deposed? What of the criminals and vandals that hide in the country and the Pale? For all the grand buildings now inhabited by the flimsy new government, we have been thrown back to the dark ages!" His voice quieted. "Don't you see, Cannon?" Herald whispered. "All our peace, our security—all the prosperity and tranquility and equality that the Regulator and the Kingdom gave us has been traded away for a prize that's nothing but carnival glass. This is not the way mankind was supposed to live. And I am not alone in believing so."

  John's eyes narrowed.

  "Every one of those Knights downstairs has come to the same conclusion," Herald revealed. "We have realized that The King was always right: that emotion is an agent of chaos, and if allowed its head, it will destroy us." He raised his eyebrows. "And it will destroy you, too, Cannon."

  John took a deep breath.

  "You have no idea what you're talking about. You have no children," John answered rockily. "You have no concept of the joy another person can bring you." A vision of Miriam lying on her bed, asleep, bathed in sunlight, and alive, flooded his mind. "They show me that there's good in the world. Innocence."

  "Well, that is easily fixed." Herald reached inside his pocket, pulled out a small, black device and pushed a red button on its surface.

  John's eyes flashed.

  "What is that?" he demanded. Herald looked up at him flatly.

  "I just activated the toxin release into the gas chamber on the roof, where your children are being held." He glanced down at his watch as John's soul filled with horror.

  "Their hearts should stop beating right about...now."

  John's muscles turned to water. He almost let go of his guns, for he lost all feeling in his limbs. His vision fogged, and his brain went numb.

  "Look at you, Cannon. Don't you understand?" Herald's voice murmured, like a ghost through the mist. "Don't you recognize what is filling you right now?"

  John dimly registered that Herald had grabbed him by the collar. Herald spoke tightly, inches from his face.

  "It is called weakness."

  John's vision cleared. His head snapped around and his eyes blazed straight through Herald, taking in his chiseled features, hard mouth and blank, heartless, inhuman eyes—inhuman even without The Regulator.

  Savage power unlike any John had
ever felt surged through every fiber and tendon. He let go of one gun. He moved like a bolt of lightning, lashing out to clamp a vise grip on Herald's arm. With a mighty heave, so fast the eye could not register, he flung Herald onto his back, slamming him to the floor, hearing a sickening snap as his shoulder dislocated. John leaped back, and brought his left gun up to point at Herald's head.

  "Cannon, listen!" Herald grimaced. "They had to be eliminated for you to fulfill your potential, for you to realize the truth."

  John drew himself up.

  "Listen to me, you worthless coward. I don't know if I will ever be absolved of all the deaths up there on that wall." He jerked his head in that direction. His voice filled with heat. "But I do know this: Love is never a weakness."

  And John shot him.

  A menacing roar filled the sky. The seventeen Knights, April and Matthew looked up to see three gray bombers flash through the morning directly above them like avenging angels. They swooped down, and dropped something upon the western woods.

  The next moment, a terrific explosion shook the earth, and a tower of flame stretched its ravaging fingers to the clouds. Levi whipped around to face her, panicked and questioning.

  "The Regulator Plant," she murmured. He had no time to say anything. The thunder of a helicopter assaulted them from above and behind, and machine-gun fire rained down on the Knights beyond. Shouting, they turned and ran.

  "Levi!" April tried to grab for him. But suddenly the sniper aboard the helicopter aimed for him, and he dove out of the way. The cement shattered where he had just stood. He glanced back at her, then raced after the others.

  April clenched her good fist and her jaw, her heart hammering as she watched the gunfire follow on his heels. He dove into the woods, the last Knight to vanish there. The gunfire stopped.

  The thumping of the helicopter blades became deafening as it lowered to land. Ducking, Angel and April climbed aboard.