Written in Fire

CHAPTER 23

The old man sat on the porch, fingerless gloves gripping the shotgun in his lap. He held it comfortably, like someone who considered it a tool. The kind of guy who would refer to it as a loaded burglar alarm.

Best Luke could tell, he was all that was left of the town of Cloud Ridge, the last outpost before Tesla.

Over the last days, the New Sons had traveled almost seventy miles, each one of them earned. Epstein may have run out of bombs, but he continued to harry the New Sons. Snipers dogged them at a distance, too far away and too poorly trained to score many kills, but every time there was the crack of distant gunfire, the whole army jumped. All day long, gliders kited silently above, their pilots dropping everything from bowling balls to Molotov cocktails. All night long, the abnorms used their audio projection trick, blaring taunts and sirens and loud music. None of it did much real damage, but it was wearing the men out. They were tired and radiated twitchy violence.

The horses, at least, had turned out to be a stroke of genius. Since the EMP disabled the vehicles, they pulled the bulk of the supplies. Miller had ordered hundreds of vans and SUVs gutted, the engines removed and seats discarded to transform them into makeshift wagons. The symbolism of the situation didn’t escape Luke. A ragtag army leading a horse train against a small minority capable of projecting their voices from the heavens. It was the norm-abnorm conflict made a metaphor and underlined in blood.

Cloud Ridge was more a town than a city, with just over two thousand inhabitants. It was unlike any place Luke had ever seen. Instead of growing organically over decades, as most places did, it had been designed by urban planners and laid down as a unified whole in a matter of months. Everything was organized for function and efficiency, from the broad avenues surrounding the town park to the solar farm, hundreds of automated panels moving in perfect sync.

And all abandoned. Luke wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. After the ass-kicking Epstein’s drones had laid down and the constant harassment since, it would have been gratifying to face a battle. Even if every man, woman, and child in town had lined up against them, the New Sons could have smashed them. Which, of course, was why the place was empty. Their enemies weren’t fools.

“Put it down, old man!” The militiaman was one of a dozen surrounding the porch, all clearly hoping for a fight. But the geezer just turned and spat.

Luke said, “Howdy.”

“You the guy in charge?”

“One of them.”

“Well, screw you, then.”

“Why didn’t you go on to Tesla yesterday with everybody else?” The timing was a guess, but one he was confident in. No doubt Epstein had tracked the militia’s progress with drones, plotted it on radar, used computer simulations to project their progress. The order to clear out would have been given with exactly the right amount of time.

“This is my home.”

“Son or daughter?”

“Huh?”

“You’re too old to be an abnorm. Plenty of sympathizers came here, but I’m guessing at your age, it’s something else.”

“Aren’t you the clever one.” The man shifted, and a dozen fingers touched a dozen triggers. “Granddaughter.”

“Your whole family came here?”

“My son, his wife, their kids. The youngest, Melissa, she’s gifted, and none of us were gonna let her end up in an academy.”

Luke nodded. He’d never put much thought into the academies before—they were only for the most powerful abnorms—but after the other night, he had a new appreciation of the dread they inspired.

“Your boys can relax, I’m not gonna fight. I don’t have much food, but if you want to fill your canteens, be my guest.”

Luke smiled. “Poisoned the supply, huh?”

“Worth a shot.” The old man grinned back, fillings glinting in his teeth. “So now what?”

“Well, if you lay down that weapon and surrender, we’ll let you go.”

“Yeah? While you chase after my boy and his family?”

“You know,” Luke said, “I had sons too. Your people burned them alive two weeks ago.”

“Sorry for your loss,” the guy said. The wind picked up off the high desert, whistling between the spindles of the porch rail. There was a gunshot from somewhere in the mid-distance. Another resident of Cloud Ridge, Luke supposed. “Last chance. Why don’t you put the gun down and start walking?”

“Why don’t you come on up here, unzip me, and—”

Luke pulled his sidearm and made a clean shot through the man’s skull. The blast echoed off the gray belly of the sky. For a moment the grandfather remained sitting. Then as his muscles relaxed, his body slumped, slipping off the chair and thumping the boards of the porch. The shotgun clattered beside him.

One of the New Sons started to laugh. It was high-pitched and ragged, an edge of the hysterical in it.

“Pass it down that Miller’s order not to drink the water stands,” Luke said to no one in particular. “Check the houses as you move. No fresh food, just canned goods, ammunition, blankets.”

The laughing soldier kept going, hinged at the knees and looking miserable. Luke glanced at him, then at the man standing beside him, a young guy with a patchy beard. “Then burn it.”

“His house?”

“The town. Burn it to the ground.”