There were more than he could count.
Brice might be invisible to them, but they still blocked his path to the Proteus. When he’d tried getting through to Tris, they’d thrown him to one side. They’d do the same—or worse—now.
But they were focused on the Proteus. That might mean there were fewer around the hold-out.
Brice sheathed his knife and crept through the undergrowth, keeping parallel with the multitude of creatures. Through the trees he could see the torch he’d fixed to the relay. It gave him something to aim for.
The solid mass of concrete grew as a monolith, an immovable darkness amongst the thrashing forest. It reminded Brice of a tomb, the light on top showing respect for the recently departed. It was no longer a place of sanctuary, but a lifeless void.
He thought of Cathal, and of Keelin and Ryann, trapped within those walls. He pictured them collapsed, taken over by the stench from Cathal’s wound. In his mind, their eyes were open but their chests were still.
And then he saw another light through the trees, part-way between the hold-out and the landing pad. A sharp cry of pain tore through the sibilance in the trees.
There were figures on the ramp. Two of them, with a third slumped between them. And then the figure closest to Brice slipped and fell.
Shadows crawled from the forest, filling the space between the ramp and the hold-out.
They pushed forward. The ones closest to the ramp smoked and burnt, but any that fell were held up by the ones behind.
Brice crept out, staying as far back as he could. He took a breath, and focused. The shadows swirled, but he saw limbs and heads, and they dissolved into individuals.
Four rows, about five creatures per row.
Twenty creatures. Any single one could take out a warth.
Had there been this many around Tris? He couldn’t recall. But he could remember striking one of them on the back of the head. He could recall how it staggered.
They weren’t invincible. Everything had a weak-spot.
And Brice was invisible.
His thumb stroked his last torch. He looked at the ramp. It was slippery with mud, but it wasn’t as steep as the one by the other landing pad.
He breathed deep, stilling his mind, and looked. Really looked. He needed to take everything in. He saw where Cathal’s blanket-bound body lay. He noticed how Ryann leaned in to Keelin, and how her left leg was stretched out more than her right. He saw how they each had two torches, and how Ryann moved hers smoothly while Keelin’s jerked constantly. He noted which creatures were closest to death, and saw where others remained in the shadows.
He calculated distances. He visualised the movements his muscles must make.
He didn’t make a decision. The situation dictated his actions.
Brice thumbed his torch to life. At the same time he screamed and ran.
He didn’t know if the creatures heard him, or sensed him at all, because he was on them too quickly. Light flashed, but he concentrated on the shadows.
Brice swung an arm, and it jarred when it struck, and a creature staggered. But Brice was already moving forward, barrelling into another creature, barging it out of the way. He used this to ricochet to one side, swinging out with his torch now. Rancid breath washed over him, and he ducked, then pushed upwards, his fist ploughing forwards. He saw the neck of another creature, the one directly in front of him, and he brought his fist down, as hard as he could.
The creature staggered and fell, tripping over the burning shield that slipped from its grasp.
The air tasted of overcooked flesh and decay, but also of sweat and adrenaline.
Brice saw the shape on the ground as he stepped onto the ramp. He dipped down, powering his legs forward at the same time. His body was off-balanced for a moment, but that was fine. That was what Brice wanted. He needed the momentum.
His hands pushed through the mud, and he scooped Cathal up. He tipped forward, but his left leg was ready, his boot slamming into the mud as his thigh pushed. Cathal rose, and Brice threw his right leg forward, bringing his knee up under Cathal’s body.
“I’ve got him,” he managed to shout at an open-mouthed Keelin. “You help Ryann.”
The blankets covering Cathal flapped against his legs with each powered thrust. Brice didn’t stop. He couldn’t. As soon as one boot came down, the other one rose. Even as his feet slipped back, he took another step, and another, and he gained ground. He gripped Cathal tight to his chest, ignoring the stench from his wound, ignoring the burn in his arms. He looked to the light that grew brighter with each step.
When he reached the end of the ramp, and his feet stopped sliding back, he turned. Ryann and Keelin were near the top, seated in the mud, pushing themselves backwards. That gave them the freedom of both hands, and four torch beams slashed across the creatures at the bottom of the ramp. The air was hazy, and the shrieks drowned out the storm.
Brice twisted his arm so that his torch joined theirs. They reached the top of the ramp and stood, supporting each other. No—Keelin supporting Ryann.
“Go! Get in the Proteus!”
Keelin nodded. They ran with a hopping gait, and Ryann cried out with every step. But they didn’t stop.
Brice ran by their side, Cathal tight to his chest, the blankets flailing. Brice squinted into the light, and maybe he saw an open hatch below the arcs. There was a shadow, and for a moment Brice thought the creatures were ahead of them. But this shadow danced with a couple of beams of light, and Brice knew it was a person.
And he recognised the stance, and
