One foot on the first step, one last look back down the darkened corridor. A thought tapped inside his skull – some vital piece of information, something he’d already seen. What was it?
This was no time for thinking. He pushed himself up the stairs.
To his surprise, Saarg waited outside the mine, her helmet still on.
He peeled off his vent and nodded his thanks. Troops of both Orders were running up the nearest hill. The eastern horizon had lightened to pink and orange. They raced, glancing back over their shoulders.
“Saarg, two years we’ve had reports of kidnappings and returned loved ones—with amnesia from the day they were last seen. All the abductees were returned with well-filled currency holders around their necks. Like compensation. It was so ridiculous, we thought it was some sort of elaborate fraud…”
Saarg said nothing. They reached the peak of the hill.
“This will be a large Swallowing,” Reeben said to no one, needing to fill his head with something other than the grinding Roar. And the harrowing mess of that carnage. Beneath his feet, the earth quivered.
Even this far away, the Roar dizzied Reeben. Around the shack, muddy earth sank. The stone tower slanted and swayed. The building’s walls and roof ripped apart. Next to him, a Seeker fell, clutching his head. Overcome by the dizzying presence of Polis Armer, Reeben struggled to keep his footing.
More noise. Metal struts shrieked as they bent inwards, forced together. The ground opened, soil crumbling into the cavernous hole. The building sank backwards into a gaping pit. Masonry cracked, a spray of dust erupting skywards. Soil and earth caved in, engulfing the debris.
The Roar softened, the edges of the pit crumbling and earth rising from beneath.
There was silence.
Wind riffled Reeben’s hair. The scent of fresh soil wafted over him.
As the ground settled, Saarg removed her helmet. Her face was lined, her eyes hollow.
“Saarg,” said Reeben, taking her aside, “how much can you tell me about your deceased colleagues? What were they looking for?”
She looked up. “I’m sorry, Reeben. It’s classified.”
He ground his teeth, glaring at her.
Saarg broke eye contact first. “They’ve gone to Polis Sumad.”
“Why are you so convinced they’ve gone to Sumad, Saarg? They could be dead under a bridge a mile from here, or hiding with their families. We have to start searching, now. Every hour matters!”
Her lip twitched. “They’re chaos infected. That’s the only reason this monster would have saved them. Do you believe this will be solved by dusting for fingerprints, finding witnesses and locking up hoodlums? This is not your investigation, Reeben. The Darkness is at play, here.” Her gaze locked on the muddy flat where the ‘mine’ had been.
“All four in bags next to each other? Not likely, Head.”
“There is no other possible explanation, Examiner.”
Reeben tilted his head, realizing what he’d missed earlier. “Walk with Polis, Head,” he said, squinting as the pieces fell into place in his mind.
Saarg didn’t turn back. “His light shine upon you, Examiner.” She led her complement from the hill.
Watching the Seekers leave, Reeben motioned to Tummil.
Tummil hurried over. “So, what’s really going on, sir?”
Reeben pointed at the flat. “A Seeker undercover team raided that place and set off a Sumadan security alert. That alarm activated whatever killed…” He checked the papers. “Two hundred and eighty-three kidnapped civilians. I don’t know what did that work below, Sergeant, but there are four surviving guards who know more than us.
“And if they’re all infected, like Saarg says, then I’m a Seeker tracking my first cadver.”
He tilted his head to either side, making his neck crack twice. “Those four boys were just unlucky. But now, Sergeant, what do we do?”
“Right. We track down their families, get witness—”
“No. We watch the Seekers, Tummil.”
“Sir?”
“Did you watch Head Saarg, Tummil?”
“Bit young for a Head, sir.”
“But certainly up to the task.”
Tummil nodded. “What about her, sir?”
“Why was she terrified there were survivors?”
Tummil followed his gaze down to the Swallowing site, an almost perfect circle of mud, delineated by a border of green Armen grass. Like a God’s fingerprint, pressed onto the earth.
1
Terese Saarg, Head Seeker of Armer Stone Chapterhouse, loathed Polis Sumad.
She didn’t loathe the God Himself, but the land He inhabited, that land He was, which was too hot, too dry, and on the other side of the world from her daughter.
She and her complement waited in an abandoned stone house, in a forgotten village, somewhere near the middle of nowhere, in the Refugee Territories of the world’s most depressing Polis. There were no lakes or rivers nearby to quench their thirst. All they had was the stale contents of their waterskins. A host of insects had begun their nightly chorus. Streaks of red clouds crept in from the east.
Soon.
A whistle came from a lookout, peering onto the street through a peephole.
“Four males,” said the lookout. “Young. Unarmed.”
Her complement went taut as coiled springs. “Stand by,” she said.
Hopefully this was the four renegades, not local Cenephan refugees. Hopefully, within minutes, she’d have erased the last evidence of her involvement with the Immersion Chamber back home, and her complement would be none the wiser. Hopefully, she’d be on her way back to Pella tomorrow.
The lookout lifted his arm to the side.
Subjects sighted, capture active.
Her breath came faster.
The first cool gust of evening blew through the ruined room. Jagged, broken buildings cast patchy shadows toward the east.
He made a repetitive chopping motion to the side with his left hand.
Subjects on course for objective.
He twirled his forefinger, pointing downwards.
Identity cannot be confirmed from visuals.
A thumbs-up wavering back and forth, then both hands in the air, ten fingers splayed wide; then he took one finger down, then another, and another.
Cannot confirm identity, but best to act in ten seconds, nine, eight…
The lookout’s last finger dropped.
Terese pressed the vibration pulser’s trigger at her feet, exhaling heavily as she pushed on the metallic pad. Her eyes remained glued to the lookout.
All subjects reacting to the charge, still mobile.
He slowed his waving.
They resist but
