“What about you?” someone said from the front.
“We will withdraw, but we cannot go with you. I…” She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Hurry. And be safe.” She turned and walked to the back of the raised platform, her players following in her wake. They slipped between two gas lamps, disappearing behind the lights’ bright glare.
Ursel kept her eyes trained on Cole, while Chase glanced around in a state of panic. “We’ve got to get out,” he hissed, eyes wide.
“Try to stay calm.”
“Calm? Are you serious? The Deaf Squad are about to raid us.”
The crowd had begun to push towards Cole, who stood poised at a narrow crevice in the cave’s wall. Their faces were tense, eyes alert; sweat gleamed on their pale skin. No one spoke, yet there was a growing sound filling the chamber like a slowly rising tide. The deep hum of a distant, whipping gale. The heavy breathing of fear.
Bodies crushed together as the bottleneck backed up. Chase and Ursel stumbled forward, holding hands to avoid separation. Chase tried to pull himself closer and whispered, “Wella!”
Ursel shook her head.
“We can’t leave her here,” he said.
“I don’t know where she is.”
“You said you saw her.”
“I didn’t. I said she’s okay.”
“What? If you didn’t see her, we still don’t know that. I’ve not risked everything by coming here, only to run away without knowing.” Chase let go of her hand and turned, attempting to move against the flow.
Ursel managed to catch hold of him, grabbing him by the shoulder. “You’re risking your life if you stay, Chase.” She glared at him, eyes pleading. “We have to get out. There’s no time to look for her. You’ll get caught. They’re already close.” She read his expression: the torment of an impossible decision. The crowd pushed past them, almost knocking her off balance. She held on to his arm and said, “The Troubadours know these caves. This is their home. Their world. They know where to hide to be safe. Wella’s with them. She’ll be safe too. But we can’t hide with them, so we have to leave. It’s the way it works here.”
A rumble echoed through the cave. The crowd froze, simultaneously catching their breath. They held it, straining to hear. Another rumble: distant, yet louder than the first. They stood motionless, waiting for the sound they feared the most. The echo died around them, leaving silence and a terrifying anticipation. The heavy breathing resumed, the push forward now propelled by a growing panic. Followers filed through the passageway, disappearing into the depths of the mountain.
Chase dropped his head and ceased his resistance. Ursel led him away, joining the crowd and the desperate bid for escape.
–
Static crackled in Wulfwin’s earpiece.
“Delta-Charlie-One, this is Oscar-Charlie-One. Do you read? Over.”
“Oscar-Charlie-One, copy that. What have you got for me? Over.”
“We’ve picked up something from a WatcherCam. Position approximately one point six miles due south of your current position. The image shows movement, sir. People. Over.”
“The event? I don’t understand… I would’ve heard it.” Wulfwin stared into the half-light. “More specific. What do you see? Over.”
“Poor resolution, sir. Hard to make out. But it looks like a crowd of people, running. Heading south south-east. Towards the city. Over.”
“Give me the exact coordinates. And get all eyes on their descent. Update Comms Control. We’re going after them. Over.”
–
Wulfwin cursed and kicked. His men kept a wary distance.
They had reached the coordinates and found tracks but no sign of life. Stomping down the stone pass, he squinted into the distance, straining to make out movement in the darkness. His eyes fell to the floor and were drawn to a glinting object to his side. He bent down and picked it up. A silver earring: tassels dangling from a hoop. He threw his head back and roared.
Regaining a trace of control, he barked into his radio, “Oscar-Charlie-One, this is Delta-Charlie-One. Read? Over.”
“Delta-Charlie-One, this is Oscar-Charlie-One. Copy that. Over.”
“Have you still got eyes on the prize? Over.”
“They’ve dispersed. We’ve got visual on some. Others have taken cover in the woods west of Glos. Over.”
“The ones you’ve got. Where are they now? Over.”
“Approximately three miles due west of Westgate Arch, heading south. My guess is they’ll re-enter the city via Westedge. Over.”
“Copy that. Over and out.”
Wulfwin fumed, fighting the urge to hit out at anyone or anything in his path. He saw the expectant faces of his Deaf Squad troopers, their breathing heavy following the treacherous pursuit. Fury raged in his chest as he processed the situation. One chase was over; another was about to begin. “Charlie-Charlie-Zero,” he said into his radio. “This is Delta-Charlie-One. Get me Golf Sierra. Urgent. Copy? Over.”
“Delta-Charlie-One, this is Charlie-Charlie-Zero. Copy that. Standby. Over.”
The radio fell silent. Then came, “Commander, this is Governor Blix,” her fraught tone disguised by distortion. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Wulfwin dispensed with radio protocol, knowing that Blix refused to observe it anyway. “We’ve lost the trail.”
Static.
“Request permission to revise objectives.”
“You’ve lost the trail—”
“Governor, there isn’t time. The Music Makers have escaped. Permission to continue the raid, but in the city. If we move fast, the scum who attended will still be making their way back. Ops HQ have got eyes on some. Soon they’ll be moving through Darlem Fields during curfew. We see anyone, we arrest them. Then we’ll target Spire Wells. Raid tea bars and taverns. Take anyone we suspect may have attended. Full-scale sweep of the city.”
“The objective, Commander. The Music Makers are still at large.”
“And the Users are our ticket to finding them. We haul
