where the atmospheric disturbance was fast filling the valley.
“Clarissa will tell you exactly where in the storm the mouth of the rupture is located. You must avoid it but, at the same time, prevent any Divergent Mi’aata from reaching it.”
“I understand.”
We parted. I joined the pistoleers as they first congregated, then swept forward en masse over the machines that clogged the river. Beams of electrical energy sliced into us. Zull fell before we passed the greatest danger and plunged into the forest. There, on foot, we engaged with the advancing Divergent.
A sort of guerrilla warfare now ensued and the combat took on a phantasmagorical quality. We were ahead of the blast zone but debris continually drifted from it to mingle with the steam and dust, making the atmosphere, in the hellish twilight, a sickly rust colour, and the nearby explosions and thunder, muffled by the dense air, were reduced to an almost unvarying rumble which, along with the shaking ground, gave the impression of a never-ending earthquake. Intermittently, a branch or clod of earth would come ricocheting through the tree trunks, while stuff constantly rained down on us from the canopy overhead. Through this maelstrom, from bole to bole, we stalked our prey.
The Zull could sense their enemy, but I possessed no such ability and was again and again taken by surprise as Mi’aata suddenly lurched out of the pall, raised their pikestaffs, and sent a jagged line of light whipping in my direction. Repeatedly, I dodged, ducked, dived, rolled, and raised my pistol only to have it seemingly fail in my hand. There was no report from the thing, no recoil, no sensation that it had discharged, nothing to tell me the confounded device had worked at all until I saw my target limply drop its weapon.
Always, the Divergent I hit shuffled off southward, while the Zull pistoleers and I, by contrast, gradually retreated toward the East, deeper into the trees, as the war machines continued to tear into the forest.
And now a further hazard endangered us:
“Aiden Fleischer!”
“Yes, Clarissa?”
“The storm has enveloped the whole valley now.”
I looked up. With the ongoing barrage, I’d failed to notice there was fierce lightning overhead, too.
“The rupture is sliding toward the centre of the forest,” she said. “If it continues on its present course, it will reach your position. Damnation! Just when you need me most, I’m going to lose track of it. I can hardly see, my eyes are watering so.”
A Mi’aata rounded a tree trunk, pointed its pikestaff at me, and fired. I twisted but was knocked off my feet as the discharge ripped through the skin of my flight sac. Crashing down amid the roots of a Ptoollan tree, I fumbled for my pistol, threw myself to one side as the creature took another shot, then raised my weapon and pulled the trigger. My assailant rocked backward, the pikestaff slipped from its tentacles, and moments later the creature began to dazedly move away.
“Are you all right, Aiden?” came Clarissa’s urgent voice.
“Yes. Hold out for as long as you can, but don’t risk your eyes.”
“All right. Stay safe.”
I climbed from among the roots, pulled the shredded membrane away from my harness, cursed my ill-luck, and suddenly became conscious of a strange keening coming from behind me. This, in turn, made me aware that the reverberating thunder from the direction of the beach had lessened in intensity—the cannoneers must be winning out against the war machines. Turning, I stepped around the tree and discovered the source of the mournful noise—a large cocoon. Could the thing inside the leathery shell sense the bedlam occurring around it? Apparently so.
Feathery leaves cascaded from above, and, among them, Gallokomas. A nasty-looking burn furrowed his chest.
“You’re injured!”
“Zull have died, Thing,” he said. “I am merely hurt. We are fighting for the survival of our species, and through our sacrifices, we are beginning to overcome the Divergent. Many of their vehicles have been disabled.”
“Can you carry me, Gallokomas? I want to assess our progress, but my flight apparatus has been destroyed.”
He stepped forward, gripped me beneath the arms, and hauled me up through the canopy and into the sky over the forest. We flew low beneath the storm, skimming the treetops.
“It is dangerous here,” Gallokomas said. “If we are not killed by the storm we might be shot by the remaining war machines. We must hurry past them to the sea, then we can ascend.”
That we were in the line of fire was illustrated an instant later when