Chapter 121 - March to War

  Alex flew through the night sky alone, rage clouding his vision as he rocketed home, following the river. He'd left his squad to march back from Harvard on foot. They'd link up with him soon enough. Right now, he needed to get back to City Hall and prepare for war.

  The word echoed in his mind with crystal clarity. This wasn’t a skirmish or a raid he was about to launch. Alex intended to go to war. He’d bring total, absolute war against Cerberus and his pack. By the time he was done, nothing would be left of the plague that had stolen Marion from him.

  Her name was like a knife twisting in his chest. He kept seeing her face in those final moments. First the terror and pain, then, the transformation. She'd saved him by throwing herself between him and Cerberus's jaws. Marion gave up everything to keep him alive.

  And now she was gone.

  She was dead, even if her body still walked and breathed. There was no cure for a complete transformation. Marion proved that when she'd tried to Cleanse that rat-bitten werewolf the Harvard people had kept captive. She’d done everything she could, and still failed. It was clear that once someone turned, they were lost.

  Alex's hands clenched into fists, purple energy crackling around them involuntarily. Fury burned in his gut, hot and consuming. Cerberus had taken the woman he loved and turned her into a monster. He'd turned Ruiz, too, and he’d turned others. That monster would keep doing it, keep spreading his plague, until someone stopped him.

  Alex intended to be that someone.

  City Hall came into view ahead, its architecture unmistakable even in the darkness. Alex descended rapidly, touching down in the plaza where guards immediately snapped to attention.

  "Sound the alarm," Alex ordered, his voice flat and cold. "Full muster. I want every warrior we have awake and assembled in the main hall. Now."

  The guards exchanged glances, surprised by the intensity in his voice, but they didn't question him. One of them immediately yanked a thick rope, setting a bell ringing. They’d set that up to wake the entire community in case of an attack.

  The bell tolled, a steady, rhythmic clanging that echoed through the building and the surrounding streets. Alex stalked past the guards without another word, heading inside.

  People were already emerging from their quarters, pulling on clothes, and grabbing weapons. They'd drilled for this. Everyone knew that if the bells were ringing, it meant something serious was going down.

  Alex made his way to the main hall, a large, open space. It served as their gathering point, and it’s where people would flow as soon as they were ready to fight. He took up position at the front and waited.

  They came quickly. Within fifteen minutes, the hall was filled with fighters. Everyone who could hold a weapon and had magical enhancements to make them effective was present and ready for action. Alex counted heads automatically. Sixty-three fighters total, not counting his squad still returning from Harvard. It wasn’t a huge force, but every one of them was tier three or higher. They were all trained, experienced, and loyal.

  They'd have to be enough.

  "Listen up!" Alex's voice cut through the murmur of conversation. The hall fell silent immediately. "I'm going to brief you on what happened at Harvard tonight. What we're facing. And what we're going to do about it."

  He took a breath, organizing his thoughts. "Several hours ago, a pack of werewolves attacked Harvard Yard. We're talking about thirty to forty creatures, led by a tier eight alpha. These aren't the werewolves from movies. This enemy is intelligent, coordinated, and absolutely lethal."

  Alex paused, letting that sink in. He saw faces going pale, watched the fear starting to spread. That was good, if he didn’t let it go too far. They needed to understand the danger. He had to make sure they were willing to stand and fight anyway.

  "The werewolf bite is infectious," he continued. "Anyone bitten becomes one of them. For most werewolves, the transformation takes hours, which gives us time to use Cleanse to cure it. But the werewolf leader’s bite is different. His victims transform in minutes. There's no curing them once they turn. No saving them. They're lost."

  "How many did we lose?" someone called out.

  Alex's jaw tightened. "Thompson was killed in the eastern assault. Ruiz was bitten by the alpha and transformed. Several Harvard defenders were lost. And..." He paused, the words catching in his throat. "And Marion."

  The silence that followed was absolute. You could have heard a pin drop.

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  "Marion was bitten?" Briggs asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "But she can Cleanse. Couldn't she—"

  "She was bitten by the pack leader,” Alex said. "The transformation was too fast. She couldn't cast in time. She's gone."

  The murmurs started then. Alex could almost feel his people going through the same series of emotions he had. Shock, grief, and then finally anger flowed like water through the room. Marion had been well-loved here. She'd been the heart of their fledgeling community in many ways.

  "Where's Cameron?" one man asked. "Is he coming?"

  "Castle won't be joining us," Alex said, his voice cold. "He has other priorities."

  That got even more whispers flowing, and Alex felt the anxiety in the room ratchet up a notch. It bothered him some that his people relied so deeply on Castle’s power, so he didn't elaborate further. Let them draw their own conclusions about where Cameron's loyalties lay.

  "So what's the plan, boss?" Bartle asked, stepping forward. His face was grim but determined. "We going after these things? Can’t let them get away with killing our people, I say!”

  "Damn right we are," Alex said. "This isn't just about revenge, though God knows I want that. This is about survival. These werewolves are an existential threat. If we don't stop them now, they'll spread. They'll turn more people. Eventually, they'll turn everyone. We stop them here, or we lose everything."

  "How do we fight something that turns people with a bite?" Martinez asked. "If we get close enough to engage, we risk infection."

  "I've been working on that," a new voice said.

  Alex turned to see Neal Oswald pushing his way through the crowd. The former machinist looked exhausted but excited, his eyes bright. Behind him, several of his assistants carried bundles wrapped in cloth.

  "Neal," Alex said. "Tell me you've got something."

  "I've got something," Neal confirmed. He gestured to his assistants, who began unwrapping the bundles. Inside were suits of armor. They looked crude and improvised, but were also clearly functional. "Plate armor. Made from sheet metal we salvaged from cars. It's not pretty, but it should stop a werewolf bite, at least long enough to get clear."

  Alex moved closer, picking up the pieces to examine one of the suits. It was rough work. The metal wasn’t completely even, and the rolled edges were crudely made. But it looked solid. Each suit had coverage for the torso, arms, and legs, a gorget to protect the neck, and even gauntlets for the hands.

  "How many do we have?” Alex asked. He knew the answer wouldn’t be as many as he wanted, but however many Neal had managed to make, this stuff would certainly make a difference.

  "Twelve," Neal said. "That's all I've been able to finish. I've been working on these ever since we settled into City Hall. I figured we'd need better protection eventually. I just wish I'd finished more."

  "Twelve is perfect," Alex said. He turned to face his assembled fighters. "I'm taking one of these. The other eleven go to our best close-combat specialists.” He rattled off names, picking his most experienced fighters. "Everyone else gets riot gear from the old police armory. Helmets, vests, arm guards—take anything that might give you an edge."

  People broke apart to begin organizing and preparing. This was what they did, what they'd trained for. Alex felt a surge of pride watching them work.

  "Sir." Sergeant Lamell stepped forward. He was one of the former cops who'd joined early on. He had to be pushing sixty, gray-haired and weathered. "I'd like to request permission to remain behind and defend the base."

  Alex studied him. Lamell was tier four, experienced, but he was showing his age. A long march followed by a battle would be hard on him. "You sure?"

  "I'm sure," Lamell said. "My legs aren't what they used to be. I'd just slow you down on the march. But these walls?" He gestured around. "I can defend these. I’ll keep the civilians safe while you're gone."

  Alex nodded slowly. It made sense. He and Marion had done everything they could to encourage people to train, fight, and gather crystals for themselves, but some people were just not up to that sort of challenge. He had almost twice as many civilians living there as he did fighters, and they needed someone experienced to hold down the fort. "All right. I’ll leave two more men with you to help. The rest will come with me.”

  "I'll defend your people with my last breath if needed, sir," Lamell said, saluting.

  "I know you will. Thank you.”

  The next twenty minutes were a flurry of activity. Armor was distributed. Weapons were checked and rechecked. Supplies were gathered so they’d have food, water, and medical supplies for the journey and battle. Alex oversaw it all, his mind already planning the route they'd take and the tactics they'd use.

  Someone helped him into his armor. The metal was cold against his skin. It was heavy, but not unbearably so. The weight was comforting. Every time he closed his eyes, Alex saw those horrible teeth bearing down on him. Having a steel skin between him and the monsters was a huge plus.

  Finally, they were ready. Sixty men and women were armed, armored, and loaded down with all they could carry. His people were as ready as they were going to be. Alex stood at the front of the formation, looking out at the faces in front of him.

  "You all know what we're marching toward," Alex said. “This is going to be a nightmare of a fight. Some of us won't come back from this. That's the reality of war, and I won't lie to you about it."

  He paused, meeting as many eyes as he could. "But if we don't do this, if we let these things spread? Then none of us will survive. They'll keep turning people until there's nobody left to turn. This is our line in the sand. This has to be where we fight back with everything we have."

  "For Marion!" someone shouted from the back.

  "For Marion!" others echoed. The chant spread through the formation. "For Marion! For Marion!"

  Alex felt something break inside his chest. Felt the tears he'd been holding back finally threatening to spill. He bit his cheek to force them back down and channeled that grief into cold, hard fury.

  "For Marion," he agreed quietly. Then, louder: "And for everyone else those monsters have taken! Tonight, we go to war! Tonight, we make them pay!"

  The roar that answered him shook the stone walls.

  Alex raised a hand, and his army fell silent. He took one last look around City Hall, the place he'd built into a fortress, the home he'd made for these people. Then he turned toward the exit.

  "Move out!"

  The army of City Hall marched into the night, following their leader toward battle. Toward vengeance, death, and war.