For a brief moment, she wondered if — by some miracle — the explosion had killed them all. The hope was quickly dispelled by an electric scream from somewhere in the smoke ahead of her. They were coming.
The first Weir leapt from out of the smoke in front of her, just to her right, and Cass spun to avoid it and fired a burst from the jittergun into its back as it landed. A second lunged from her left, and she met it with a cleaving stroke from the knife, dropping it at her feet.
She could see them now, lurching through the cloud towards her, two here, three there, and a fury overtook her. She fired one burst, then another, and then leapt forward and drove her knee into the chest of an approaching Weir, before severing its head from its body. The knife flashed almost of its own accord, perfectly balanced, deadly with every stroke.
Weir closed in from the sides, and she met them head on, smashing her fist into one’s face and then whirling to shoot another. To her surprise, they seemed to be moving at almost half-speed, and Cass found herself anticipating their movements. One crouched back as if to pounce, and Cass stomped forward, crushing her heel into its face before it even started forward.
A quick spin and she took a leg just below the knee, and then came up and caught another Weir in the throat with the muzzle of the jitter. She squeezed the trigger as it stumbled back and didn’t even bother to watch it fall.
The smoke continued to clear as Cass pressed forward, cutting her way through the throng. Her thoughts flashed back, back to the night, long ago, in the Strand when she’d fought among them, with a different result. Now, her full fury and vengeance coursed through her and into the Weir who could not stand before her.
But still they came, and where one fell, two soon took its place. As the air cleared around Cass, she saw that the blast had killed many and left others stunned. But she had little time to count casualties. The Weir were gathering their strength, and unity of purpose.
Cass felt the sting of claws sinking into her left shoulder, followed by a heavy impact from behind that sent her stumbling forward. She allowed the momentum to carry her, rolled, came up in a crouch and drove her blade into a Weir. Fired a long burst into the mass that rushed towards her now. And when she released the trigger, still they fell.
She leapt to her feet and spun to take the arm from the Weir who had been behind her, and then on the backswing, crushed its skull with the pommel of her blade. Cass continued her spin and brought the jittergun up, knowing the other Weir would be nearly upon her.
She fired off a burst, and then another, and found herself with more breathing room than she’d expected. Then she understood. Gamble and her team were out now, assisting.
Cass plunged forward, throwing herself into the nearest pack of Weir, trusting in the team that supported her. But as she fought on, she found the Weir rapidly changing tactics. They began to coalesce around her, feinting and falling back from one side, and instantly surging forward from another. Before Cass could react, she found herself being swallowed up and driven further away from her companions.
The Weir began landing more strikes, her cheek, her back, her thigh bled freely. Even as Cass adjusted, they now seemed to anticipate and counter her every move. Their shrieks threatened to disorient her. As they pressed in around her, she knew her only chance was to focus all her wrath on a single point, to drive through the crush.
Cass, fired her jittergun, slashing with her knife, forcing her way back towards the building, back to where Gamble and the team were. But in the churn, she’d lost her bearings, and the writhing horde blocked her view. She took a heavy blow to the left side of her head, and the world tilted, and Cass felt herself sliding, crashing through glass and barbed wire. She was on the ground. On her back. And for the second time in her life, she knew she would die.
With a roar, Cass squeezed the trigger and held it so hard she thought her knuckle might break as the jittergun spewed a stream of death into the tide of Weir that surged towards her. And then — above the demonic cries of the Weir and the buzzsaw scream of her weapon — Cass heard the strangest sound.
A single clear note, high and piercing, like the wind in a winter storm. A human voice. Singing.
And at its sound, the Weir checked their advance. Cass continued to fire into the Weir until she realized that the jittergun had ceased to buzz, and now made only a rapid clicking sound as it tried to feed from an empty magazine.
Strong hands seized her from behind as three forms swept past her and into the Weir. A swirling, almost blinding blue-white light emanated from the three as they moved among the Weir and cut them down with swords that seemed made of fire.
Cass felt herself slipping away, and everything grew smaller, and darker. And the last thing that Cass beheld was a terrifying vision. One of the three forms turned her direction, and its face was of lightning — with blazing coals for eyes, an avenging angel among ravaging demons. And Cass knew no more.
Cass felt herself floating. Or rather, it seemed more like she was falling, but upwards. Her eyelids weighed heavily on her eyes, as if the pressure from the speed of her movement was forcing them into the sockets. Memory fragments returned. Her right hand clenched, desperate to cling to Gamble’s knife, the one that had been in her family a long time, the one Cass had sworn she’d return. But her hand was empty. They had grabbed her. Dragged her away. The Weir had taken her. Again.
Her eyes drifted open, blurred. Tongue too big in her mouth. Everything felt too heavy. She was on her back. A hulking figure loomed. It reached for her. Cass tried to withdraw, but her body barely responded.
“Easy, sister,” a deep baritone voice soothed, the grip firm, heavy, but gentle on her arm. “You’re safe.”
She’d heard that voice before. A long moment. Then her mind processed.
“Mouse?” she said. It took more effort than it should have.
“I’m here,” he answered.
Her eyes still hadn’t focused. “I feel heavy.”
“I had to dose you. Probably going to feel groggy for a while.”
She inhaled deeply. It seemed to take a long time. “Why the dose? Am I hurt bad?”
“They carved you up a little, and you took a hard blow to the head. Nothing life threatening.” He chuckled a little. “I had to dose you because you kept trying to fight everybody.”
“Where’s Wren?” Cass asked.
“Sleeping. It’s the middle of the night. He’s perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him.”
“We made it?”
“We did.”
“All of us?”
He paused. “Almost.”
Cass closed her eyes. “Wick?”
“He’s in rough shape, but he’s hanging in there. Had to give him a fresh whole blood transfusion on the trip back. Got a little lucky there. Turned out Lil was a match.”
She opened her eyes again, turned towards Mouse. Her vision was clearing some. She could see his features. He looked tired. “Wick’s alive?”
“He is,” Mouse answered. He clenched his jaw with passing emotion. “We lost Elan.”
“No,” was all Cass could say. Mouse didn’t respond. There wasn’t really any reason for him to. She had prepared herself as best she could, expecting to lose some of their own. But to cost Lil and her wounded community another life… it seemed unconscionable. And Elan. She remembered him talking with Wren back before they’d left the village, talking about his son. What was his name? Ephraim. Now fatherless.
“How?”
Mouse shook his head. “It was a battle, Cass.” But something in his voice, or his expression — or both — said more. The last moments replayed in her mind. The Weir pressing in around her. Hands dragging her backwards, as angels met the advancing creatures. She’d thought she’d been hallucinating. Now Cass knew she hadn’t been. Not completely.