Deathwatch (The Faded Earth Book 1)(48)

The street just outside the Loop station was packed with bodies, held back by the emergency fence that rose out of the ground to cut off access. Beck’s HUD automatically targeted them, outlining each in red.

“How do we get through?” Lucia asked. “If we drop the fence they’re going to swarm us, and even if they can’t hurt our armor, some will get past.”

“Watch and copy me,” Reeves said. “There’s a reason the fence is verticals only attached way at the top.”

He pulled his blade and raised it overhead, standing well back from the grasping fingers. The infected might lack the insane strength of true Pales, but weeks of combat training taught Beck that even the weakest blow can have consequences if used correctly. Reeves didn’t give them that chance. Instead he aimed his blade at the gap between posts and brought it down with merciless force on—and through—the head of the man in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Jeremy said, a wetness audible in the words.

Beck flinched, again reminded of her family. So few people mentioned anything even tangentially related to faith or religion in public, and they had been no exception despite the strength of their belief. It wasn’t a thing she shared with them, though sometimes she wished it were otherwise. Believing she would see them again might be a comfort.

“Don’t puke in your helmet,” Reeves said as he stepped a foot sideways and repeated his movement. He did this as casually as Beck might swat an annoying bug. If the splattered, dripping remains of a human brain spilling across the gray stone road bothered him, no proof of it was evident. “If you think you’re going to, pull your lid off now and get it over with. You take your helmet off out there, and you’re out of the program if some Pale doesn’t eat your face.”

Beck fought down her own urge to vomit, though to her surprise Jeremy, Jen, and Tala all took advantage of the chance and did as Reeves suggested. Jeremy had tears streaming down his face as he hurled noisily. Jen looked more angry than sad. Tala was the most interesting to Beck solely due to how disinterested she seemed in the process, as if this were simply a bit of housekeeping ahead of a rough day. The neutral expression on her face struck Beck as being totally in line with the even, workmanlike way she approached nearly every task.

Beck stepped forward, taking aim with her own blade. In moments the entire unit had joined her. There was no thrill in it, nothing like what she felt in training, even when they fought Pales in the arena. This was slaughter, and not of beings who had been transformed for years or decades. Only hours before, the people Beck cut down had been...

Mom.

Dad.

Aaron.

No. She pushed it back. She could not think of the thousands of little joys cut off, sliced clean through and ended by the bloom. But forcing herself not to dwell on them only made her brain push the issue harder.

How many of these people had shared breakfast, or a smile, or hugged their children with no idea that every hope and aspiration would end today? It wasn’t even cruel, because there was no fault to find. It was just ugly.

Tears streamed down her face as she raised and lowered the blade, cleaving bodies with the mechanical efficiency with which her drones had once cut stone. She felt no shame for the tears, no guilt that she was weak—and even if she were, so what? The Tenets stated that the strong shall protect the weak. There was nothing inherently wrong with it.

Anyone facing those empty, furious gazes should have felt what she did. Every person forced to cut down other people like wheat should feel this disgust at the waste of it all. She had no doubt that years before, a young Reeves had endured much the same at some point. Perhaps not in a bloom, but Beck now understood that precious few positions in the Watch would come without that moment of dread realization whether it was this or Pales or even passing judgment on someone who had committed a Tenet crime.

Though she would not come to realize it until much later, Beck was absolutely right. So accurate was her assessment in that moment that it had long been given a name by the Watch.

The Crucible. Not original, but creativity was not the point.

Every Watchman knew which moment tested them with fire, softening their resolve and leading them to discover exactly what they would become once the moment had passed and the blows of the forge struck.

Beck found that moment herself less than an hour later.





23


“We’re closed,” Fisher said when Eshton entered the bar. The older man looked up from the glasses he was cleaning. “Wait, I locked that door.”

Eshton waved his tablet before pocketing it. “I have overrides for every electronic lock in the Rez, but you already know that.”

Fisher’s face was bluff, unreadable. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Let’s skip the foreplay,” Eshton said wearily. “You’re a smart guy. There’s no way you didn’t connect the sudden appearance of a new friend of Beck’s with her decision to join the watch. You know who I am. What I am.”

Fisher tossed the cleaning cloth onto the rack of mugs. “Yeah, okay. What do you want?”

Pulling a stool out from the bar, Eshton took a seat. “Believe it or not, I’m here to save your life. I know you’ve been in contact with Remnants. That’s over with as of now. You know what the penalty is supposed to be.”

Fisher went ashen. Of course he knew. Everyone did. Though rarely spoken of and never in front of anyone who wasn’t trusted, it was common knowledge that some people rejected the Tenets and lived in the badlands. Their existence, their attitudes, were as close to blasphemy as anything could be within the Protectorate.