Dawn didn't break. It bruised.
The sky turned from black to a sickly, mottled purple. The snow was gray, stained with the ash of the destroyed Relay Tower.
Marcus stood by the lead truck. He was chewing on a protein bar that tasted like sawdust and chemicals.
His breath steamed in the freezing air.
[EXTERNAL TEMP: -19°C.]
[WIND SPEED: 30 MPH.]
"Status," Marcus muttered, swallowing the dry paste.
Narcissus was kneeling in the snow. Galen was welding a patch onto the giant's chest plate. The smell of ozone and burning metal filled the air.
"Battery is at 60%," Narcissus rumbled. "The cold drains me faster than I can recharge."
"And the Legion?"
"Hungry," Marcia said. She walked up, stomping snow off her boots.
She was wearing a new coat. A Board officer's trench coat, looted from the Plovdiv depot. It was pristine black synthetic wool with silver buttons.
It looked warm. It also looked like the enemy.
Marcus stared at the silver Board logo on her collar.
"It fits," Marcia said defensively, pulling the collar up. "Don't look at me like that."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to. It's warm, Marcus. That's all that matters."
"We need food," Marcus changed the subject. "The refugees are stripping the dead technicians for rations."
He looked toward the smoking crater. Legionnaires were rolling bodies over, cutting pockets open with knives. It was grim work. Vultures in the snow.
"We have the Nuclear Battery," Galen said, lifting his welding mask. "It's keeping the trucks warm. But we can't eat radiation."
"We move," Marcus said. "Sofia is the next waypoint. Big city. Maybe we find a supermarket that hasn't been looted."
"Or another trap," Marcia said.
[ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED TRANSMISSION DETECTED.]
Marcus froze.
The Gold UI flashed in his vision. A red waveform spiked on the HUD.
[SOURCE: TRUCK 4.]
[ENCRYPTION: BOARD LEVEL 3.]
[RECIPIENT: GENERAL TITUS.]
"JARVIS," Marcus whispered. "Isolate it."
[ISOLATING... DECODING...]
A voice played in Marcus's head. Breathless. Whispering.
"This is Director Lucilla. Priority One. Requesting amnesty. I have the package. I can deliver him. Just... just don't hurt me."
Marcus closed his eyes.
He didn't feel anger. He felt tired.
"Marcia," Marcus said softly. "Get the shotgun."
Lucilla was sitting in the back of Truck 4. She was huddled over a scavenged long-range radio. Her fingers flew across the keypad.
She was shaking. Not from the cold.
"Please," she whispered to the static. "Just answer."
The flap of the truck threw open.
Light flooded in.
Lucilla gasped. She tried to hide the radio behind her back.
Marcus stood there. His face was a mask of stone.
Marcia stood behind him. The pump action of her shotgun made a sound that cut through the wind. CHK-CHK.
"Who were you talking to?" Marcus asked.
"No one," Lucilla stammered. "I was scanning for weather reports."
"JARVIS played the tape, Lucilla."
Her face crumbled. The lie died in her throat.
"He's going to kill us, Marcus!" she screamed. "You saw the message! 'Daddy is waiting.' Vane isn't human anymore! He's a god in the machine!"
"So you sell us out?" Marcia stepped forward. The barrel of the gun leveled at Lucilla's chest.
"I tried to save us!" Lucilla stood up, tears freezing on her cheeks. "I tried to negotiate a surrender! If we hand you over, maybe he lets the refugees live!"
"He processed a city into rocket fuel," Marcus said. "Do you think he cares about refugees?"
"I had to try!" Lucilla sobbed. "I don't want to die in the snow!"
The refugees in the truck were watching. Silent. They knew what treason meant. In the desert, treason meant death.
"Step out," Marcus said.
"Marcus, please..."
"STEP OUT."
Lucilla climbed down. She fell into the snow. She looked small. Pathetic.
Marcia put the gun to the back of her head.
"Give the order," Marcia said. Her voice was flat.
Marcus looked at Lucilla. Then at the radio in her hand.
"Did he answer?" Marcus asked.
Lucilla sniffled. "What?"
"Titus. Did he answer?"
"No. Not yet. The signal is weak."
Marcus looked at the horizon. The storm was getting worse. A wall of black clouds was rolling in from the north.
"Don't kill her," Marcus said.
Marcia frowned. "She's a liability."
"She's a microphone," Marcus said.
He grabbed Lucilla by the collar of her jacket. He hauled her up.
"You want to talk to Titus?" Marcus hissed. "Fine. Let's talk to him."
He grabbed the radio. He keyed the mic.
"This is Caesar," Marcus said. His voice boomed.
Static. Then, a click.
"I'm listening," Titus's voice came back. Clear. Cold.
"Your Director wants to make a deal," Marcus said. "She says she can deliver me."
"She is a traitor to the Board," Titus said. "Why should I trust her?"
"Because she's scared," Marcus said. "And scared people do stupid things."
Marcus looked at Lucilla.
"Tell him," Marcus ordered.
Lucilla stared at him. "Tell him what?"
"Tell him where we are going. Tell him where to set the trap."
Lucilla's eyes went wide. "You... you want me to lure him?"
"He thinks you're betraying me," Marcus whispered. "Make him believe it. Cry. Beg."
Lucilla took the radio. Her hands were trembling.
"General," she choked out. "I... I can bring him to Sofia. The Market Square. At noon."
"And the Legion?"
"They are starving," Lucilla improvised. "They are weak. If you strike fast... they will fold."
Silence on the line.
"Very well," Titus said. "If you deliver him... you will have your warm bed back, Director."
The line went dead.
Lucilla lowered the radio. She looked at Marcus.
"He's coming," she whispered.
"Good," Marcus said. "Now we know where the fight is."
"Load up!" Marcus yelled to the convoy. "We have a date in Sofia!"
They hit the road ten minutes later.
The snow was getting deeper. The trucks were struggling.
Marcus sat in the lead cab, watching the white wasteland scroll by.
"You trust her?" Narcissus asked, steering the massive truck with one hand.
"No," Marcus said. "But Titus does. He thinks he's playing a terrified woman. He doesn't know she's got a shotgun at her back."
BOOM.
The truck lurched violently.
The front left wheel lifted off the ground.
Marcus slammed his head against the dashboard.
"Contact!" Marcia yelled from the back.
The convoy skidded to a halt.
"Mine!" Narcissus roared. "Back up!"
He threw the truck into reverse. The tires spun.
But the truck didn't move.
Marcus looked out the window.
There was no crater. No fire.
The front wheel was encased in a block of blue ice.
[TRAP DETECTED: FLASH-FREEZE MINE.]
[PAYLOAD: LIQUID NITROGEN GEL.]
"It's not an explosive," Galen shouted over the comms. "It anchored us! We're stuck!"
"It's a kill box," Marcus realized. "Ambush!"
He kicked the door open.
"Defensive positions! Eyes on the ridges!"
The Legionnaires bailed out of the trucks. They formed a perimeter, rifles aimed at the snowbanks.
Silence.
Nothing happened.
No shots. No enemies.
"Where are they?" Marcia asked, scanning the ridge with her scope.
"They aren't here," Marcus said. "Titus didn't set this for us. He mined the whole road. To slow us down."
He looked at the frozen wheel. It was buried in a ton of solid ice.
"We can't drive," Narcissus said. "The axle is frozen solid."
"Break it," Marcus ordered.
"Marcus, if I use my strength..."
"We have to be in Sofia by noon," Marcus checked the time. "Or the trap fails. Break the ice, Narcissus."
The giant sighed. A sound like steam escaping a vent.
He climbed out.
He grabbed a sledgehammer from the tool rack.
He walked to the frozen wheel.
CLANG.
He swung. Ice chips flew.
CLANG.
He hit it again. And again.
Marcus watched the giant work.
Every swing drained the battery. The fusion core in Narcissus's chest dimmed slightly with each impact.
The cold was winning.
"Hurry," Marcus whispered.
It took twenty minutes.
Narcissus smashed the last chunk of ice. The wheel was free. The rubber was cracked, frozen hard, but it held air.
"Done," Narcissus gasped. He leaned on the hammer. His movements were slow. Lethargic.
"Get in," Marcus said. "Save your energy."
The giant climbed back into the cab. He slumped in the seat.
"I am... tired," Narcissus admitted.
"Just a little further, brother," Marcus said.
He looked at Lucilla in the back seat. She was staring at her hands.
"You better be a good actress," Marcus said.
"Why?" she asked softly.
"Because if Titus figures it out," Marcus said, "we aren't the only ones who die today."
The convoy rolled forward.
Toward the gray skyline of Sofia.
Toward the trap they had set for themselves.