Page 152

One

The War

B lood sprays as people fall, the sand covered in corpses and the dying. Our war cry echoes across the dead land, stretching to The Cities’ soldiers. I see them hesitate for a moment, fear filling their faces as they take in the horde of savages, scavs, warriors, and ruthless killers.

They called us savages, beasts, and now it’s time we show them that is exactly what we are.

They brought this on.

They came to The North, they poked the beast. We fight now, or we die on our knees at their feet. I have spent enough years on my knees, so I don’t plan to find myself there ever again.

I am who my past made me.

A slave, a champion, a queen.

A queen never surrenders, a queen never second-guesses. A queen leads her people into battle with only one thought—to win. Live or die, my people will be free.

I have seen how they treat their citizens, how they look after them. That won’t be us, not now or ever. We survived this dead world on our own, and we will continue to thrive.

“Now!” I scream, my hair flying behind me as I turn to see Piper waiting at the edge of the line for my order.

She nods, and the first explosion rocks the earth.

The ground rolls beneath our feet as I turn, watching trucks explode in flames as they cross the line.

More explosions sound, again and again, as bits of people, trucks, and fire soar into the dusty air.

The line of warriors cheers behind me as smoke billows into the sky, blocking our vision. It grows silent, our breathing the only sound to be heard, until suddenly, from the smoke, comes more trucks.

Their guns are aimed at our front line.

They roar towards us, powering through the carcasses of the exploded vehicles. We took some down, but not enough. They are still approaching, and the death toll will be unimaginable.

Fear fills me.

Not for me, but for my men. For Piper and Nan. For my friends. But I have lost too many to give up now. Everything has led me to this point where I have to choose.

To run and let The North fall, or stand, even while facing death.

I know my choice—to fight, always.

“For The North!” I scream, as I rev my bike.

The sentiment is echoed as our death call fills the air, our war drums beating in our hearts as we face the oncoming trucks. My focus narrows to this—the fight before me. I have experienced a shitload in my life, nothing ever as important as this, but the rules remain the same.

Focus on yourself, look for weaknesses. Exploit them. Kill them.

I search the trucks for vulnerabilities as I shoot straight towards the line. Weakness. Come on, Worth, fucking think!

Then I see it. Their trucks are struggling to manoeuvre over the hard, uneven ground from the explosions, unlike our bikes.

Turning my head, I spot a particularly large verge on three sides up ahead, obviously opened and unveiled by the explosions.

It’s the perfect place. I wave my finger in a circle and spin, heading straight there.

I feel blasts rock beneath us as more trucks are destroyed. Their guns fire, and I hear them hit the people following me, their cries of pain filling the air as they fall, but I keep my focus on that wide battleground.

Because that is what it is.

The trucks turn with us, and as I ride into the battlefield, I spot a fucking rocket launcher being placed on a roof, aimed right at us. I don’t have any way to stop it.

We are sitting fucking ducks.

But then, just when I think all is lost, the truck explodes, as does five others. I stop my bike on the edge of the clearing and look to see Piper cheering. I throw her a wink and climb from my bike, pull my sword, and wait.

The trucks blow up, flipping into the air and creating a barrier of sorts around the battleground, which means the others can’t get through.

The engines are loud as we finally see them step from behind the metal.

Their guns and weapons are drawn as they weave through the ruined vehicles and create a line before them .

My own reforms behind me, and I raise my chin and wait. With a cry, they rush us, but it is neither coordinated nor clear who is leading. They are fighting and ready to die, but with no leader. I search the area behind them for one and find her.

Regina.

She’s standing next to a fucking tank way up above us on a sand dune overlooking the battlefield, watching the show. Regina is not even wading in to give her troops orders.

She would watch them die without remorse.

That’s the difference between her and me. I would never ask them to die for me without being willing to die for them. It will be her downfall.

I don’t have time to stare at her because her troops are here. The guns fire, taking down rows and rows of my men, while I rush into the barrage of bullets. I have to get too close for them to hit me, knowing they have to reload sometime, so I can take advantage and kill them.

My men follow me with a cry as we charge their masses.

The world doesn’t slow down, no, it speeds up as our two factions clash in a snarl of grinding metal, blood, and death.

I lose my people, keeping my eyes on the enemy while protecting my back. I feel my men close, but they are fighting too. It’s hard to tell who is friend or foe as I raise my sword and take down two Cities boys.

Cries and screams of agony fill the air. Blood splatters the sand, and bodies dot the landscape as they start to fall. Guns still fire from both sides, but I can’t see who is winning, so I stop trying.

And instead, I do what I do best.

Fight.

My sword clashes with a soldier’s gun, his snarling face turning red as he tries to best me. With a snarl of my own, I jerk my head forward and headbutt him. He howls as he falls back, giving me the opening I need. Ripping the gun away, I toss it aside as I run him through with my sword.

I yank it free before he collapses and spin to find the next dead man walking. I am fast, I am brutal. I am a fucking champion. I slice and cut, stab and spin, fighting with everything I have. I slip through arms and grabbing hands. I use their own guns against them.

Two men circle me, and I turn my head to keep them in view, noticing Maxen a few feet away fighting five men.

He roars in anger, his expression feral and wild, his brown hair loose around his face, and his chest bare and covered in blood.

He swings an axe around, slicing at people and knocking them back, throwing them like bowling pins.

I glance back at the two men surrounding me and swing my swords. I smirk at them. “Should have stayed home, boys,” I taunt as I sprint at one of them, taking him by surprise. He tries to get off a shot, his arm extended to aim, but I’m already there, arcing down with my sword.

His hand falls to the sand, still twitching and holding the gun as he screams and falls to his knees, eyes wide and fastened on the now bloody stump. I hear a whistle behind me and turn in time to clash my sword against a downward swinging machete.

The soldier grins at me through our locked weapons, so I blow him a kiss and kick out, hitting him right in the cock.

He staggers back with a groan, and before he can move, my sword is at his neck, slicing through the soft flesh.

With all my force, I swing back and hack off his head, watching it tumble to the ground and roll.

Flicking my braid over my shoulder, I turn back to the other man, who’s still staring at his lost hand in pale-faced shock.

Grabbing his gun, I press it to his head and pull the trigger.

The kick stings my wrist, so I toss it away.

I fucking hate guns.

I don’t have time to rest though, because four more men take their place.

Cracking my neck from side to side, I grin at them, knowing what I must look like.

I can feel the blood dripping down my face and chest. My scars, tattoos, and brands are on full display. My hair is in braids, my face snarling.

I am a fucking Berserker.

I can almost smell their fear and see the sweat on their foreheads as the sun glares down on our battle. They aren’t used to the sands and heat out here, but we are. We know how to live and die in it, they don’t. Their boots are too heavy and clean, causing them to stumble in the sand.

I lunge forward as one looks down at the body he tripped over and, with a quick swipe of my arm, I slice his belly and throat before spinning around his back to the man next to him, impaling him on my sword before I duck a shot and look at the other two.

“Should have brought more men,” I pant out with a laugh.

They share a look and charge me, so I meet them head-on, swinging my sword in a wide arc with a strength from years of battle—a strength they don’t have.

As the blade comes towards them, they duck, making a deadly mistake.

They take their eyes from the weapon to recoil and don’t see the other one coming for them.

I slice their thighs with my other sword, and as they scream and look down, I spin behind one, grab his head, and yank it back, slitting his throat before tossing him forward.

The other man tries to run, so I grab a knife from my side and toss it.

It flies through the air before embedding in his back.

He stumbles forward before falling to the sand, his fingers clawing into the gritty, blood-stained granules as he tries to drag himself away from me.

Stepping up next to him, I place my boot on his back, stopping his progress before lifting my sword and stabbing downwards.

He screams and jerks before going quiet, and only then do I withdraw my sword with a distinctive squelch.

I ignore the blood coating the blade and turn to see how we are doing.

Men and women lie dead and dying. There are too many to count.

I spot Drax and Jax fighting side by side like madmen. Their blond hair glows in the light, and their eyes are hard as Drax fires at the incoming men with his bow. Jax throws himself at the others, swinging and hacking.

I search the surging crowd and find Thorn. He got a flamethrower from somewhere, and he is laughing as he uses it, the smell of burnt flesh reaching me even here.

“Soulmate!” Dray yells, and I look over my shoulder to see him ripping someone’s heart out before lifting it up to me. “For you!”

I laugh but turn away when I hear somebody running towards me. There is no time for breaks, even as sweat covers me from the hot sun and exertion of battle, even as my arms ache from swinging my sword. Bodies pile around me, their blood coating every inch of my skin, and it’s still not enough.

More and more soldiers pour onto the battle ground, pushing us back, and I see our people start to fall. Our is line breaking.

We are losing. Their guns are too big, their trucks are too hard to penetrate, and even our explosives haven’t stopped them, just simply slowed them down.

We are losing.

I watch Reeves take a bullet. I watch Nan scream in pain and anger, her shotgun firing repeatedly into the soldiers surrounding her. I see Priest walking through his fallen angels, ready to deliver vengeance.

My Berserkers fight to their dying breaths. My men are scattered to the sands, battling with everything they have to win this war.

For me.

But it’s still not enough.

We are going to lose.