"You're late again, Raider Wren. This is the second time in the last month. What is going on with you?" Commander Baxter scoffed as she arrived.
Wren was mortified. So much for making her father proud. "Sorry, sir."
"This will not be tolerated."
"I understand, sir."
"No excuses, Raider. Fall into line. We've been waiting."
"It's a bad night all around," Mason whispered, trying to make light of the situation. One glance from the commander silenced them both.
"Let's get back. There's a lot of activity in the skies tonight," the commander said to the raiders who stood around waiting for orders. The group, clad in dark colors and cloaked by night, hiked toward the hills. Only whistled breath and footfall broke through the silence.
Wren's hair rose on her neck an instant before electricity filled the air. The quiet whir of activity filled the space above her.
"Phantoms." The word screamed in her earpiece.
Made of glossy black wings and lightweight metal skeletons, Phantoms were the worst technology New State had to offer. With the sound of a car crash, they landed. No need to be subtle. Peering over her shoulder, a disfigured face and hulking body crashed to the ground. The twisted metal entwined with human skin and bone shouldn't be able to lift off the ground or land, but it did, in all its horror.
Her hands found the knives in her belt.
These monstrosities had once been human, but she couldn't gather any pity for them. New State collected the homeless, mentally ill, and misguided people and offered them a sense of purpose by joining the Phantom Program. Those on the fringe of society were collected by the New State without regard for their lives and turned into something else. After that, they did not retain a shred of their former humanity. Something sinister was born. Phantoms were evil incarnate.
A thud trampled darkness. Metallic claws sliced at Wren as she twisted away. She slashed back with her knives but missed, and the Phantom took off into the sky.
The process of turning into a bionic warrior, manipulating CHIPs, could easily put these already-damaged souls over the edge. Something horrible happened because all Phantoms wanted was to kill. Her dad said New State never made good on their promise to the participants. The people never received the money, and their families never compensated; instead, outliers became robotic killing machines.
The fusion of human and robot, metal and skin, bore down on her again. It flew close, open mouth in a silent scream. Saliva dripped from its jaw where long, serrated, overlapping shark teeth chomped.
Phantoms were death personified, and this one made Wren its target.
Shouted orders merged with the screams of raiders as they scattered. Being close together created too much risk because the cyborgs work symbiotically. Like a single organism with many parts that relied on each other and worked together. Phantoms could organize themselves for mass attacks using advanced technology that let them coordinate and communicate.
"Hand to hand," the commander yelled into her earpiece. "Using guns will only bring more of them. Remember your training and stay smart." As a sacrifice, he shot his gun into the night, hoping to lead the cyborgs after him.
The other raiders scattered as they ran toward the safety of the cliffs.
Two Phantoms followed the gunshot, metallic wings lifting it into the inky blackness. Instinct told her to flee.
The clank of armor plating, and the thud of feet, told Wren death had arrived behind her. With her back to it, the cyborg would easily destroy her.
She turned. Drops of lights illuminated each side of its armored skin. It had been a man, but now the cyborg lived as a tangle of wires piercing into its arms, legs, and chest. A cacophony of machinery. A Frankenstein's monster with wings. The inhumanity of New State brought Wren the courage she needed.
It moved in for the kill, wings creating a whirlwind around her in the sand. Huge and hulking, her knives appeared pitiful in comparison, but she trained in their use, and guns were useless noisemakers. The metallic armor stopped bullets, but with a knife, Wren had a chance of deactivating the machine.
Long talons of steel slashed through the air in front of her. The Phantom screamed at Wren, a wretched, agonizing sound.
She watched its eyes, hoping they would telegraph its movements, but she was troubled by face of the creature, a scar of wires, hardware, and metal. While it still reflected a mask of humanity with nose and lips intact, its eyes were gone, replaced with sensors that saw and transmitted data back to the New State, where it was reviewed and archived.
The Phantom clicked, shuttered, and whirled, gathering information.
"Showing off?" She taunted, distracting both herself and it.
The cyborg crouched in front of her, metallic wings spread wide.
It hissed and then pounced, talons scissoring through the air. Wren fell to the ground and rolled away. Instinct and training coming into play. Claws tore through her jacket, leaving a searing pain. Strips of red appeared, accentuating her torn shirt. Heaving herself up, she crisscrossed the sand, keeping the beast in her sight. The rush of wings mocked her.
The rocky cliff where she could hide stood like a monument before her. Wren sprinted forward and jumped toward the incline, but talons hauled her backward through the air and slammed her into the ground before the Phantom took off into the sky, circling before the kill.
Pebbles dug into her face. Disoriented, she gulped air, focused, stood, and ran. Reaching the rocky outcrop, she plastered herself against the stone monolith.
Blood trickled from deep scrapes on her cheek.
She clawed her way into a crevice. Better than being exposed, she thought. At least nothing can grab me from behind.
Phantoms had too much of an advantage when fighting from above. She'd force it to land if it wanted her. She'd held tight to her knives, even when thrown to the ground.
Using a thermal scan for body heat, the monster homed in on her location. Inhumanity lived in its impossible musculature. Wires like veins snaked along its skin. She had no idea what they were for, but she had learned they were the most successful way to deactivate Phantoms.
Go for the wires. Any wires.
When it wedged itself into the crevice, she attacked like a rabid animal, staying low and hitting the monster's legs, bowling it over. Predator and prey landed in a heap, but the cyborg, in a flip that no human could ever achieve, regained its footing before her. It screamed through vampiric teeth. Smiling, it launched itself.
She possessed important qualities the Phantom lacked: intelligence and independent thought. Equipped with implants and anger, Phantoms killed, but their programming and collective knowledge input by the New State fed them. Wren could overcome this Phantom and take it down. She'd done it before.
She aimed the knife and charged, but the creature, at the last moment, feigned left. Her blade nicked its shoulder. The cyborg retaliated by pushing her off balance with a flip of its enormous wings. She fell hard on the packed earth. The jolt to her tailbone hurt, but stars exploded in her vision when her head hit the ground.
She flipped over, pressing her stomach to the dirt and waited for her chance. The creature sped toward her, talons exposed, mouth gruesome and gaping.
Wren stayed motionless until the last second. When she sprang, she plunged the knife into the creature's leg. The weapon embedded itself, and she dragged it upward with all her strength.
Talons skimmed her back. Cold pain followed. The Phantom howled at the same time Wren cried out. It moved past her dragging its leg along the ground, severed wires trailing behind. It limped, leg no longer fully functional.
Score one for the Grounders. Her joy was short-lived when the Phantom dropped to one knee, its face turned away from her. While Wren couldn't envision what was happening, but the creature's internal programs attempted to mend the damage. She'd lose her advantage in a minute.
Ignoring the pain in her back, she attacked. Knife high, she rushed the cyborg, driving the blade into the tangled interplay of wires and veins between its wings, the Phantom's central nervous system, the core of machinery that kept it alive.
The Phantom tried to flip around and skewer Wren, but she jumped back only to plunge forward and stab the knife into the tangle of flesh and machinery at the Phantom's neck. It shuddered a cry.
The Phantom let out a strangled gasp and fell over, face forward into the sandy earth. Wren ripped the remaining wires out of the cyborg's spine with her hands. Blood and blue fluid mixed in a putrid recipe.
She wiped her hands on her jacket, made sure her amulet was around her neck, retrieved her knife from where she dropped it, and started the long journey home. Her back and ribs flamed. Her head pounded. Based on the pain in each step, she hoped she could make it.
***
No one died that night, but one of the raiders, taken to the infirmary with a nasty gash to his arm, required surgery. Wren received a number of stitches on her back, but she was released, injuries more painful than deadly.
Because of the sudden nature of the attack, the leaders were moving up the timeline to raid the archives. Hell's Phantoms had been able to pinpoint the raiders' location close to home. New State could soon find the cave systems and destroy what the Grounders had worked so hard to build.
The doctor required two days of bed rest for Wren for both her back and concussion. She hated the idea, but everyone around her forced her to take advantage of the much-needed relaxation.
A knock on her bedroom door had her sitting up in bed.
"Come in," she said.
Mason entered, and Wren set aside a book about the rise of technology.
"How are you, my little Ray-Ray?"
Wren smiled. "Fine, but do you have to call me that?"
Mason tweaked her nose. "I'm glad you're okay, and, yes, I need to call you exactly that my little Ray-Ray. My heart and soul demand it of me. How's the back feeling?" He poked her in the ribs.
"Ouch. I've got bandages there too." Her words were gravel. "My back got ripped to shreds. It's all peachy."
"You should be more careful." His eyes were serious.
"How would you suggest I do that?"
"You could try to be less clumsy and avoid the sharp claws of Phantoms." Worry dragged on the corner of his lips.
"Not going to happen," Wren said. "I can't help how nimble I am."
"How about running away from them? You're a raider, not a fighter."
"Not an option. We're trained to take down the Phantom when we need to."
"You could try and fight fewer Phantoms," Mason suggested.
"I might be able to do that as soon as I leave the raiders."
"That won't happen until you take over for your dad. If you live that long."
"True," Wren said with all seriousness. "Why are you here, Mason?"
"Can't a friend worry about a friend?"
"Let's try this again. Why are you here, Mason?" Her eyes lit with curiosity.
Mason sighed. "Did you get any top-secret info from your dad? Why did the Phantoms attack so close to home? Have they found the caves?"
"Dad doesn't believe so, but they're getting closer."
"Why the rush with the raid on the New State archives? What exactly do the leaders want? Come on, you must tell your best friend all the insider intel."
"No idea why they moved up the timeline. My father is being tight-lipped about the whole plan until the raider's meeting. He won't tell me anything." Her head dropped.
"Honest?"
"Honest."
"You're no fun, Ray-Ray." He tickled her arm with his finger.
"I can't even get out of this bed without wanting to puke."
"No dancing tonight at the social club?" Mason stuck his tongue out at her.
"Don't make me laugh, it hurts. Rain check, okay?"
Mason lay next to Wren, and she reclined, trying her best to avoid putting pressure on her wounds. They stared at the ceiling.
"Are you going to be up for the archive raid?" Mason asked.
"The doctor said I'm fine. The stitches will dissolve on their own. My headache will go away. It's more irritating than anything."
"I can't lose you, Wren. You're one of the only people who really understands me."
She leaned over and gave Mason an awkward embrace. "I feel the same way. We'd better protect each other."
"I almost forgot." Mason rummaged in his pocket.
"What is it?"
"Some kid ran up to me on the way here and asked me to give this to you. I would have peeked, but it's sealed with wax. Who does that?"
He handed her the note, his muscled arm inked with black tattoos and old scars.
Wren's hands shook as she took the paper from him. "What's wrong?"
She was silent as she opened it and stared at the contents. Slowly, she turned the paper so Mason could read the words.
You 'll be dead soon. No escape for you.