Lark met Skye’s gaze. “I’m alright,” Skye said. “Just a little sting. Let’s go protect the old man.”
Remembering how important Lord Calder was to the kingdom and how grateful he had been to have his son returned, Lark nodded. “We know how to stop them now.”
Wes snatched up a laser rifle. “And we have some of their own firepower. I’ll bet these babies will burn a hole through ‘em.”
“I know a shortcut to the hall,” Luke said. “This way.”
Bullets popped through the smoke, and the ground rumbled from a mortar explosion. Flames leaped high as the unrelenting robot army forced enemies intoan uneasy truce. Lark and the team trotted up a secluded back staircase that seemed to spiral a kilometer into the clouds, bound to save the lord of Stonevale.
Chapter thirty-seven
Siege and Sacrifice
Marchland, same day
Dark clouds stained the sky over Marchland, promising rain yet failing to deliver. Lady Cassandra Cade hurried from building to building, her guard detail vigilant at her side. She’d left Suzanne and Steward Hollis in charge of the evacuees on the sandbar to meet with General Longstreet in the citadel. Cassandra was grateful beyond words for the AlgonCree Navy, whose guns kept the Iron Army at bay as they stood watch over the residents. But far too many people hadn’t made it to safety, and she led efforts to find those hiding in their homes or trapped in the rubble.
Longstreet told her the Iron Army had encircled the city, cutting off all land routes in and out. It was the siege they had expected and prepared for. But Cassandra hadn’t anticipated Garcia’s brutal assault on civilian targets. She’d stood atop the battlements and surveyed the outskirts of Marchland. From the walls, the enemy looked almost peaceful—orderly tents, pickets pacing their rounds, artillery parked like grazing beasts.
Yet every three hours without fail, fire and lead battered the fortress and neighborhoods alike. The defenders no longer flinched at the artillery. They simply paused, counted the seconds, and went back to work. When the smoke cleared and the last explosion rocked the ground, she had three hours withfirst responders and whatever troops could be spared to search for civilians in distress.
The streets carried an uneasy quiet, broken now and then by the rumble of wagons hauling rubble away from fresh impacts. As the dust settled, faces appeared from behind walls and doorways.
“Wait for us, Lady Cade,” called First Sergeant Sutter, whose squad had been assigned to aid her. Sturdy and experienced, she welcomed his casual demeanor and strong back, which was more than she could say for his crew of young recruits. Still, muscle.
“Spread out by twos,” she directed. “Search every building—houses, apartments, and offices. We’ll take one street at a time in an orderly search pattern, so no nook or cranny gets overlooked. Only half of our residents have made it to the sandbar. We must get the able-bodied to safety and the injured to a hospital.”
“Yes, ma’am. You heard her,” Sutter called to his band of greenhorns. “Half of you with Corporal Johnson across the street. The other half with me. Blow your whistle if you require assistance.”
“Don’t try to move victims,” Cassandra shouted. “Blow your whistle for the medics.”
The soldiers moved in pairs, breaching damaged structures while hammers rang from repair crews nearby. Messengers whizzed past on bicycles while squads of soldiers hurried to relieve those on the redoubt. The snap of silk in the wind caught Cassandra’s attention. Glancing up, she spied the gold and green national flag in tatters, whipping in the breeze.
I will not lose heart or hope, she told herself.
Every breath tasted of mortar powder and old smoke as they proceeded down Clay Street. A whistle blew. The fire chief waved a team with a stretcher into a store, its windows shattered into jagged shards of glass, and its porch cover fallen in. They returned carrying a wounded, pregnant woman on a gurney while a limping man followed, supported by a soldier.
He searched their faces in desperation. “You must save her. She’s my life!”
“The doctors will do what they can,” Cassandra assured the man. “Is anyone else in there?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t think so. Please, hurry. We need to get Kari to the hospital.”
They continued door to door, finding forty people who had hunkered down to shelter in place, giving first aid to seventeen, and transporting another twelve to the nearest hospital. There were three medical centers in Marchland: Riverview Hospital, Memorial Hospital, and the Marchland Army Base. Memorial was the closest.
Fifty-five dead. Their bodies were respectfully placed in horse-drawn wagons and wheeled away to a temporary morgue.
“Where are all the people?” Cassandra asked aloud. “I’m thousands short.” She glanced up at the old courthouse clock tower, whose hands had remained steady since long before the War of Ruin. The domed roof with its eagle statue reminded her that some things lasted. “We should have at least another hour before everyone needs to take cover for the shelling.”
“Have you tried looking to the south?” Sutter asked. “I know people who live in those hills and hollows. The enemy fire has focused mainly on the center of town, so there could be a passel of folks down that way.”
“Good thinking, Sergeant. The hospital is right over there. I want to see that this latest group gets in and check on the pregnant woman,” Cassandra said. “Then will you accompany me to those neighborhoods?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a confident nod.
Cassandra and her guards entered Memorial Hospital’s ground floor. The smell hit her first—antiseptic and blood. Cots and gurneys lined the halls. Every room was at capacity. The ER was in triage mode, taking the most critical cases first, leaving those with simple fractures and mild concussions to wait. Exhausted nurses rushed from post to patient. Doctors with drooping shoulders and bloodshot eyes called for IVs and blood transfusion packs. Shouts echoed over the quiet sobs and anguished moans. At least a thousand of the people Cassandra sought must be in this building.
The lights flickered, the generator whined, and the building brightened again. The staff took it in stride. “Morphine,” called a woman in scrubs, a white mask muffling her order.