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  Battlecry

  The Battlecry Series - Book One

  Emerald Dodge

  Battlecry by Emerald Dodge

  www.emeralddodge.com

  © 2018 Emerald Dodge

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For permissions, contact:

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover by Mario Lampic.

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  Also by Emerald Dodge

  The Battlecry Series

  Ignite (Prequel Novelette)

  Battlecry

  Sentinel - Available Summer 2018

  Mercury - Available Fall 2018

  Enclave Boxed Sets

  Of Beasts and Beauties

  This book is dedicated with great love to my husband Alexander Dodge—the boy in the cafe. You told your parents after our first date that I was an author. I used to think that you were just overexcited, but now I know that you believed in me long before I did.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Three Months Later

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  The eighteenth bomb exploded.

  Flattened against a wall beside a stinking dumpster, I crouched and maneuvered my finger beneath the fabric of my mask to remove a piece of shrapnel caught there. I was so grateful the media couldn’t photograph superheroes.

  A nineteenth bomb exploded down the street.

  I straightened and peered around the corner. The bombs didn't frighten me. I’d faced worse in my six months as a superhero on my city’s team. Adrenaline surged through me during battles leaving no room for fear. My teammates were out there. A volley of explosions had forced us to scatter fifteen minutes before. They now hid somewhere among the twisted wreckage, abandoned ambulances and police vehicles, smoking shells of cars, and shards of glass. Before I made any decisions, I had to know their whereabouts and condition.

  I sprinted across the broken road. The blood rushed in my ears so loudly I could barely hear the maniac’s yells from where he stood on top of the overturned armored car. Civilians huddled sporadically around the scene, clinging to each other. Others were pinned beneath rubble, trapped there when the man’s fireballs exploded and threw out shrapnel.

  My quick glances towards the armored car revealed that I stood the closest to the masked bomber, since I couldn’t see anyone else. It was up to me to do something, even though I was just as vulnerable to fireballs as the rest of my teammates. I didn’t mind the death-inviting responsibility. My teammates were, with one exception, far more likable than me. My death wouldn’t make that much of an impact.

  I’d already counted four burned bodies. If the gathering clouds overhead emptied themselves on us, we’d have storm damage to deal with on top of bombs and mangled people pinned under rock and twisted steel.

  Skidding to a halt behind a cement planter in front of the ravaged bank, I crouched as low as I could and surveyed the scene. Craters and broken cars covered the wide downtown avenue. Large enough to accommodate traffic for Saint Catherine’s population of a quarter million, it was now a daunting battlefield.

  Skyscrapers loomed large above me, though they provided little shade against the late-morning sun that blazed down despite the increasingly ominous threat of a storm. The summer heat, Georgia’s defining seasonal attribute, pressed me from all sides. Not for the first time, I wished my fighting clothes were any other color besides black. I wiped sweat off my face with a gloved hand and peered around the planter.

  I’d been smart to change locations, because I could now see three of my teammates, busy climbing over wreckage. My fourth teammate, our leader Patrick, was nowhere in sight, but I knew that he’d never be far from the Destructor. At least, I thought that was the name the bomber had shouted at us over the screaming of civilians when Patrick had ordered him to identify himself.

  I’d had to suppress the urge to laugh; since when did supervillains have codenames like us? And if they were going to pick codenames, why pick one so dumb?

  The Destructor lobbed another explosive at an unseen person in the distance. Not risking a melee, I picked up a tennis ball-sized rock and waited for the right moment. A rock thrown at just the right spot would knock him down long enough for me to take him out. Between my enhanced strength, speed, and agility, I wouldn’t miss my target.

  He whipped around and looked directly at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you?” he shouted as another blazing orb appeared in his hand.

  I ran, my speed allowing me to barely escape the blast. Shards of glass and stone soared past my head, and a searing burn on the back of my neck followed by a wet trickle alerted me to a fresh wound. I’d have to deal with it later.

  I dove behind a car with bloody handprints on the door. I peered through the window— he was looking my way. There was no hiding now.

  Beneath his red-and-black mask, his eyes gleamed with the anticipation of my death. For a fraction of a second I felt both insulted that he was trying to kill me and invigorated that something was finally happening, though both were stupid reactions at a time like this, or any other time.

  “Come out and fight,” he said with a snarl, another glowing ball already in his hand. “A dead little girl would brighten my day.”

  I pursed my lips, since I knew better than to correct him. If he thought a twenty-year-old was a “little girl,” then he’d already underestimated me. I needed him just cocky enough that he’d make a fatal error.

  The Destructor jumped off the armored car and sauntered towards me, bandying his fireball about as if it were a beach ball. I slowly unsheathed the knife on my belt. Just a few yards closer, and I could throw it into his shoulder with such accuracy that I could sever the nerves without dam
aging an artery. He’d have quite a time hurling fireballs if he couldn’t move his shoulder.

  He stopped and tossed a fireball from halfway across the street. Once more, I ran for cover.

  I was fifteen yards from the car when it exploded.

  The blast threw me into a crumbling brick wall that promptly collapsed, unable to withstand both the shockwave and my weight. I tumbled a few times and the knife sliced my leg. I lay face down on the ground for a moment. A ringing sounded in my ears. Adding insult to injury, it started to rain.

  “Battlecry, you okay?”

  I heard the words from somewhere but the flashing lights in my vision distracted me from figuring out who said them. Weirdly, my dislike of my codename was the first thing I thought of while my vision cleared. I much preferred to be called Jillian.

  The ground trembled, followed by walls of dirt and stone springing up between the Destructor and me. Earth-moving--Reid's power. It had to have been him who'd spoken. With shaking arms, I pushed myself off the ground. A sharp pain ran through my right shoulder, and I winced. Likely it was a sprain—it wasn't the first time I'd received such an injury. Fighting would to be that much more difficult for the next few weeks.

  “I’m okay.” I flashed the thumbs-up to where he stood on a levitating piece of pavement. He returned the gesture and, after straightening his blue mask and cracking his knuckles, flew away in the direction of a large car pile-up.

  Screams filled the air again. Around the earthen wall, the Destructor bore down on a group of three injured businessmen huddled against the side of an overturned hot-dog cart. Cursing, I unsheathed another of my knives and prepared to charge him.

  The Destructor threw his fireball. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc with a horrific hissing noise. The businessmen closed their eyes.

  The fireball hit an invisible wall and disintegrated into thousands of sparks.

  Patrick was here.

  He emerged from behind a pile of rubble, his inhuman fury visible even from a distance. I swallowed the lump in my throat and returned behind the dirt wall, listening to Patrick and the Destructor trade curses. Every time the Destructor attacked, Patrick shot back an enraged response and I held my breath, my whole body tensed and ready to run far, far away. But I didn’t run—I stood in my little enclave, clawing at my brain for a plan.

  Footsteps a few feet beyond my hiding place made me look up.

  Marco rushed in. “Hiding, B? I’ll join you,” he said, panting. “That guy nearly turned me into pudding and now Patrick is working on him.”

  An ugly gash marred his face, and blood dripped onto his ripped tunic. One of his sleeves had been completely torn off. He looked every inch the hardened fighter the public expected us to be, instead of what he really was: a seventeen-year-old who’d lied about his age to the police when he’d registered with the city.

  “I’m not hiding,” I snapped. “I’m planning. And don’t call him his real name right now.”

  Patrick caught the Destructor’s volleys and crushed them in psychic force fields—apparently the rain made the bombs more manageable. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he directed all his physical strength into his telekinesis. The only one of us who went unmasked, he looked even angrier than before. Rumbling thunder overhead completed the picture.

  “Planning,” I repeated, more to myself than Marco. You’re a superhero, Jillian. Do something.

  “Plan something fast. Atropos is furious that this is taking so long.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at Marco’s tone when he said our leader’s goddess-themed codename. “What makes you say that?”

  Already Marco’s presence had lifted my mood, but his words worried me.

  Instead of speaking, he merely tapped his temple.

  Ah, Ember. The team telepath had told him.

  “Great.” There was more acid in my voice than I intended. “Can you blind him?”

  Marco harnessed solar power and could redirect the heat and light. One good blast of concentrated sunlight would end the fight…although he rarely unleashed his power like that in public because of the risk of blinding a civilian or one of us.

  Marco shook his head. “No, too many people are around, and even if there weren’t, it’s too dark from the cloud cover. I’ve used so much of my reserves already cutting through rock and steel that I’m practically going cold.”

  I held the back of my hand to his forehead—he did feel cooler than usual. My heart sank. This fight was probably going to drag on for hours.

  “We need to get in the air.” I glanced up to see if I could spot my skinny twenty-two-year-old teammate on his flying pavement.

  Marco lowered his voice. “Em told me Atropos said he needed to get people out of the rubble.”

  I frowned. “Where is Ember, anyway?”

  I’m helping out with the rescue effort. Ember’s mental voice filled the back of my mind in the strange whisper-echo tone of telepathy. And now that I have your attention, Patrick’s got some orders for you.

  Of course he does. The rain started falling harder, which didn’t help my mood. Have you been eavesdropping on me? I hate that.

  Not now, Jill. Please. And I was in Marco’s mind and heard your question.

  Fine. What does Patrick want me to do? I crossed my arms, hoping the attitude came across.

  He says go to the top of the Bell Building and signal when you’re up there. I’ll give you the rest of the orders when you’re on the roof.

  No! No more open-ended orders. Remember last time? I got shot because he didn’t tell me a gang meeting would be going on.

  Stop being an idiot! This kind of crap from you is why he’s the way he is. And besides, the bullet only grazed you.

  I told her where she could put his orders.

  Jill, listen to me. I get that you don’t like not knowing what you’re running into, but please think of the rest of us. You’re not the only one on this team.

  My resolve crumbled and was replaced by guilt. Ember didn’t deserve my anger. Okay, fine. My shoulders sagged, causing a searing pain that took my breath away.

  Thank you. A long pause followed—she’d slipped out of my mind for a few seconds. The Destructor’s not thinking about you at all. If you act fast, you can probably get to the entrance of the Bell Building without attracting his notice.

  I explained to Marco what I was about to do, then took a deep breath. With only a glance to double-check that my way remained clear and unseen, I started the hundred-yard dash, darting behind cars, massive upturned pieces of steaming pavement, and other large items that littered the street. The weather worked in my favor; the rain acted as a curtain of sorts and the howling wind, thunder, and cracks of lightning disguised my footfalls.

  I jumped through the shattered glass doors of the Bell Building into the cool dimness of the marble lobby. Though glass and bits of marble littered the floor, it remained relatively untouched. Even the hidden speakers still worked, playing a tuneless melody that offices seem to prefer.

  A snuffling noise came from behind the reception desk, and behind it was a woman curled up next to her desk chair, weeping softly.

  “Where’s the stairwell?” I demanded, trying to project authority with sopped clothes and hair plastered to my face.

  She pointed a shaking finger to a door at the end of the foyer. I thanked her and ran to it, gearing up for a sprint up twenty-five flights of stairs.

  I arrived on the roof, panting and wincing from the burning pain in my shoulder. I stumbled to the edge and located Patrick below, a dark little figure surrounded by tiny floating items. He had moved to the top of the armored car. The Destructor was desperately trying to land a hit on him, but Patrick’s telekinesis wasn’t allowing it. Dozens of fireballs sailed through the air and dissolved into steaming, fizzling sparks when they hit Patrick’s shield.

  “Hey, Atropos! Atropos! I’m up here!”

  He didn’t turn around. The storm drowned out my shouts.

  I fli
cked open a pouch on my belt with an aggravated sigh, pulling out a small flare and igniting it. After waving it for a few seconds, Patrick noticed me. He shouted something to Reid. For a moment I couldn’t tell what Reid was doing, but then—

  “Oh, hell,” I breathed.

  The ground rumbled and shook. A small patch of earth sprang up under the Destructor, six feet wide but soaring hundreds of feet into the air—far too quickly for the Destructor to jump to the ground. My team hurried from their locations to the base of the tower to watch.

  Ember’s presence tickled the back of my mind once again. I picked up from him that he’s afraid of heights when he was standing on the armored car, so we’re lifting him up to throw him out of his comfort zone. Patrick wants you to give him a beat down.

  The mental image of me kicking the Destructor in the stomach over and over again while he begged for mercy flitted across my mind. That wasn’t my fantasy but Patrick’s, relayed by Ember.

  Of course. How many times had Patrick used me as the team’s muscle? Sure, Reid could control lava, Marco could harness the sun, and Patrick himself could move things with his mind. Heck, even Ember was one of the few superhumans lucky enough to have two powers, telepathy and control over animals. Our leader had made it clear to me that I was useful for my fists and nothing more. I ignored the leaden weight in my chest and geared up for the fight, my feet automatically sliding into a defensive stance.