Free Eye of the Storm by Emmie Mears Page B

evacuations weren't as successful as we'd like, but most people are utilizing whatever secure areas they can find. Tornado cellars, old bomb shelters, prisons, anything that can be locked down or made defensible. It's natural that the highest death tolls yet would be in the initial panic." Alamea manages to keep her tone even, but the muscle in her right thigh is twitching, making the keyboard wobble.
    Highest death tolls yet. Yet being the operative word.  
    "We're doing okay, all things considered," she says softly.  
    At that moment, her computer squawks like someone's hit the same key on twelve different pianos just slightly out of time. Alamea jumps, her elbow hitting the empty juice glass. She catches it as it tips off the edge of the table and drops her feet to the floor, sliding the keyboard onto the desk.
    Mira and I both freeze, looking at each other. I know what Mira's thinking. Should have fucking knocked on some wood. Lots of wood. Like a redwood forest of wood.
    Even that wouldn't be enough.
    Alamea hits a few keystrokes, and her monitor blinks into the face of a Mediator who's talking frantically to someone off screen. Other icons pop up across the bottom of the screen, and I think I see the Seattle leader's face in the bottom right corner. Tamar, who I consider an friend. Or at least an ally.  
    These are the Summit leaders. Not just from America, either.  
    The Mediator whose face is dominating the screen is a brown-skinned man with shaggy black hair that falls to his collarbone. There's a Tennessee state flag behind him, almost all the way off screen. He turns away from whoever he's talking to and faces the camera, his skin ashen.  
    "This is Eldron Lamott of Chattanooga," he introduces himself, mechanical. "This will be my final report."
    I hadn't realized that there was a buzz of talking in the background, but Eldron Lamott's words cut off every background sound.
    "I'm not sure how much time I have. At approximately 1700 hours, our Mediators reported hells-holes opening in seventeen locations around the city simultaneously. Since then, we have lost communication with all field leaders and subordinates outside of the Summit proper. This transmission is only possible due to Summit backup generators. At this point, the Summit itself has not been breached, but as most Mediators were defending locations outside the building itself, it is unknown how many casualties exist right now or the strength of our defenses when such a breach occurs." His violet eyes are glassy and full of tears, but none fall. "I suspect, though I cannot confirm, that the tactics employed by the enemies here were experimental considering the relative size of our city and the resources we possess. I am told that power to the city was lost fourteen minutes after the hells-holes were opened, which suggests that the hellkin targeted our power plants."
    No one says anything, not even Alamea. Her face is slack; for once she's not hiding her emotion. Two wet lines shine against the dark brown of her skin. She has to know him. She has to know him well. Our territories overlap. He's her peer, in age as well as position.  
    We might be about to watch him die.
    Before I can process it, Eldron is going on.
    "It is not my intent to broadcast the final moments of this battle to you. I will be joining the other remaining Mediators shortly. The purpose of this message is simply to inform you all that Chattanooga has fallen. May the strength and the grace of all the gods be with you." His tears do fall now, and he looks directly into the camera for a moment before his eyes fall. "May your swords be sharp and swift. Long may you defend your lands."  
    "Eldron," Alamea says, and her voice breaks. Even in the thumbnails of the multitude of leaders' faces at the bottom of the screen, I can see pain writ across every one. And fear.  
    He doesn't acknowledge Alamea, but somehow I know when he looks into the camera once more, he's looking at her.
    "I had