by J B Cantwell
Nobody spoke. Nobody objected. And nobody agreed. All was silent.
And so it would be, I thought. Nobody would come. After a few long moments I turned to Melanie, and I could see by the look on her face that I didn’t even need to ask.
“Let’s go,” I said.
She tucked the knife back into her pants pocket, bloodying the fabric.
I turned and walked away, and when I looked back, everyone was still standing there, unsure.
“We’ll have to travel at night,” I said as we walked.
“Wait!” a voice called.
We both turned to find the woman with the injury in her side rushing toward us. She had been the one I hadn’t wanted to come. But here she was now, willing to follow me where nobody else was.
“Wait,” she panted again, limping slightly. As she reached us, she practically fell into my arms. Tears and blood mingled, sliding down her face.
I put my hands on her shoulders and held her at arms length to get a look at her, and I realized just how young she was. Sixteen, maybe seventeen tops. She could’ve been my sister.
“Take me with you,” she begged. “I don’t want to die … here.” She looked around at the desolate road, at the abandoned houses, her face a mask of fear.
I thought about it for a minute. She would slow us down, just as I’d thought before. But then, maybe we’d be able to help her. What did I know? Melanie, the quiet, shy girl from the kitchens, was standing beside me, her incredible strength a surprise.
Maybe this girl had some surprises, too.
“Okay,” I said. I looked her in the eye. “You can come. What’s your name?”
A fresh wave of tears spilled onto her cheeks, leaving skin-colored lines on her face as they washed the blood and dirt away.
“Mila.”
“Good. I’m Riley. This is Melanie.”
Melanie nodded at her in greeting.
More people came forward now. Andrew and Jenny and Lisa. Bill and Carson and Aaron.
Suddenly, a sound came down from the sky, the unmistakable whirring of a helicopter.
We were being hunted.
“Run!” I shouted.
I turned back toward the protection beneath the freeway and bolted. The crowd that had started to gather around Mila ran behind me until we were all under the bridge. We climbed up the sides of the overpass until we were well hidden underneath the heavy concrete overhang.
The sound of the helicopter faded away as it sped toward the burning plants in search of those who had escaped.
Maybe even in search of me.
Once it was out of earshot, I stood up again.
“We have to get out of here,” I said. “We can take refuge in one of the houses until we’re ready to move.”
This time, nobody hesitated. I turned and jogged away toward one of the neighborhood streets, ducking behind fences, trying to be invisible.
It didn’t take us long to find somewhere to hole up in. There were houses, many of them identical, lining the streets that bordered the freeway. We crouched down as we dashed around the neighborhood, and soon we found one with an open front door. I imagined that these places had been looted long ago, and now they sat forgotten, their insides stripped.
We hid under the cover of trees in front of one house, waiting for the sound of additional helicopters flying by to abate. Then, when they were out of earshot, we ran for it.
I pushed the door open, and everyone followed inside.
“Hurry!” I called. Already I could hear jets at a distance.
They weren’t going to bomb the plant, were they?
Finally, we all made it under cover of the aging roof above, just in time for us to hear the sound of the first bombs hitting the neighborhood across the freeway from us.
I was breathing hard. We weren’t safe here, but it was our only choice; if we ran in broad daylight, we wouldn’t live to see another day. I approached the front window and drew the curtains. In the distance, black smoke billowed into the sky.
I wanted to curl up and hide, not so unlike Eric in his holding cell.
But I wasn’t like Eric.
I turned to the group.
“Everyone fan out in the house. See if you can find some food or water. Check for clothes in the closets, too. And backpacks. We’re going to be traveling a long way on foot. We need to be prepared.”
They listened to me, which I found oddly surprising. But I had led a team before. I guess I had more of a commanding presence than I thought I did.
Jets continued to come through, bombing the streets, trying to flush us out. I tried not to imagine death by fire. If they were to hit this house, it would be simple bad luck. Or maybe good luck if we were to die instantly.
But we weren’t going to die. Not today. I would make sure of it.
Helicopters came and went, but never stopped. Whoever was flying wasn’t looking too closely down at the neighborhoods. Houses all around us were on fire, and that was the job of the jets, not the helicopters. They had other targets, other orders.
Eventually, everyone gathered back in the living room, many of them sitting right on the dusty carpet, holding their hands to the wounds on their heads. Little was scavenged from the house, but there would be other opportunities, other houses.
People slept, stared off into space, some prayed.
I took a seat on the kitchen floor, resting my back up against one of the cabinets. The kitchen was completely bare, its contents removed long, maybe decades, ago. No water flowed through the tap.
Melanie came into the kitchen and took a seat beside me. We both stared back into the living room, watching the people who were now, somehow, my responsibility. They were hurt, traumatized. We all were.
“What do we do now?” Melanie asked.
I sat quiet for several long moments, trying to figure out what to say. What would we do?
“Wait for nightfall. Then find water. We’re lucky that the fires haven’t spread. Hopefully, the bombing won’t start up again tomorrow. We travel at night.”
“But … where?”
Again, I paused. What was the right answer? I had months before I was supposed to meet up with Alex. I needed to find someplace to hide. And not just for myself. There were twenty people in the living room who were wondering what would become of themselves, too.
Finally, an idea came to me. There was one place I knew where no one lived, somewhere that we might be able to hide in plain sight.
Brooklyn.
Half the streets flooded every time there was a storm, and nobody lived in those buildings that were closest to the water.
It could be our version of the Stilts.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said, standing up and heading for the living room. Melanie followed.
The quiet conversation in the room died down as I entered.
“Okay,” I said. “I know where we’re going next. But you’ll have to trust me.”
I relayed my plan to the group. Several heads shook. Many sets of eyes met my own.
“What do we do if we get caught?” one man asked.
“If we get caught, we’re dead,” I said. And it was true. “But you can get caught fleeing or get caught fighting. The choice is up to you. Tomorrow we can figure out a plan for anyone who wants to head north to Canada. Until then, I think we should stick together to look for supplies.”
Outside the sun was setting, and an unusual orange glow was shining into the house. It was from all the smoke, I realized. This was no natural sky.
Heads nodded now. Even Mila’s. I looked at her, and I could tell she was in pain. But her bleeding seemed to have stopped. She looked resolved, ready to go.
“It’s time for us to pack up and head out,” I went on. “Does everybody agree with tonight’s plan?”
A quiet murmur ran through the crowd.
“Good,” I said. “I’m leaving in five minutes. Let’s all get ready. Take off your suits if you haven’t already.”
Many of
the workers had fled straight from their shifts, and things had been so chaotic, at least half were still dressed for work. One man even still had a mask slung around his neck.
I looked around, though I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. The only thing I’d escaped with was the shirt on my back and my too-big boots. I bent down and tied them as tightly as I could, then headed to the front door, peeking through the tiny hole.
The fires had died down somewhat. We’d been lucky that they had moved slowly from house to house. Many of the jets’ targeted neighborhoods were waterlogged from years of exposure to the elements. The sound of the jets had quieted, too. Maybe they thought they’d taken us out. Or that we’d be dead on our own soon enough.
That could be true, I realized. But there was nothing to be done about it now. We were as invisible as it was possible to be.
I turned to the group as they readied themselves to leave, to follow me, and my heart lifted, not with joy, but with hope. I thought of the Stilts, of all the lives lost. And the plans that had been destroyed along with them.
But this was a new day. There would be new plans.
As I stepped out into the gathering darkness, I realized the truth. The Volunteers had been all but exterminated, but the government had underestimated them. Underestimated me.
I wanted to say something inspiring, something that would stick with them over the coming days. But I had no battle cry, no prepared speech.
“We can do this,” I said simply, and turned to go.
I started down the front walk, and I knew that they were all following me, just behind. That they would follow me, maybe all the way to the end.
We were a new faction, a battle ready group of hungry citizens. And us, all of us together, we were, would become, the new Volunteers.
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Book 3 in the Lens series, The Terrorist, will be released this November, 2019. Join the J. B. Cantwell newsletter at www.jbcantwell.com to keep updated about all future releases and to receive you FREE Starter Library of Lens and Aster Wood The Lost Tales short stories!
Also by J. B. Cantwell
Young Adult
The Designate: Lens Book 1
The Volunteer: Lens Book 2
The Terrorist: Lens Book 3 (Coming soon)
Middle Grade
Aster Wood and the Lost Maps of Almara (Book 1)
Aster Wood and the Book of Leveling (Book 2)
Aster Wood and the Blackburn Son (Book 3)
Aster Wood and the Child of Elyso (Book 4)
Aster Wood and the Wizard King (Book 5)
Aster Wood: The Lost Tales
Early Readers
Sixth Grade Supernatural: Abigail’s Curse
Sixth Grade Supernatural: Zombied
Get in touch at www.jbcantwell.com.
About the Author
J. B. Cantwell calls the San Francisco Bay Area home. In her writing she explores coming of age in an imperfect world, the effects of greed and violence on all, and the miraculous power that hope can have over the human spirit.
