by E. L. Giles
I hope he’s right.
As time passes, we see no sign of any unificators down the road—no talking, no footsteps, no noise coming from the communication devices. My eyes start to feel heavy from the silence and the waiting, and there’s still a long way to go before sunset. Maybe by that time, the unificators will have turned around and gone back to where they came from, or they will have found the “he” they’re looking for—unless it’s Josh they’re searching for.
A buzzing noise fills my ears and wakes me from my thoughts. It’s getting annoying as it grows in intensity to the point it’s all I can hear. It’s strange because I think I know that noise. It reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“You hear that?” I ask Josh. Maybe I’m going crazy.
“Yeah,” he says, listening. “What is it?”
I shrug, but as I raise my head to the sky, I remember what it is.
“A drone!” I shout. “It’s a drone.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Josh takes the rifle from the wall and sets the heel across his shoulder and draws the gun toward the white flying saucer-shaped drone that circles us at thirty feet. It takes a considerable amount of time for Josh to adjust his sight on it, as it keeps turning around, but he finally fires.
He winces as he fires the first salvo of bullets that get lost in the foliage over us. I suppose he’s never seen or used a rifle before. Not that I’ve used one myself, but it’s not the first time I’ve heard its deafening noise or seen it in action. I notice I’ve raised my right hand to my left arm and have started to rub the white scar with the tip of my finger.
A second salvo kicks me out of my dreary memories where I had found myself trapped before—at the convoy, the barrel of the rifle facing me and threatening to send the bullet straight through my head. When I raise my head now, one of the two rotating blades of the drone is smoking, and I stare at the drone as it crashes into a nearby tree, bumping against several branches before it crumbles to pieces on a strip of pavement.
I contemplate the column of black smoke that rises from the wreckage of the drone, and all I can see is the burning carcass of the convoy that flashes before my eyes, the cries of the guards that came afterwards resonating in my head. It’s this exact flashback, that one memory, that makes me realize what we have done.
“Josh,” I say, horrified, “We must go. NOW.”
I can’t stop the panic in my voice. Josh seems completely at a loss, with his mouth ajar and eyes narrowed. His gaze jumps between the tip of the rifle, the smoking drone, and me.
“What’s the matter?” he finally asks, frowning. “I shot it down.”
I point a shaky finger toward the remains of the smoking drone. “They know what we look like, and now, they know where we are.”
It takes nothing more than my words to push him into a run to get out of the house. In the blink of an eye, he has my rifle strapped across his shoulder over his own, and his arm is wrapped around my waist, pulling me toward the stairs. We go down two at a time, without any care for our safety. The frame sways under our rapid descent and creaks under our weight. Other than the handrails that finally fall, it all holds together.
We jump off the last two steps, and as we approach the same opening we entered earlier—where the wall collapsed and the hill of rubble stands—a striking ache in my left ankle sends me straight to the floor, leaving me covered with dust and mud.
“Are you all right?” shouts Josh.
“It’s this stupid ankle,” I say under my breath. “I think I twisted it again.”
Josh crouches in front of me and delicately lifts my leg up, his hand tenderly holding my leg just under my calf, and then rests it on his lap. His hands rub my ankle warm as he feels for any injury, rotating it to be sure it’s not broken. For once, even the warmth of his palms doesn’t suffice to ease this pain that runs through my leg and squeezes my heart. The throbbing becomes maddening. I grit my teeth to suppress a scream.
Josh brings a finger to my eyes and wipes away the tears that soak them. His finger then slides along my cheek to end its course beneath my chin, which he takes between his finger and his thumb, pulling me closer to him. He kisses my forehead—I remember that was the first kiss he ever gave me—and then slips one arm around my back and his other one under my knees. In one fast movement he lifts me off the floor and carries me outside, then across the hill of rubble.
I wonder if it’s not becoming a habit for me to be carried this way.
The mist has grown and thickened since earlier and now covers the landscape in such a way that we can’t see farther than a few yards. Seen through this gaseous blanket, everything around us appears drearier, outlines of tree branches taking the appearance of skeletons that sway through the wind. The metal street signs creak like they’re about to crumble, and the stench of rot amplifies as the earth becomes more saturated. How far does this place extend? It seems never ending.
Josh has to take a break after he has carried me for what seems an eternity. I have lost any notion of time, so it may have been a few minutes or maybe hours. I don’t know. We stop by the top of a hill, and as Josh lays me down on the wet grass, dropping the rifles beside me, he stares fretfully around, as if searching to orientate himself. It’s not a good omen if even Josh has lost our way in the wild.
“There,” he suddenly exclaims, gesturing to my right. “If we go down the hill and follow this way, we’ll get to the house before nightfall.” His voice cracks, and he pauses as he tries to catch his breath.
“Josh, you won’t be able to carry me forever.” He crouches beside me and looks straight into my eyes. My voice is faint now. “You’re out of strength.”
“I can haul you across the whole forest if I have to,” he says with an edge, like it’s a challenge I’ve proposed to him, but he knows I’m right. His muscles are tight, the veins popping out, his face turning deep-red, and he’s hasn’t totally recovered his lost breath.
“Listen,” I start as I take his hand in mine. “Listen carefully. We can’t make it that way. I’m a burden to you right now.” I pause before I break off. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. “Go home, take Dolores and Alastair to safety. I’ll stay back and put them on my trail. That should give you enough time.”
“No way,” he argues. I should have expected him to say so. “I’ll kill them all if I need to, but I’ll never leave you behind.”
“You will, Josh. It’s the only way you survive.”
“I won’t. We stay together, end of story.”
Voices come to us from far away. It’s insidious here though; they could be a few yards behind, but the sound reverberates as if they are coming from the other end of the forest. I don’t even have time to protest before Josh lifts me off the ground, cradles me in his arms, leans over, and picks the rifles up from the ground and drops them onto my stomach. Their heels rest on my chin, and we’re back to this mad run.
Josh doesn’t head toward our house but in the opposite direction. He must be trying to take them as far from Dolores and Alastair as possible. A buzzing noise slowly intensifies, and I notice as I tilt my head back that another drone is following us. But this time, we can’t stop and take it down before we go again. We must stop it from seeing us.
Josh turns sharply, and we enter into a thickly wooded area where firs, maples, and other trees I don’t know the names of are tightly aligned. There’s not much space left in which to move, but at least the drone shouldn’t be able to see us through the thick foliage—I hope.
Our advance is becoming arduous as Josh spends his time crossing over dead, fallen trees, short brush, and other obstacles. I feel trapped in such a closed and exiguous place, and I think I’m starting to panic. I try to concentrate and sync my breathing with Josh’s, but his is too fast and I need to take one breath for every two of his to stay calm.
I notice the mist has all but disappeared except for a thin blanket, and while we can see farther ahead, we are also n
ow an easy target to the unificators on our trail, whose voices still reach our ears. I scan around the landscape, but I see no possible hideout, and I don’t see a way to make them stop pursuing us. How will we make it?
A strange feeling of déjà-vu strikes me unexpectedly. It all starts with a wheezing in my chest, and as we keep moving, images come to my mind. It’s like I’ve already been here, which is totally absurd. How could I have? But the moment we step across a mound of broken branches, and land on the grassy plateau, it all comes back to me.
The cliff!
Its edge is a few yards from us. Treetops can be seen in the distance, looking like deadly spikes. A roof of black clouds is slowly covering the sky over us. The outline of the mountains breaks the skyline, as the forest stretches on and on. The voices keep getting closer to us, and the buzzing of the drone returns over us, its green light flashing at regular intervals.
“We can’t go back!” I exclaim, panicked.
Josh runs to the edge of the cliff, unfolds his wings high over our heads as he tightens his grip on me, and readies himself to jump into the void.
“Surrender, it’s over!” yells a man behind us. The unease in his voice is clearly noticeable. “Turn around, and raise your hands.”
We slowly do as he asks, except for raising our hands, which is impossible at the moment. As we turn, all we see are the soldiers gathering on the plateau, rifles drawn and positioned to attack. Once their eyes fall on us, the stiffness and roughness they all share fades. Some recoil and others shout at their fellow soldiers, appearing unsure. I’m not sure what I see in them now. Is it fear, horror, disdain, or a deeply anchored hatred toward us? Maybe a mix of everything.
“Drop your weapons,” says a pale-skinned, hairless man. I notice he only has one good eye. The other one is opaque, and a long pink scar, which runs from his forehead to his chin, intersects it. Part of his lips seem to have been affected by whatever caused the injury. It looks horrifying as if it’s meant to inspire fear. Such a wound would have been easily manageable and easy to suture, and he could cover his eye too.
“I said drop your weapons,” he repeats, but this time he aims his rifle straight at me, his finger brushing the trigger.
I drop the weapons right at our feet. We’re at the mercy of twelve unificators, all aiming rifles at us while we are now unarmed. Josh sets me on my feet, helping me stay up with an arm wrapped across my back. He pulls me close to him and slightly back as if he wants to shield me.
“Now let us go!” cries Josh. His voice is firm and authoritative. Some of the unificators jerk at the sound of Josh’s voice.
Not the leader though. He snorts disdainfully, then says, “That won’t happen.” He steps closer. “Not after you’ve taken out two of my men.”
“They wanted to kill us,” I say. That’s not exactly the truth, but it’s probably not that far from it either. I’m pulled backward. Now I stand half hidden behind Josh’s wing and half exposed.
“You’re not from here.” The leader taps his forearm with a finger, around the spot my PIN tattoo is etched. “What are you doing here?”
I remain silent as Josh moves in front of me. What is he doing for fuck’s sake? Sacrificing himself to save me? That won’t happen.
“I asked you what you’re doing here, bitch. And with this…thing.”
Josh loses it completely. The muscles of his arms tighten on my back and squeeze me tightly as he growls with rage. I don’t see his eyes, but I’m sure fire burns in them. For a moment I feel afraid of this part of him, this rage in him I have never seen before today. But I forget about it all when Josh turns around and wraps his arms around me. He then unfolds his wings and flaps them over our head. Strands of hair whip my face and stick to my sweaty, bloody cheeks. I grip his forearm, readying myself for this crazy getaway. Maybe it’s not rage I felt in his growl but a deep desperation to keep me safe.
I don’t see much through the wall of feathers, but I do see the flash and the earsplitting explosion from the barrel of a rifle that’s aimed at us. It is soon followed by a second gunshot. One moment our feet were leaving the ground, and a moment after, we are falling like rocks.
I wait for the pain to erupt from the spot where I’ve been shot, but I feel nothing. I find myself nailed to the ground, unable to move as this tunnel vision turns everything black. A strong pressure envelops my head, and I fear it will crack open. Darkness surrounds me before I have time to look at Josh one last time.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Footsteps reverberate in short echoes that build in my ears. I slowly come back to myself. A door slams loudly enough to wake the dead, and I jump off the bed, knocking my head on something hard and cold—like metal.
The first thing I’m aware of as I awaken is a striking headache that throbs in my forehead. The pressure is so intense, and I pinch the edge of my nose to release a bit of it.
“Where am I?” I mumble as I try to get to my feet. I soon remember I can’t stand on my left foot.
“Justice Center,” says a male voice. He sounds distant. I feel weak.
A question bounces around in my head as I feel for the wound. I mean, I’ve been shot. I should be dead, but all I feel is this little bump on my right shoulder.
“Why am I here? Why am I not dead?” I pull myself back onto the bed. “Where is Josh?”
“Get up,” grumbles the same male voice.
“I asked you a question.” I scowl. “Where is he?”
The guard moves to me, and I see him clearly now. He’s dark skinned, with a thick black beard bordering his square jawline. His nose, which is long and broken, ends with a pointed tip. He grips my collar and pulls me out of the bed. I notice my clothes. Prisoners wear these; loose off-white pants and shirt with a tag on the chest. I am number 8008. I don’t know what that means. Probably nothing.
I stand on one foot—my good one—as the bearded guard handcuffs me. When he’s done, he raises his head and snorts disdainfully.
“You mean the Flying-Rat?” He and the other guard in the doorframe burst out laughing, “Nightingale is taking care of him.”
“His name’s Jo—”
The bearded guard clamps a hand around my throat. “You keep your blabbering for Adamus,” he says and releases his grip. I try to gulp back, but it takes a few times before it stops burning down my throat.
I’m escorted toward the damp, cold corridor of the Justice Center. This is a part of the building I have never seen. The walls, ceiling, and floor are all beige and military green. This mix of colors and the under-illuminated space makes me feel stressed, and that’s saying nothing about our footsteps, which echo endlessly as we walk—well, they walk, and I limp. Drafts of cold air blow against the top of my head as we pass under the wide grids that scatter the ceiling all along the corridors.
All I see around me are closed doors made of the same dark and heavy metal plates, bolted at all sides. The locking system looks complicated enough on its own. I don’t see how one could manage to escape this prison. I wonder where Josh is—or if he lies behind one of these doors. Is President Nightingale really here, somewhere, with Josh? The thought that President Nightingale could be torturing him right now squeezes my stomach. I can’t let this happen. But what can I do?
I’m going to meet Adamus. I don’t know him, but he must be able to tell me where Josh is and what is happening to him. Why aren’t we already dead? Why were there unificators in the woods? Who were they after?
Why did we have to cross their path?
Distress fills my veins like blood and for a short moment, my head disconnects from reality. I collapse onto the floor, unable to move. It only takes a second for me to get my senses back, and in that time, the guard at my right—not the bearded one—helps me to my feet in a shockingly gentle manner. I didn’t even know they could be sympathetic.
“You all right?” he asks, worried. “Need a pause?”
I nod to his first question and shake my head to the second. I might
look puzzled, but I think he gets it. The bearded guard snorts reluctantly, but I ignore him. He’s an asshole and not worth my attention. I don’t know why the sympathetic guard acts the way he does toward me, but it helps me avoid this intense desire to kill them all.
“It’s there,” the sympathetic guard says gently, pointing at a different-looking door at the end of the corridor.
This door is locked with a code. The sympathetic guard presses his thumb on the illuminated pad.
The door unlocks with a loud, echoing click, and the bearded guard pushes the door open. We step inside a dimly lit room that would feel almost pleasant and relaxing…if it weren’t for the words: “Interrogation Room” over the door.
Both guards place themselves at my sides—the bearded guard to my left and the sympathetic one to my right. It’s the latter who supports most of my weight as I walk and try not to use my bad foot. As we arrive at the center of the room, the sympathetic guard makes me sit on a cold chair that is made of the same bright metal as a nearby table. The sympathetic guard then removes my handcuffs while the bearded guard steps away, his pistol steadied in his right hand.
I realize as the guards leave the room that this is the second time I’ve considered killing someone. I can actually see myself killing them wildly. I wish Josh had let me do it the first time. I should have followed my gut and done it anyway. I’m already wrecked about that; I should have spared Josh the burden.
