The Slave Series

by Laura Frances

  An explosive crack fills the air, the echoes bouncing off the high factory walls. All our heads jerk toward the streets. Soldiers along the stretch of this building slowly step out from the glass, guns raised and eyes sharp. When a second blast hits our ears, my eyes go wide, and I grab Cash’s arm.

  “The barricade!” he shouts, maneuvering the rifle from his back to his hands. “A dozen men stay at this entrance. The rest of you—let’s go!”

  He turns, walking backwards, and looks at me while the men around us take off running toward the barricade. I have these seconds to make my choice: will I stay back in relative safety? Or will I follow into danger, prepared to do whatever it takes to survive? I know he won’t decide for me. Like re-entering the valley, this is my choice.

  I reach behind my back for my gun.

  “Safety off from this point on,” he says. When his gaze slides off mine, I catch on a small flicker of sadness, like I’m making a choice I won’t be able to take back, and there’s nothing he can do. But I’ve already seen and done enough to know I can’t stay in the factory and rock on the floor while others throw their lives away for my sake. I watch his retreating back for another few seconds before my feet move to join him. My finger slides the tiny lever to the red dot, and just like that, I am more dangerous than I’ve ever been in my life.

  I think about the position of my shooting finger the whole time I’m running. We sprint breathless toward the barricade. I hold the gun low, careful that I’m not too close to the trigger. My whole body is heavy with fear, but I’m learning there’s a power in saying yes. It keeps the panic at bay knowing I chose this. Until now, every dangerous moment of my life was forced on me.

  The shouting hits our ears before we see anything. We’re running a dank alley, thick with snow sludge and filth. I have to focus on every step to keep from slipping.

  “This way’s faster,” a man calls back, before turning a corner to the left. We follow another block, then he turns right. The alley opens to a large empty square. Speakers are mounted high on the walls, and the old Councilman’s voice echoes in my memory.

  Is he tired? I’d asked my mother. I was young, and my mother had taken me with her to collect our rations. My tiny hands were full of cans that balanced on my chest to keep them from toppling. As we were walking home, the speakers crackled to life, summoning all the Workers for an announcement. I have no memory of what was said, but I remember the voice.

  My mother looked down at me and shook her head, moving her lips in a silent instruction to be quiet.

  He sounds sleepy, I’d said, unaware of the danger in talking. Around me, Workers shifted away, putting room between themselves and the disruptive child. Mother met my eyes and held them with a gaze too stern for her face.

  No talking, she whispered. Her gaze darted around the square, then back to me. People were glaring, some widening their eyes in a desperate plea to shut me up. I sensed the seriousness of the moment and stopped. It was then that I learned to associate fear with the man in the speaker.

  I peer over my shoulder one last time before following the others into another alley. The scent of burning wood fills the air around us. Cash is beside me now, and I can feel his eyes shifting to watch me. I tighten my jaw and fix my gaze ahead. I don’t want him to worry that my memories will break me.

  The walls open, and my boots skid to a stop. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Fire burns hot over mounds of mangled furniture and equipment. The long stretch of barricade that once blocked this road is now scattered, and soldiers lie bleeding on the ground. A few are motionless, and I’m hit with the familiar sickness that comes with standing so near to a gruesome death. Heat creeps up my neck, burning my face. Anger boils hot under my skin. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Titus promised a war, and I’m sure this is only a taste.

  Some of the soldiers, including Cash, run down the street, searching for the enemy. I shove my gun under my waistband and run to the closest moaning body, dropping to my knees before what I think is a young man. I can’t tell, because so much of him is burned.

  “Help me,” he cries. “Please—” His words are cut short when his face contorts in pain. His mouth gapes, his body trembling. Then the cries turn to sobs. I’m afraid to touch him. I think the pain will be worse if I do. Instead I try what Cash did for me in the desperate moments after Edan died.

  “Take a deep breath,” I say. “With me.” I make a show of breathing slow, filling my lungs and exaggerating the rise and fall of my chest. I’ve always thought that breathing steady through pain had a soothing effect. In most cases when I was growing up, it was the only relief available. The young man tries to copy me, his eyes wide, his gaze glued to mine. The breaths only lead to coughing. Blood leaves his mouth, and my heart drops.

  Others are arriving: Takeshi, Meli, Ian, and a group of about fifteen rebels made up of former Watchers and Workers. They’re a strange contrast to one another—the scrawny slaves and the muscled soldiers. But they are all warriors; all their eyes are fierce. They scatter, tending to the wounded and checking side alleys for danger. I turn back to the man.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. I will ask every dying soldier their name, if I can. Someone should remember them, so I’ll do my best to store away the images of their faces.

  He turns his head and spits blood on the asphalt.

  “Tom,” he says, closing his eyes against a wave of pain. “Like my dad.”

  “Short for Thomas?” Lifting my lips in a smile is difficult, I try to.

  His eyes are still closed. He’s shivering, shaking violently.

  “Just Tom,” he murmurs. I wish he would open his eyes. I never saw their color.

  “Tom,” I say. “Stay with me. Listen, we can get you back to the factory—”

  He mumbles something I don’t understand; his lips barely move around the words. Desperation fills me, pouring heavy through my limbs. Why are they always dying when I reach them?

  “Tom!” I say, louder. “Wake up! Tom, you need to open your eyes. Stay awake.”

  Stay awake, Edan. Just stay awake.

  “We’ll get you back to Solomon, Tom. He’ll know what to do.”

  Somebody do something!

  You need to say goodbye.

  Tom stops shaking, and I see the moment his life leaves him. I stand up fast, backing away, my eyes wide—gaze stuck on his dead body.

  Dead…like Ben’s father the night we ran.

  Dead…like Alex under the thick snow shower.

  And Edan…always Edan, his death hitting my chest like a fist.

  They’re always dying.

  “But Aspen lived,” I whisper. I say it again. Then three more times while I stare at Tom. I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Aspen lying safe in the sleeping room, surrounded by soft mattresses and walls. I cling to that image.

  The grief is too strong, and standing still makes it worse. I run toward the blown-up stretch of barricade, not slowing to look at the wounded bodies being tended around me. I try not to look at the blood and mangled limbs. My jaw aches. I bite my lip and set both hands on a large metal box that landed upright close to the wreckage. Some of its edges are destroyed, but the bulk of it is still intact. I inhale hard, and with the exhale I push. The metal scrapes the asphalt, moving slowly toward the opening. My boots slip on the wet ground. Turning, I press my back to the metal and push again. This time the box shifts farther. When I’ve reached the gaping hole, I push the top of the box until it rocks, teetering on its edge. The harder I shove, the farther it rocks, until finally it crashes on its side in the center of the opening.

  Smoke billows around us in thick plumes. But everything is soaked from the previous snowfall, so the fire is quickly dying away. I grab the leg of a heavy, upside-down metal desk and try to drag it.

  “Let me,” Cash says, jogging over. I can’t say thank you, because I can’t speak. I leave the desk for him to haul and run to a mangled chair. It’s easy to lift, so I throw it
on the top of the pile.

  Everyone not tending to the wounded begins gathering pieces of the barricade that survived. We spend the next hour filling it in the best we can, shifting items from farther down the line to make it strong again. I can feel Cash watching me. I try not to meet his eyes too often. Every time I do, all the emotions I’m battling intensify. His concern pulls everything to the surface. But I can’t function here if I’m drowning in grief.

  By the time we’ve finished, the wounded and dead soldiers have been taken away. Their blood stains the snow, and I glance at the sky, waiting anxious for the next snowfall to start.

  Eight soldiers stay back to guard this stretch of the barricade, including Drew. I give him a hug before leaving; too many times I’ve missed my chance to say goodbye.

  “Be safe,” I say to him. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Drew is always upbeat to some degree; he always sees the good in every moment. But when I pull back from the hug and meet his eyes, some of the light has slipped away. I’m filled with a need to reassemble it before the valley takes him completely.

  “Think of Alice,” I say as I back away. “And those soufflés, whatever they are.” I flash him a grin and breathe easier when he returns it. Meli runs over, followed closely by Takeshi.

  “I have to report back to Solomon,” Takeshi says to Drew. “But I’ll join you guys this evening. It’s gonna be a long night.”

  “We’ve been through worse,” Meli says, punching Drew in the arm.

  I want to say something, ask why they all have to stay. My mind is filled with images of Tom, burned and bleeding on the ground. But this is why they came. I can’t expect any less.

  “I want to come back with you,” I say to Takeshi. “This evening.”

  Takeshi glances at Cash, but it isn’t his choice.

  “It’ll be rough,” is all Cash says. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  He wants me to reconsider.

  “I’ve been through worse,” I say, meeting Meli’s eyes. She nods.

  “That’s right you have.”

  “Let’s talk to Solomon,” Takeshi says.

  Cash drops his arm across my shoulders as we head back toward the factory, his hand around my upper arm, offering support. Our group is staggered, no longer running together in one clump. We fall several yards behind the others, walking slow and keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings. I cross my arms and let him pull me against his side. I’m warmer when he does.

  “There are probably more explosives planted in the barricade,” Cash says. He’s talking low, eyeing the nearby windows and doorways, and it strikes me that whoever did this must be among us. The barricade is guarded by rebel soldiers at all times. Anyone sneaking from the other side would be caught long before they arrived. One of our own is responsible.

  “Is there any way to search for more?”

  Cash shakes his head. “Not easily. And not without drawing attention. As soon as we’re seen digging, whoever holds the trigger could set them off.”

  “So we wait,” I say, stopping and glaring at him. “We just wait…and they kill more of us when they’re ready.”

  Cash looks at me long and hard, hands gripping the rifle strap across his chest. Snowflakes fill the air around us, and I turn, arching my head up and watching the twinkling white flakes dance in the air. It’s not often I feel grateful for snow.

  “They’ll cover the blood,” I say quietly. “Make it look clean again.”

  We’re silent for several seconds, stuck in the simplicity of the moment. The snow falls harder, adding layers of white over the dirtied sludge. I watch the sky, but Cash’s eyes never leave me.

  “You could die,” he says.

  “That’s always been a risk. All my life.”

  I meet his gaze. His eyebrows pull in.

  “I’m not afraid,” I tell him. It’s a lie; so much of me is fear. But the reasons have shifted. I’m more afraid that we’ll lose this than I am of the violence and danger. I’m afraid of doing nothing, of sitting alone while the people I care about risk their lives.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid,” Cash says gently. “I’m afraid of many things.”

  I look away.

  “Like what?” I say. He steps closer.

  “That my father will win,” he says. The heaviness in his voice draws my eyes to him again. “That I won’t be able to convince the Watchers to join us.”

  “You’ve already convinced so many.”

  “Not enough,” he says. “Not even close.”

  My gaze falls away again, slipping to the deepening snow.

  “I’m afraid I’ll lose you,” he says, softer. “And I won’t be able to get to you. Not a second time.”

  I know he fears that. That is the one fear I sense every time we’re faced with a new danger. I can hear his voice echoing in my memory, whispering, begging me to come back after Ian rescued me. It’s still strange to believe. There was never a time in my life growing up when I imagined someone like him worrying over someone like me. But the lines between us have blurred.

  I nod without looking up. I sense him studying my reaction to his words; heat rises over my face.

  “But I know you have to do this,” he continues. “I’m not trying to stop you. Just as you can’t stop me from protecting you at every opportunity.”

  Slowly my gaze crawls upward to his.

  “I won’t ever stop,” he says. “Not now. Not when this war is done.”

  Color warms his cheeks, and for a second his gaze slips. He fights to hold it steady.

  “I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper.

  13

  The metal box I lean on is unsteady. Each small movement causes it to shift, so I try to keep still. Beside me, Cash leans his forearms to the underside of a small table, the legs of it no longer attached. He peers through the scope of his rifle, the red laser slicing the freezing night air—joining a dozen other glowing red lines. The sight of them makes me feel somehow safer, though we are completely vulnerable, braced on a charred, reassembled pile that was blown to the sky just hours ago.

  The wind bites at my face, making my eyes water and blur. My hair is bundled on my head beneath a thick, knit cap, leaving my neck exposed. Sounds echo in the far distance—helicopter blades beating at the air and engines roaring to life. This may be the night they come for us.

  I glance down the line every couple of minutes, keeping my eyes on the others, reminding myself that they are still alive. No one dies tonight.

  Please. No one die tonight.

  There is no talking for the first hour. Time passes slow, every second more drawn out than the last. My eyes are glued to the darkness, and every few minutes something moves in the shadows. My eyes stick to each suspicious spot until eventually I realize it was a cloud moving over the moon or a rebel soldier shifting at his post. It’s only then that I breathe out the spent air burning in my lungs.

  A few feet to my right, Drew moves, adjusting his stance.

  “What’s your problem?” Meli says, her voice a harsh whisper.

  “Can’t feel my legs,” Drew answers. “Or my toes for that matter.”

  Meli groans in annoyance, and I smile. Their banter distracts me from all the dangers I can’t see coming. A cold gust blows through, and I duck my chin into the collar of the coat I’m wearing. The wind carries a scent of something burning. Cash turns his face to it, eyes searching.

  “It’s close,” I whisper. The scent is strong, so it must be near enough that the wind hasn’t had time to thin it. Cash climbs down, and I follow, taking his hand when he offers it. On solid ground, I walk a few yards and turn, trying to determine what direction the smell is coming from. The air has changed to something eerie. I think of the colorful birds that fill the mountain sky, and I wish they were here to break up the stillness.

  My feet move toward the smell, and Cash follows. At first, we’re walking slow, turning our heads to peer down every alley and open
street. But after a couple minutes I realize we’re moving closer to the coat factory, and fear slides down my spine. I take off running, oblivious now to the freezing wind. My boots slip on piles of snow, and I stumble a few steps before my balance returns. Images of Aspen and Ben filter through my mind, their screaming faces surrounded by heat and flames.

  We sprint for several minutes, my breaths turning to wheezing gulps when we finally slow. We reach the coat factory, and I can hear the shouts. But the structure looming in front of us isn’t burning—at least not in any place that we can see.

  “This way!” Cash calls to me. I drag in a full, labored breath and take off after him, my chest burning. We run to the far left side of the factory, turning into a narrow alley running along its side. Clanging echoes off the walls as soldiers scramble down the fire escape. For a moment I wonder if I’m wrong…maybe the coat factory is burning. But every person that steps down from the metal stairs sprints off in the same direction, shouting orders. They are heading toward the danger…not away from it.

  We follow in their steps, passing some of the slower runners. My body acts on impulse, thrusting me forward, faster than I should be going. Soon the air is warmer. The smoke is thick, and I breathe into my arm to keep running. We come to the end of the alley, and it opens to a blazing inferno across the wide-open street. People are running from the doors of a large building, thick smoke following them out. They cough and gag on it. It hits me what this place is, and I feel the panic everywhere.

  “Sam!” I scream. My body lurches forward, but Cash catches me around the waist.

  “You can’t go in there!” he shouts by my ear. “It’s too far gone!”

  “Sam is in there!” I twist around. “He might not make it alone.”

  His head shakes, but his gaze moves over the scene like he’s calculating. I break free from his hands and run through the growing crowd, my lungs choked for air. Cash calls after me, but I don’t stop.

  “Sam!” I yell his name, cupping my hands around my mouth to make it louder. Workers all around me grab at my clothes, wailing for help, for someone to rescue the one they love.