The Slave Series

by Laura Frances

  “You're afraid.”

  He laughs, an empty sound. “I fear nothing.”

  I shake my head. “You fear losing.”

  “I do not lose!” His body lunges forward, his voice echoing, bouncing through the empty rooms, filling the stairwells. Regardless of the powerful front he displays, the tone that returns to us is hollow and ineffective. Something has changed in the time between our encounters. I do not fear him anymore—not like I did.

  And he knows.

  “Get her in the vehicle.”

  I'm hauled to an exterior door and out into the street. A dozen guns greet me.

  Two large, armored vehicles sit parked just outside the exit. I glance around, searching for a landmark to get my bearings, but nothing is familiar.

  Getting inside the vehicle requires climbing, and I'm dizzy, so the Watcher has to push me up and onto the seat. I meet his eyes for the first time once I'm in, and I don't know how I ever trusted him. They are cold.

  “Nothing personal, sweetheart,” he says, climbing in beside me. I shift away.

  “You'll get nothing in return for this.”

  He slams the door, trapping me inside.

  “You'd be surprised what your presence is worth.”

  “Cash won't surrender the rebels for my sake.”

  “No? Well maybe that's not the goal.”

  We fall silent as the vehicle eases into motion. I close my eyes, battling back the churning in my stomach and the empty pit devouring me from the inside. Cash won't rescue me this time; that won't happen twice.

  18

  At first the tapping barely registers. Just another sound blending with the engine and my heartbeat and the tense conversation being passed around the vehicle—the words I'm trying to follow. My mind is foggy, thoughts slipping in and out of focus.

  But the tapping is relentless. I grab on to the sound, understand it, and my heart creeps into my throat.

  Guns.

  Sporadic popping echoes through the alleys, and even the thick glass windows can't keep out the noise. It's started. I should be with them.

  The vehicle swerves hard, and my temple hits the door. We stop, and the Watcher jumps out, running to my side and dragging me down to the street. The shots are louder now, close. Light snowflakes flurry in the air around us, trying to add beauty where there is none.

  I'm walked to the front, where Titus emerges from a separate vehicle. I stare, struck by the contrast of his pressed, red suit and shining epaulets against the crumbling, burning world he's helped to rule all these years. Perfect composure...and chaos in his wake.

  He grabs my arm, yanking me along as he marches down the alley full speed toward the battlefield. I fight him, pulling my arm and digging my heels into the ground, but I can't escape. When that doesn't work, I bet on another piece of information he let slip. I am his last chance, the weakness he wants to exploit.

  He won't kill me yet.

  I scream, throwing my voice as far as I can, calling out to Cash in case he's near. The force of volume makes pain swell in my head, a surge that doubles me over. Titus throws me to the ground and pulls a handgun from his side, the barrel now pressed to my skull.

  “Scream again,” he hisses. “The second he appears, I pull this trigger.”

  With the other hand he clips a small cylindrical device to the collar of his suit. When he speaks, the words boom through the speakers. His eyes fix on me through the holes in his mask.

  “Your attention, please. If you would all pause for a moment.”

  The shots slow.

  “That's it. Lower your weapons. This won't take long.”

  A few more pops, and the air goes still. A creeping feeling crawls up the back of my neck. A few words from this man, and the guns are quiet.

  “I have something I would like to return to my son,” he says. “Please...hold your fire. I'll bring it out.”

  The wind and the flurry of snow move around our motionless bodies. He stares down at me, crouched and hovering, and all the world waits. But it's just his voice they fear. It's the mask and the mystery of the Council. If I could rip it away, expose his humanity, would it change things?

  My hand shoots up, reaching, but he dodges.

  Titus grabs the front of my coat and lifts my torso a foot off the ground. His arm pulls back, and it's the last thing I see before his fist connects with my cheek. Lights flash in my vision and pain explodes through the bones of my face.

  My mouth gapes, eyes closed, trying to bear it. I'm trying to be brave, but what if this is the end of me?

  My next inhale is a gasp, long and labored. I'm dragged, feet scrambling to keep up, trying to stand.

  His hand grips the back of my coat near the neck. My arms reach behind, hanging on to his wrist, trying to struggle free. But he has me where he wants me, and I cannot undo it.

  This is something else. This is not a Council action. This is just Titus.

  He storms in long strides onto the open street, followed by a dozen guards. We are exposed to rebels and Watchers alike, but I only see the dead scattered along the ground. In the short waves of clear vision, I take in the high buildings, their lower levels crumbling and shattered in the fight. I look closer, and soldiers are there, hiding in the remains and rubble. They're crouched behind window frames and doors, taking aim at us. My body goes cold, anticipating death.

  I scan for familiar faces. The first is Takeshi. He stands slow, rising from his hiding place. His eyes lock on mine, full of fury. He moves a device clipped near his shoulder closer to his mouth and speaks into it, but he’s too far to hear.

  “Where is my son!” Titus shakes, rage overtaking his body. He turns fast, searching, and I'm whipped around, forced to turn with him. Why haven't they killed us yet? It's an easy shot.

  He's shouting at them, calling for Cash to show himself, and it hits me, a twisting deep in my chest: he is not here; he's somewhere else, searching for me.

  Titus presses the barrel of his gun to my head again, yanking my body in front of his.

  Too close. Suffocating.

  All the things I want to do and live and see pass through my mind, and they are all Cash. He is in every image that assaults me.

  I think of Ben; he will forget me, but maybe he will live. Maybe someone will love him, though strangers shouldn't love so deeply. How can a child own my heart this fast when I didn't bear him? I see his father dying, hear the impact of his body in my memory, and I want to be the one who tells Ben the stories. I want to be the one who helps him remember the people who gave him life.

  “Let her go! She's not who you want.”

  Takeshi steps farther into the open, his rifle raised. Titus fires. Takeshi stumbles to the right, escaping the path of the bullet. He scrambles behind a vehicle.

  “You dare speak to me!” Titus' voice barrels past my ear. His next words are louder, blasting through the speakers all over the valley.

  “You have five minutes! Then she dies.”

  The world stills, suspended, waiting. The snow thickens, reminding us that this is not the time or place for a war. But we’re in too deep, and this has to end. For the first time, no one makes a sound.

  The Watchers loyal to the Council act in obedience, but the rebels should take the shot. I glare at all the eyes that meet mine. They are not holding back because of me. But why fear a dead man? He cannot command retaliation when his breath is gone.

  Do it, I try to tell them.

  I’m not afraid is what I’m saying to Takeshi with my eyes.

  Exhaustion drags at my body.

  The third minute passes, and nothing. The soldiers guarding Titus shift and adjust, guns trained on the rebels.

  Titus leans near my ear.

  “Looks like you're not worth it, not in the end, when it counts.”

  “Just a filthy slave.”

  “Even your parents left you.”

  I clench my teeth and stare at Takeshi, anchoring where I know I am valued. I glare at my friend
, ignoring the whispers. Everyone can hear them through the speakers...even Cash, wherever he is. I am laid bare, the orphaned slave girl. But Takeshi shakes his head, a slow, deliberate movement.

  He’s coming.

  19

  Movement draws our eyes left, and my heart jumps.

  Cash, breathless and red-faced, runs into the clearing, followed by Ian. He sees me, and pain flashes in his eyes.

  I stare at the long steps he takes toward us, walking like this isn't a march to his death. Ian approaches behind with his aim moving over Titus' guards. Cash holds his gun low, at his side.

  For a moment, the fear and the pain fade, and it is just us. He looks at me as he walks...only me...and my mind fills with memories.

  The warming packet in the alley.

  His body protecting me from the glass.

  The stars, and his tears when Edan died.

  If I close my eyes, I hear his whispers, begging me to come back after my blood was drained.

  You make him feel safe, Norma said. Safe to be known.

  His eyes shift to the man who holds me captive.

  “Let her go.”

  Titus tightens his hold. “At last. Long run?”

  “Let her go.”

  “You know that's not how this works, son. I'm not here to negotiate for her life. She's already dead. You must know that.”

  In a quick movement, Cash raises his handgun to firing position. A dozen guns shift their aim his direction.

  “She dies,” he growls. “And so do you.”

  Titus laughs, a sickening sound. “You can't scare me with death. I know what's coming. Unlike you, I can accept the path before me.”

  “By murdering hundreds of innocent people. Thousands.”

  “I can't take credit for all of that—”

  “They did nothing to deserve it! All those lives—”

  “They were slaves! Resources. And as this valley is no longer in service, they are no longer of use to us.”

  Disgust creeps into Cash's expression. He clenches his jaw, veins bulging at his temple.

  “Son,” Titus starts, but Cash shakes his head.

  “I am not your son.”

  “That's something you cannot change, I'm afraid.”

  He inches closer, dragging me with him.

  “To get straight to the point, I've been made aware that you've been in contact with some of my men about a prisoner. Does the name Lockwood ring a bell? His brother is something of a traitor as I hear it.”

  Ian's posture slips, his gun lowering a fraction, like Edan, when he discovered the medicine was poison.

  “I brought you here so you could see for yourself what happens when I am betrayed. You need to see firsthand the consequences for persuading men down reckless paths.”

  From a nearby street, a soldier drags a man forward. He looks like Ian, but gentler. Softer. His face is bloodied and bruised.

  “Percy!”

  Ian sprints forward, and his name screams past my lips. But it's too late. The bullet hits his shoulder, and he falls.

  Shoulder. Not dead. I tug against Titus' grip, but he won't release me. Ian growls in pain, dragging himself off the asphalt, straining toward his brother. Percy cries out, fighting against the man who holds him, but he's too weak.

  “You will pay the price of betrayal!” Titus shouts. Ian scrambles to his weapon, but Titus fires again, hitting his leg and sending him stumbling to the ground.

  Panic surges through my body. This man is deranged, corrupted by power, and losing his mind in the loss of it.

  Cash inches closer, sweat beading despite the cold. “Stop this! He means nothing to you.”

  “Now that is true,” says Titus. “These men are worthless to me. All of them.” His voice lowers to a murmur. “How many times could they have killed me now? How many chances to avenge their loved ones. Yet here I am. I own them. And they will fall with me.”

  “You're wrong. They'll see the truth of who you are, and you'll lose everything.”

  “You sound like your mother.” He spits the words like daggers. His next words drip with hatred. “Will she never leave me alone?”

  Cash tenses. “Don’t talk about her.”

  “Still feeling guilty? She took such pains to keep you from me. Must hurt knowing what a disappointment you were before she died.”

  “Before you killed her.”

  “I didn't lay a hand on her.”

  “They were obeying your order.”

  “As they should! She was a liar and cheat!”

  His hand curls, fingers digging. I wince at the pain, and Cash takes another step.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Silence. A long pause, and all our hearts pounding.

  “The cost of your revolution.”

  The pistol adjusts against my head, and terror cuts through me.

  “Titus Gray!”

  Solomon runs into the clearing, gun raised. The weapon against my head switches targets.

  “You dare show your face!” Titus shouts.

  Solomon marches the last steps to reach us. “Let the girl go. No more of this.”

  “I will not yield to you!”

  “And I will not cower before a man who hides behind a mask. I said let her go. Your battle is not with her.”

  “Isn't it? I hear the stories being passed around. She is the girl who survived the cells, is she not?”

  “Surely that's a reflection on your guards...not you.”

  In the corner of my vision, Ian drags himself closer to Percy. Still breathing. Still moving. But soon his blood won't be enough.

  “Silence!” Titus trembles, shaking in the madness.

  “This isn't going how you planned, is it, old friend?”

  Titus uses the gun to gesture between them. “You and I, we were never friends. You're a thief.”

  “I've taken nothing from you. Except, perhaps, your power.”

  A crazed laugh. “Look around you. I am in control here, because these men know what happens when they cross me. They understand the consequences of treachery!”

  The words echo through the silence.

  Solomon raises his voice, calling for all the soldiers to hear. “They are free from your laws now. This valley is finished. Every soldier who swore an oath to you is now released from that debt. They owe you nothing.”

  “Then let them leave! They can blame you when they return home to desolation.”

  He turns his voice to the soldiers surrounding us. “You heard him! You're free! Let's see what that freedom gets you.”

  No one moves.

  “Cowards,” he whispers, barely a breath. It sinks into my skin like poison, and my body reacts. I twist, all my leftover power forcing my arms out of his grip. My fingers grab the mask, fingertips caught in the holes cut for his eyes. I yank until it breaks free.

  I stumble back, landing hard on the street, the mask still firm in my grip. Titus lunges for me, face contorted in malice. But shots are fired, and he falls. Guns continue to go off, a back and forth exchange. I toss aside the mask and cover my head, making myself small. I have no weapon.

  After only seconds, a call to cease fire is repeated on both sides, and gradually the guns quiet. Titus lies motionless, snow falling over his body, and no one moves to help him. Not one, though he's surrounded by guards. No one carries him away to save him.

  “You will not leave,” he whispers, sending his voice through the speakers one last time. When life leaves him, his eyes stay open, gazing wild into the sky.

  No one moves. Hundreds of eyes stare at this man, rebels and Watchers, muscled slaves and freed men. I pull myself up until I'm sitting on my knees, palms pressed to the rough gravel. Trying to breathe.

  Some of the Watchers who just minutes ago guarded Titus are now inching closer, peering at the face of the man they've feared and obeyed. Others move to protect his body, pointing their rifles at anyone trying to approach.

  The soldiers in the distance fall ba
ck, disappearing into the buildings. We are all rattled by Titus’s last words, and perhaps, for this moment, no one feels like killing. Cash falls to his knees beside me.

  “I'm sorry.” His hands hover, not sure where to touch, afraid it'll hurt.

  The pain returns, a throbbing deep in the back of my head and a crushing pain swelling my face. I can't speak. I want to comfort him, to cry because his father is dead. That's what I would do; when my father died, it broke me. But not all fathers are good, I've learned. I'm not glad Titus is dead, if only because he was human, but maybe Cash is.

  Maybe he’s the one who killed him. I didn’t see.

  He helps me stand, wrapping an arm around me for support. His heart pounds against my shoulder.

  The buildings sway and spin, and I close my eyes for a second, breathing slow to calm the ache. But in the moment my eyelids close, a whispered no reaches my ears.

  Cash’s hand slips from my back. I follow his pained gaze to a man lying on the street, surrounded by kneeling soldiers. My eyes stick on the bleeding leader of the revolution.

  Cash drops to the ground beside Solomon, who shakes violently in the cold wind. For the first time, Cash appears young to me, dependent. Tears fall freely as he leans over the man who’s cared for him, the one who believed in him the most.

  “I’ll finish this for you,” Cash says, his voice thick. “I’ll save as many as I can.”

  Sorrow grips my throat. All around, soldiers stop to watch.

  “I have no doubt,” Solomon murmurs, lifting a hand to Cash’s arm. “What a brave man you’ve become. A mighty tree.” His eyes close against pain. “Promise me,” he says, “that you will not bend, no matter what force comes against you.”

  The muscles in Cash’s face tense, his jaw clenched. Tears pour hot to my chin, and I press a hand to my mouth, quieting a sob. I cannot stop his pain, no matter how much I want to. I cannot save him from this grief.

  Solomon stops shaking, a sudden calm settling over him.

  “Take care of each other,” he whispers.

  Cash drops to a sitting position and covers his eyes.

  Ten feet back, his father lies dead, abandoned.