by E. A. Darl
The gas station! There it is! Alexa squinted at the tall orange sign. A circle like the setting sun, with green triangles representing trees announced Timber’s Gas was closed. The last price posted was missing two numbers and a board announcing “Last Gas for Fifty Miles” swung in the breeze, flapping from one unbroken hinge. Alexa turned the wheel, still too scared to touch the gas pedal. The Mustang limped past the rusting gas pumps and the whitewashed gas station, obscured by six foot tall weeds and thistles. At the back, a narrow lane could be seen, but no building in sight. The Mustang rolled to a stop. Peet groaned once again.
Alexa let go of the steering wheel and rubbed her hands on her legs, fingers aching with stiffness. She shook her hands and then took several deep breaths, gathering her courage. She placed her hands on the wheel then gently pressed the gas pedal. This time she had more control over the pedal and the car eased forward, bouncing down the rutted lane. Gritting her teeth, she fought the bumps, steering as best she could. She was so focused on the driving part that she didn’t see the cottage until she was almost driving in the front door. She crested the slight hill and there it was.
Alexa braked and put the Mustang in park, relieved that her ordeal was over. She opened the car door and stumbled out on legs that felt like jelly, stumbling to the front door. She pounded on the door with her fists.
“Hello,’ she called. “Is the doctor in?”
Spying a brass knocker, she lifted it and pounded on the striker, still calling, “Doctor? Hello, Doctor, are you home?”
The door opened abruptly under her pounding. A frail man stood in the doorway, white hair sticking up in all directions. A bathrobe was tied closed around his waist.
“I am Dr. Song. Who are you, girl?”
“I am Alexa, I am a friend of Peet’s. He is in the car, he has been shot. Please, can you help me?”
“Peet? I don’t know any Peet.” The door started to close.
Panic rose once again in Alexa once again. She stuck her foot in the door.
“Please, you need to help me. He is bleeding and unconscious. Please! Help me!”
The man paused, eyes searching her dirty, tear stained face.
“Alright, child, I will help you. Show me your friend.”
Alexa took his hand and dragged him back to the car, opening the passenger side door and pulling the seat forward.
Peet was sprawled across the back seat, but his legs had dumped onto the floor sometime during Alexa’s inexpert maneuvers. Blood had soaked through the towel wrapped around his leg.
The doctor leaned into the car, placing two fingers against the side of Peet’s throat.
“He is alive. We must move him inside, but it will take both of us to get him there. Wait a minute. I have a small wagon.”
The doctor walked around the back of the cottage and returned a short time later with a gardening wagon. He rolled it up under the open door.
“Now, we need to grab him under his arms and pull him out onto the wagon. I will pull him out, if you can keep the wagon steady. Ready?”
At Alexa’s nod, he bent inside the car, slid his arms under Peet’s and began to pull him out. Peet groaned as his injured leg shifted, but with a few more pulls and heaves, they had him out of the car and onto the cart. Together they pulled the injured Peet into the house and into a library where a squashy, well-used couch sat under the window.
“Take his feet, I will get this end,” said the doctor, and on the count of three, they lifted Peet’s limp form off the wagon. “There.”
He straightened, running a practiced eye over the prone man. “I will need to examine him. Come with me — “He paused, turning to peer at her, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
“Alexa,” she supplied.
“Come with me, Alexa. You can run some water for me.”
He led her back into his tiny galley kitchen, pulling a metal basin from a cupboard and placing it in the sink.
“Fill this with lukewarm water while I fetch my supplies.”
He shuffled out of the room, leaving Alexa to her task. When she returned to the library, he was already there, towels spread under the injured leg.
A pair of sharp scissors made quick work of the blood soaked pant leg. He peeled back the stiffening cloth to reveal the damaged leg. Dr. Song gestured for her to put the water on the table beside him then dipped a clean cotton cloth into the warm water and washed away the dried blood. Fresh blood flowed as he washed away the thin crust and he poked at the wound, feeling his way.
“The good news is that the bullet passed right through. We do not need to probe further. The bad news is that he has lost a lot of blood. I need to clean the wound then we will need to stitch it closed.”
“Is he going to live?”
Now that the raw emergency was over, Alexa felt weak, and sick for real. Her stomach churned watching the injured Peet.
Picking up on her tone, the doctor assessed Alexa’s pale face.
“Go get some food in the kitchen. There is some roast chicken salad in the fridge. Make yourself a sandwich and have a glass of mint tea. There might be a bit of goat milk left, check in the freezer. I freeze it in ice cube trays and only thaw what I need. The goat has been going dry.” I will be fine for now. I will call you if I need your help. Do not come back until you have finished eating.”
Grateful for the excuse to leave, Alexa got up and left the room to do as the doctor asked. She poked around the kitchen and found all the fixings for sandwiches. She carried everything over to the table and decided to make three sandwiches, one for each of them, rather than just the one. Peet would be hungry when he woke up, she was sure of it. The cheery thought lightened her mood and she made sure to pile Peet’s sandwich twice as high as hers, as he would need the extra energy to heal. She sat and ate her sandwich and drank her milk. Bravery returning, she walked back into the library.
The doctor was wrapping Peet’s leg as she entered.
“Feel better?”
“Yes. I made you and Peet a sandwich, too.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her. “The leg is all stitched, and now just wrapping him up. I need to give him a shot for pain and one to help stave off infection. Are you scared of needles?”
Alexa shook her head, no.
“Good, because you hardly feel them at all.”
He reached into the box at his side and pulled out a couple of small, labeled vials and a thin needle, pushing the needle through the rubber top. He pulled out the needed quantity and then plunged the needle into Peet’s arm. He repeated the process with another vial. He winced at the need to double up on the needle but they were hard to come by now. He ejected the spent needle into a secure container then stood up. He would re-sterilize it later. He pulled a blanket up over Peet.
“He needs to rest. Come show me this sandwich you made for me.”
He followed Alexa back to the kitchen table, pausing to wash his hands at the kitchen sink before joining Alex at the table. He lowered himself down into his favourite chair with a weary sigh.
“Thank you for the sandwich, Alexa.”
“Will Peet be ok?”
“Yes, his vitals are strong. He needs to rest and recover though, so you will be staying with me for a few days. I have a spare bedroom. How about you tell me what is going on here, and how Peet was shot? By the way, Peet is his middle name. That is why I didn’t recognize his name. I guess he doesn’t go by his first name.”
“What is his first name?” asked Alexa
“Gustave.”
Alexa giggled. “Sounds like something out of a kid’s movie.”
“It sure does.” The elderly doctor’s eyes twinkled, as he took a bite of his sandwich. He chewed and swallowed, then said gently, “What happened, Alexa?”
The smile slid from Alexa’s face, as she recounted their narrow escape from the hospital. The old doctor frowned, listening in silence. He did not interrupt, leaning in to catch her every word.
Chapter 12
Firebrand
“SO, YOU ARE SAYING that your parents are likely the leaders of the SOS or very close to the top of the underground movement? They are public enemy #1 according to the government?” asked Trench.
“Yeah. That is my take on it. They knew something, something dangerous, something that the government didn’t want the general populous to know. It was damming enough to hunt them down and silence them,” said Avalon.
“So you think they are dead?”
Avalon pondered the question for a moment, searching her feelings.
“No. I don’t believe they are dead. However dangerous their knowledge is on the outside, it is even more dangerous to those on the inside. But it is also something they need. I think what my parents discovered was the antidote to the government’s failed experiment, the genie they let out of the bottle. I think they know how to stop all of this.” Avalon waved her hand at the greater world beyond the walls of Frankie’s Finger Foods.
“Why imprison them for it? Why not thank them and implement the cure?” Trench scowled at the realization that the world he knew writhed in the throes of death beyond the brownstone walls of their hideaway.
Avalon stared at him sadly. “Money. It’s the only theory that makes any sense. Someone is making a fortune to keep the truth silent, that there is a cure for all of this. And we do not need to look very far to guess who that is.”
“Senator Penn,” growled Trench.
“Senator Penn,” agreed Avalon. “Do you remember the scandal of a few years ago, with the off-world shipments?”
“Wasn’t he investigated for privateering? It was all hushed up by the House of Lords.”
“Exactly. Do you remember who brought the accusations?”
“No,” said Trench.
“It was the student body at Solace U. They planned that big rally and marched from campus right to the gates of Parliament Hill. Don’t you remember? The government swarmed the crowd and opened fire, killing the leaders of the march.”
Trench nodded, as memory of the event returned. “That’s right. The government later put it about that the Parliament security had acted against orders and issued a formal apology, but that didn’t bring back the dead students who were leading the charge. The movement died with them. No one wanted to be the next ones targeted.”
“Exactly. The movement went underground at that point. I wasn’t old enough to know any of this, but I remember my parents talking about the rally. I didn’t understand any of the conversation then, but I understand it now. They never tried to hide the issues from us. They spoke openly of their school days and the rally. In their study, they kept a scrapbook with news articles from the event, noting everyone they could identify on both sides of the conflict.”
“Do you still have it?” said Trench.
“Yes, it is in our hidey-hole in the barn,” said Avalon.
“We need that scrapbook,” muttered Trench. “It will help us so much!”
“How so?”
Exasperated, Trench leaned across the table, glaring at her.
“How so? How so? Your parents were eye witnesses to the revolution! They know everyone who is involved. That might be the reason they were targeted.”
Avalon’s mouth dropped open with an audible click.
“Oh my god, you are right.” Her eyes glazed over as memories flooded over her. “How could I be so stupid? They were trying to teach us without us even realizing it. They left the scrapbook as a road map, a guide. The government agents. That is what they were looking for. That is what they wanted. THE SCRAPBOOK!” Avalon shot to her feet. “I have to go,” she gasped and turned away but her flight was halted by a strong hand that clamped onto the bruises forming under the skin, from Magnum’s manhandling.
“Ouch!” she cried, pushing at Trench’s hand.
“Sit,” he commanded, pushing her back down and releasing her. “You are not going anywhere until you are one of us.”
“One of you?” she rubbed her upper arm. “What do you mean?”
“No one can come and go in Firebrand territory without being branded. What do you think it meant?”
Trench shoved up his sleeve, and there, burnt into his skin was the Firebrand’s signature image, tattooed into his skin. Only this tattoo was burnt in, not inked.
Avalon licked her lips. “You mean I have to join you, in the flesh, in order to leave here alive?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes rose to meet his. They were blue steel on ice. Immovable. Avalon’s eyes dropped to her bruised arm. With a sigh, she shoved the sleeve of her jacket up her arm, revealing the heaving bruising that had made her wince.
“Ok, but make it quick. I need to get back so I can be sure the album is safe.” Anxiety over their hidey-hole in the hayloft where she and her sister Alexa had been living for the last five years set her heart to hammering in her chest. “I can handle your initiation.”
“Can you?” Trench raised an eyebrow. “We will see. I hear the others returning. You agree to become one of us? The decision cannot be reversed. Once branded, you are always branded. That is why we do not do ink.”
Avalon swallowed past the chunk of stone that lodged in her throat.
“I can handle whatever you dish out. I do not fear you.” Avalon’s chin lifted in defiance and her eyes locked on Trench’s. “Bring your best and your worst. Either way, I am out of here in half an hour.”
Trench grinned in appreciation of her bravado. He ripped aside the privacy curtain, and pushed himself to his feet, to greet the returning gang members. Avalon scrambled to her feet also, anxious to not appear as a supplicant any longer. Her chin lifted in defiance, and her fists clenched. She spied her bike, still leaning against the booth across from her and sighed with relief.
Magnum lurched to a halt in front of them, the permanent glare fixed on her square face. A trickle of blood ran from her split lower lip.
“The coast is clear. Nothing but the usual scum on the street.” She swiped the back of her hand across her lip and grinned. “Nothing like a good fight to start the morning off right.”
The other gang members chuckled and cracked knuckles. Cris sidled up to Trench and ran her arm through his.
Trench grabbed Avalon’s arm, lower this time to avoid the bruised area.
“Avalon is going to be inducted into the Firebrand gang.”
Silence fell while all eyes fell on her. Some were curious, some almost friendly. Magnum’s grin fell, but it was Cris who raised the first objection.
“Why would you let her into the gang? What is she to us?” said Cris.
Trench untangled himself from her grip.
“She is needed, and the decision to induct or not induct is mine alone, as our leader. Do you wish to dispute this, in front of the gang?” His eyes were flat grey green steel.
Cris blushed with anger, eyes flashing.
“No, I will not argue with you. But I do not have to like it.”
“That‘s correct. You don’t. Your personal feelings have nothing to do with who is invited into the gang and who is not, but once inducted, you will protect her as you would any other gang member. Do you have a problem with this?”
Cris shook her head.
“Alright,” he continued. “Let’s get this done. We have work to do. Avalon, follow me.”
Trench headed toward the back of the restaurant and Avalon fell in behind him, keeping her distance from Cris. Magnum fell in beside her and the rest of the gang closed the box.
Magnum leaned over and whispered “I’d watch your back if I were you. Cris doesn’t like you.”
Avalon turned to meet her eyes. Magnum grinned at the look of feigned surprise on Avalon’s face.
“No kidding. I don’t intend to be here long enough for it to matter. The only thing I am interested in, is finding my parents. Nothing else matters to me. This was Trench’s idea, not mine.”
Trench’s broad back shouldered through a pair of swinging doors that opened to reveal th
e kitchen of Frankie’s Finger Food. The kitchen was currently quiet, with no food prep underway. Trench marched back to the fryers lining the back wall and paused in front of one that had oil bubbling on a low simmer. Beside the fryer was a charcoal grill. He stirred the coals and added a couple more bricks to the grill, then a small splash of oil. The charcoal caught and burned merrily. Trench crouched down and sorted through a cupboard then pulled out what looked like a branding iron. On its tip was a symbol that Avalon knew all too well. It was the Firebrand symbol. Her eyes widened as Trench stood back up, facing her. He shoved the brand into the coals without dropping eye contact.
“Take off your coat and give it to Magnum.”
Avalon hesitated, but shrugged out of the precious jacket, handing it to Magnum.
“Now, give me your left hand,” he said softly.
Avalon’s throat constricted with fear. Silently, she held it out fighting the telltale quiver of fear that ran down her arm. Trench shoved her sleeve up, just as a pair of hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her down, so that her arm rested on the wooden prep board in front of the grill. Panting, she looked away as Trench reached in for the glowing firebrand.
“This is going to hurt, Avalon.”
Before she could say a word, he plunged the burning poker onto her arm. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air and Avalon shrieked, her scream echoing off the tiled walls. The excruciating pain overwhelmed her, merging with her exhaustion. The world spun then tunneled smaller and smaller until it faded to black.
Chapter 13
An Unpleasant Truth
MITCH FOLLOWED PAM down a series of walkways. Their boots clicked on the metal grating, echoing in the vast chamber. The entire facility was empty. Not a person moved in the dimly lit interior. Mitch shivered. The temperature within the bunker was at least twenty degrees cooler than outside, and the contrast was shocking on the skin.
They crossed over to a metal door, set with a security code. Pam punched in a series of numbers and wrenched open the door.
