The Keep (A Renegades story Book 1)

by Marilize Loxton

  Chapter 21

  Deep beneath the searing dense layers of red, desert sand, the nine escaped fugitives were fighting for survival while facing the dire conditions of an abandoned sewer pipe. Not only had they been exposed to an unknown toxic stench, but also the danger of never resurfacing.

  All around them, they had witnessed the tunnel growing narrower, and the filthy pool of water drying up.

  Shawn had transformed from the attitude of a lazy mechanic’s son, to the ultimate master of survival. He occasionally bent over, felt the floor, and squished its unidentified gunk to a soft slime.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Luna asked. Within the dim lighting of the tunnel, her dark eyebrows were clearly visible as they rose up to graze the top of her hairline.

  ‘Just checking the dampness of the ground,’ Shawn said, rising to his feet, and wiping his hands on the bottoms of his overall. He felt that the slimy gunk was soft, but yet strangely cold. His mind was baffled by both where they were, and how deep down.

  ‘And what on earth does its dampness tell you?’

  Shawn grew visibly frustrated. He sighed. ‘How close we are to town.’ He said. ‘The wetter the ground gets, the less we’re travelling in an abandoned sewer pipe.’

  ‘That’s not necessarily true.’ Viper coughed.

  Once again, shocked by her swayed contribution, the entire group had turned to face her dark silhouette.

  ‘There’s a sure chance that the rising water may only be a case of surface runoff that’s leaking into the pipe.’ She said, ending her sentence with a satisfied press of lips, and a shake of her head. ‘But I could be wrong, you know–it’s just my opinion.’

  ‘Is it just me, or is Viper getting smarter?’ Eric joked. He clasped his hands together in an awkward attempt of applause, but a sudden sharp sting in the back of his neck had quickly changed his mind.

  ‘Shut up pea brain!’ Viper threatened, her sharp fingernails ferociously digging into Eric’s soft flesh. ‘If Shawn knew what he was doing, I wouldn’t have to!’

  As she slightly loosened her grip, Eric shoved her aside, and clutched his neck in throbbing pain. At least it hadn’t felt like she’d bruised any skin.

  ‘Fine, let’s not call Viper smart.’

  Eric’s mind had drifted back to the scene in the watchtower. He had electrocuted a guard, and saved Viper’s life, when all she said to him in return was to not tell anyone.

  Not even a simple thank you.

  Although Viper had pretended to be tough and untouchable, back there, Eric had seen a completely different side of her. The true Viper: A vulnerable, scared and smart young girl, entirely confused of who she was.

  ‘Does this look like surface runoff to you?’ Shawn asked. His foot dropped, splashing loudly into a deep pool of sewage water. It had risen almost two full inches from the ground.

  ‘Where did all this water come from?’ Sam asked, feeling a sudden rush of excitement. She had dashed forward, and squeezed Shawn’s shoulder. It was muscular and tight. Her eyes squinted shut, trying to find a clear path down the dark and mouldy tunnel; a slight cool breeze scuffing at her bare skin.

  ‘It must be flowing in from town, exactly as I’d reckoned!’ Shawn said. He tossed a satisfied glance at Viper, who rolled her eyes at him. ‘Come on, we’re really close. I can feel it.’

  Shawn’s hand had slipped around Sam’s, and dragged her forward as they sloshed their way through the deepening stream. Sam’s breathing was soft, and her steps were quick. Their pace had slowed down as the level of water rose past their knees. It was cold, but not unbearable; certainly proving to be an upgrade from the roasting desert sun.

  ‘Just look out for any doors or panels,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe even man-holes leading into the streets.’

  Her eyes were darting around in the bitter darkness as hot bubbles in a simmering pot. She felt along the wall, her numbed hands grazing across the crumbling edges of bricks. Never in her wildest dreams had Sam thought she would miss the sun, or its scorching rays on her raw roasted skin.

  ‘Sam, I’ve been wondering.’ Melanie breathed. ‘What’s going to happen to us when we finally reach the town, and find Mike?’

  Her scarlet red hair had been frizzy as hell, and her pleading green eyes boggled with confusion. At least no one could see her.

  Melanie’s stomach churned. She had only realized now, that Sam never told them of what came after. Would they always be running? Would they eventually find a place to settle down?

  They had all just conveniently travelled along, jumping instinctively at the first mention of escaping. With nothing but a blurry picture at mind, and never thinking more than two steps ahead, they had followed Sam (a complete stranger) into the great unknown.

  ‘I mean, what if the ECD comes looking for us there?’

  Sam swallowed hard, the pungent stone of guilt slowly scratched its way down her parched throat. She’d never even thought about it. ‘I…I really don’t know Mel.’ She said. ‘Maybe you could go and see London.’

  It was during times like these that Sam truly noticed how unprepared and without a plan she really was. There was no way she’d ever wanted to leave anyone without a clear future. Sam’s eyes studied the dark silhouettes of those walking behind her. Did she really force them all into this?

  She closed her eyes, and thought of Donny.

  He’d been a complete stranger to her, and here she was, potentially threatening his life. Obviously all of them had led broken lives back in Emitton, but they had family there, and a lifetime of memories. In fact, she too had left valuable memories behind; never even visiting the graves of her parents for one last time. Even though Cara Emitton had never been much of a mother to her, when Sam was exiled, she too was left with no one.

  ‘Well we can’t possibly live there!’ Viper said. ‘The entire town is completely filled with nut jobs! Oh wait. Eric, Luke and Donny would fit right in!’ She picked a slimy piece of reeking gunk off the wall, and flicked it with her finger at the three guys walking in the back.

  ‘Moon mud for anyone?’ She laughed.

  ‘Gross!’ Donny wheezed, bouncing the gunk off his shoulder and into the water. ‘This stuff’s disgusting!’

  ‘No kidding.’ Viper said. She had tossed her hair to the side, and snickered.

  Donny wiped his hands on the upper, dry, half of his overall. He had pale brown eyes that shone in the dark, and an even much paler skin that blended in with the darkness of soil. Donny had never been one with much to say, and always stood at the back, observing those around him. Whenever he did jump at it, and tried to help those in need, it always backfired.

  It was written in his blood to do so, and stamped to his being for all eternity.

  The name Donny was given to him by his father, who’d received it from his father, who’d received it from his. Just as their names, the Rodriquez family business had been handed down through the passing generations traced all the way back to the long forgotten past.

  Traditionally, it was proudly bestowed onto the eldest son (which unfortunately wasn’t Donny). He might’ve received his father’s name, but not his business, and was as a result forced to work under the orders his older brother, Emanuel.

  Although the Rodriquez’s might’ve appeared to be the average Spanish family, their dark hidden roots went deeper than anyone had ever thought.

  During the daytime, Donny’s mother, Sarah, would run a local brewery: The Shack.

  It was a cosy and cheery bar as any other, greatly awarded amongst the most prestigious in Emitton. It was only after the sun had set, and the doors were all sealed shut, that they truly got to work.

  Far below the brewery, at the bottom of their dark basement, a flourishing patch of Hulm-shrubs were harvested to ripe, and then parched to form the infamous illegal drug.

  Once it was packed and sealed, Donny and Emanuel flooded the treacherous streets of the Pobre district, in pursuit of desperate customers. It wasn’t much of a hard task though, f
or a fair group of regulars had already grown accustomed to their loyal services (and paid really good money too).

  Donny and Emanuel never dared reveal their names to anyone, and were known across the districts as nothing more than THE TRUSTWORTHY DEALERS.

  Of course, after witnessing the true affects of the drug, they had reserved themselves from ever using it. Their father had entrusted them to remain sober, therefore enhancing their stealth, and ensuring that no one followed them back to the brewery.

  It was a plausibly risky business, but the Rodriguez family was solemnly bred to dive head first within the eye of danger.

  Shortly after Emanuel’s eighteenth birthday, he had at long last inherited the business from his aging father, and left Donny to roam the streets without him.

  Donny hadn’t minded it though, for just as Emanuel left, his young cousin, Elmer, had been hired as a replacement. Elmer was a scrawny, caramel coloured man-boy, never to be seen without his baggy red hat.

  At that time, their best customers were a young group of teenage boys, eagerly willing to pay extra for the easy grab. Donny thought not all of them had fit the usual status of drug addict, but who was he to deny them their will?

  A couple of months flew by, and gradually the group had faded. Only a heavily wasted sixteen-year-old, known as Eric, remained.

  Donny would sometimes make small talk, just to pass the time during a handover, and soon learned that Eric was homeless. He ran away from home shortly after his father had threatened to lock him up until he was sober and fully rehabilitated. All his hands could carry with him was his long-time owned guitar, and a few pairs of clean clothes.

  Donny knew then, that only one thing was inevitable: Eric would soon run out of money.

  In some twisted way, he’d grown sorry for Eric, and pitifully befriended him. It was then that he, Donny, started to reject Eric from purchasing.

  ‘No, this stuff’s bad for you man!’ Donny said. ‘Now go away, before Elmer gets here.’

  ‘C’mon Donny, it’s my choice! Is it the money? Do I need to get more?’ Eric’s eyes had been red and watery, his mind as messed up as he was wasted.

  ‘It’s not about the money dude, I’m just telling you to sober up!’

  ‘Now you sound like my dad.’

  ‘Well, he cared about you. And so do I.’ Donny said. ‘I’m not giving you any.’

  Eric hadn’t been happy. He pretended to surrender, but relapsed as soon as Elmer came strolling around the corner.

  ‘Don’t sell him any!’ Donny cried, just as Elmer reached for his satchel.

  ‘Why?’ Elmer asked. ‘We can’t deny’z de customer!’

  ‘I know, but Eric’s my friend. And he’s going to stay with us for a while.’ Donny widened his eyes, and nudged at Eric.

  ‘You really mean it?’ Eric asked.

  ‘Of course, just promise me that you’ll sober up.’

  ‘I Promise.’

  Elmer wheezed through his teeth, sighing.

  ‘Ayye...da boss ain’t going to like t’his one bit!’ He said.

  When Donny arrived at home that night, he was immensely relieved to see Eric warmly welcomed. Sarah Rodriquez was head over heels excited, seeing as Donny had never brought any friends home before. She waited on Eric hand and foot.

  ‘Where did you find this fuzz ball?’ Emanuel asked, pulling Donny aside. ‘I easily saw from a mile away that he’s as wasted as the toxin pit up town!’

  ‘Just don’t tell anyone, okay?’ Donny pleaded. ‘I told dad he’s a friend from school–you know–an orphan.’

  Emanuel grunted.

  ‘And if he relapses?’

  ‘He won’t.’

  In the upcoming days, Donny not only shared his room with Eric, but most of everything else; including the working secrets of producing the Hulm.

  Nearly a month had gone by, and surprisingly to Donny, Eric seemed strangely fine.

  Little did he suspect that the following night, Eric would sneak off with a loaded satchel of freshly packed Hulm.

  ‘I can’t believe it. I trusted him!’ Donny gasped, and without telling his parents, he sat out after Eric.

  Donny scattered into the Pobre district, where he’d first met Eric, and crawled his way inside an old and abandoned construction warehouse. His thumping footsteps echoed loud, and the cold nightly air froze the tip of his nose. There was no other noise but him.

  Donny sighed, for a brief moment thinking all had been lost.

  His ears drummed. He heard the soft whimpering cries of an indulging addict, and curiously snuck closer. There was a shaft, not too far from the main entrance, where Eric had made himself at home.

  The damp and grey space had been roughly equipped with old and musky furniture, not to have been used in quite some time. On a broken, orange couch in the corner, Eric laid frazzled, clutching an empty transparent plastic within his grip.

  Donny felt a sudden rush of throbbing disappointment, for the custom-made plastic had once been filled to top with Hulm. The light-brownish powder was scattered all over Eric’s chest, his jaw clenched wildly at the cosmic urge to binge.

  ‘Put the Hulm down, Eric.’ Donny said, monotone.

  ‘No. You don’t understand. I need it.’

  Donny walked slowly; his eyes glued to Eric’s; and gripped the bag of Hulm. Eric clutched it tighter, but his worn out system had been no match for Donny’s, and with one quick tug it was out of his hands, and thrown across the room.

  The ghastly brown powder had scattered everywhere, flooding its way not only into Donny’s nose and mouth, but also onto his sheer white sleeves. The loaded satchel, on which his name was trimly stitched, also got flung to the side, and thumped hard against the solid steel door.

  ‘Eric, wake up!’ Donny cried, seeing nothing but the ghostly whites of Eric’s eyes.

  Things were out of control, and Donny panicked, for he had never witnessed anything like it before: Skin the colour of pastel green, and nails as black as charcoal.

  Eric had clearly overdosed.

  ‘What have you done Eric?’ Donny asked, chewing at his fingers.

  The green ghost said nothing. He had merely turned on his side, and smiled.

  ‘What I had to do–’ Eric coughed, weakly. ‘–better die before they get here.’

  ‘What do you mean, before who gets here?’

  ‘They’ve found this place–waiting for me to return–booby trapped it.’ Eric said. His eyes rose to the ceiling, threatening to close as he gagged on slimy brown fluid spewing from his lips. ‘You need to get out of here–Donny–’

  Donny’s throat closed.

  Instead of making Eric cheery, the drugs had wrenched his entire body to an uncontainable pain. His lips had lost all pink, and his eyes all brown. He was as pale as an old corpse.

  In a deafening blow, all the above windows had scattered to pieces, allowing a storming fleet of ECD guards to abseil down and into the warehouse. Donny turned to run, but found himself head first against a solid brick wall. He hopelessly sighed, slid down against it, and gazed around.

  He saw there, where he’d thrown his satchel, the creaky metal door opening, and revealing a well-dressed man, calm and collected, entering. He wasn’t at all like the others.

  He wore a dark pair of sunglasses, clothed from top to bottom in a raven black suit, and a stout, round bowler hat.

  ‘Dallas Romero…’ Donny hissed. He had known about Dallas for as long as he could remember.

  As a well progressed dealer, the greater part of Donny’s job was to learn as much about Emitton’s law enforcement as he possibly could. Dallas Romero had been no stranger to him, and frequently came by the brewery to ask suspicious questions.

  Dallas lifted his glasses, and smiled.

  ‘Well, well, well. Donny Rodriguez!’ He said. ‘I can’t say that I’m surprised. We’ve been on to your family for months! Dealing with Hulm is a federal offence, you know. Even worse than those who’d buy it.’ Dallas’ ha
nds were in his pockets. He slowly turned to the murmuring stiff (Eric) whose eyes had turned bright red.

  ‘I pity you both.’ He said, flicking his fingers to the guards.

  The ECD had cuffed Donny, removed Eric’s dying body from the couch, and separately transported both of them to secure cells. Eric was booked into the hospital wing, while Donny was sentenced to be exiled immediately.

  It wasn’t long after Donny had arrived at the Keep, before Eric also showed up. They’d never told anyone of their history together and only frequently spoke.

  Although Eric had apologized almost a thousand times, Donny held nothing against him. He knew it was his own fault for being exiled. He had always wanted to be a hero, and strived to run at the front of the pack.

  If only Donny had done what Elmer said, and minded his own business, he’d have still been at home: Safe and sound.

  Sam held her breath as an unexpected iciness had travelled down her spine. It painted her flesh with small, red specks of goose bumps. It was cold. She felt an unexplained chilliness all of a sudden filling the tunnel, and drying the hot pearls of sweat, on her forehead, to dry salty patches.

  ‘Man, it’s like a complete change of weather.’ She shivered.

  Eric agreed.

  ‘I’m not even sure we’re in the desert anymore!’ His questionable expression deepened as his fingers curiously dug into the shallow cracks of the wall. ‘But why are these stones still all scorching hot?’ His hands travelled upwards, reaching for the roof. ‘It’s coming from up here!’ He said, flattening his palms.

  ‘What? How can the cold possibly be coming from up top?’ Shawn asked. His thoughts had drifted to the raging rays of hot desert sun, instantly eliminating all possible temperatures under fifty degrees Celsius. He had reached for the roof himself, and made his way towards Eric.

  ‘It only gets warmer from up front.’ Shawn said. ‘It’s just in this one spot.’