The Keep (A Renegades story Book 1)

by Marilize Loxton

  Sam climbed further as fast as she could. Although her fingers were chafed raw, she kept a keen eye on Viper, and followed in her every move. When Viper stepped on a ledge, Sam stepped on a ledge. Every now and then, crumbling remains of concrete would fall atop Sam’s head, and she’d cough. Instead of complaining, Sam focussed on her breathing, and to not flinch away from the wall.

  Another shot fired: This time, at her feet.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Aaron asked.

  ‘I think so!’

  Viper’s body had finally vanished over the edge of the building. Sam felt helpless, and she wished that she was up there already. Her only asylum was the heavy panting of a breathless Aaron, scaling the building behind her.

  The darkened cloud of dust, from the crash, had settled.

  Sam was happy that she was at last able to see again. When reaching out for the top ledge, her foot slipped, and sent crumbling pieces of stone hurling towards the ground.

  ‘Watch yer foot’in there!’ A voice called out, and a pale, hairy hand came reaching down to help her. ‘Give me yer hand!’

  Sam hesitated.

  An unknown voice, with an unknown hand: What if it was the ECD, and they’ve captured all her friends, holding them captive up there?

  ‘GIVE ME YER HAND, NOW!’ The voice commanded, seeing that Sam’s legs were shaking in exhaustion. With no other option, Sam yielded.

  She reached out and grabbed the icy cold hand of someone who’d felt like a bird; a weak, dead bird. His limbs were sharp and thin, never expected to be able to hurl her upwards as he did, and landing her safely on the top of the building.

  Chapter 27

  Sam scurried upright, staring at the plump, overjoyed face of Melanie, rushing in to help her while squeezing every drop of air from her lungs.

  ‘I’d thought you’d died!’ She cried, her rejoicing screech muffled in the creases of Sam’s neck.

  Sam laughingly fought her off.

  The voice who’d helped her belonged to a frail and pale, young man-boy, who’d by now resumed to the edge of the building in order to help Aaron. His hair was the colour of their previously tossed away overalls (a prudish grey), but for some reason he’d actually made it work.

  Sam tossed a questioning glance at Viper, who’d been dusting herself off while exhaling deeply. She shrugged.

  ‘He said his name’s Carl.’ Her eyebrows grazed the top of her hairline, and she’d seemed just as baffled Sam.

  ‘I don’t know how, but he just appeared out of nowhere.’ Luna said with her hand before her mouth. Her swollen, red eyes had deflated, and her cheeks coloured with a clear blush of adrenaline; quite the colour fest within her usual greyish undertone.

  Her eyes avoided Sam’s.

  It was too soon to tell, but maybe a near-death experience was all she’d needed to obtain newly found endurance towards Sam. Or at least, even if Luna didn’t, Sam hoped that Aaron did.

  Carl scuffled backwards. He pulled as hard as he could until the heavily parched body of a bruised Aaron toppled over, and onto the gravel. He gave a final peer over the side of the building, approved of himself, and dusted his hands down the sides of his khaki trousers.

  ‘Ye nearly had a nasty fall back there,’ he said, extending his pasty, freckled arm towards Aaron.

  Aaron frowned at the surprising sight of a stranger, but rose to his feet.

  ‘I don’t know what happened–it all just–suddenly fell apart!’ He said. ‘I’m only thankful the others made it up here safely.’

  ‘Not all of ye did,’ Carl said. ‘Yer black haired friend disappeared through a window. These her buildings ain’t quite wha’ they used ter be you know, I sure hope he’d not be trapped in there.’ His speckled face crinkled while studying the crumbled linings of the wall.

  ‘Who are you?’ Sam asked. Her temper had fallen short to his small talk. She wanted to get to the point as quickly as possible. Who did he think he was, telling them Shawn might be trapped?

  ‘Carl’s the name,’ he said, smiling a perk, teeth-stained smile. ‘Last of the ol’ highland Scots…An’ I heard you ‘d be Samantha Cyrus, the wee sis of Mike Cyrus?’

  ‘Mike? How do you know Mike?’

  ‘Well I–’ Carl said, but was interrupted.

  The navy, splintery door to the inside stairs of the roof had rattled. Its hinges clanged, and the lock tolled. Everyone flinched, and leaped a curious step to their rear.

  ‘Dallas!’ Aaron thought aloud. He recalled the blurred figure shooting at them from the bottom of the building. ‘He must’ve chased us up here!’

  There was nowhere for them to go, and even Carl seemed uneasy.

  Every known criminal in Emitton knew who Dallas Romero was, and all possibly even feared him. He was gravely known to be ruthless, and won the award for Highest Justice Success Rate for ten consecutive years. Sam had watched as Cara presented him with his numberless awards and titles, all because of his sheer driven desire to succeed.

  Sam gulped.

  The creaky door stood on end, scraping off any trail of aged paint, and revealing the strong arms of hasty man trying to break through. The door was locked (or stuck), but either way, the person was near to succeed in entering.

  The lock dropped to the floor.

  ‘He’s not getting in on my watch!’ Aaron said. He and Luke seized the splintery remains of an old wooden bench, and positioned themselves on either sides of the door, breathing heavily in preparation for battle.

  Catch him by surprise, Aaron thought.

  At first it was just an arm, and then half a body, before the entire door shredded from its frame. It fell to the floor with a thump, and out dove a man, flinching to the floor in avoidance of the splintering pieces of wood.

  The bench missed his head by inches, leaving the boys to recoil their swing. They were just about to strike again, when the man flung his hands in the air in defeat.

  ‘WAIT!’ He cried, covering his head. ‘It’s me, Shawn!’

  Luke lowered his weapon, but Aaron hesitated. After all, hitting Shawn by accident might be easier to forgive. At last Aaron sighed, and also surrendered by dropping his shard of wood on the floor.

  ‘Sorry man.’ He said, falsely.

  ‘We have to get out of here! Romero’s on his way up–WITH THE CROW! And they have backup!’ Shawn scattered to his feet, not taking any note of the strange Scot, and rushed towards the door.

  ‘Ye take that road and yer toast for sure, brothe’.’ Carl said.

  Shawn slowly turned, his face fuming, but enlightened when seeing Carl’s face. He bent in closer, squinting. ‘Carl? Carl Herring?’ He asked.

  It took a moment, but Carl’s face suddenly lit up as well.

  ‘Shawn bloody Mustang!’ He bellowed, as loud as any scrawny man could.

  The two guys met, but instead of exchanging steady handshakes, they flew into a full blown hug. For a moment it seemed as if they’d never let each other go, but at last they stepped back and shook their heads.

  ‘I see ye finally found yer way out of tha’ joint then!’ Carl joked, patting his apparent friend on the shoulder.

  ‘Shawn, do you know this guy?’ Sam asked, her voice sounding fiercely upset.

  Shawn’s eyes sparkled. It seemed his faded, black curls retained a new shade of gloss, and his white, glinting smile a fresh layer of shimmer. Just as it would when you’d find something you’ve been looking for a very long time.

  It had been just as Sam imagined feeling when finally finding Mike.

  ‘Sam, this is Carl Herring!’ Shawn squealed. ‘He was one of the forty fugitives to escape alongside Mike!’

  Shawn gripped Carl’s shoulder, his face switching back and forth between Sam and his friend. ‘Sam, aren’t you happy?’ He felt confused, for now that they’d finally found someone he actually knew, he’d thought to have seen her slightly happier (or relieved even).

  ‘No, I am.’ Sam doubtfully lifted her eyebrows. How could this birdlike man possibly b
e a hunted fugitive? She bet he could barely lift his own legs. Then again, he had hurled her over the side of a building…

  ‘So, you know Mike?’ She asked.

  ‘Know him!? Why we’d practically be brothers!’

  Sam’s heavy expression lifted. Not because she’d suddenly trusted Carl, but simply because Shawn had been staring at her with his dark, round, and pleading eyes. She tried not to swoon, and blinked her gaze back to a slightly uncomfortable Carl.

  ‘Reunions later, we have to go!’ Viper grabbed Sam by her arm.

  ‘It’s too late!’ Luke erupted. ‘They’re on the staircase already. And we don’t have anywhere else to go!’

  He gathered the baffled group from behind as a hunted flock of live stock, and shoved them away from the door. Not that he’d ever seen live stock before, other than those in old photographs of course.

  The only animals Luke had ever seen grazing the streets of Emitton, was a lone Red-footed Falcon, a majestic flock of Wood Pigeons, a few species of caged gazelles in his neighbour’s back yard, and the ever too famous wolf spider.

  Rather farfetched from your usual definition of live stock, he’d say.

  Luke scoured the rooftop, seeing no other fire escapes, and no other exits than those they’d already destroyed.

  They were trapped, and doomed for sure.

  Luke held his breath. He had always hated the feeling of being under pressure. It was kind of like experiencing claustrophobia without being closed in. It’s the fear of reality weighing him down while everyone else expected too much of him.

  It was the way of his father, and the way of his family. Surely it had to be the way of him too?

  But alas Luke’s mind went blank. All he could hear was the racing footsteps of the ECD scaling the stairs.

  Any standard Emitton resident, within the Suburbio district (laid just south of the Lujoso- and north of the Pobre district), would know the respectable figure of Colonel Michael Asher; captain of the ECD-precinct 101. Never would you ever come across a more dedicated captain, ruling his division with a firm, iron fist.

  Luke had barely reached the second grade before his apparent fate was sealed. As an only child, he was forced to follow in his father’s footsteps.

  ‘You see this badge son?’ His father seldom asked after dinner. ‘One day, it’ll be yours.’

  Of course, as Luke was only at the innocent age of seven, all he could do was nod in agreement of his father.

  As Luke grew older, and much wiser, he’d realized that what his father had said was no intended joke. When Luke turned sixteen, he was enrolled to the Emitton Crime Academy: A prestigious school to teach all destined pupils to become aspiring enforcers of the law.

  Although he’d known it to be inevitable for him to be rejected, at some subconscious level he’d always seemed to hope.

  It hadn’t been more than a month before his dreaded letter had arrived, and to his father’s rejoice, he’d been accepted. Two short months later, Luke had been shipped off to the ECA, located at the centre of Emitton, and at the heart of the Lujoso district.

  Even though it had felt like forever, his short twelve months of training was over.

  He returned home as a completely different person–tough on the outside, but frail on the inside.

  While all his friends, still in school, chased after their dreams, Luke had been the only seventeen-year-old on his block to have dropped out.

  ‘It’s not dropping out, son.’ His father said, once again flashing his badge. ‘You’re just taking a different career route than them.’

  Feeling exactly as he did, ten years ago, Luke kept silent and nodded.

  His first job, at precinct 101, was to file piles of obtained evidence. He had a quaint office, shared with two other first-years, at the end of the hall on the first floor. Most of the time, instead of filing evidence, Luke was tasked with errands and refreshment runs. The staff of the precinct were all super nice, and sometimes, the days hadn’t dreaded by.

  The worst part of Luke’s job, was when he’d run into his father down the hall.

  ‘Good job, son.’ He father bellowed, and slapped him behind the ear. ‘You’re going to be a great captain some day.’

  Yet there Luke was, holding a paper-cup filled with hot water and Mate, ready to be served to second-in-command Gordon Barry.

  Gordon Barry was a stout little man. He had yellowish tousles surrounding his ears, but completely bald at the top. At some level, Luke had always expected him of undermining his father. They frequently got into fights, and Gordon never obeyed the rules.

  Sometimes, when Gordon hadn’t noticed, Luke caught him staring at Michael while gritting his teeth. He was much older than Michael, which most likely made it harder for him to accept being under-ranked.

  Then of course, after all those times of hateful glances, Luke had never expected something quite as brutal to happen as what did:

  It was the worst day of the week, Wednesday. The night that Luke had no free reigns, and was forced to stay on nightshift at the precinct.

  He supposed it wouldn’t have been that bad… if his father wasn’t there!

  Just past seven, after everyone had left, they locked the door to the hall, and silently finished their dinner at Michael’s desk.

  ‘So how’s work going?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Well, I’ve learnt five new ways to be shoved tea at.’ Luke said, motioning to the stains on his white shirt. ‘Not to mention all the times I’ve had to walk to the board’s building, carrying stupid requests from Gordon to Richard Grey.’ Luke rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t even know how those two ever came across one another!’

  ‘Oh, cheer up, son! It’s all part of the first-year fun. Plus, those two have been friends for years–they’re brothers almost.’ Michael smiled. ‘If you get on the good side of Gordon, you’ll be favoured by the board. They’re the ones appointing new captain you know.’

  ‘So, if I get on the bad side of Gordon–no favours with the board?’

  ‘Exactly!’ His father said proudly, wriggling his moustache. His chubby cheeks turned a bright red. ‘See, you’re already getting the hang of things!’

  Luke forced a smile, and finished his dry sandwich in silence.

  Afterwards, he trotted to his office, and sat down to sift a pile of Hulm collected from an earlier arrest. Nice satchel, he thought, seeing the neatly stitched name in a dark, navy blue.

  Donny Rodriquez. Perhaps one of The Shack brewery’s Rodriquez’s?

  Luke had only ever heard of them, and how everyone struggled in revealing them as drug dealers. He supposed their entire family would be put on trial now, then executed if found guilty, with the exception of those under eighteen years of age.

  How old had Donny been? Oh, how Luke wished to have been a part of the action, and finally bringing them to justice. He tried so hard to go along, but since his father wanted him to be captain one day (someone never walking further from his office than to the front desk), he hadn’t been recruited to any of the field task forces.

  ‘The precinct was where they’d needed him.’ His father had said.

  A click of the door in the hall alerted Luke back to reality. He listened closely to the heavy breathing of someone unmistakable: Gordon Barry. What was he doing here?

  Luke remained seated, not feeling at all in the mood to stare upon Gordon’s miserable face. It had been way too late at night, and besides, tomorrow was his day off. What good was Gordon’s crooked teeth and snarling brows when he, Luke, was supposed to be relaxing?

  Gordon’s heavy footsteps slowly bounced their way towards Michael’s office.

  The door screeched when opened.

  Their low murmurs rose to a silent arguing; tones ascending so harsh, that Luke felt he had to investigate. After all, maybe it was an important case he could finally be a part of.

  When he made it halfway down the hall, he heard the definite fire of gun, and trembled at its bang. He rushed as fast as he coul
d, peered into the office, seeing his father’s lifeless body on the bright blue carpet, with Gordon Barry towering over it.

  Gordon looked up, noticed the shocked expression on Luke’s face, and raised the gun towards him. ‘Leave boy,’ he said. ‘And never come back!’

  Any other guy would’ve taken Gordon’s deal with the skip of a heartbeat. But Luke Asher wasn’t any other boy. He charged at Gordon, who’d expected Luke to be halfway down the street by now, and fell to the floor as he tackled him.

  They tossed and turned, both clutching the gun for dear life, when finally, a fatal shot went off. Luke’s ears felt like popping from their sockets.

  He stared upon the widening eyes of Gordon Barry, opening his mouth in agony, struggling to speak.

  ‘Your–father–took–everything–from–me–’ Those were Gordon’s lasts words.

  Luke rested on top of him, shaking vigorously while still clutching the gun. It wasn’t big, but sure as hell was lethal. He rolled over with his back against the carpet, and stared at the ceiling.

  The tips of his father’s fingers slightly brushed against his, deepening the sorrow within him. How could he have let this happen? Why couldn’t he have gotten up to greet Gordon at the door? And the last thing he’d said to his father was nothing but a purposeless sentence of his own selfishness.

  Luke reached for his father’s overcoat, and slipped his hand inside, retrieving the heavy lump of his radio transmitter. The light shone red as he switched it on. He pressed number three: The main ECD headquarters.

  ‘This is precinct 101, over.’ Luke muttered, hearing a tired woman answering on the other side. ‘Send, um…’ He paused, and thought for a second. His father’s face had gone blue, and so has the lips of Gordon Barry.

  I’m sorry dad, he thought, knowing that he’d never be able to become the great captain his father had always wanted him to be.

  ‘Send who? The woman asked, impatiently.

  ‘…send Dallas Romero.’

  Luke fell back with his head against the fluffy blue carpet, listening to the silent brush of static from the radio. He’d kept lying there, smelling the familiar scent of his father’s shoe polish, until the ECD came rushing in and seized him.