by Amanda Thome
Standing atop the massive black hover is an outsized man with graying hair. He’s obviously much older than Jon but he looks just as imposing. His whole body’s crammed and sorta awkwardly restricted in his plaid shirt and blue jeans.
“What do we have here!” He shouts as he leaps six feet off the back of the hover, landing gingerly on the ground.
“Mark! You old fool!” Jon barks as they hug each other.
“I must be a fool, agreeing to stick my neck out for you.”
“This is a good plan. It’s the beginning of the end my man, I promise.” Jon says, clasping his hands around Marks shoulders. Jon points to me, “This is Ty.” I step forward and Mark throws his hand out.
“Ty, nice to meet you,” Mark says.
“Same,” I answer as he releases me. Mark smiles, his teeth are white and straight.
“Jon hasn’t told me much about you but I trust him, if he says jump, I jump.”
Jon interrupts, “Well, now that the introductions are done I’ll see myself out of here.”
“Wait, you’re not stayin’?” I ask. Jon never told me the exact plans but I thought he’d stay longer.
“You two go it alone from here.” He says nodding his head. He turns beating his way through the pines.
“Well Ty, let’s get started. Catch.” Mark tosses me a military duffle bag. It almost knocks me off my feet. It slams into my chest racketing as its contents collide.
“What’s in here?” I ask.
“Beacons and supplies. We’re ten miles from the wall. We’re going to start laying the beacons. You’ll learn by doing, it’s the best way to get the skill down.” Mark starts walking my way. “I’ll cover the first eight miles with you. After that you’re on your own.”
I lower the bag to the ground and Mark stoops over pulling it open. I see hundreds of small black orbs with a single circular glass window that splits their round design. I pick one up, it fits nicely in my palm.
“This thing can block a hover detector?” I ask.
“Don’t let the size fool you. Hundreds of scientists dedicated their lives to creating this thing. They have enough energy to hide this craft,” he points to the black monstrosity behind us. “Problem is they’re only good for five hundred feet. This craft here’s nearly six hundred feet long.”
I admire the scale of the hover. The black vessel has two enormous broad wings protruding from the side. At the base I can spot six reverse-flows facing the ground. Most hovers I’ve seen Central use only have four.
Mark grabs a beacon. “So here’s how it’s going to work. You’ll be wearing this,” he hands me a small grey box. “Every time you lay a beacon you sync it to this,” he taps the grey box to the beacon, its glass screen lets off three blue flashes. “Three blues means it’s connected. No flash means no go.” I nod my head. “Once it’s secured and synched,” he says, driving a stake through the ground and placing the beacon inside its basket. “Once those two things are done you just walk forward until that thing beeps.” He points to my grey box as he hauls off with half the supplies.
After five hundred feet the grey box beeps and I look down seeing the gauge flashing ‘five hundred.’ We beat the path through the woods walking, securing, synching, and repeat. Occasionally we come to ground that’s too solid to break. Mark shows me how to secure the beacons to the trunks of trees or bury them under nearby creek beds. We’re averaging just over thirty minutes a mile which isn’t bad considering the weight we’re carrying and the fact we have to stop so often. By one o’clock we’re at mile eight.
Sweat drips off Mark’s forehead. In fact his entire body’s saturated. “Well Ty, this is where I leave you.” He takes a huge swig from his canteen. “There are enough beacons to get you another eight miles. That’ll put you six miles inside the wall.” He turns my grey box on its side pointing to the two white buttons. “The craft can only come after sundown, it could be spotted during the day. Once you get to the end of your beacons wait until nightfall and hold these buttons down for five seconds.” He takes another swig of water. “It’ll alert us you’re ready for more. Jake’ll be standing by every night waiting. He’ll make the drop at your location and go back.”
“He’s gonna be riskin’ his neck daily? That’s nuts.” I say.
“He knows the risks, we all do. Trust me, we’ve all got our reasons for doing this.”
“If you say so.” I can’t imagine what his reason is; I guess it’s not my problem. Mark clasps my shoulder shoving his half of the supplies into my arms.
“Good luck.”
Chapter 32
It would be quiet if it wasn’t for the bags that clang together. The extra weight of Mark’s supplies slows me down. It takes forty-minutes to cover the swampy lands between miles eight and nine. No doubt this job sucks but I gotta stay focused on the end result. If I pull this off I’ll save her. Everything I’ve done for the last three years has revolved around this. Now that I’m finally here I gotta suck it up and do it.
It’s almost two o’clock and the wall should be coming soon. I keep walking forward till outta nowhere I see the top of the massive wall climbing above the tree line. The disgusting yellowing concrete towers and sits like an oppressive symbol corralling my people in.
I scan the top of the wall with the worn binoculars Mark left. Shit, a Borg. I make out his black boots, sleek helmet, and his gun cradled in his arms. He’s pacing waiting for someone like me.
Screw it I think as I stow the binoculars and keep walking. I pick my way to the point where I can’t risk securing any more beacons. My fingers wrestle with the worn strap until I free the binoculars again to confirm his position.
I lower the binoculars to ground level. I spot the disturbed ground I tunneled out from. It’s hard to believe it was only a week ago I escaped. It feels like a lifetime ago that I broke free and found Jon.
Luckily the Borg’s haven’t found the disturbance yet. According to Jon the wall’s constantly undergoing perimeter checks. His best guess is that they’ll re-check this area in another few days.
The binoculars hang from the strap around my neck as I thud down against a rounded boulder. The minutes grind by painfully slow. My stomach knots and growls until I pull out a protein bar from the side pocket of the duffle bag. Jon packed them for me. The texture reminds me of hay and mud mixed together.
Apparently I only need three a day to survive. At least I’ll have more time to secure the beacons since I won’t have to hunt or fish. Jon figured I needed to cover sixteen miles a day, putting me at roughly twelve-hour days. Each night I have to activate the box signaling Jake to come make the next drop.
Numbness spreads from my back to my feet. I’ve been sitting here for four hours waiting for the Borg to leave. It’s been twenty minutes since he stalked off. I have to make my move now. Jake needs me two miles inside the wall before he can make the drop. That means an hour of my work will be done in the dark tonight.
Thousands of needles jab my stiff legs as I stand. I shake em out and sling the duffle bags over my shoulders. It’s pretty impossible to be unassuming with two military bags and a backpack but I shrink down as low as possible and run forward.
I step onto the open field as my heart squeezes. The wheat grass sways in the breeze. I wish it was much taller. Instead it leaves my torso exposed, my most vital areas open to the Borg. I imagine him returning to his post, I can almost see my blood spraying across the wheat field. I’ve got to push on though. I sprint forward ten steps before my grey box beeps. I drop my bags, my sweaty hands fumble with the stake. I don’t even look to see if the Borg’s back, if he is I’m dead no matter what. I slam the stake with my hammer. It bangs as it drives into the ground and I cringe. I can hardly get a hold of the beacon my hands are so wet. I rub the sweat onto my pants. Shakily, I line the ball into position on the stake. My hands tremor as I place the grey box next to the orb. I wait for it to sync, time seems frozen. I wait for one of two things, either the blue flash or a Borgs
flying bullet. At last the screen blinks blue.
Scooping up my bags I sprint forward, my heart beats fast. Two more times my grey box beeps reminding me to secure more beacons. Two times I’m a sitting duck waiting to be exterminated. I shake as I line the third orb to the box and wait. Again it flashes blue and I’m off. One hundred feet between me and the wall. I grab my bags and sprint for the tunnel. My bags slam against each other. I’m closing in. Just five steps and I’ll be there. The Borg’s booming voice echoes from above.
“Hey Albert, any problems today?” The one asks.
“No, quiet day. I just finished patrolling the tenth parallel, it looked good there.”
I lunge forward squeezing myself against the concrete wall. I roll my head skyward. If I stay right here I’m hidden. Three steps out and they’ll see me. My stomach knots as the protein bar tries to make its way out. I hold my breath trying to steady myself against the wall. An hour passes, my arms feel the strain more than anything. The bags are tearing at every fiber inside my body as they try pulling me downwards. It takes everything inside me to keep the bags up. Any movement will trigger the patrols to look down. My arms tremble as sweat rolls down my face.
“Well Albert, I guess you should get out of here. Craft should be here any minute.”
“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
This might be my only chance. I sidestep toward my tunnel. The beacons sway against each other, clanking with each step. I glue myself to the wall and continue sideways. I lower the first bag toward the entrance. My arm still burns without its weight. I stand directly over the loose dirt, I sink as it gives way under my weight. I lower the other bags to the open side and crouch. I push the loose dirt to the sides. After thirty minutes of digging I re-expose the bottom of the wall. I creep into the tunnel. It’s a brutally slow process of reopening the tunnel to accommodate my baggage. I work for hours with the Borg pacing a nearby wall.
Its pitch black outside once I’ve finally finished. I drag the bags through the tunnel, coming across inside the wall. The dark’s so thick there could be a Borg two feet in front of me and I’d have no clue.
I take the better part of an hour masking my tunnel before I lift the bags back to my shoulders. I move forward into the black, I still have two miles to cover tonight.
The job seems impossible in this darkness. I pick my way through the woods using the stars and Mark’s compass to guide me. These two miles would have taken under two hours in daylight but now it takes me four.
I secure the last beacon, it flashes blue. I sink to the ground with the grey box fisted in my palm. I hold the white buttons down just like Mark showed me. Across the wall Jake’s sitting there waiting for my signal.
I unwrap another protein bar. I’m through the second bite when I hear the crashing and breaking of branches overhead. I follow the noise until I find the dropping box, it’s probably five-feet by five-feet in size.
It lands on its side with a small parachute skipping in the gust. I pry it open as beacons and stakes pour outta it. I transfer half of them into the duffle bags before I fall asleep on top of the box.
Chapter 33
It’s hard to believe I’ve been out here sixteen days. I’ve been getting up at first light to haul brutally heavy bags through the thick forest, mud, and rivers. At last the end’s here. Jake made the final drop last night and when I pried the crate open Jon had left me a note.
‘Only the strong and good will persevere and save not just himself, but all humanity. We will be waiting for you on the other side.’
I guess he meant it as a sort of compliment. Thinking about being back on the other side with Vanessa keeps my spirits up, even in the cruel heat that’s carpeted everything for two weeks now. The air’s heavy but I pick my way through the woods, crossing dry creek beds.
Daylight’s winding down when I come to the dried bed that Vanessa and I crossed our first night here. It feels like a generation ago that I watched her drag her way across the mud. I say a silent prayer, I pray she’s still at the hillside like I’d seen in my sight years ago.
I finish my prayers with a gust of wind picking up my torn shirt. I shiver, it’s almost nice but then it hits me: a storm’s coming. I grab the bags and start running toward her hillside. Every five hundred feet the damn grey box beeps reminding me of my job. I’ve gotten fast at securing the beacons but it feels like it’s taking too long. The sky darkens as rolling thunder bangs in the distance. I cover the ground sprinting. Even with hauling the bags and securing the beacons I’m at a ten-minute-mile pace.
The threatening storm pushes me faster through the woods. I break through the trees and I’m a half-mile away from her when the first bolt strikes. It reaches from the sky like a hand with fingers open wide. It was close to her, for all I know it was on top of her. The tree the bolt struck lets out a dying groan as it crashes to the ground.
My box beeps and I stop, sweat pours outta me. I secure the beacon and run, pushing myself forward. Two minutes and I’ll be there. Another loud crack vibrates as a bolt touches down. I’m in the middle of securing another beacon when the lashing wind carries smoke to me.
Shit, this is it I realize grabbing my bags before I take off. I hurdle rotting logs and tear through sticker bushes that grab at my flesh. More beeping and more smoke. My heart tells me to run but I know I gotta secure the beacons. I drive the stake into the ground and sync the orb. I leave the grey box and backpack next to the last stake. Clouds of smoke roll through the darkening skies. I break the trees bordering her thirsty stream.
A wall of fuming heat hits me head on. Her hill’s almost totally ablaze. My eyes sting and burn as I scan for her but I can’t find her. I’m too late, the hill’s on fire. Her shelter’s getting swallowed by flames as I sit helpless at the base of the hill.
Then I hear her cough. I sprint toward her, there’s a wall of fire surrounding her. I can’t tell how wide it is. Without thinking I drop my last bag and shield my face. I run straight into the flames. My skin sears and heat burns into me. I take three steps through the wall of flames before I break free.
Vanessa’s on her side, bits of her are charred. I lift her lifeless body as smoke and flames frame us. I do the best I can to guard her as I sprint back through the wall. The wind spins smoke around my face disorienting me. I can’t make my way through the blinding fog. The gusts calm for a blink and the smoke clears.
I leap the wall with flames burning what little clothes I’ve got left. I beat out the flames scorching into Vanessa then throw myself to the ground. I roll side to side. I can’t tell if she’s alive, she’s lying so still.
I sprint to the last beacon and grab my grey box. The tips of my fingers are raw from the heat but I jam them into the white buttons and hold. It’s raw pain for five seconds.
I crawl to her body and drag her past the beacon. Opening her mouth I breathe into her. I hardly have any air in my lungs but I’d give it all to her. It’s because of me she’s here. Her chest rises and falls. I push on her chest just like Kara showed me.
Drops of blood fall from my arms onto her shoulders as I compress. I repeat the cycle ten times. At last a light shines above me and the wind of the hover drives downward.
Jake lowers the basket from the base of the hover. It drops painfully slow. I carry Vanessa onto it, throwing myself on top of her. He lifts us into the hover. My body shakes wildly and Vanessa still hasn’t moved. My breath is quick and shallow as we’re boosted up. Everything becomes a haze just as I black out.
Chapter 34
It’s the first time in two weeks I’ve seen him open his eyes. “Are you okay?” I ask. We’ve been next to each other fighting for our lives together. He’s finally opened his eyes, his bandaged hands flinch as he arouses.
He lets out a low guttural growl. I imagine it’s difficult for him to talk. Kara has us both pumped full of morphine and other ‘cocktails’ as she calls it, but even still, it doesn’t totally numb the pain. Somehow Tyler’s stayed in a s
tate of unconsciousness for two weeks, even during the scrubbing.
I’m sure that’s not the medical term but it’s what I’ve started calling it. Kara and Jon submerge us in pools of sterile water to irrigate and re-open our burns. All the morphine in the world couldn’t numb that pain yet somehow Tyler stayed unconscious throughout it. Kara told me his body’s in shock. The severity of his burns were much greater than mine.
I don’t remember much about the fire. From what I’ve pieced together it was Tyler who saved me. He nearly died, actually he still might. Maybe I should feel indebted to him but to me this makes us even. He’s one less person I need to take revenge on but that doesn’t make us friends.
“Vanessa?” He whispers.
“It’s me, I’m here.” The hate that used to course through my veins has calmed some. How could I hate someone who nearly sacrificed themselves for me? His mouth draws into a smile followed by an immediate wince. The abrasions tug at the corners of his mouth.
“Where are we?” He asks.
“You tell me. Jon says you’re one of the masterminds behind this whole thing.”
“Huh.” He half laughs. “Nope, no mastermind. Just a foolish boy.”
“He told me.” I pause waiting for a response that doesn’t come. “He told me how you tunneled your way out. That you found him here. Told me about the beacons and the craft.”
“Yeah.” He stops himself.
“I asked him why you’d do that for me.” I stare at him. He’s quiet and statue-like in the bed next to me. He keeps his eyes directed straight for the ceiling.
“What’d he say?” He finally asks.
“He told me to ask you.”
