by Miria Masdan
The door thrust open. The wooden frame splinters, and the door slams against the wall.
It’s Quinn.
Marcus looks at him, but he doesn’t even have time to raise his gun. He steps in front of me, and I think I hear him say, “I’m sorry” right before his blood splatters across my face.
I see the blood spread, soaking his back. He falls to his knees. I’m still sitting on the bed behind him. Quinn shoots again. This time he hits him in the head, blood splatters all over the room, covering me.
I just look at him with tears covering my face. My whole body is shaking. I try to wipe the blood off my face and arms, but all I do is smear it. I frantically rub my hands on the bed covering.
Marcus’ body slumps on the floor in front of me, and his last words echo in my mind.
“Don’t trust anyone…”
“Are you okay?” Quinn says. He is leaning over me. His hands are on my shoulders. I can smell him, but I don’t think about home. I’m too scared and confused. “Emma!”
“You killed him,” I choke. “He’s dead.”
“We have to go,” he says.
Max is standing behind him. He points his gun towards the door. “Calder!”
“I know,” he says, “give her a second.”
“No,” I whisper, “I can’t.”
“Come on,” he stands. His hand is extended, waiting for me to grab it.
“No,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“You killed him,” I say.
“To save you,” he says.
“I need to go home,” I say.
“Then come on,” he grabs my hand and pulls me up.
Marcus’ blood makes my hand slippery. Quinn wipes his hand on his pants and then uses his sleeve to wipe the blood from my face.
I step around Marcus. His blood is spreading out around him, leaving a crimson pool. I’ve never seen a dead person before. I can’t stop thinking about his warning. His last thoughts were for my safety. Quinn killed him; he warned me to stay away from the officers. I know what the punishment is for not being compatible; it’s banishment. But Quinn is different; he’s mine. He wouldn’t harm me, would he?
I hesitate. I have no idea what to do. I have so many questions, and Marcus’ boss has all the answers. Maybe he can tell me why I’m broken, and how to fix myself; so I can finally have a normal life.
“What now?” he looks at me with those eyes. My heart skips, for every question I have for Marcus’ boss; I have a thousand more questions for Quinn. But I decide to be cautious. Marcus and Pam had both warned me to be careful.
I allow him to pull me into his arms, and we leave. Max covers us. We meet Smith and the others down by the elevator.
“We can’t go back up into the bar,” Smith says. “We have to find a way to sneak her back without anyone seeing.”
“We can head into the Under,” Quinn says, “I have friends down here; they’ll keep us safe and lead us out through a more discrete way.”
We find our way out of the building, and out onto the old city streets. It’s eerie down here. It’s always dark, and the people are wary of strangers, especially three Federation Defense officers, and three Federation interns.
We walk for about ten minutes, before Max motions for us to stop. We’re all still, as we wait for him to direct us.
He backs up; he points his gun ahead of us. We all slip into an ally. Smith is first, then us girls, and then Quinn, followed by Max.
We round the back corner and step out into an open area. There are no buildings behind us, just darkness and what appears to be an old park.
“What’s…,” Grace starts.
“Shhh,” Max says. He motions towards the ally.
I hear the commotion from out in the street, and it’s getting louder. I can hear people running and shouting. Grace and Mandy are huddled together, between Smith and Max. I lean against the wall, trying to make myself as small, as possible. Quinn glances towards me, but he doesn’t come to me; he doesn’t offer to protect me.
One part of me wants to wrap myself around him, and the other part wants to run away from him, as far away as possible. My head starts to hurt. My headaches are becoming more frequent. At first they are a dull ache, but they always turn into a painful barrage of spasms and visions. Mostly, I see memories; my childhood, people, and places. But sometimes they are like my nightmares. I see places I’ve never been, and people I’ve never met.
I close my eyes. I concentrate on the brick wall behind me. It is cold and rough against my hands, and there is something protruding right into my lower back. I shift to my left.
I think about Quinn’s eyes. I picture him sitting by a lake. It's evening, and the light is getting low. He looks angry, and he’s not alone; there’s another man there with him. I recognize him, but I don’t immediately recall from where. I take a deep breath and ease into my thoughts. I concentrate. They aren’t friends.
The pain shoots from the top of my head all the way down my spine, sending an excruciating jolt into my hip. I buckle under the pain. Someone grabs me. All I can feel is a hot, motionless lump where my body should be.
I try to stand, but I can’t find my feet or hands. I can’t see, but I can hear my friends. They are talking about me; I hear my name. I call out to them, they don’t respond.
Something is touching my face. A tingling sensation has replaced the numbness. I try to breathe through my mouth, but I wheeze and gag.
I can see someone over me, I blink. It’s Quinn. His hand is over my mouth. I hear muffled screams” it’s me. I stop.
“Are you done?” Quinn releases his hand.
“Are you okay?” Grace is kneeling beside him. She shoots Quinn an annoyed look.
I shake my head. “What happened?”
“You collapsed and then started screaming,” Grace says.
“I don’t…” I stammer.
Grace puts her arms around me, “She shaking and cold.”
“We need to hurry,” says Max.
“Can you move?” Smith asks. “We can help; if you need.”
They help me up, and we continue through the park. We travel on what must have been a path. It’s overgrown, and there’s debris scattered everywhere. We pass an area with metal objects, twisted in a whimsical fashion. An eerie scraping and clanking sound comes from someplace in the darkness. We move along quickly.
We come to an area that is surrounded by trees, not beautiful, green giants. No, these trees are nothing more than tall, broken logs. Some are still attached to the ground; their branches snapped and splintered around their once mighty trunks. Others have given up and fallen, scattering shards of wood across the ground.
We step over branches and piles of debris. My ankle is throbbing. I bite down on my lips and grimace. I hold my breath and lift my legs over a rather large log. I swing my feet to the other side, being careful not to hit my ankle. I reach down with my feet to find a solid foothold, but a tangle of brittle branches is all I find. I step carefully, not depending too much on my hurt ankle. I try to be quick, but the pain is getting worse.
The others are waiting for me. I stumble over the branches and finally make it back to the path. We continue until we enter an open area. Max stops and listens for a moment. He motions us forward. I follow, but I am the last in line. Mandy is right in front of me.
We come to an enormous concrete and metal pillar. I stop to examine it. It’s bigger around than the entire circumference, including branches, of my apple trees, and it extends all the way up to the ceiling. I walk around it. I touch it, and then I stand back and look at it. I know that it is supporting the city above, but I wonder why the Federation decided to raise the new cities.
I look around for the others. They are gone. They must not have noticed that I stopped, and I didn’t think to tell them. I suddenly feel very exposed. The darkness seems to be closing in on me, and I turn to continue the path. I take a few steps and then look behind me. I have no idea where
to go. When I was looking at the pillar, I lost track of my direction.
I can feel the panic rise from within me. My heart is pounding, and I can’t control my breathing. I need fresh air. The recycled air down here is thick and musty. I can’t move. I feel like the walls, and the ceiling are closing in on me.
A low scraping and clanking sound comes from the near distance. It is the same sound that I heard when we were walking earlier. I lift my face and close my eyes. I listen carefully. I hear the same noise.
It sounds like the swings at our playground at school when the wind blows. But there is no wind down here, and no children to play. And then I hear a snap and a rustle. The sound that I made when I was climbing over the log; someone is creeping up behind us.
I back up close to the pillar and slide around to the far side. I look to the darkness beyond. There are more fallen trees and a lot of places to hide. It’s about a fifteen-foot dash to the woods. My ankle is still throbbing, but I take the chance. I hobble as fast as I can to the nearest downed tree. I fling myself over and fall to the ground.
I try to slow my breathing.
It won’t be long before the others realize that I am missing, and they will return to find me; I hope. They will be walking straight into whoever it is slinking around in the shadows. I gather up all my strength and crawl away from the sound. I’m conscious of my movements. I move quietly and slowly through the fallen branches.
After a few minutes, my hand lands on something hard. It is the path. I am far enough away that I dare stand and move forward, but I stay close to the dead trees, using them to hide me from anyone who might be walking up the path behind me.
I hear a noise coming from the path ahead of me. I stop and kneel behind a tree. I can see the path. I sit still and hope that if anyone passes by they will not notice me. I can see movement, but I can’t tell who it is.
They pass by me. I shift my weight so that I can see the other side of the tree. A stick snaps beneath me. I freeze; my eyes fixed on the figure. They stop. I can see them turn their head towards my direction. They heard me.
They turn around and walk my way. My heart is racing. I hold my breath. My palm is resting against the bark of the tree. It is dry and rough. I have no place to go. Behind me is a large log and my ankle is too painful to be able to leap over it and make an escape. I feel around for anything; I find a stick. It is not very big, but it is all that I can find. I grab it in my hand and prepare to protect myself.
They stop a few feet beyond my position. I take the opportunity to slip myself around the tree to better conceal myself. This time I am quiet. But another noise from down the path towards the pillar draws my attention. I look, but I can’t see anyone.
They hear it too. They enter the woods only a few feet to my right. I don’t move, but there is no way to avoid being seen. Our eyes meet.
It is Quinn. He places his finger to his mouth and shakes his head. I take a shallow breath and close my eyes. He came back for me. My heart flutters.
A shuffle from the path, followed by a quiet scrape and a static sound makes me open my eyes. I can feel myself losing control again. My breaths quicken. I concentrate on each inhalation and expiration. Quinn is close enough to me that he can hear my breathing. He edges closer to me. He is sitting facing me; his side is touching my side and his face only a breath away from mine. His hand slips around my neck. I can feel his fingers slide through my hair, touching my skin. A cold shiver runs throughout my body, heightening each touch.
His lips are next to mine. I want to feel them, but I am terrified to move. I close my eyes; I can’t look into his because I won’t be able to control myself. In my nightmare; we always end up together, in peril, in deaths grasp, and he always dies. I try to save him, but I never do. And now he is here, touching me, protecting me, and I am afraid. I should be happy. I should be taking this moment to love him, to finally know what it is like to be in his arms, and to be safe. But we are not safe.
Something hard jabs into my side. I open my eyes, and he is there, so close that I can see nothing else. He slowly shakes his head. I glance down, but I don’t need to see it, to know what it is. He jabs his gun into my ribs.
“Don’t,” he says, just barely above a whisper.
I look back into his eyes; it is not love that I see in his warm brown gaze. It is hostility. He jabs his gun deeper. An acute awareness of danger replaces my heightened sensation.
I can feel the panic rise within me again. When I was younger, I would hold my breath until I passed out. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I want to escape, and this is the only way I know how to stop my panic. I can feel my lungs tight against my chest; my throat is still and numb. The pain spreads across my chest. Each heart beat slams against my ribs, lungs and reverberates inside my skull, making my ears throb. I fight the urge to gasp for air. I bite down on my lips and press my tongue to the back of my throat, sealing my airway.
I can no longer feel his gun against my side; all I feel is my pain, but even that is giving way to the numb feeling associated with my lack of oxygen. I slump, and everything goes dark.
I’m not sure how long I was passed out, but when I wake up I am alone again. I’m no longer sitting against the tree. I am lying on the ground, but I do not see stars. I see the empty ceiling above me. I glance to my left and then to my right. I don’t see anyone. I listen for any sound, but there is nothing. I wait a few moments.
I sit up. I am surrounded by fallen trees. I can’t see over them. I get up cautiously and peer out into the darkness. I can’t see anything. I sit back down.
“You okay?”
I jump. I look and see Quinn. He is standing on the other side of one of the trees. He climbs over and kneels next to me.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Well?”
“I’m fine,” I say. My head hurts a little bit, and my ankle is slightly throbbing but other than that I am okay. “Where are the others?”
“They’re going to meet us,” he says.
“Why did you…”
“Let’s get something straight,” he says, “my job is to get you back, alive and well to your fiancé.”
“Adam,” I say. I shake my head. I hadn’t thought about him. He is going to be furious with me. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear about your gentle, kind approach with my rescue.”
“Just as pleased, as he will be to hear about your adventures tonight,” he says, “drinking, associating with criminals and throwing yourself at me.”
“What, I never…”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says.
“You wouldn’t,” I snap.
“Cooperate,” he says, “getting out of the Under is not easy. I don’t need any more crazy fits, from you.”
“I can’t control it,” I say.
“But you did,” he says. “You made it stop.”
“Holding my breath, until I pass out, is hardly a control mechanism,” I say. “It was more of a survival technique. I don’t want to die, or be caught.”
“I wasn’t going to kill you,” he says.
“Then why?” I wonder what he would think if he knew his body against mine was all I needed to be calm; if he would’ve kissed me, instead of pulling his gun.
“It’s what I do,” he says, “I control, with force.”
“And that works for you?”
“I can’t control it either,” he says. “It’s part of my program.”
“I see,” I say. “I thought Defense citizens had minimal restraints?”
“Only certain emotions are heightened,” he says, “the one’s that the Federation considers beneficial: anger, aggression; things like that.”
I don’t say anything, but I detect a hint of doubt in his voice. He looks away. I take the opportunity to look at him. He has a scar on his face, between his left ear and his eye. I don’t remember this scar like I remember the one on the back of his head.
“Are you ready?�
�� He stands up.
“Where did they go, the people who were following us?”
“I don’t think they were after us,” he says. “I think they just happened to be here.”
“Are they gone?”
“Yeah, they walked through and headed off into the city,” he says. “I followed them for a while. They went the opposite way we need to go.”
We walk through the rest of the park. We don’t talk. I keep close to him, watching his every move. He is strong, and he carries himself in a confident manner. I’m scared of him, but I feel safe from any outside threats. He said he can’t control himself. He’s programmed to protect the Federation. What if I am the threat?
Marcus’ words keep running through my head, “Don’t trust anyone, not even the officers.” He said they’d make me cooperate. I wonder how.
We stick close to the buildings, using them for protection. We don’t encounter anyone else on the street, but it is late, and I assume most people down here try to avoid being out after hours. We come to a cross road; there are faint lights in the ceiling, dimly illuminating the street below. Quinn stops; he holds his arm back, grabbing my side.
“We can’t cross here,” he whispers. “We’ll have to go back and find a safer route.”
We ease back into the shadows. We find a side street. There are no lights, but it is not a clear path. There are old cars and piles of junk scattered down the street. Quinn goes first. We duck behind the piles as we make our way down. He checks in front of us and behind us before we duck behind the next pile.
We’re squatting down behind a pile of, what appears to be furniture when I hear a noise from behind us. I look over my shoulder. I can’t see anything. I look back to Quinn; he must have heard it too. He motions for us to move forward. We keep low.
We don’t stop at the next pile. We move quickly, careful not to make any noise. We’re almost at the end of the street. I can see the building beyond our position. Quinn looks at me and nods towards the building to the left.
He takes off. I hesitate for a moment. I’ve been concealing my injured ankle, choking back the pain and forcing myself to use it. But I’m not sure that it will be good enough to make it across the street quickly enough.
