rise of the saviors

by Stella Samiotou Fitzsimons

  “Already did.”

  My words please him like I knew they would. I see a new determination in his eyes. He places a kiss on my lips and pulls my hair behind my ears. “When do you want me to start?”

  “Now would be the best time.”

  I hate deceiving him but I need him out of the way and it will be good for him to feel he’s in charge again. I escort him to a cart and kiss him goodbye.

  “I’ll see you for dinner,” he says. He takes my hand as I turn to go. “I love you, Freya. My feelings for Daphne are quite different.”

  “I know.” I watch him ride off towards the camp and realize Kroll is going to eat me alive when he finds out what I’ve done.

  As soon as Damian’s gone, I rush to his room. I search for Daphne’s box and find it under his bed. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner.

  He hasn’t bothered to secure the box in any way but my fingers shake and I almost drop it as I open the lid. The contents are exactly as I remember them. The touchpad with her message along with a lock of Daphne’s blonde hair.

  I carefully remove three hairs from the lock and place them in a small plastic cup I find by the sink. I replace the lid on the box and put it under the bed where I found it.

  As I head for the door, I spot a piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up instinctively and then realize I shouldn’t move anything. I’m about to set it back where it was when I recognize Damian’s handwriting. The words have been put on the paper hastily, crowded against each other in tilted lines. It’s so unlike Damian to be sloppy that I’m inclined to take a closer look.

  I read the first line and then the second. By the third line, it’s impossible to stop reading.

  Thoughts have teeth, he writes, and they bite hard. I intend to keep them caged in the expanse of my mind but then they bite harder until they see blood. They move to my tongue and taste bitter. I am spiteful and hate myself for it.

  To write the words is to kill them. Words must die.

  My head hurts like it’s hammered and shaped on an anvil every night. If I erase myself, will it stop hurting?

  If I should tell the story of my obliteration what words would I choose? Obliteration is the only way to drop the weight I carry and be a single person again. I can be no one and sometimes I am proud to be just that. But when I feel her love, I become someone and the hurting begins.

  Maybe you have to destroy love to become truly free. Love is skin and whispers. How do I live without her skin?

  I need to be more than me. She doesn’t understand that because to her I’m real when the truth is that I am hardly a specter of the man I was to become.

  The writing stops where the paper ends. Maybe there’s another piece of paper somewhere but I won’t look for it. I don’t know what I thought he would write but that was definitely not it.

  I can’t tell if he’s copied these sentences or if they’re his. They shouldn’t be his. They don’t sound like they are his. Damian is confident and fearless even when he is confused. I drop the piece of paper back on the floor with a heavy heart. I feel so guilty and selfish I could scream.

  His anguish tears me apart and suddenly I understand his loneliness. Sometimes the light comes in the morning and sometimes you have to turn it on yourself in the middle of the night.

  I run out and get to the communication center in HQ. I call doctor Armand to let him know I will be sending Daphne’s DNA samples to him in a few hours.

  22

  Damian bangs his hand on the table to call the meeting to order. The hubbub quiets down although the questions linger on everyone’s minds.

  “Too much new information will cause uncertainty,” Damian says. “It’s understandable. But one minute spent in arguing is one day lost in planning.”

  We’re a motley crew of rebels and fighters. The Saviors, the Dark Legion and the Exodus leaders have all come together today. And then, there’s Eric and Marisa to represent the forgotten survivors of the Earth.

  We’re all caught up on the latest developments: Rabbit and Scout, Eric’s history and possible usefulness, Ava’s predictions, my very own suspicions and my mission to get to the Empress, the failure of the Exodus missiles and the need for offensive strategies.

  “Suppose we go after the villages and the plantations,” Nya says. “Suppose things go well and we take them by surprise and all. Freya can only be at one place at a time. What if they send their bombers at the other places? How do we fight that without the missiles?”

  “You give me too much credit,” I cut in. “Even with me around we wouldn’t be safe from the bombers. I can’t do much in that regard without the receptor. My energy breaks down fast.”

  “And how do we protect everyone inside the plantations and Spring Town?” Theo says.

  Dom checks his communication device before he excuses himself.

  “There could be a lot of casualties,” Zoe adds.

  “We’re no strangers to that,” Finn says and it somehow sounds terrible and comforting at the same time.

  “Regardless of how we feel about it, the plan is solid,” Damian says. “The villages will be rummaged as a distraction. Then, we will strike the plantations while Freya and a team of fighters will go after the Empress.”

  When put like that, it sounds simple enough. But the devil is in the details and the devil we seek may have been expecting this all along.

  Daphne has been sitting in silence, watching us with a curious expression on her face. I’ve decided to allow her to be part of our group on the condition that she wears a monitoring device around her wrist twenty-four hours a day which she has accepted.

  Hopefully, doctor Armand will contact me with good news about her DNA proving she is in every way her former self. Then, true rehabilitation for her could be a possibility.

  Dom returns to the room pushing Commander Eldritch’s wheelchair. With an impatient wave of his hand, the commander insists we keep on with the meeting.

  “If we’d known you’d visit, we’d have made preparations,” Damian tells him, stealing a glance at me.

  “Good thing you didn’t know then,” Eldritch says. “We have no time for such things. We are all equal in times of war.”

  “We are happy you are here,” I say.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” the commander says. “It’s where the action is.”

  “Not a lot of action here, I’m afraid,” Finn says. “Just a lot of talking.”

  The commander grins like a little boy. “I was talking about the operation,” he says. “I want in.”

  The talking stops and glances are exchanged. Eldritch is in no condition for battle. He has to be joking. But the more I study his face, the more I realize he’s dead serious.

  “With all due respect, Sir, that’s a terrible idea,” I say.

  The wheels of Eldritch’s chair squeak as he moves impatiently around the table to get closer to me. His somber eyes meet mine with an uncomfortable intensity.

  “Look at me,” he says. “I’m an old man who can barely move. What do I have to live for? What good is my life if thousands younger than me perish? I am aware that I cannot be in the heat of the battle, that I can’t climb walls nor wave pulse guns while running. I don’t have magic hands like you and I can’t break bones with my fingers like Damian.”

  “You have a greater value,” I tell him.

  “I’m not young, I get that,” Commander Eldritch continues. “I’m not even in good shape. But I have a healthy mind and a hungry heart. I can be of help. I think clearly. I am good at solving tactical problems fast. Most importantly, I am the only one among us who has negotiated with the invaders without any emotional gravity pulling me down.”

  “If you deem it wise,” Damian says, “who are we to argue?”

  Eldritch nods satisfied. “We are all needed to bring the Empire down.”

  It is not easy to argue with him. His passion has won him this round and I cannot challenge his sincere commitment. Not to mention he is the le
ader and commander of the station that sheltered the Saviors and supported us to make this day possible. I have no authority over him. No one does.

  “It is your decision to make,” I say. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “Welcome to the meeting, Sir,” Damian says offering Eldritch his hand. “We must not forget that safety of those left behind comes first.”

  “Of course,” Eldritch says before turning his attention to Eric and Marisa. “It was hard to believe the news of your existence. Yet, here you are.”

  “Did you think us dead?” Eric says through squinting eyes.

  “We didn’t think you anything,” Eldritch says with a blank expression on his face. “We have found a few dead so we had considered it possible, but the dead do not tell stories.”

  “Oh, but they do,” Eric says. “Each dead creature can communicate with the living via their withering skin and flesh. Their very dying is a story.”

  “Is the wild man crazy?” Biscuit whispers in my ear.

  “I don’t know what he is,” I whisper back.

  “Would you like to be briefed?” Damian asks the commander.

  “I’ve followed most of your conversations through Dom’s communication device,” Eldritch admits. “The question as I see it is, how do we not only outmaneuver, but also outnumber the enemy? Their weapons are far more powerful and sophisticated than ours. There’s quite a difference in going from attacking one single plantation to taking over the entire network. We’ll need that extra something, a certain je ne sais quoi.”

  “I have a possible answer to that,” Eric says.

  The commander arches his brows. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, lad.”

  “The children here”, Eric says. “There are almost two thousand of them from what I’ve been told. You know a lot of them must carry mutations. Even as interesting as some of the ones calling themselves Saviors.”

  In the ensuing silence, I take a moment to consider Eric’s words. What he has said might have sounded disconcerting at first, but we’ve all thought of it before. Some of the kids that live in Spring Town are older than Tilly or Biscuit or even Nya and could have impressive skills. But does that mean they’d be ready or willing to use them?

  Damian turns to me. “What do you think of that?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to make the children feel weird, but…” I cut my sentence short realizing I’m not sure what I think.

  “But?” Finn asks.

  “Eric’s right,” I say. “There must be successful mutations among the children. Skills we could use. But it could be too late to consider it.”

  “More Saviors?” Biscuit says with gleaming eyes.

  “Infinitely more,” Nya says.

  “This is obviously something for you to decide,” Eldritch says, “but consider this. If we fail in our mission, everyone will die. You won’t be protecting anyone by leaving them behind.”

  I nod and so does Damian. We know what he means. That’s why he’s here. There’s no escaping the great war.

  “Whatever decision is made, it has to be made now,” Eric says. “The planet’s future might depend on it.”

  “The planet? Or just us?” Zoe asks.

  “I have a feeling the planet won’t make it either if we lose. Not for long anyway,” Eric says. “Many forms of life will be destroyed to make room for what the aliens need.”

  “That wouldn’t matter,” Dom says. “If our kind is gone, what is the point of it all? Humans are our concern. That is more important than anything.”

  Eric stares at Dom for a few seconds. “Humans are more important than anything to themselves,” he says. “There’s no question about that.”

  Dom doesn’t care to respond to the insinuation but a new kind of respect for Eric starts to brew in me.

  When we put the matter to vote, I know what the outcome will be. The older kids have already been training the last couple of weeks at combat techniques and weapons. All that’s left now is to have them tested for genetic peculiarities.

  The meeting breaks and people start leaving HQ.

  “It doesn’t mean we’ll use the kids,” Finn offers when he notices my uncertainty. “It’s good to know what they are, both for us and for them.”

  “I know,” I say when I feel a hand tugging at my sleeve.

  “There’s something more you should know,” Marisa says.

  “What is it now?” I say, afraid of what else she might reveal.

  Marisa takes a look at Finn and then at Damian who’s talking to Eldritch a few feet away. “Just you,” she says.

  “You have my full attention,” I say when Finn discreetly walks away.

  Marisa fiddles with a piece of cloth in her hands. “It’s about Eric again. I should have told you the whole story but such words don’t come easy to me,” she says. “Anyway, it’s time you knew the whole truth.”

  I stare deep into her eyes and take her hand in mine to encourage her. Whatever it is she has to tell me is very unsettling to her.

  “Eric is like you,” she says. “He was trained in a plantation and then he escaped. And he has skills beyond what’s human.”

  The wonders just keep coming today. “What skills, Marisa?” I ask her.

  “I couldn’t describe them to you. He’s vowed he’ll never use them again. They have caused him pain.”

  “Does he have mutated genes? Is this what you’re telling me?”

  She lowers her eyes. “He’s so much more than that. He is the ultimate mutant. That’s what Jacob calls him.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “He will have to tell you the rest,” she whispers with shaky hands as Eric makes his way to us.

  For the first time, I allow myself to mentally articulate what has been obvious since the first time I met him. He’s an impressive man that takes over a room when he steps into it with his fierce and piercing eyes, his proud gait and the straightforwardness of his speech. Eric demands everyone’s attention simply because of his commanding energy.

  “I’m sorry, Eric,” Marisa tells him quietly. “I had to tell Freya.”

  Eric glances at me and immediately knows what she means by that. “It’s okay, Marisa,” he says. “I was hoping you would save me from myself.”

  “You’re not upset with me?”

  He touches her cheek. “Not in the least. Can I speak with Freya, please?”

  Marisa leaves and I stare at Eric. “She said you’re a mutant.”

  “I apologize for my insincerity. It’s not a pleasant matter for me. My so-called powers have caused an insurmountable amount of pain.”

  “What are your powers, Eric? And how have they caused you pain?”

  “People I loved died because of them. People that trusted me. I was never able to control those skills. So I put them to rest. For all time.”

  “I can’t control my powers either.”

  “You can, Freya. They drain you, but they don’t kill those around you.”

  “If you tell me, maybe I can help. You helped me after all.”

  “I will support you and your cause,” he says. “I’m not afraid to die if need be. But I will not be responsible for any deaths among your people. Please, accept my decision. It’s for the best.”

  He walks away and my head starts spinning. I walk out into the cool evening looking for Damian. Tonight might be the last chance to make complete peace with him and let him know he can count on me.

  But as I reach the dining hall Zoe, Nya and Tilly get in my way.

  “We are kidnapping you,” Zoe says. “Tonight we will be silly.”

  23

  I can be silly. No problem there. The girls take me to a small patch of green behind the kitchen so we can have access to food and drink while at the same time make use of the light bulbs installed outside the building.

  “First, we’re going to talk like idiots,” Nya says.

  “Not fair to us,” Tilly says, faking a mad face.

  “What d
o you mean, little pumpkin?” Nya says.

  “You have an obvious advantage,” Tilly says with a chuckle.

  Nya can’t hide a smile of her own. “Laughing at your own jokes is not cool,” she says as she opens a bag and produces a spray can.

  “Why would I want to be cold?” Tilly asks.

  “Not cold, cool. Like they say in the old movies,” Nya explains.

  “What are you holding?” Zoe asks taking the can from Nya.

  “Just some helium gas,” Nya says. “Courtesy of the lab.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” I say. “Is this supposed to make us talk like idiots?”

  “Bingo,” Nya says. “We inhale it and talk like little idiot monkeys.”

  “I don’t want to sound like a little idiot monkey,” Zoe says.

  “Too late,” Tilly says and laughs at her own joke again.

  “It sounds like fun,” I say just to be silly.

  Nya sprays it into her mouth and inhales it quickly.

  “Is that even safe?” Tilly asks concerned.

  “What do you care?” Nya says with a voice so high-pitched and squeaky it makes us all laugh. “Freya’s here,” she goes on. “If you start dying, she’ll zap you right back up.”

  “Give me that,” I say taking the spray can from her.

  Soon afterwards, we’re all dancing and singing in those ridiculous voices that would make a hyena cringe.

  “Let’s do it again,” Tilly says once the effect is gone.

  “So now you like it?” Nya says.

  “Nah,” Zoe says. “It’s only fun the first time. Let’s tell stories instead.”

  The night has fallen quietly inviting crickets and moths to our little party. The anticipation of a bloody battle or two in the coming days has made us immune to the idea of sleeping.

  “You go first, Zoe,” I say. “Since it was your idea, you should be first.”

  We are all lying back waiting for Zoe’s story to begin.

  “It’s not a story really,” Zoe says. “More like a memory.”

  “I’m sure it will be great,” Tilly encourages her.

  “It happened when I was five. Six maybe. All my sisters were gone. I was the only child left in the house with my mother. I didn’t know yet I would soon be gone, too.”