by Amy Miles
FIVE
I clutch my arms around my knees as a trembling reverberates through me. I begin to rock, thinking of how close I came to enslavement…or worse.
What happened back there?
I hold up my hands before my eyes but they remain unseen in the dark. Traces of heat linger in my fingertips, as if the fires might spark to life again. I clasp my chest as pain continues to radiate around my heart.
Something is wrong. I can feel this truth buried deep within my core. I’ve never lost my cool before. Never come so close to unbridled rage. I shake my hands and clench them into fists. What is happening to me?
What about Bastien? Did he make it out ok?
I can hear the aliens in the distance, coordinating a search for us. I don’t have long to linger, but I can’t seem to make my legs work properly. My mind refuses to think on anything but the way I tore a staircase off its hinges and hurled it across the room, or the way I shoved that machine with my mind.
I killed those aliens.
I can’t find it in me to regret my actions. I only wish I could understand them.
The pounding of my heart is nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of the aliens approaching. I push back on the wall to rise, stomping the blood back into my legs before I sprint through the alley and burst through the other side.
Shouts rise behind me and I know they’re on my trail. I don’t know how many are coming after me, but all that matters is that I get out of there quickly.
Block after block blurs past. I scour the streets, searching for an entrance to the subway. If I can get down there I might stand a chance, but luck is obviously not on my side. I don’t see any way of getting underground.
I glance back over my shoulder and see emerald light glowing a couple blocks back, dancing onto the walls as the aliens run. They are faster than I am. Whatever power it was that I tapped into back at that factory has left me weak and vulnerable. I have to hide.
I grab a metal street sign and sling myself around the corner of a building. It’s hard to maintain a full out sprint with a cramp forming in my side. My pace slows to a lurching run and then a fast walk. I clutch my chest as my lungs constrict, making it nearly impossible to draw a full breath.
Spying an alley halfway down the street, I hook right and race to the end.
“This can’t be happening!” I slam my open palms against a chain link fence that blocks the exit. It rises high overhead, and a spiral of spiked wire runs the length of the top. I turn and press back against the rusted fence, curling my fingers around the wire as I peer behind a large green container with a large, faded sigh that says GARBAGE on its side. No signs of rats or any other foul vermin so far.
The scent of trash has long since faded. A large hole gapes open on the lower right side of the container and a fine dirt mixture pours out from within. I grasp a handful of soil and breathe in deep. It is compost, something I’m very familiar with from growing up in the forest.
I peer around the edge of the container and listen. Boots slap the sidewalk as they approach. There’s no time to run.
Glancing back at the rusted hole, I decide to take my chances with the dirt. I wiggle inside headfirst, scratching my hip as I pass. I tuck my lower lip behind my teeth as I grip the floor and pull myself through. The edges of the metal hole scrape layers of skin from my sides and I bite down hard on my lip to still my cry.
Shouts rise from the end of the alley, and I rush to bury myself in the garbage remains. The soil is cold and the metal floor frigid against the narrow swatch of skin at my waist where my shirt has risen up. Goosebumps rise along my body as I wiggle down as low as I can go.
I manage to get my lower half completely covered but my top half will be difficult. There isn’t enough soil left to completely hide in.
“Any sign of her?” My head whips up as I struggle to hear through the thick metal box. The voice is loud but muffled by the walls.
“I could have sworn she came this way.” The alien’s tone is raspy, hardened with age. If he were human, I would’ve said that he’d smoked one too many dogwood bark cigarettes.
“Maybe she doubled back? I heard Commander Drakon was close to getting his hands on the boy. Maybe she went back for him?”
The second voice is higher in pitch, not all that unlike a girl’s voice. I’ve always wondered how young the Caldonians start out their soldiers. By the sounds of it, the boy can’t be a day over fifteen.
Suddenly, a tickle begins in my nose as the dirt shifts. My pulse shoots up as I plug my nostrils and pray that I can hold off my sneeze until the aliens leave.
“Think we should head back?”
I can hear their boots shifting on a mixture of glass and rubble out on the street. I close my eyes and hope that they’ll just leave.
“The Commander will have our heads if we’re wrong.” The older soldier’s gruff response sends my hopes plummeting into cold oblivion. I suck in a deep breath and wait.
The sneeze escapes before I can stifle it. I cup my mouth and clamp my eyes closed, straining to hear.
“What was that?” Footsteps shift on the street and I’m sure that they know exactly where I am. “Came from down there. Let’s check it out.”
I rip my shirt over my head and rub dirt into the material, tearing at the frayed ends of the shirt to create long, wide ravels. I scrub the dark compost all over my face, chest and abdomen to hide my pale skin. I rub my head along the floor, matting my sweaty hair with refuse.
Their approach is slow and cautious. I can see the bouncing light of their lasers as they draw near. Draping my torn shirt over my chest and head, I sprinkle compost over it. I bury my arms into the soil and focus on taking tiny breaths. I wish I could see myself from above to know if any part of me is visible.
The scrape of a boot beside the dumpster and the rattle of the chain steal away my breath. Terror roots me to the metal floor as I suck in my stomach and pray that my concealment looks natural.
“I don’t see anything.” The man’s voice is loud enough to sift through the hole at my feet.
My lungs burn but I continue to suck in only partial breaths. I can’t risk another sneeze now that I’m buried in this shallow grave.
I clamp my eyes tightly closed as a bright light pierces through the hole. “See anything?”
Shifting just enough to get my arm behind my back, I pull out my gun. My finger hovers over the trigger, ready to take out these aliens the instant I’m discovered.
Seconds seem to drag by with agonizing indifference to my predicament. “Nah. Just some dirt and crap. She’s not here.”
I allow a tiny breath of relief as the light vanishes. The chain link fence rattles as someone kicks it. “Darn cats are a nuisance.”
“Now what, Tuz?”
The older alien, Tuz I presume, spits. The glob splatters against the dumpster and I scrunch up my nose with disgust. “We keep looking. She can’t have gone too far.”
I wait to take my first deep breath until the sounds of their retreat have completely vanished. My fingers uncurl from my palms, leaving stinging half-moon cuts. I tear my shirt away from my face and sit up, gasping for breath as my lungs expand to full capacity.
Compost shifts down my body as I rise to a crouch. My pants are filthy, my hair is clumped with compost, and my skin itches in more places than I care to count. I pull my shirt down over my head and take in the damage.
The jagged hem of my black shirt is now about two inches shorter in places. Large rips lead up my sides and one up the center of my stomach, stopping scant inches from my chest. “Good thing no one’s going to see me like this,” I mutter as I wiggle back through the hole.
Fresh blood and dirt mingle in the wounds as I rise. I cup my hand over my right side, knowing I pulled a bit too far to the right. The wound is deeper than before.
I take the alley at a run, keeping to the deeper shadows until I
reach the end of the street. I poke my head out and survey both ways. No signs of my pursuers, but I’m sure they’re not too far away.
I sweep the roofline in search of which direction to head. The moonlight breaks through small openings in the cloud cover, lending just enough light so I won’t face plant into a wall. I can see the glow of the City above, gaining brightness behind me. A rumbling rises from the ground, intermittent but increasing in intensity. I peer down the street and see a towering shadow gaining purchase on the buildings several blocks away. I don’t know what it is but I’m not sticking around to find out. I sprint straight across the street and flee to the darkness.
Wooden boards creak underfoot as I climb a set of rickety stairs. The banister rocks under my grasp, threatening to collapse onto the floor below. I cling to it, unsure if it is holding me upright or vice versa.
The wallpaper on the stairway wall is faded, concealing its original design. It peels away from the weathered molding near the ceiling. The plaster behind is cracked from evidence of water damage. Everything feels dingy and almost sticky to the touch.
My steps are labored, echoing through the abandoned housing building. Exhaustion shrouds me as I round the second floor and struggle up the next flight of stairs. The landing is blanketed with tile shards that poke up into my shoes as I pass. A large, glassless window at the end of the hall allows in shifting beams of moonlight. What was probably once a white cushioned window seat just below has deteriorated to a moldy lump. I scrunch up my nose at the obvious evidence of rodent habitation.
I have no idea where I am, or how far I’ve run; all I know is I can’t go any further.
It has been an hour since I heard the aliens. Not long after I darted out of the alley, I heard a laser fight a couple blocks over and I can’t help wondering if Bastien made it out alive.
I should have gone back for him and fought beside him. I try to reason that I shouldn’t care, that we’re only two strangers whose paths crossed at the wrong time, but it doesn’t feel right. He is human and, by default, my kin.
Shuffling my feet along the threadbare carpet, I head toward a door at the end of the hall. As I get closer, I realize the off-white door has a smattering of holes marring the surface. I run my finger along the splintered wood.
“A shotgun did this.” I push the door and stumble inside. A black metal number 15 rattles and drops to the floor outside as I close the door behind me. I feed the lock through the slot but it slips through the tarnished metal plate and rolls out the end. I sigh and move on. It’s not like the Squaddies can’t get through if the lock did work.
A shattered doll greets me with vacant, staring eyes, half its porcelain face ground into the carpet. I wince as my weight crunches what remains as I survey the room in front of me.
Black scorch marks and splattered blood intensifies the eerie feeling that hangs over the room. I spy eight more bullet holes throughout the room, as if the shooter was aiming at a jumping jackrabbit instead of an alien.
Dust blankets everything, layering the room in dismal shades of gray. A tan fabric couch fills the center of the room, pointed toward a wooden wall unit, its shelves stocked full of books. I stumble forward despite my exhaustion and run my fingers along their cracked bindings: a forgotten library at my fingertips.
I dip quietly down a hallway, peeking into each of the rooms to make sure they are vacant. I have to squint to see in the dim moonlight. It wouldn’t be good to assume the coast is clear and later find a group of raiders nestled in the back bedroom.
Each of the rooms are exactly how I assume they were left...in a hurry.
A blue bedroom at the end of the hall still has books opened on the bed. The quilt is crumpled and a shattered glass adorns the bedside table. The window frame is half open, as if someone tried to climb out onto the stairs that cling to the side of the building.
A faded yellow room next door has stuffed animals strewn across the floor and a rainbow of pastel colored dresses slung about. The final room sports evidence of laser fire and a large rust colored bloodstain in the corner. The closet is stripped of all its contents. It’s hard to tell if this was done by raiders or aliens, but the fact remains, there is nothing here to replace my torn shirt or shield me from the bitter cold.
I walk past the bathroom and give it a cursory glance. Wide rings of grime circle the inside of the porcelain tub. The ceiling tiles have fallen and crumbed over the toilet, revealing thin wooden slats above, warped by age and water leaks.
I move into the kitchen and step over a couple overturned chairs to dip low to look at a discolored family picture on the counter. I swallow down the longing I feel for my own parents as I stare at the smiling faces of a couple with two children.
The metal handles on the cabinets have corroded and the doors hang on their hinges. Faded purple lace curtains over the window have been yanked down and the window sports a jagged fringe of broken glass.
I head back toward the front room. By all appearances, the space is raider free but I can’t tell for how long. The home is stripped of anything useful so hopefully no one will disturb me tonight.
My muscles ache as I sink onto the faded couch. A puff of dust rises in the air, I wave my hand to clear it. I half expect something to crawl out of the cushions but nothing appears. I beat the pillow with my hand then fluff it back up. Pulling my legs up onto the couch, I sink down onto the pillow, surprised by how far my head disappears into it.
I sigh as each muscle starts to relax. My fingers pass over the material of the couch, amazed by how deliciously comfortable it is. Never before have I laid on anything so forgiving. It curls to my side, cocooning me, giving support in ways a cave floor can’t.
During the fall, I sometimes sneak out and make a bed of pine needles and lay staring up at the night sky. My best friend, Aminah, would sometimes join me and we would spend hours talking about boys. Of course, most of that time was spent discussing her budding love for Toren, the only guy she’s ever cared for, and my complete lack of caring.
She always assumed that I would end up with Eamon. Truth be told, I did too, but only because he’s my closest friend. Zahra loves to fawn over his golden tousled hair and wide, expressive hazel eyes, but I don’t really see it. Not in the way a normal girl should. At least that’s what Aminah always tells me.
Tears sting my eyes as I sink down off the couch and curl up on the hard floor. I tuck my hand beneath my head and reach behind me to remove one of my knives. I usually sleep with a weapon at home.
Home.
When I close my eyes, I can almost make myself believe that I’m home, safe and loved. I should never have left, especially on my birthday. Eamon will be disappointed. He hinted that he had something special he wanted to give me. Knowing him, he’s whittled a new spear that’s the perfect height and thickness for me.
I miss all of my friends, even Zahra a tiny bit. Why did I ever leave?
This place didn’t exactly turn out the way I’d hoped. I came here thinking I could discover the truth behind the tremors and find a way to stop it. I know now that’s impossible. The Diggers are already heading our way. How long will it take for them to find our caves?
The City is dangerous, exactly as my mother warned me it would be, but she was wrong about one thing…I found compassion here too.
My mind races with unanswered questions. Where is Bastien now? Did he make it back to his subway car? Is he waiting for me to return? I have no idea if I will be able to find the entrance again, but I vow to try. I have to know if he is ok.
My thoughts tumble into oblivion as sleep tugs me away. I go willingly, ready for a respite from my fears.
