by Jason Letts
One of the farmers, a burly guy with a patch beard, leaned over to Portia.
“You think we should let ’em go on like this?” he asked.
“Why not? The best part of having prisoners is watching them fight amongst themselves.”
But Taylor could barely hear her over his angry thoughts.
“Everything you’ve done has been to hold me down and force me to turn my back on my family,” he said, straining against the bonds holding his hands behind his back. He couldn’t tell what they were made of, but he didn’t think he could get through them on his own.
“I’ve done everything I could to bring you into your real family, but you’ve refused over and over again. Well I’m done. If all you want to be is a bitter reminder of a deal gone bad, so be it. You’ll never be a Hockley!”
“Good,” Taylor shouted back. “Because I’ll always be a Bracken.”
Jerking suddenly, Taylor slammed his shoulder against the farmer holding him, knocking the man’s body against the wall and producing a nasty cracking sound. Taylor’s next move was to drive all of his weight against the acid machine. Even though he aimed his side for an area that wasn’t populated with the strange bubbles, he braced himself for searing pain and even the possibility that the force he generated wouldn’t be enough to knock over the heavy machine.
But the machine tilted and fell on to its side—a cacophony of shattering echoing through the hall—and Taylor scrambled over it. A smell singed his nostrils and Taylor glanced back as he stomped down the hall to see the acid spreading over the floor, blocking the other farmers from following him.
“Taylor!”
The one wailing behind him in a vain attempt to stop him was his mother, who wasn’t likely to raise any objection if Portia ordered her cronies to execute him. His only chance was to make it through the underground tunnel. As he turned the corner, he found that the door to the tunnel leading out had been burned through like all the rest. He blindly dove into the dark expanse, furiously pumping his legs as fast as he could. He was sure some of the farmers had made it past the acid machine without getting burned and were attempting to run him down. Other than that, he didn’t think there’d be anyone from the FarmFields as far down the field as the pool. He hoped.
Taylor continued to race down the pitch black tunnel, more than once brushing up against the walls. Footsteps echoed from some distance behind him, but he was determined to take advantage of this last chance at escape. There was nothing in the Vault for him, and there would never be a Bracken who could rest as long as the Illiams were around because of everything that had happened.
The tunnel sloped downward toward the pool. With each step Taylor prepared to hold his breath and plunge himself in, except the tunnel stretched on and on. Just as he began to wonder if it had really been this long when he’d come through before, his left foot splashed into the water. The rest of him tumbled into the pool’s cold water. He gasped for breath before submerging himself and kicking frantically to propel himself forward.
Swimming with his hands bound behind his back proved to be an exercise of wasted exertion. Despite thrashing as hard as he could, he seemed to be making very little progress. Opening his eyes did little to help him see how far he needed to get in the dark stretch. He floundered on, beginning to feel the urgency of taking another breath.
It was impossible to know for sure, but Taylor had a hunch his pursuers entered the water behind him. A few more flogging kicks brought Taylor out of the submerged section of the tunnel, but getting up to the surface was still a challenge. The temptation to open his mouth and take a breath pounded inside his mind. He kicked so hard his legs became fatigued, but his head finally emerged into the open air and murky ground appeared underneath his feet.
There was nothing around the pool but the dark branches of trees and the cloudy night’s sky above. Lights and muffled sounds of shouting from the Vault struck Taylor with the need to get away as quickly as possible. As he trudged onto dry land, Taylor sensed that his pursuers would be coming up any moment.
He knew he’d have a good head start if he ran for it, but a shiny metal cistern seemed the more attractive option. Rushing over and turning his back to it, he began rubbing the thick cloth bind against the edge. Jerking back and forth, he struggled to cut through and free himself while keeping a close eye on the pool where Portia’s thugs would be coming from.
Two figures emerged from the pond just as Taylor heard the fabric holding his wrists start to tear. The energy inside of him was surging with the need to expel all of the pent up rage he felt about Melody and Portia. The pair of burly farmers, dripping wet, spotted him by the cistern immediately and raced over. Just as he ducked under the first swing coming at him, the fabric split deep enough for Taylor to pull the rest apart himself.
It was dark, but the look of fear in the farmer’s eyes emboldened him. Taylor blocked another punch and then delivered crushing blows to the man’s stomach, head, and ribcage. His glowing hands were a blur that left the one farmer slumping against the ground. The other didn’t appear to have any fear in his eyes, but the outcome was much the same. Taylor and the farmer traded blows to the head and chest before Taylor crouched down and grabbed him by his waist. Slinging him against the ground, Taylor drilled his cheek with a firm fist that knocked his head clear to the side.
A labored breath was the only reprieve he could take before the sounds of new pursuers coming from the Vault caught his ears. Facing the slope and the forest in front of him, Taylor started down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him. The darkness made slamming into trees and tripping over stones inevitable, but nothing stopped him from pushing down the hillside. There’d be time later to take stock of the cuts and bruises.
As he pushed down the hill, Taylor spilled over a sudden lump in the ground and fell into a divot in a strange clearing. It was hard to make out where he was, but it looked like the Illiams had cut a road down along the hillside, which left the marks of huge tracks pressed into the dirt. Some serious machinery must’ve passed through this path, possibly to carry the acid machine or more fighters from the FarmFields up the slope.
Although he couldn’t be sure about where it led, the clear path would make getting down the hillside and crossing the forest easier. It was logical that it might lead all the way to the road between Ristle and Toine, which is where he needed to get in order to make it back to Randall. Once he began to run, he looked over his shoulder to find light from torches and electric lamps in the distance. Knowing the area as he did, there wasn’t any place more reliable than the side of a tree trunk to hide.
But outrunning them was going to be a challenge as well. Taylor’s calves and ankles began to stiffen as he raced down the slope. He must’ve been miles from the Vault by now and wasn’t even close to being far enough away. The sounds of engines behind pushed Taylor to race faster, but instead of leaving the path and ducking into the woods where they couldn’t follow he stuck to the lump running along the side.
Another glance back gave Taylor a glimpse of the tractor leading the pursuit. There were three men on it, two of them wielding nasty pitchforks. Guns weren’t something the Illiams had much of, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. As it was, Taylor was gasping for breath and wasn’t able to gauge how close the tractor was until he felt the end of the pitchfork whack him in the shoulder. The tractor and its shouting hooligans were a short distance away in the path, trying to prod him with pitchforks and vulgar taunts. Taylor stopped suddenly, grabbed the end of a pitchfork, and yanked it out of the farmer’s hands.
Raging, Taylor leapt off of the bulge and landed on the tractor. He held the pitchfork by the neck and began stabbing at the vehicle’s occupants. One fell off the back and the other felt the sharp prongs pierce his chest. The driver jerked the wheel suddenly in an attempt to throw Taylor out, but the vehicle hit a bump and nearly fell onto its side. Taylor narrowly kept himself upright when his heel wedged into the corner of the tractor
bed. A moment when the vehicle again had all four wheels on the ground, Taylor pulled the driver out of his seat and tossed him in front of the tractor, which jerked and rocked to the sound of painful yells.
Taylor grabbed a hold of the wheel before the tractor could spin out of control. There were others chasing from farther back, but they wouldn’t be able to catch him with the extra weight of so many passengers. Taylor slowly pulled away from the chase pack, feeling more and more confident that he’d be able to make it to the road. The tractor didn’t have a fuel gauge, but every rotation of the tires was another step he wouldn’t need to take on foot.
When he looked back again, Taylor couldn’t see anyone behind him. It was possible they’d given him up for lost and turned back. Breathing easy for the first time all evening, Taylor settled into a comfortable pace and followed the path to the bottom of the hill and along into the dark forest. When a sharp turn threatened to bring him farther south than he wanted, Taylor elected to ditch the tractor and push on through the woods. He had a hunch the road wasn’t too far away, though that still meant another couple hours of hiking through uninhabited territory.
The road from Ristle to Toine was a popular byway running alongside the train tracks, but when Taylor reached them there wasn’t a soul in sight going in either direction. Exhausted and starving, he stepped onto the road and wondered why there wasn’t anyone driving to any of the destinations between the two major cities.
When he began to think he’d have to start walking for it, headlights ahead irritated his eyes. Taylor put up his hand and stepped into the middle of the road. The driver would have to stop, if he knew what was good for him. When the vehicle, a modest bucket of bolts, slowed down in front of him, Taylor came around to the driver’s side window and yanked open the door.
“I need your car. I’m going to Toine,” Taylor said. There wasn’t any question about it, but the young man occupying the vehicle didn’t seem at all pleased by the proposition.
“Are you crazy? It’s a warzone up there. The Guard…” he said before trailing off. He must’ve seen Taylor uniform.
“You can either come with me or get out. Your choice,” Taylor said. When the guy inside started to pout, Taylor realized he didn’t have time for this. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and pulled him out of the car and onto the road.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, indignant.
“I’m sorry about this, but I don’t have a choice. The fate of the nation depends on it.”
Taylor closed the door and turned the vehicle around. It would still be a long drive to make it all the way to the capital, but now that he was assured of getting there he could turn his mind to contemplating what he would find there and what he would do.
CHAPTER 8
Sulking in an uncomfortable chair he’d spent far too much time sitting in, Randall decided to try a different tact. Heath Dolger had just proposed a measure be included in a new set of bylaws for governance, and the rest of the council seemed to be minimally receptive.
“I think it’s a great idea that we exempt security and infrastructure spending from budgetary voting within the grand council. I move we put it to a vote. Show of hands for those in favor.”
Randall raised his right hand and looked over at the other council members. Before Qi Ptock and his belligerent obstinacy were the major impediments that Randall faced, but now he sat with a dozen Qi Ptocks who wouldn’t acknowledge his existence, much less vote with him on any of his initiatives. Not a single councilor raised a hand, including Heath Dolger. Since he’d promised them all his support for the chancellorship and reneged, Randall might as well have been invisible.
Wherever Qi Ptock was going about his role as grand justice, he must’ve been laughing.
“Can we just get through this together, please?” Randall asked the group.
He received nothing but silence. They wouldn’t even look at him, and Randall slouched further in his chair. As he looked around the council chamber, lit with candles and featuring many of the benches and desks used by the grand council of old, he waited for the group’s usual way of diminishing him. They’d wait several minutes to make sure his utterance fully vanished into the folds of time before starting up again as if he’d never said anything.
Randall had considered quitting his position on the new council, but after so many people had suffered and died when Cumeria had fallen apart, his father among them, he couldn’t walk away from his duty to be there when the time came to shape the nation into something better that would put them to rest.
A clock ticked against a distant wall. In another minute or two Pyrina would pipe up with more nonsense about subjecting landowners to reviews that would allow her to buy their territory. Her big lips parted slowly. Randall was ready to roll his eyes.
A loud crack ripped through the air, stinging Randall’s ears. His head jerked suddenly to his left, where he peered down the hallway at the light coming in where the door had been. In pieces and flat on the ground, the door to the chamber appeared to have been kicked in.
The light shining in abated a moment later as a large figure stepped through the doorway and stalked toward the chamber.
“Who is that? What’s going on?” Pyrina’s squealing only further incensed Randall about the intrusion. They did have a small security force working in the building, but somehow this man had been able to smash his way in freely. It was puzzling.
To Randall’s surprise, Heath Dolger took it upon himself to find out what was happening. He left the table and stormed to the hallway, getting to its mouth just as Captain Keran of the Cumerian Guard, decked out in his black uniform, stepped out of the shadows.
“This is unacceptable…”
Dolger’s utterance only lasted a few words before he caught sight of the uniform. Keran grabbed him by his shirt, lifted him off of his feet, and threw him back toward the center of the room. A few other high ranking members of the Guard entered the chamber and flanked their commander.
“I’m going to make this quick,” Captain Keran said in a brusque voice. “Your efforts here have been a futile, pointless exercise that has only wasted time while the needs of the people have gone unmet. I’m dissolving your quorum, nullifying any of your resolutions and documents, and assuming direct control of Cumeria’s government. You have one minute to exit this chamber before you are forcibly removed. If you resist, you’ll be the only casualties during the inevitable rise of the Guard.”
“But you can’t do that!” Heath shouted just as Randall was thinking that none of them would be stupid enough to stand up to Keran. “What about the chancellorship?”
Heath had barely gotten to his feet and was now leaning against their table. Captain Keran cast him an irritated glance.
“If you’re talking about that throne to narcissism, claimed through obscene displays of wealth begetting the nearly obligatory practice of abusing it in the desire for more, you can be sure it will be stricken from existence. Cumeria will execute decisions the way the Guard always has, through seniority and rank. Now this conversation has already gone on longer than it should. Are you planning to test me?”
A flicker of anger emerged in that last word, which made the veins in Keran’s neck flare. The entire council, now just a collection of people from around the country, got up from their seats and left behind everything they’d been working on for weeks. None of them said a word as they filed out, most of them probably lamenting their chance at the chancellorship, but Randall dawdled near the rear.
The others still paid him no attention, making it easy for Randall to lean in for a private word with Keran while the others continued to sulk through the hall.
“I can help you,” Randall whispered. Being in the Spiral gave him influence, and it was possible he could still have an effect even if he were working for Keran. Wouldn’t the Guard’s commanders need at least one person familiar with regional politics?
“Your minute is up,” Keran said in return, shifting ra
pidly to give Randall a shove down the hallway.
Sore about the missed opportunity and unsure of what he would do next, Randall exited the Spiral and looked over the surrounding area. Triton Kniviscent square had tents and Guard trucks erected on it. Randall and the others had only been in session a couple of hours, but during that time the Guard had swept in and taken over everything. There was now an armed member of the Guard on every corner. As Randall passed one he got the vague sense that the woman in the uniform was someone he’d seen in Toine before. She might’ve been one of those who were kidnapped and pressed into service.
Randall had to find Cori and Ralph. There was no way a military dictatorship could be allowed to reign in Cumeria.
Although Randall felt free to walk the streets on his way back to his office, the constant supervision by the omnipresent Guard was unnerving. It wouldn’t be possible to show this kind of muscle anywhere but the capital, and perhaps they’d only do it until they thought their power was secure, but it didn’t bode well for anyone who got in the way of their iron fist.
When Randall pushed through the door to enter his dim office building, the first thing he saw was Cori on the floor near the fire. Ralph was tending to her with a damp rag. When he looked over at him, she flinched.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling beside her and exchanging a pained glance with Ralph.
“A little banged up, but not too bad,” Cori said. She attempted to sit up against her elbow but collapsed back against the pillow. Her clothes were dirty, as if she’d been rolling around in garbage.
“Would you mind telling me what happened?”
Cori bit her lip and looked up at Randall. She was generally cool-headed and tough as nails, but this had her rattled to the core.
“I was out on the street not far from the square when they swept in. There was this old woman carrying a large sack, probably everything she owned, and she spilled it right on the ground. Little knickknacks, old papers, and utensils were suddenly all over the place. I offered to help pick them up, but I’d barely laid a hand on one wooden spoon before the trucks rolled in. One stopped right next to us and the Guards must’ve thought we’d stolen all of it or something because they tried to take us in.
