by J A Bouma
Panting, he dove inside the cypress cluster, praying he hadn’t been seen.
Had he just made the biggest mistake of his life? Running away from a Legion roadblock filled with Enforcers and Purifiers who would love nothing more than to add his scalp to their belts had to rank right up there with stupid. What the Republic wouldn’t give than to not only round up a pair of Christian Unfits, but a pair of Ministerium members at that. And the Master of the organization tasked with defending and protecting Ichthus’s faith.
Master of the Order of Thaddeus.
But he made it, hunching over and hustling into the clump of trees that was mercilessly fewer and farther between than he had originally thought. He crouched in the poor excuse for a thicket and set his case down at his feet, Rebekah coming up fast and doing the same.
“We made it,” Alexander said out of breath.
“Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched,” Rebekah said on the same shaky breath.
The pair crouched still, waiting, intuiting, discerning their next moves as they gulped down the hot air.
The line of cars moved again, then brake lights screamed suddenly as another couple were dragged from their magnacar. This time a taxicab like their own, their suitcases torn open as the man and woman were shoved into the back of a Transport that had lumbered into view.
Oddly, the couple looked like it could have been him and Rebekah. Both young and two differing shades of Alkebulanan skin, their opened black suitcases cast aside.
Was the Republic searching for them?
As if his heart rate wasn’t already ratcheted up from the run and their mission, his ears started humming with cardio overdrive, and chest started constricting with lack of oxygen.
“We need to go…” he said lowly.
“But where?”
“Anywhere.”
Two Purifiers appeared again, then another as the queue of cars moved forward, Gruff Grande Man’s magnacraft next in line now.
And all the reason to grab Rebekah by the arm and shuffle out from the cluster of cypresses, their fanning branches kicking up a fresh, clean aroma as they pushed through and out into the open, the herbaceous, spicy, and woody evergreen scent carrying with them on a hot breath of desert breeze.
The land sloped down into a rocky basin of hardened earth that stretched for several kilometers, parched and void of any life. They would be sitting ducks out there, easy to be seen and picked off if anyone cared to look. But Alexander figured the Republic’s finest were more than preoccupied with their searches.
At least he hoped that was the case.
Because if not, if they were spotted fleeing from a line of magnacars waiting to be interrogated by the Enforcers and Purifiers stationed now a klick or two behind the running pair—then the suffocating heat and their sweat-drenched clothes and the unwieldy black cases that seemed to grow heavier by the step would be the least of their worries.
Alexander and Rebekah went about their escape in silence, scrambling down the rocky, sandy embankment before dashing south. Partly because it was tough enough work lugging their black cases across the wilderness in the blistering heat without adding talking into the mix. Mostly because they thought any sound they made would surely somehow find its way back to the Republic’s version of the Nazi’s SS.
Spent a good hour making their way south, using the embankment as a buttress, hoping the scraggly bushes and boulders up above would enhance their covering. Soon the hill curved left, and the basin opened up to the city farther ahead that had been roadblocked by the Republic Legion.
A ridgeline of businesses and shops butting up against the dried-out basin was across the way now, coming into view. Much of this edge of the city looked last century, made of brick and rotting wood and corrugated metal. Facing away from the rest of the city of gleaming glass and polished titanium high-rises, their back ends butted up against the vacant land, as if their faces were looking on mournfully at the rest of the world that had left them behind.
The sun was dipping behind them now, offering a modicum of relief from the unrelenting sun still high in the cloudless sky. Alexander pointed ahead and picked up the pace. “We should get a move on. No telling what happens at nightfall, and we need to get the lay of the land anyhow.”
Promising something more than the wide openness they were trapped in, he led the charge toward the shelter, drenched and sweltering and aching from the mad dash. Hated how exposed they were, and he prayed to the good Lord that they hadn’t made a very bad decision.
Looking toward the city's edge where they had come, very few magnacraft were moving. Mostly going, but very few coming. It was probably a good sign that no Destroyers were meeting them at the edge of the embankment and the sky was free of Tracker drones—that he could see, anyway. Gruff Grande Man must have done his job. If not, they surely would have been neutralized and on their way to a reprogramming camp now, cancelled even. Guess that meant he was going to be out another four-fifty mercas.
Almost there now…
They came up fast to the embankment edge, slamming into it and scrambling up its face. A foot slipped under Rebekah, her chin catching on a large rock and cutting a line of blood. She gave a cry but recovered. Alexander grabbed underneath her arm and pulled her back to her feet.
The pair continued up the embankment, far steeper here than the one they slid down, rocks and dirt and the detritus of the city falling with every foothold and push toward the surface.
Until finally the ridge appeared.
Alexander shoved his black case over the edge, then pushed himself over. He took Rebekah’s case from her and helped her over as well.
“We made it,” she said with a shaky breath, a hand wiping her sweat-drenched forehead.
He smiled and gave a thumbs up.
Heaving desperate breaths after the sprint of their life, they embraced and laughed, celebrating their success at evading the Republic.
Then he heard it.
The faint whirling buzz he had caught back at his parish in Tripolitania when all of this blasted business with the Ministerium began over a year ago.
“Tracker…” he said on his own shaky breath.
They were large enough to see, filled with all kinds of gadgets for listening to and scoping out the polis at the whims of the Republic. But he couldn’t see it in the blinding sun. Could be coming toward them from the basin; could be coming in from the city.
Wherever it was, the Lord’s good graces were about to run dry if they didn’t get to it.
A dock with a rusting garage door anchored the center building, a freshly paved magnaroad winding between another trio of shops and into the city. Looked as good as any place to escape, its door raised enough to fit underneath. Maybe…
Alexander ran toward it. “Come on!”
Rebekah followed without hesitation, the whirl growing, the buzz sending fear worming into them with dreadful possibility.
Hopping up to the dock, he grabbed Rebekah’s outstretched arm and pulled her up. They scrambled underneath the mawing door, squeezing along the concrete floor and barely sliding through.
Just as the whirl grew and a shadow passed at the embankment’s edge.
The space was clear, a garage of some sort with a high ceiling. The smell of mildew and chemicals mixing with the hot, humid air threatened to undo them both. It sent Alexander’s head into a dizzying spell, bile rising and filling the back of his mouth with the taste of sour copper at the combination.
Rebekah ran toward the back, to a door. Alexander followed.
She tugged at its knob, then again, but it was no use. Locked solid, a dirty glass window with a wire mesh mocking them, staring out into a long sunlit hallway leading to another door with a window that peered out into the world.
Another door offering possible escape.
Alexander turned back toward the mawing gap lighted by the sun, the whirling muffled now by the garage door.
They were trapped.
Wi
th the Republic just outside.
Like caged animals.
No, worse.
Like one of those Jews Alexander had read about during primary school from two centuries ago. Those deemed the detritus of Europa who were hunted down like dogs, rounded up, humiliated and dehumanized in worker camps, before being tortured and gassed and incinerated.
Yes, like that.
Except in their case, Christians who were being Purged from Solterra by ultramodern means and dragged away to reprogramming camps before they themselves were either purged of their beliefs or cancelled for them.
No one really knew what that was like, either the camps or the cancelling, since no one had lived to tell about it or escaped. Except for Ford…something he would have to circle back to later given the stakes Ichthus was now facing.
That he and Rebekah were facing. Then and there!
But how did the Republic know to look for them? That was the question…
The humanoid cabbie? Didn’t seem the type that was all that beholden to the regime. Although you could never trust a noid. Always looking out for themselves with no thought of anything else or anyone. That was the design defect in those imitations of humanity: You can’t program empathy.
Perhaps someone else had spotted them dashing across the dried-out lake basin and called the Patron himself. Probably a big, fat reward for ratting out sangunazis, the epithet used to label those who claimed allegiance to the faith of Ichthus. Stretching back before even the Reckoning, the term of derision began popping up on the pre-DiviNet internet before making its way into the mainstream. It was a way to mock those who claimed the name of Christ as ‘blood-eaters’ who practiced superstitious ways and bigots who believed regressive ideologies harmful to the Republic.
Or maybe worse: There was probably an even larger reward for mystiks, those known within Solterra as the clericati class of Ichthus who led church services and conducted Church business and guarded the Christian faith.
Or maybe still they weren’t looking for them at all. Just a routine patrol given how buttoned down the city seemed to be with the interrogative roadblock and all.
Regardless, they were screwed if they didn’t think of something. And fast.
A whap-whap-whap right before the sound of shattering glass broke Alexander’s concentration.
He startled, covering his head thinking it was weapon fire before whipping it toward the mawing garage door even as his heart bolted toward the concrete floor, the light slicing into the darkened garage but offering nothing more.
“Give me a hand, would you?”
Alexander whipped his head back toward the smaller exit door.
It was Rebekah. She had managed to shatter a hole through the glass with a pipe, and now it was stuck in the rigid wire mesh.
Alexander grabbed hold of it and clenched his jaw, giving it a good yank, then another before it popped loose. He used the end to bend the wires and enlarge the opening. Enough for a small arm to fit through and unlock the other side.
“Looks about your size,” he said, tossing the pipe to the ground with a clangity-clang.
She gave it a wincing glance. “Might not want to do that, mate, with Solterra scrounging around outside.”
“Yeah, bad form.” He gestured toward the opening. “Care to do the honors?”
She made a motion at her temple toward her ear, as if following through an unconscious tick that used to put a stray lock of hair back into place. Which meant she’d had a full head of hair before she shorn it down close.
As Rebekah gently reached inside the hole, being careful not to get caught on the stray, jagged wire edges, Alexander wondered who she had been before she signed up with the Ministerium. Wondered who she had been before she cut her hair short. He knew from some of the story she shared that she was the daughter of the Minister of Peace, Mbuto Kony, the former warlord who had been conscripted after the Reckoning to manage the defensive—or rather, the peaceful efforts of the Republic. She had also been sold into slavery by her father, though why wasn’t clear. Perhaps it was then that she let her locks go, literally cutting off her former life. Or maybe while she was enslaved or afterwards after what she had done as a child soldier when Mama Mara found her.
Regardless, he wanted to know her more, wanted to understand her more. He was grateful for another chance to work closely together to make both happen.
There was a click, and the door popped open.
“Success,” Rebekah exhaled before turning the knob.
The infamous whirling returned behind them, pausing her advance.
Both turned back toward the propped open garage door. This time joined by a new sound.
Grunting and growly.
Then the opening of doors, and the thudding of boots on the ground, and the slamming of doors before voices were heard giving out commands.
Enforcers!
“Now or never, Alex,” Rebekah said.
He turned to her and smiled. “Hey, that’s my line.”
She returned the smile. “Where do you think I got it?”
No more talk. Time to act.
Grabbing their black cases, they shoved through the door and ran down the corridor toward the front entrance lit with their way to freedom.
Until a shadow passed across the open window up top, a helmet blocking the sun from shining through.
Stopping them dead in their tracks.
Blocked. Again.
Alexander grabbed Rebekah’s arm and dragged her down a hallway as voices carried through the entrance door before a jingle-jangle of the handle.
Now they were officially screwed!
A set of stairs took them to another floor.
“Where are we going?” Rebekah said.
“Haven't a clue!” Alexander answered as he paced the darkened space, air hanging heavy with heat and dust and even thicker with the tension of the moment that had gone from bad to crazy in no time flat.
Windows lined the back with a view of the bone-dry basin, along with a massive charcoal magnavan resting on the ground and an Enforcer milling about. Boxes were stacked and strewn about, clearly a storage room with titanium and chrome parts for magnacars glinting in the sunlight.
“Check it out,” Rebekah said at the bottom of a ladder. She was pointing toward a door at the top.
Alexander joined her. “Where do you suppose it leads?”
She laughed. “Uh, how about the roof?”
He frowned. “Funny. But let’s get out of this mess before we go back to busting my—”
A thud echoed from behind at the room’s entrance, down the stairs.
The pair looked at each other with wide eyes.
Enforcers had entered the premises.
Looked like the only way out was up.
Without thinking or waiting for more, Alexander grabbed his case, grabbed hold of the ladder, and started climbing. A square door was latched at the top.
But not locked.
Thank you, Jesus…
He pushed through with his black case, the door giving a creaking protest on stiff hinges, praying there wasn’t a Tracker waiting for them on the other side.
Sun blinded him, and a gust of heavy heat slapped him in the face. But he climbed onto the roof, helping Rebekah and gently shutting the door behind.
“Now what?” he asked, assessing their options that had pretty well dwindled to nothing. The roof was what he expected: flat and black and dotted by a few vents and an HVAC unit that rattled and coughed and sounded like it was on its last leg. Not that he minded, as it would hide the sound of their movements.
Rebekah edged to the end of the roof near the building’s rear before skipping back. “Another Destroyer looks like it just rolled up. Another handful of Enforcers spreading out.”
“Which means they are having it in their heads that something worth a platoon of Enforcers is worth their time.”
She nodded, saying nothing.
“But how do you figure it?”
&
nbsp; She shrugged, edging to one of the sides butting up against another building. “Maybe our cabbie talked.”
Alexander smirked. “See if I give him any of that tip we negotiated.”
“Or maybe the Tracker caught enough of a look at us before we were able to get inside. Our pictures are surely in the Republic’s database of Unfits.” She glanced at him, adding: “Yours especially.”
He leaned toward her, mouth running dry at the possibility. “Why, because I’m the Master of the Order of Thaddeus? You really think the Republic knows?”
She peered over the edge into an alleyway that ran between the two buildings. “Not sure, but it’s the only explanation.”
Alexander ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Not only were they trapped, there was a good chance they were being hunted. He looked in the sky, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun, searching for the Tracker that had sent them scurrying into the building to begin with.
Nothing.
Either it had moved on or was too high to see or hear. Either way, they were screwed if they didn’t figure something out.
And fast.
“I think we can make it,” she said, putting one foot behind the other and rubbing her hands together, facing the gulf between them and the other building.
Alexander furrowed his brow. “What, you mean jump?”
“No other choice, especially—”
There was a bang against the door leading back down inside.
They looked at each other and nodded.
Now or never.
Then ran.
Chapter 20
Rebekah cleared the lip of the building first, tossing her black case to the other side before sailing across and landing hard on the adjacent roof, but on both feet. She recovered as Alexander made his jump, tossing his black case to her and making a running start before leaping.
Landing off balance closer to the edge.
He leaned forward to compensate when a foot slipped overboard, sending his knee crashing into the edge. Pain lanced up his thigh and snatched any balance he had left.
Then he slid down over the edge and started tumbling.
