The Legend

by Melissa Delport

  “Everybody ready?” I whisper and numerous heads nod around me. “You look nervous,” I tell Heath who, even in the dim light, looks green.

  “I’m fine,” he insists, although I know he is wondering if he will come up against any of his former NUSA friends. Switching allegiances is not without consequences, I reflect.

  I peer around the tanker truck I am hiding behind.

  “Okay, you all see that tower?”

  There is only one tower in sight, they can hardly miss it. Fortunately, this section of the fence is not very heavily guarded. Perhaps it is the remote location, or the lack of cover on either side, but there is a quiet, sleepy feel about the few guards we can see patrolling.

  “First team, you take out the section fifty yards to the east and work back towards it.” Quinn nods, as does Michael, both of whom are in the first team. “Team two, fifty yards west.” The other half of the raid team nods, including Heath who is in that group. “I want as much cover as possible.”

  They know they must eliminate any soldiers in the vicinity and cause as much chaos as possible, keeping any approaching back-up occupied so that they do not see the seven of us sneaking through the centre of the stretch.

  “Archer,” I beckon the bowman forward and shove Chase towards him. “Stay close – he’s your responsibility. Do what you need to do.”

  “Keep an eye on the flanks,” Reed tells him. “The last thing we need are able-bodied soldiers getting through our ranks and living to tell the tale.”

  Archer nods, knowing how vital it is that no one spots us and feeds the information of our entry back to Kenneth Williams. If any NUSA soldiers attempt to flee, Archer will need to take them out of the equation.

  “We all move together on my signal,” I add to the group at large. “My team, we attack the tower. Do not leave any survivors. Once the fence is clear, keep your heads low and out of sight. And run like hell.”

  There is a brief pause as everyone prepares mentally, and then I raise my arm.

  “On three,” I murmur. “One, two . . .”

  The sound of an enormous engine drowns out my voice and for a moment the tanker we are hiding behind is bathed in light.

  “Shit!” I crouch low and everyone else does the same.

  I lift my finger, warning them to be still. Risking a glance around the tanker, I see a dark SUV parked parallel to the fence nearest us. Both the driver and passenger doors are open. I glance at my watch. It is a quarter to nine and there are no scheduled guard changes at this time. I only hope that reinforcements aren’t being dropped off; I had quite liked the odds of the low number of guards on patrol. I watch through a small gap between the truck and trailer. The SUV passengers are chatting amiably with the guards at the fence – one is a tall, lanky African-American and the other is a pretty brunette. As I watch, there is an exchange of sorts, but I cannot make out what it is they are trading. A few moments later, after a guffaw of laughter, the newcomers get back into their vehicle and we crouch low as the SUV reverses, its lights once again flooding the spot where we are hiding. I breathe a sigh of relief as the sound of the engine fades away into the night.

  We wait a few minutes, making sure that the SUV is far enough away that they cannot be called back in a hurry and then I glance at the group huddled around me.

  “Ready?” I whisper, and I raise my hand. “One . . . two . . . three!”

  chapter 14

  We surge out from behind the cover of the tanker truck, our group splitting into three precise teams, all heading in different directions. I reach the fence about a nanosecond before Reed, ignoring the yells of surprise coming from the guards on the other side. I grab the fence where it meets with one of the supporting steel poles and with a powerful jerk of my arms, it rips away. I move left, pulling the fence with me, until a gap about three yards wide is formed. Before I even have time to drop the mesh, a baton slams down on my hands, hard enough to break two knuckles in my left hand.

  I give a yell of pain and rage and turn on the black-haired NUSA soldier who has already raised his baton for another blow. I lift both hands and slam them into the man’s chest, just as the others stampede through the gap. The soldier reels backwards but he recovers quickly and advances towards me. Morgan slams a fist into his face as she passes, and he staggers again. I can hear the yells and sounds of the others fighting and a quick study shows that both the other teams have broken through and are fanning out, preventing the soldiers from observing our movements. All the fighting is now taking place on NUSA territory and we have to hurry to ensure we get away before reinforcements arrive.

  The soldier with the baton is olive-skinned and reminds me of Mason. A red haze comes over me and I dart forward, ignoring my aching fingers. Grabbing his baton, I lift my right leg and place my foot squarely on his chest. Simultaneously, I pull with my arm and kick out with my leg, and the baton falls from his hand. He stumbles backwards, landing on his backside. A quick blow with the baton to his temple and he slumps over, whether dead or unconscious I have no idea. As a second soldier approaches me, I catch a glimpse of Archer pulling Chase along by his collar, both of them crouched low and moving quickly away from the fences towards the nearby conservation area. To my left, one of the guards gives a cry as he spots them escaping but as he makes to follow them, I grab him by the hair and jerk him backwards. I pull him against my body, sliding the baton across his neck and pressing it against his windpipe. As I hold it in place, depriving him of oxygen, a second guard steps towards me. I move my body, keeping his companion facing him, but he keeps circling, looking for an opening to attack me without harming his friend.

  I am about to crush my captive’s windpipe and deal with the new threat, when he suddenly slumps to the ground. Reed, standing behind him, looks around.

  “That’s it, we’re done here,” he drawls. Morgan is flexing her right hand and Jethro is limping slightly as he moves closer to her, but Kwan looks remarkably unfazed, with not so much as a hair out of place.

  “Let’s go,” I nod and we streak into the dark, leaving the fences behind us.

  We have not gone far when we come across Archer and Chase.

  “Are you both okay?” I ask quickly, as the last sounds of fighting in the distance come to an abrupt halt. In the sudden stillness, I can just make out the sound of running – our people are obviously retreating. I wish there was some way of knowing whether everyone made it, but we cannot risk going back to check.

  “Fine,” Archer answers. “I didn’t even need my bow. They were far too preoccupied to notice us.” That’s not entirely true, but I don’t bother correcting him. What matters is that we have made it into the States without being detected.

  “We need to get as far away from the fences as possible before dawn,” I murmur as I crouch behind a large boulder.

  Without warning, the sound of a twig crunching underfoot alerts us to the presence of others. It seems we were followed after all. I get quickly to my feet, but Reed shakes his head, putting a finger to his lips. He points to himself and then in the direction of the sound, his intention clear. We should stay put. He slowly backs away to be swallowed by the murky darkness and I strain my ears, the blood rushing to my head. I signal the others to move slowly away from the approaching soldiers, and take refuge in the trees. We are sitting ducks, clustered as we are in a circle. I hesitate as I hear the sounds of a scuffle, torn between wanting to help and wanting to protect the rest of them. Before we have even moved two feet, I hear a Tarzan yell of fright followed by Reed’s furious hiss, and a moment later he bursts into the clearing, pushing Michael Kelly before him.

  “Not now,” Reed growls as Morgan rushes forward, opening her mouth to scream at her brother. Signalling the rest of us to keep quiet, Reed shepherds us forward, moving faster than I expected. In silence, we cover about a mile before we come to a stop on a piece of flat land.

  I round
on Michael.

  “Don’t,” he warns, raising his hand. “I didn’t mean to, okay? I wasn’t even thinking about it. But in the fighting, I got pushed back, and I spotted you guys. You didn’t even notice there was a NUSA guard following you.”

  I turn to Reed and he nods in confirmation. “Michael was right behind him. He’s not a problem any more,” he adds.

  “We can take him back,” Morgan says. “We can take Michael back to the fences and then . . .”

  “No,” I shake my head vehemently. “It’s too late. We can’t. Michael comes with us.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Archer soothes, but Morgan ignores him.

  We walk for what feels like for ever. The conservation area forms part of the Mark Twain National Forest, which covers an area of 3750 square miles and spans twenty-nine counties. It is the perfect place to hide, although it seems we are in the clear for now. After about three hours, we come across a cabin in the woods.

  “I think we should rest here,” I say, to the collective delight of everyone. It has been a long night and we are all exhausted, Chase particularly. He is panting heavily but overall I am pleased at his performance. He has outdone himself, considering his lack of any of our gifts, and he deserves a rest. Strangely enough, being inside NUSA’s borders is probably safer than anywhere in the Rebeldom – it’s the last place that they will think to look for us. The only trouble we may run into is a few campground officials, which won’t present much of a problem, so we head inside the cabin to get some well-deserved rest, leaving only two sentries on guard at a time.

  I take the last shift, along with Kwan.

  “The sun will be up soon,” Kwan observes, looking up at the lightening sky.

  “Let’s push on.” I go back to the cabin and rouse the others.

  We cut across thick forest before we emerge on the other side, about twenty miles from where we crossed the boundary fence. We take a moment to consider the best route forward. Now that we are in the belly of the beast, we need to make sure that we do not draw attention to ourselves, so stealing a car is out of the question. Richard and Lucy Carlisle live in the penthouse of an upmarket luxury apartment block in Kansas City, over three hundred miles away.

  Unexpectedly, it is Michael who comes up with a suggestion.

  “Why don’t we just take the bus?” Nobody argues, despite the obvious dissent. It’s not like anyone has a better idea. It’s a long walk into town, and we head straight for the bus terminal. Chase pays cash for our tickets with the money he had in his wallet when we kidnapped him.

  The bus ride takes well over five hours, taking into account all stops, and after a while, we start to relax. Rather than sticking together, we spread ourselves around the Greyhound. I watch Morgan’s blonde hair bouncing up and down as she animatedly, albeit quietly, berates Michael for his foolishness in following us. Directly in front of her, Archer tries a few times to lure her into conversation, but she will not be dissuaded. Chase falls asleep a few stops into our journey, and Kwan stares silently out of the window beside him. Jethro is right up at the front of the bus, and I can just make out his dark head through the other passengers.

  “I don’t remember the last time I travelled by bus,” Reed drawls from beside me.

  “Aidan and I always used the bus to school,” I smile. “But when I met Eric, it was all chauffeurs and street cars. The First Lady would never have stooped to this level.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re no lady,” he jokes and I slap his arm. “First Lady,” he corrects, chuckling, “I meant First Lady.”

  I doze on and off until Reed shakes me gently awake.

  “Look,” he murmurs, and I follow the direction of his pointing finger to find that we are passing through a pre-war zone.

  Thirty years ago the fallout from the nuclear war affected the entire planet. Billions of people died, and cities were left as a disconsolate shell of what they had once been. I had seen for myself the devastating effects when I had travelled to the west coast with Adam and his people in search of survivors. The opulence of the New United States that Eric had created had only really struck me then, when I had seen the worst of the war. The rebuilding that had taken place within NUSA itself was mind-blowing – most of the larger cities were so advanced and restored that it was as close to a pre-war environment that you could get. The population being only a fraction of what it was, however, meant that there were still areas that had remained untouched and undeveloped since the war. We did not need the space, and rebuilding cost time and money. Prioritising was an essential part of the process. Pre-war zones were areas that remained in the state they were left in after the war. Dilapidated, looted buildings, overgrown wilderness, abandoned cars, and dreary grey scenes were commonplace.

  “Nice view,” Reed remarks from beside me. He is intending to be derogatory but I can hear the underlying emotion in his voice.

  “It looks like home,” I smile, resting my head against the window and watching it pass by.

  chapter 15

  We get off the bus just a few blocks from the Carlisles’ apartment and split into small groups in an attempt to be less conspicuous. We are only three hundred miles from Chicago. This is the closest I have been to Kenneth Williams since my torture, and a big part of me wants nothing more than to abandon our plan and instead hunt him down and end his life.

  “Focus, Tiny.” Reed seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. “You’ll get your chance.”

  As we turn on to the street of the Carlisles’ apartment block, I beckon Chase over. It is early afternoon and we have only a few hours before Richard Carlisle will be home.

  “You sure you can do this?” I ask, and he nods.

  “Just don’t hurt them, if you can help it,” he mutters, looking slightly green.

  “They’ll be fine, Chase. Let’s get on with it.”

  We both enter the lobby of the luxurious apartment building. Chase smiles charmingly at the man sitting behind the front desk and greets him warmly.

  “Hello, James.”

  “Mr Crawford.” James manages to look both polite and disapproving at the same time. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Chase brushes him off. “Is Lucy here?”

  “Yes.” He lifts a handset from the desk. “I’ll just let her know you’re here.”

  “No need,” Chase leans over the counter and takes the handset, depositing it back in its cradle. “She’s expecting me,” he murmurs conspiratorially, and the doorman scowls but he doesn’t argue. Obviously Chase and Lucy’s cavorting around behind Richard’s back was even more frequent than I had suspected. I spare a brief flash of sympathy for Jenna, and then James’ next question brings me back to the present.

  “And you are?” he addresses me directly and I hold my breath, waiting to see if he recognises me. Admittedly, in my casual clothing with my hair tied back and wearing no make-up, I am a far cry from the former First Lady, but there is still a risk that I might be recognised. Fortunately, James gives me nothing but a contemptuous sneer.

  “I was under the impression that Mrs Carlisle pays you handsomely not to ask,” Chase reproaches, narrowing his eyes, all traces of civility gone. James squirms a little in his seat. “No need to record any of this in the visitor’s log,” Chase adds pompously as he heads for the elevators. I follow and the second the doors close on us, I round on him.

  “How many women have you brought with you on these little soireés?” I ask, shocked to the core.

  “A few. Lucy is very adventurous. And don’t look so disapproving, Rebecca,” he adds darkly. “You’re not exactly an innocent.”

  The elevator opens up straight onto the landing of the penthouse apartment. Chase goes immediately to the door, and I move aside so that Lucy won’t see me unless she actually steps out of the apartment and onto the landing. Chase’s sharp rap on t
he door is met with the sound of footsteps on the other side.

  “Lucy!” Chase holds out his arms as the door is pulled open, and he quickly steps inside, preventing her from coming out.

  “Chase?” Lucy’s shock is palpable, even though I cannot see her face. “What on earth . . . what are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” he asks suggestively.

  “Where have you been?” she asks, her words wary. “I heard you were taken by the Rebels. You haven’t been seen or heard from in months.”

  An interminable silence follows her words and then I hear the sound of footsteps and glass breaking. Not wasting a second, I step around the still open doorway and into the grand entrance hall. Pausing, I watch with mild interest as Lucy struggles in Chase’s arms, her stiletto heels narrowly missing his foot as she tries desperately to stamp back at him. I follow the direction of her eyes and notice an electronic keypad on the wall opposite. Shutting the door behind me and ignoring her astonished intake of breath when she recognises me, I walk over to stand between her and her target, avoiding the shattered vase of flowers on the floor.

  “Let her go,” I instruct and Chase releases her. Lucy promptly turns on her four inch heels and slaps his face before dashing through to the sitting room. I reach the next keypad before she does, and she skids to a halt only a few feet from me.

  “What do you want?”

  “We need your help,” I answer, and she shakes her head so hard that I fear her enormous dangling earrings might knock her out. Lucy has short, cropped dark hair, and a svelte figure that is almost always on show in skin-tight clothing. Wringing her red-taloned hands, her eyes dart backwards and forwards as she tries to come up with another plan of escape.

  “Lucy, you can’t get out. I have no intention of hurting you unless you really make me.”

  “Richard will be home in five minutes!” she hisses.