by Keith Walter
Serin chewed her lip but refused to show fear. “So we can’t surrender,” she said to herself. Addressing the captain again, she asked, “Why are we likely to be caught?”
“You’re thirty people trying to get out of a town that’s all but locked down. Assuming sensors don’t catch you changing transportation, there’s bound to be checkpoints on every road out of town. Even with the element of surprise, a single mistake will have a battalion coming down on you in moments.” Barclay added offhand, “Not to mention, we don’t really know what the Union is planning.”
The first cracks of doubt appeared in her composure, and Serin had to ask, “What if we just stayed with Grace and tried getting through somewhere else?”
Barclay chuckled, but there was no mirth in his tone. “This is every town, kid. The Union was here before we were, and our little diversion is the only reason we’ve gotten to see them play their hand at all. If we show up somewhere else, the Union will know about Grace and even that idea will be blown.”
“So what can we do? If you expect we’ll be caught, what can we do about it?” Serin asked, confused.
“You fight,” Barclay replied.
“That’s it?” Serin demanded incredulously. “You think we just fight our way out?”
That was it, as far as Barclay was concerned. That was life. You fought for what you believed or you died. “The Union works a bit like a spider web. They have strands all over their territory. Now, a spider doesn’t go running out every time the wind tweaks their threads, it only pounces when it knows something juicy is stuck. You getting caught is just going to be a tweak at first, they’ll have a few members on hand to investigate, maybe they’ll even ask you to surrender, but that’s where you have opportunity. Fight—make sure they can’t relay back what’s happening on your thread, and the spider thinks you’re just the wind.”
“You’re suggesting I murder anyone who recognizes us?” The timbre of her voice dropped.
Barclay crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m saying you do whatever you have to do to keep them safe.”
Serin stared at her feet for several seconds before looking the tall man in the eyes. “Behemoth does not condone the killing of other sentient creatures.”
“Unless he’s going to come and save you himself,” Barclay replied evenly, “Behemoth can go to hell.”
Serin frowned in disapproval. “Behemoth brought us together and has sheltered us for years.”
“Where was he when you all were getting loaded into Union trucks?” Barclay demanded. When he saw Serin start a retort, he added quickly, “Don’t you dare give him credit for what I did, nor for what Grace and Charles did. You don’t get to take our work away from us.”
◆◆◆
Serin shut her mouth quickly. In truth, she had prayed to Behemoth many times in the back of those trucks. She didn’t understand how they could have been so abandoned in their time of need. When they were freed, she praised his name, but that wasn’t truly fair. It had been her new friends that saved them, unbelievers though they were, not divine intervention. “I have to believe there is another way. I do not think I can take a life,” Serin admitted.
Barclay scoffed, obviously disappointed. He pointed a finger in her face, “You’re going to be in charge once you leave this ship. Everyone out there is counting on you.” When he saw her begin to protest, he held up a hand for silence. “Don’t deny it. You and Leslie might be partners, but she relies on you more than you rely on her. I’ve seen it. The captain doesn’t have the luxury of ideals. The captain doesn’t get to be scared or indecisive.” Barclay threw up his hands and sighed. “The captain gets his hands dirty if his men need him. And the captain doesn’t even get to grieve over it afterward, doesn’t get to wash up and feel sorry for what he did. He just picks himself up and keeps on going.”
Serin’s eyes widened. The story the captain had told back with Windum and his men suddenly came into sharp clarity. He’d told it for her benefit, in his way. She laced her fingers together and stared at her palms. She struggled, trying to find the kind of strength and violence within herself that Barclay had displayed. “What if,” she asked softly, “I can’t be that kind of leader?”
“It’s not about you,” Barclay replied, taking a seat on the bed again. Serin watched as he rubbed his palm almost unconsciously, as if cleaning a stain that wouldn’t go away. “You do it so nobody else has to. You take the pain onto yourself so that nobody else has to feel it. You do it so the people relying on you know you can be relied on, so that when things go wrong, they never lose hope that you’ll get them out.”
Serin remained silent for a full minute. Barclay seemed to lose himself in his own memories. And despite knowing what had been done, her heart went out to him. She moved to the bed and took a seat at the older fey’s side. “Those men at the docks, they’d die for you. They’d kill for you. They think you can do no wrong,” she stated, pulling the captain from his reverie. “Maybe that’s what a captain is, but that’s not what I want. I don’t know what it’s like to fight in a war, but I know whatever I do I’ll have to answer to my family afterward.” She reached out and grasped his hand as it squeezed the blankets, silently pleading with the old man to understand. “I don’t want anyone to die for me or kill for me. And I know they don’t want that from me.”
Barclay stared at the tiny hand resting on his own. “That may get you all killed.”
“Maybe,” Serin admitted. She let go of his hand and stood up. Determination filled her eyes once again, and she snapped her fingers to get the captain’s attention. “But just because I won’t kill anybody, doesn’t mean I’m not willing to break a few bones.” She smiled, bringing a fist up confidently. “Maybe that means we draw out the spider, but I take care of those at home already.”
Barclay seemed to force the pessimism from his voice, but couldn’t help adding, “That may not be enough.”
The fiery young woman shrugged. “If it’s not, at least I can say we died for what we believe.” She took a deep breath and headed for the door. Turning back to the man on the bed, she added, “Thanks for being straight with me. I’ll make sure I’m, at best, prepared for the worst.” She waited a beat for a response, then walked out when none came, closing the door behind.
As Serin walked the center corridor, accompanied on both sides by cabin doors, she was seemingly transferred to a different era. When Barclay had requested elegant evening wear, he must have forgotten that Grace had not been around the human world for several decades. She looked through the open doors to find male converts wearing black tuxedos topped in fedoras—odd, but contemporary enough. The ladies, on the other hand, all wore 1940s-era ball gowns in vivid colors. A tinge of excitement tingled in the back of her mind as she imagined what must be waiting in her own cabin.
Near the end of the line, just before the engine room, she caught sight of Leslie, who ushered her inside. The cabin lights danced off each dress laid delicately across the beds. One was a pale pink that fit the torso tightly before draping elegantly to the floor. The elaborate embroidery reflected the light in ornate patterns giving depth to the shoulders and waist. A matching shawl had tufts of fur, presumably for warmth but mostly for looks.
On the other bed a sleek black dress seemed to grab the shadows and pull them in. It was form fitting all the way up to the shoulders, where sheer sleeves sprouted from embroidered embellishments. The two quickly changed clothes as the hum of the engines died out.
“It must be time,” Leslie said, trying to sound as calm as possible. She was about to open the door when Serin grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a kiss.
The two embraced for a moment before Serin spoke. “No matter what happens, I don’t regret anything. I am happy to just be with you until the end.”
Tears began to well up for both, but Leslie closed her eyes tightly. A smile ran across her face as she said, “Until I met you, I was a weed amongst the grain. Always in the shadow of others and never feeli
ng as though I fit in. You are my sun. Your love nurtures me in ways I never thought possible and gives me more strength than you know. You helped me understand that it doesn’t matter how big the field is, all you need is love to create a world of your own within it.”
Serin put her finger to Leslie’s lips and whispered, “You were never a weed. You have always been a magnificent flower, whose beauty and courage captured the sun for herself.”
◆◆◆
Charles looked out over the railing to see three heavy duty freight trucks pull up from behind the shipping containers. This was how the converts would escape the docks unnoticed, and Charles had to admit it was clever. “It’s certainly outside of the box,” he muttered under his breath. It was time to go, Charles supposed. The sadness he felt at this parting was strange and comforting. He still feared it was just a matter of time before the Union found all of them. And yet, secretly, he hoped that this group was luckier than he gave them credit for.
Pulling his hood up, he made his way down the gangplank before breaking into a jog up to the main street. Just as hoped, he found the taxi he had ordered a few minutes earlier. Barclay had mentioned before they pulled in that the trucks would be taking a roundabout route in case anyone was watching, so Charles felt confident he’d arrive well before the containers. He’d have time to put enough wards on the limos that it would take an army of sensors to find them.
◆◆◆
Barclay watched Charles go with lingering regret. He couldn’t remember who first said to never meet one’s heroes. He doubted this was quite what they meant. He buried those thoughts as deep as he could before he heard the soft click of the lower bridge door opening. He saw Serin and Leslie emerge, followed by a veritable army of finely dressed converts. Leslie wore a tasteful black dress while Serin was magnificent in pink. They both met him with determined eyes. He waited several seconds for the remaining converts to join them, noting Grace and Talmer bringing up the rear.
He motioned to the shipping containers. “They all have a fair amount of obscuring wards, and it looks like Charles even added a few more for safe keeping.” He eyed Serin, Leslie, and Talmer once each before continuing. “You’ll need one of you in each container to keep them powered up. It shouldn’t take too much energy, but you’ll have to do the same at the limos. Conserve your energy as much as possible.” Placing one hand on the blue metal door of the closest container, he explained, “You’ll need to fire them up before we load everyone in.”
Serin shivered, remembering her time stuck in the Unions trucks. “Where is Charles? Who is he going with?” Leslie had explained the curious case of their broken companion after they’d gotten back to Grace. Serin still didn’t like his attitude, but couldn’t help appreciating what he’d done to keep Leslie safe.
There were murmured questions, and several heads looked around for the man. Grace stepped up suddenly. “Charles is no longer on this ship. He left just moments ago.”
Barclay had expected Charles to take off early. He hadn’t expected the effect it would have. He had the distinct impression Serin wasn’t a fan of the man, but even she seemed upset at the lack of a goodbye. Barclay himself understood the strain of saying goodbye, especially for a soldier who knew it might be forever. He didn’t begrudge the younger man. He simply trusted Charles to prepare the limos and then…disappear. He almost regretted the fact he’d never be able to tell this story to the boys on shore.
Pulling himself out of the haze of his thoughts, Barclay focused on the task at hand. “Looking at the runes, you just need to touch here.” He hovered one hand over a single marking on the door. Without further ado, he pointed a finger at Talmer. “Talmer, you’re up first.”
The young man hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other but not moving from Grace’s side. His gaze ran from Leslie to Serin to Barclay before coming to rest on Grace. “Lady Grace, the short time we have spent together has made me reconsider my foolish notions of family pride. I believe the two of us should remain together, to build something new, free from the clutches of our parents.” Grace stood shock still, so Talmer leaned in closer. “I cannot do this without you.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Serin called out. “There are three containers and we need three people to power them.” Her eyes simmered with a soft red glow. “Without you, we can’t get everyone out of here.”
Talmer frowned at the criticism, and it seemed to Barclay he did feel some regret. Not likely for the plight of the converts, but for reneging on his part in this deal. Eying the containers, he replied calmly, “By my calculations, two containers should be more than enough to transport everyone. And surely the human transports are designed to carry a few extras.”
“You damn, pompous idiot!” Serin started to yell before Leslie put a hand on her shoulder to calm the situation.
“Serin, he has made his choice. We can make do without him if he truly feels this is his path,” Leslie replied.
Talmer bristled at Serin’s anger, but held his head high. “I do not need to explain my actions to you,” he declared. Smoothly, he caught Grace’s hand without looking. “I know now where I belong.”
For just a moment, Barclay considered leaving Grace with Talmer and taking his place with the converts. At Grace’s blushing cheeks and uncomfortable stare, he nixed the idea. With that idiot onboard, Grace would need him even more. He could hear the sound of the dock cranes roar to life, so he didn’t have the time to berate Talmer for his selfishness. Instead, he clapped his hands and announced, “We’re wasting daylight.” Nodding sympathetically to the women in front, he lowered his voice. “You should be fine. Windum told me he ordered the best transports available. You could all fit in a single one if you really had to. So let’s just get on with it.”
In unison, each woman stepped up to a container and placed their right hand on the door. Barclay watched, knowing they felt the familiar tingle of magic being drawn from them. It was nothing compared to the runes they had taken for Grace, or even the manacles from the Union. With a nod from each, Barclay split the converts into two groups and ushered them inside. He gave Serin and Leslie each a solemn nod before closing and latching the doors. He stepped back and threw one arm up in the air. Moments later, a large crane loomed overhead, snatching each of the containers and gingerly placing it on an awaiting truck trailer.
Barclay waited for Tag and Deck to jump in the driver seats and watched the trucks pull away. Once the brake lights disappeared completely, he turned to Grace. “Let’s get out of here as quickly as possible.” From below the deck, engines roared to life and energy surged through the ship.
◆◆◆
The taxi took only six or seven minutes to get Charles to the address Barclay had given him. It was a parking lot at the outskirts of downtown, packed with cars for the game. In the middle of the lot sat three limos, each with a driver waiting with clipboard. Charles approached each individually, supplying a Pennsylvania driver’s license and CDL that Grace had been happy to make for him. He tipped each just enough to not be memorable and waited as they walked back to the main street for their own rides home. Opening the first driver’s door, he found the neat little chauffeur’s hat sitting on the passenger seat. Throwing it on, he rummaged through the glove box, finding a handy set of rags and spray cleaner. With casual calm, he walked around the limousines, pretending to wipe at scuffs and smudges.
Black marker on black paint made the runes disappear once they were applied. Falling into a rhythm, he began to let his mind wander back to his talk with Grace and the promises she got him to make. All these years he had struggled to survive just for the sake of surviving, but now he found himself wondering if there might be more out there. He snapped himself back to reality just as he had finished the second limo. He figured he still had about five minutes before the trucks showed up. Throwing his senses to their max, he surveyed what he could.
Charles could feel the Union members at the bus station. He could feel a few lingering a
round the docks, but the city was otherwise suspiciously vacant. Relief was his first response, but there was something that nagged him about the situation. He finished the third limo and put the chauffeur’s hat away. Fading into the shadows, he headed out to the sports stadium for the first phase of his escape plan.
◆◆◆
Two minutes later and a hundred yards away, Serin pushed back the feeling of claustrophobia as she jostled around inside the container. She hoped that Leslie was holding up a little better. But with all the wards, she had no way of knowing. Leslie, meanwhile, was holding up very well. She was sitting cross-legged at the head of a rectangle of converts, and encouraged each to share what they would remember most about the old apartments. Everything was going according to plan.
Leslie envisioned all her family living somewhere on a farm in the Republic, free from the Union and everything that had happened over the past few days. She imagined living out her days with Serin, not worried about their relationship being found out. Relief passed over her as the trucks came to a smooth stop. She heard a knocking on the container door before the metal latches clicked open. Before the door opened, she held a finger to her lips, reminding everyone to remain silent. The door was cracked just enough for the driver to let them know they could move, and Leslie pushed it open tentatively. She jumped down softly, noting Serin not far away. Both shared a longing look before they turned their gazes inside, motioning for the rest of the passengers to come out.
Once everyone was away, Serin closed the door behind them and took quick steps across the grassy park. She heard the trucks roll away, but kept her eyes focused ahead. In just a couple of minutes, Leslie found herself and her family in a rundown parking lot containing three long limos with boxy front ends. Her gaze lingered on the third, and a slight pang of sadness shot through her thoughts. A deep breath later, she squelched it and moved to the rear door of the first limo in the line. Keeping one finger to her lips, she held the door for everyone to enter.
