by Nikki Landis
Here I was, standing on the corner of Refugee Road, hidden amongst the dense bushes and overgrown trees. Brown mottled everything, scattered about the road and country side. The darkness did not conceal the deadened foliage that surrounded us. Winter had been brutal and it was not yet over. The bleakness matched my soul, as dry and barren as the fields that surrounded me.
My face was painted in camouflage, a dark cap pulled low over my head, my slim body dressed all in black. I blended easily into the ebony night, as seamless as the transition from dusk to sunset. My eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, accurately pinpointing the objects nearby. I knew the trees and foliage, I knew the area through the forest and beyond. Shadows lingered around me, shifting and sulking behind the trees, but nothing was truly hidden, not when it was so familiar.
Shivering, I awaited the caravan of death that brought the long awaited ammunition delivery and resupplied the enemy. And it is death to some of us. That observation was true. Me. The refugees. Them. It did not matter because death was not particular. Death did not play favorites. Some of us would make it tonight and others would not. Fate would decide. Those who did survive would live to fight another day. And another. And another…
The enemy hadn’t counted on us. The massive number of refugee soldiers who fought so tirelessly, so mercilessly to tip the scales of this never ending war, and make it become less of a massacre to our people. They had not counted on our resolve, our hardened hearts. We were willing to die. Willing to give the ultimate sacrifice.
In most cases, those who fought did so without fear. To be fearful you had to have something to lose. You had to have something to go home to, a loved one, people to return to, or a life to be lived. Most of us did not have anything left. There was nothing to return to, nothing to salvage. No one that waited. For many of us, the fight was all we had.
“Lizzie, are you ready?”
Tamara was crouching next to me, watching the road. Her lowered voice shook me from my reprieve. We were scouts tonight. Our objective was simple. The two of us would signal the rest of the refugee fighters. Once the caravan was spotted, we were to quickly backtrack to the line and help ignite the explosives. The first truck would go up in flames, blocking the way and stopping the caravan.
The chaos would buy us the time we needed. Darren had received decent Intel on this shipment from a captured militia deserter. We had a good plan. We had been successful with this kind of endeavor before. There was not a reason to think the plan would fail.
Chalk it up to my perpetually negative mind but I always thought there was a chance the enemy could outsmart us. It was with a sense of trepidation that I answered Tamara.
“Yes, I am ready. It’s pretty dark out but I think we stand a good chance. It should buy us extra cover,” I answered, whispering in the cool night air.
As good a chance as any other night I supposed.
“Yep,” she replied.
It was misty out tonight. A light wet fog hovered above the ground, blowing around eerily in the low level street lamps. The ones that were still lit and working at any rate. Long curling vapors stretched across the broken asphalt like the gnarled fingers of a horrific monster, intent on ripping flesh to shreds. It was a testament to my vivid imagination that I almost believed the mist could do it. Almost. But not quite.
Visibility was not the best but I had almost perfect vision. There was never a need to squint to see down the dilapidated road, passed the curve where the caravan would emerge. Darren counted on me. He believed in me. I needed to focus. Glancing often at the road, I honed my concentration, not wanting to miss the caravan as it approached.
We waited in silence for long minutes, both of us still shivering. The temperature was dropping and falling fast. It was getting colder by the minute. I wore three layers tonight, two under my military issue fatigues, but it did not stop the cold from penetrating the material and lodging deep into my bones. The layers succumbed rather easily despite my frustration, like the material was not there at all.
I moved around a little, staying crouched low and hidden, trying to move my circulation. Anything to get the blood pumping and make myself warmer. I was not very successful.
“Do you hear something?” Tamara asked suddenly.
I listened for a minute. Nothing…and then a low distant rumbling. I could hear the faint sound of an engine roar, and then another close behind. Soon it was the sound of multiple vehicles approaching. It had to be the caravan.
“I think it is the caravan. Let’s make sure before we leave,” I told her, watching the bend at the far end of the road.
About a minute and a half later the first vehicle edged around the bend, confirming it was the exact caravan we anticipated. It was time. I sprang to action as we jumped up quickly and ran back, skirting the tree line, and dropping in next to Darren. His eyes were already on me. I nodded my head and we waited for the first truck to reach the marker.
Taking a couple of hasty breaths, I tried to relax the thunderous beating of my heart. I felt the familiar and welcome surge of adrenaline as it coursed hot and heavy through my veins. We were silent as it approached, nobody moving, stiff from the chilly moist night air and breathless from the excitement. Fear of early detection made us rigid in the cold, frozen like human popsicles, on the hard and dampened earth.
I pushed the lever down on my dynamite box just as Tamara and several others did at the exact same moment. The simultaneous coordination of our efforts produced a loud reverberating boom that plumed smoke up into the air, exploding the first truck, and sending debris flying in all directions. The ground shook and rumbled with the force of the blast. Some of the street lights flickered and swung precariously in the air, dangerously close to shattering sharp shards of glass and raining it down upon our heads. I dropped to the ground and flattened like a leaf just as a large piece of metal bumper whizzed past my head.
The explosion was followed by loud screeching and a resounding crash as several of the trucks careened into each other in the confusion. Thick black smoke billowed into the air, reducing visibility, and causing a chorus of coughing to erupt among the refugees. The sudden halt sent militia soldiers pouring from the trucks, in much larger numbers than we had anticipated. The Intel was not entirely correct on that crucial point. Someone lied.
In the mass confusion and smoky air the soldiers began shooting into the night with amazing and deadly accuracy. Bullets flew through the air around me, some lodging into the trees above my head, and others slamming into the flesh of fallen bodies. In horror, I saw several of my comrades fall. Blood spurted and covered the ground. With sudden realization I knew the ambush was going to fail. I had to get out of here. I had to retreat. And fast.
Self-preservation kicked in, thanks to the adrenaline from my flight or fight response, and I ran toward the trees. Slipping and sliding across the bloody asphalt I literally smacked into a hard body, the force of the hit knocked me backwards, and I ended up flying into a pair of strong arms. Caught, I reacted instinctively and kicked the militia guard in the shin, elbowing him in the gut at the same time. Just as Darren had shown me. More than once. He released me immediately, groaning loudly.
Surprised that he let go so easily, I tried to bolt and run from the tall guard that had found me. He smirked. I was not fast enough to elude him. He grabbed me instantly, and roughly, staring into my eyes with a fierceness that staggered me. For a brief moment he did not move and I mistakenly thought he would release me. His sharp intake of breath combined with the dark frown on his face above his bandana filled my heart with fear.
He abruptly turned directions, heading away from the safety of the trees, and heading back toward the line of military trucks. They were swarming with soldiers now, most of them shoving and pushing on my fellow refugees, and stuffing them into the back of the overloaded militia trucks that resembled fattened Thanksgiving turkeys. The thought was random. I’ll give you that but it flitted out of my mind as fast as it had entered, t
he sheer ludicrousness of the idea caused me to stop suddenly and I almost landed on the ground.
Avoiding the carnage around me proved more difficult with each passing moment. The guard grabbed me by the collar roughly and shoved, nearly spilling me into the dead and lifeless body of a friend. Tamara. Oh God, no.
I sucked in a huge breath and nearly panicked. By sheer will I slammed the reaction down into my body, saving the grief for another time, and glared at the guard. Instantly angry, trying to fight my captor, I struggled against the hold he had on my arms. He laughed lightly and slowly tightened his grip like a vice. I gasped in pain as my eyes darted back to his face.
Something about his eyes was familiar. I knew it the moment he diverted his gaze because he would not meet my stare. Where had I seen him before? Was he one of the militia soldiers we fought at the Luxem Industrial raid several months ago? I felt a prickle of recognition, the faintest hint of acknowledgement, but it eluded me and sank into the back of my skull before I could bring it forth.
The guard was instantly sorry for causing me pain, shaking his head slightly and then scowling as we approached a small group of militia officers. It was then that I noticed movement in my peripheral vision. I quickly scanned the tree line, my eyes darting back and forth, before finally coming to rest on the worried and frazzled expression of Darren. He looked ready to spring from the trees but I noticed several people holding him back.
Militia guards ran toward the tree line and I saw them disappear. Relief flooded through me. At least some of my comrades would make it. Not all, I saw more than one face I knew on the ground tonight, but most.
My focus returned to the guard who slowly led me toward the trucks. His remorse for hurting me had been a surprise. I saw the militia as only murderers and thieves. I did not want to entertain any ideas or thoughts of humanity towards him that entered my head and I quickly banished them. I would not let doubt creep in and make me weak. He pushed me roughly into the nearest group of refugees, but it lacked the venom he previously had.
He joined the other officers, talking quickly and gesturing in my direction, always keeping a sharp eye on my location. Curiosity made me stare. I could not look away. I wanted to remember where I had seen those steel grey eyes before. I knew him. I know I did. But nothing, no recollection, entered my mind.
The next hour dragged on with unbelievable frustration. As captives we were herded like branded cattle (a much better analogy than turkeys) into the trucks and driven to an undisclosed location. The chilly weather became even more miserable as the dense and heavy fog continued to descend on the ruined and lost night, replacing the mist with a brutal cold that nearly drained all life from your body. It brought a heaviness to the air that chilled you so deeply you could almost feel it in your core, chasing all memory of warmth from your mind. In the trucks it had become bearable with the added heat of many bodies sitting in close proximity, but as we entered the militia encampment and quickly disembarked from the trucks, it became clear we may actually freeze to death.
In an effort to drive the cold from my mind, I latched onto the first idea that entered my head. Failure. Negativity was apparently one of my strengths. Failure flashed like a neon light in my head. I had failed my mission. Worse than that I had done the one thing that Darren hated the most and preached constantly against. I let myself fall victim to the enemy. I was captured.
If he had taught me anything, it was vulnerability and lack of focus, and the inability to secure my position would lead to my demise. He always preached caution. In the event of capture he said to remain calm and be vigilant. Fight back. Run. Wait for the opportunity to present itself. Take advantage of any way to escape. Self-preservation at all costs.
Uncertainty and fear of the unknown crept their way into my brain. I knew this enemy. I knew what the militia was capable of. Past experience combined with utter despair and I suddenly fought against the tidal wave of tears that sprang to my eyes. I tried to blink them away quickly but the cold snatched them from my eyes and they dripped silently down my cheeks. Hurriedly I brushed them aside with hasty fingers, hoping upon hope that no one saw them. I felt rather than saw eyes were upon me. Someone watched.
I shivered and stamped my feet into the frozen ground, trying to circulate blood flow to my frozen extremities and restore the lost body heat. Even standing next to the other refugees, it was bitterly cold. Maybe it would snow next. Or icy rain would fall. A perfect ending to a perfect night. I almost smiled with my ability to conjure sarcasm as a safety mechanism. My mother always told me I excelled at that.
Thinking of my family opened a very raw and gaping wound that festered below the surface. It clamored and fought to clear the barrier erected in my brain but I smashed it down until I was able to breathe normally again. I shivered and fought for control over my raging emotions. Not here. Not now. I would not break down.
Almost all of the refugees were unloaded from the trucks now, only a small group of us remained. Most of the prisoners had been separated into groups and entered into one of several large brick buildings that billowed thick smoke from tall stacked chimneys. Most of the buildings seemed to be in use, as evidenced by rows of faintly glowing windowpanes, whose yellow light cast an uneasy glow upon the freezing earth.
Noises clamored for top billing in the night. I heard the roar of a motor, the chug of a train, and the whistle of the wind as it blew across the rooftops. In the distance a consistent metal clang followed by a rusty banging hinted at the mechanics of an internal metal works. It was obviously some kind of factory.
I was just about to join the other refugees, being led by a much larger and more intimidating group of militia soldiers when a shout broke out from the same man who had become my captor. He ran toward me with lightning speed, a thunderous frown upon his face. Before I had a chance to run his gun was raised and leveled at my temple. He primed the trigger and I froze in place as I heard the bullet click into the barrel.
“Hey, I know who she is! Stop her!” He shouted.
The guard closest to him raised his pistol too and shoved me away from the truck, sending me sprawling, rather ungracefully, onto the frozen concrete. I smacked my hands and knees roughly upon impact, in an effort not to injure myself anywhere important. Pain radiated simultaneously up my arms and shooting down my legs. It hurt terribly and I tried not to cry, visibly shaken, and watching the blood run down my left leg.
Stupidly I stared at my palms that now resembled a bloody mangled mess. The impact had jarred my right knee and I cradled it, rolling to my side, while tears burned my eyes behind the lids from the excruciating pain. It throbbed and pulsed along my body as it nearly stole the rapid breaths I tried to take. Oh God, that hurt. Hurt like hell.
The guard yanked me roughly by the collar and hauled me to my feet. I nearly choked as my airway was temporarily cut off. Frantically I clutched at the material just as he pushed me toward the other guard, the one who was apologetic earlier. I landed with a thud against his chest, almost winded and trying to catch my breath, as my eyes locked with his. Steel grey held my gaze. He trembled slightly as he caught me, and I felt, rather than knew, that he was controlling a terrible rage under the surface. Concern was etched into his brow.
One strong arm grasped my elbow as he held me close to his side. In relief I sagged against him, unable to bear the weight of my body on my right knee. Any movement sent red hot sparks of pain shooting into my knee and down my leg. I had to breathe rapidly just to keep myself from passing out. I could feel the pain sapping the strength from my body. I had to fight against the urge to close my eyes.
“I want to take her in for questioning. I’ve seen this one before. I believe she is responsible for one of the raids last month. This time we are getting answers. I want to know their next plan of attack,” he told them, speaking in a rush.
“Good idea. Do what you need to do. She looks like she could use a lesson anyway.” The guard who threw me to the ground answered.
His
fingers closed cruelly around my chin and he lifted my face toward his. “She’s pretty.”
Another officer was looking at me, his eyes lingering rather lewdly up and down my body. “Need any help?”
Fear filled me and I started to tremble again, frantic at the thought of being accosted. I swallowed in disgust and averted my eyes.
The tall guard who held me smirked. “I think I can handle her on my own.”
Several of the guards joined in laughter this time. I repressed a shudder.
“Let us know if you change your mind,” the first one offered, his twisted smile sending a jolt of fear into my spine.
Tears still lingered in my eyes as I looked at my captor. He frowned slightly and turned toward the brick buildings. Would I find compassion or terror in his possession?
“I wouldn’t bother me for a few hours,” he admitted, winking at them and smiling.
A round of guffaws erupted again. He hauled me away, amid the continued laughter of the guards. Limping, I tried to keep up, but only ended up slipping and falling into him. More laughing drifted to us. My cheeks burned crimson. I did not dare to meet his gaze but quickly hopped with his help into the building, and managed to stay on my feet. Alone with him, I would have run if able.
The tall guard led me through a set of double doors, down a long hallway, and outside again. We quickly crossed a large expanse of frozen ground and then entered another building. This one was smaller, less clean, and lights flickered from inter mitten use. We turned down another narrow hallway, and then into a small medical lab. He pulled me into it quickly and shut the door, locking it, and turned on a small yellow light above our heads. It dangled from the ceiling and started swinging precariously as the light bounced off the walls around us, bathing everything in the flickering glow.
I shrank away from him, fearful of his intentions. My knee buckled and I started to fall. He was instantly by my side, catching me before I landed on the hard concrete floor.
