by Andre Jeter
Arn stands. “Okay. I’ll get those papers written up.”
Sonya watches as he clears the room. She doesn’t have time for a discharge report either. She grabs her gear from underneath the bed and puts them on. She stands, throws her duffle bag onto her shoulders, and heads towards the exit.
Sonya enters a long white hallway with doors on each side. She walks down the hallway and spots an open door. As she gets closer she can here Arn talking on the phone. She peeks in and sees his back facing the door and his lab coat hanging from a chair. She notices a bulge in the coat, then she sneaks into the room and quietly reaches in his coat and pulls out a wallet. She places it in her back pocket and walks out backwards.
She wonders about guards at the front exits and decides that she can’t take the risks, so she pulls a fire alarm. When she turns the corner, she sees people come out of their offices and head towards the exit. Sonya blends in with the crowd as the guards make their way to the emergency location. The crowd walks out of the door and Sonya strolls nonchalantly down the street.
She looks around and sees much of the old earth, which she has only seen on computer screens. A crew is working on a beautiful garden, planting an assortment of colorful flowers. A tall tree with lush green leaves sits in the middle. Sonya walks along the sidewalk in complete awe of what she is seeing. A young couple sits on a park bench, laughing. A man argues on his cellphone. Sonya hears the sound of children laughing and turns to the sound and sees a huge field of grass. Young boys are locked in a game of soccer. She leans on the short iron fence and watches the smiles on their faces. When a young boy scores a goal, his parents cheer and applaud from the bleachers. Sonya admires the friendship, the bond, and the love they all have, and she wishes she could have that too.
Her stomach begins to rumble, snapping her back to attention. She wonders when she ate last. Then she sees a small bakery shop at the end of the corner. As she heads over to the shop, she can smell the aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries. She walks faster, thinking about how it must taste compared to the hard bread she had to eat. But she understands that
13.
one must eat to live, not live to eat.
She enters the store and a few minutes later she emerges with an assortment of bread and pastries. She rips into a piece of bread and chews it slowly, savoring every bit. Then her duffle bag begins to beep.
Sonya walks by a nearby bench and places her things on it. She opens the duffle bag
and looks around to make sure the coast is clear. She sees the tracker has picked up the signal, which doesn’t surprise her. When she looks closer though, she sees that the signal is coming from inside the Zone. The bread drops from her mouth, onto the floor. Her heart races and she steps back to regain her composure. I’m so close, she thinks, her eyes landing hard on the building in front of her.
****
Sonya sits outside of a coffee shop sipping on a cappuccino, but her eyes are once again fixed on the apartment building across the street, an eight-story building with security cameras on the front and sides of the façade. There’s a fire escape on the side which leads down to the sidewalk. Sonya notices the next few buildings are the same size as the apartment but a few feet away. She feels a presence coming towards her.
“Why?” says Arn, trying to catch his breath.
“I was going to give it back.” Sonya gazes up at him then returns to her reconnaissance. “Have a seat before you pass out,” she tells him.
He accepts her offer and sits. “Bread, pastries, and...coffee?”
“Cappuccino.”
“Whatever. Explain to me why I shouldn’t notify the Zone authorities?”
“I’ll disappear before they come.”
“What makes you think I didn’t call them before I even showed up here?”
Sonya turns her full attention to Arn. “You’ve wouldn’t have come up to me if you did,” she says. “Besides, who steals a wallet and buys bread and pastries with it?” She smirks at him as she takes a sip of her drink. “And coffee. You figured any normal person would transfer the creds to his or her account, but not this person. And you were curious as to why a person would do such a thing. You just needed to know.”
Arn sits still, pondering her words. “So why didn’t you transfer the creds?” he asks.
“I have more important things to worry about than creds.” Sonya places his wallet on the table in front of them. “Here you go.”
Taking his wallet, Arn stands up. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. “But if you don’t want it,
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fine. I understand.” Then he turns around and starts walking away.
“Sonya,” she says loudly. When he looks back at her, she smiles. “My name is Sonya.”
“It’s a beautiful name,” Arn says. “Take care.”
Sonya watches him as he walks away. “Don’t go,” she whispers. But then he turns a corner and vanishes.
She sits still a moment longer looking at the corner, imagining Arn turning around, running back and telling her, I’m here for you. But then reality kicks in and Sonya stands. She sets down her coffee and brushes the crumbs off her hands, then she heads for the apartment building.
A man holds the door open for her as he exits, and Sonya brushes quickly past him. He shakes his head at her rudeness. Sonya has no time to apologize; she takes out the tracker and follows its direction. Then she climbs up to the sixth floor, where the signal grows stronger, and
she stops at the door. She takes out a small device to hack it open.
The door closes slowly behind her and she drops her bag. She then takes out her sidearm and scans the apartment. It’s empty with not one piece of furniture. She goes into the bedroom and sees the GPS walkie on the bed. Then she quickly turns around and an arrow flies by her head. She takes her last flash bang and rolls it out into the living room. When she hears a scream, she rushes out and shoots the Native American man in front of her three times. He quickly slumps to the floor and dies, his long ponytail soaked in blood. Sonya can’t help but look at him for a moment. He has several tribal and animal tattoos on his strong-looking arms and chest. Thin lines of red paint twist and turn on his face.
“Your eyes deceive you,” a voice says.
Sonya turns, drawing her gun. She sees the same man again, standing alive and unharmed right in front of her. She fires but the sidearm makes a clicking sound. The ammo has been depleted.
“What’s going on?” Sonya says, confused.
“You lost as soon as you entered the apartment.” He points to a clone of Sonya sprawled on the floor. “You are a skilled warrior...but it wasn’t enough to defeat me.”
Sonya drops to her knees. She stares at the clone on the floor, then she reaches her hand out to touch it. “How is this possible?” She looks up at him again. “Am I dead?”
“No,” he tells her. “But your brother will be soon.”
Sonya feels herself being pulled like dust into a vacuum by the clone of herself on the floor. She opens her eyes, not remembering when she’d closed them, and she’s suddenly looking up from the floor at the man. This is not another dream, she thinks, not with the amount of pain she’s feeling.
She looks over at the man still lying in the pool of blood, watching as it slowly disappears and then finally fades away. Her mind is spinning, trying to comprehend what has just happened and if it was actually real. So tired from the fight that she can’t even remember it, Sonya finally closes her eyes.
SEVERAL YEARS EARLIER
The full moon shines on the thick clouds giving them a beautiful blue glow. A Raven soars through the sky. In stealth mode the Raven is nearly undetectable by radar; it's the perfect weapon for the element of surprise. Inside, Sonya and her teammates are laughing and joking, paying no mind to the horrendous turbulence.
These are the people that know her the best, the people she would lay down her life for, and she knows they would do the same. Together they have completed over twenty missions with no c
asualties among them. They bleed together and kill together. These men are far more than friends; they are her brothers, and it is a bond only death can separate.
Boston’s face has an aged look from the many battles he’s endured. The thick hairs on his face hide the minor scars from those battles.
“I’m tellin’ ya, the guy stood three days on a mine and it wasn’t even activated,” Boston says laughing, then he continues. “When we found him he had piss and shit all over him.”
Everyone joins in on the laughter except Porter who is reading a book with his thin
glasses which match his scrawny but surprisingly strong physique. Marko gives Porter a side-hug with his huge arms, and it looks like a bear hugging a small child.
“Saddle up, ladies,” someone says over an intercom. “E.T.A in five.”
Holleran gently wipes his katana with his long slender fingers and like a master swordsman he quickly sheaths his blade. His thin face grins at Janovsky who twirls two guns in each hand and then holsters them. Janovsky’s creepy, psychotic smile is more than enough for Holleran to back away. Sonya ties her dark hair into a long ponytail as the Rhino finally comes to a stop.
“All right, boys and girls,” Boston commands. “Gather ‘round.” A small table emerges from the floor and a map flickers on. “Intel reports of a small vulture camp on the twentieth floor of this building.” Boston points to the building on the screen. “So far they have raided numerous ration trucks form Zone Epsilon.”
“Nothing like secret favors for Zone civilians,” Javonsky says. “If I remember correctly, they told us to pack up and get the fuck out.”
Sonya rolls her eyes, disgusted at Janovsky. “They’re humans. Doesn’t that matter?”
His smile darkens as he returns her gaze. “I’m sure they said the same thing when they wasted your father.”
In an instant, Sonya tackles him to the ground and punches him repeatedly. Marko grabs Sonya off of Janovsky. Backing away, Janovsky grins as he licks a drop of blood from his lips.
“Get it together, you two!” Boston yells.
Porter extends his hand to Janovsky, who smacks it away and gets up on his own. Sonya takes a deep breath and tries to refocus. Everyone is quiet as they wait for their leader to speak, the one with the most experience and knowledge. They gather around the table again.
“Here’s the plan,” Boston begins.
Two Vultures stand guard in front of a building. Most Vultures look the same, with red and black clothing torn and dirty. Their faces look mean, twisted, and disturbed. But all wear black feathers. Not in the same places, necessarily, but they can be seen by all. It’s a sign of death.
Holleran quickly dispatches the first two guards with his katana. He rushes down the hallway through a door downstairs where he takes down another three guards. He opens a door to a room with servers and generators, and he places a small gizmo on one of the servers. It beeps, then a green light comes on. He touches his ear.
“Holleran. Complete,” he says, and then jets off.
The chairs and tables of the cafeteria have been thrown aside in a corner or used as extra protection being nailed to the doors and windows. Graffiti, food stains, and dried blood give the room a more chaotic feel. A gang of Vultures participate in their normal ritual after a successful raid, eating, drinking, and partying hard.
The lights go out. Gunshots, screams, and breaking glass echo throughout the room until only hard rock music plays from a nearby Stereo. Janovsky shuts it up with two bullets.
“Sound off,” yells Boston.
One at a time they each repeat their names.
Sonya squints as she peers out the broken window. Two yellow lights float towards them
like a ghost. Boston catches Sonya staring. He turns his head to see that behind the two yellow lights is a Raven approaching them at full speed.
“Take cover!” Boston screams.
The Titan crashes in through the window, sliding along the floor and bursting through the cafeteria walls into a large room full of cubicle offices. Hundreds of Vultures emerge from the stairwells and office rooms and a fire fight soon begins. Bullets fly in every direction, trying their best to hit their intended target.
The cargo door from the Titan opens and out steps a man who many don’t fear but should. Dutch has a lean and muscular body, as if he only does cardio workouts. His body is covered with so many tattoos that he looks like a living painting. His face and hair is painted red and black and when he smiles he looks like a devil. In front of him crawls the Raven pilot. Dutch shoots him in the head without a second thought. He stands out in the open as the bullets fly around the room.
“It’s Dutch,” Boston whispers.
Sonya reloads and watches the fear in Boston’s eyes, a sight she has never seen before. If he’s afraid, it’s for a very good reason.
“Gas ‘em up, boys,” Dutch orders.
Small canisters bounce into the cafeteria and explode with white smoke.
“We gotta get outta here, Boston. Whats—”
Sonya tries to squeeze the trigger, something she has done thousands of times but is now the hardest thing to do. The sounds around her are muffled like something has plugged her ears. She drops her gun. Her hands begin to shake.
Dutch rushes through the cloud of smoke and shoots Porter in the chest. His moves are fluid and smooth as he slices Marko’s throat while holding the blade in his mouth. Holleran jumps in but Dutch takes him apart by breaking his leg, bone by bone. Sonya reaches for her sidearm and aims at Dutch. The sidearm is much lighter in her hand compared to the rifle but that too will soon change. She inhales a huge gulp of air which improves her aim and concentration just a bit. She slowly pulls the trigger with the last ounce of strength in her index finger until the butt end of a rifle connects to the back of her head, sending her crashing down to the floor and putting her to sleep.
****
A small light bulb dangles from a wire, swinging back and forth in the empty darkness. Sonya’s eyes follow the rhythmic pattern of the bulb as she thinks about her friends...her family. It’s been days since she heard the screams of her brothers, the sound of fists pounding into bones, and the sound of a machine being powered on. The sadistic laughter.
They made sure that escape would be impossible. Two thick chains are wrapped around a concrete pillar. At the end of the chains are wrist locks causing Sonya to constantly wiggle her wrists around for a comfortable spot. The chains give her just enough slack where she can reach the metal bucket in the corner to do her business.
The iron latch unlocks and a flood of light enters the room. Various types of pipes run along the walls and ceilings of the room, some rusted, leaking red water. A huge heating
machine for the building makes its usual humming noise. Next to the machine sits an iron table and many instruments used on Sonya.
Sonya covers her eyes as tears run down her face. Not tears of sorrow or from the pain she endured but from the fact that this thing is going to receive a quick and painless death when he deserves eternal torment and suffering. Her torture device is a six-inch rusty nail that somehow got loose from supporting an air vent cover from the ceiling. The rusty nail is too big to pick the lock but just right for tearing an artery. Where could she cause the most pain, the same pain he caused her time and time again? Unfortunately it would have to be swift and quiet; there’s no telling who might be outside. He’s lucky.
Sonya is bruised and covered with dry blood. Her back is marred with scars from the flogging. Her outfit is only a skimpy bra and panties.
Her overweight abuser walks up to her, grabs her, and begins licking and sucking her face. Now is not the time, she thinks. He could easily overpower her in this position. His filthy hands grope her butt and breasts. He turns around and walks to the torture table and Sonya makes her move once he’s out of reach. She rips the nail out of her hair and places it between her middle and ring fingers, making a tight fist. Then she dashes up to him and jams the
nail repeatedly into his throat. Blood spews out onto her face and body. She watches as he tries to pronounce words like help, bitch, and die.
She grabs his sidearm and keys. Her hands shake at the thought of freedom, making it difficult to place the key inside the lock. She takes three long breaths, places the key in the lock, and twists. The first shackle drops to the floor and makes a small sound. Her eyes land on the door. Did anyone hear that? She moves onto the next shackle, keeping her eyes on the door. This time she’s careful not to drop it. She rubs her wrists frantically, getting the blood to return. She spots her cargo pants and t-shirt that they tore off of her by the metal table. Lucky they left it here; they probably thought she wasn’t escaping anyway.
She looks around the room for an escape route but soon realizes why they put her down here in the first place. There’s only one way in, one way out. She makes her way to the metal door and peeks through the opening. Satisfied, she slowly opens it and walks up the stairs.
Another door stands in her way. She puts her ear near the cold metal. Nothing. She grasps the doorknob and twists. The door unlocks and Sonya opens it slightly to get a clear view. She sees a hallway with school lockers and a classroom door. Then she tries to adjust her body to get a better view into the hallway. Further down she sees a Vulture guard sleeping in a chair. Sonya opens the door and peeks into the first classroom. It’s empty.
She moves on until she hears a soft laughter of madness coming from one of the classrooms behind her. She checks a few rooms before finding the right one. She sees Janovsky beaten and bloody, with his left leg chopped off from the knee. The machine noise and screams had come from him, she sees. He hangs in mid-air supported by two chains which are wrapped around his hands.
When Sonya enters the room, he looks down on her and smiles widely enough to expose his bloodstained teeth. She looks up at him for just a moment, then she grabs a desk and positions it in front of him.
