by Kody Boye
Ashton sighs and lowers his eyes. “Essa,” he whispers. “Those poor kids.”
The two other women don’t respond. They simply keep their eyes to the floor.
I sigh.
Dusty presses a hand to my back and says, “You did well, Kelendra. You diverted the SADs into two groups, which left us in a better position than we would’ve been in otherwise.”
“Do you know how many were there?”
“No. We don’t.”
“Did you make sure they were all dead?”
He nods. “Yes. We did.”
“But… their helmets… don’t they have video feeds through them?”
“Not after Ashton took care of them.”
The young man can only nod.
With a sigh, I turn my attention to the big man holding tight the First Lady of the Glittering City.
A tiny sliver of blood trails out of a spot on her chest.
“Tranquilizer,” Dusty says. “The best of their kind.”
“How long do we have until she wakes up?”
“I say until morning.”
“Good,” I say, then close my eyes.
Though I would wish nothing more than to be the first thing First Lady Rosanna sees upon waking up, I know that they are likely to wait for me.
My thoughts are answered when Dusty says, “Give me the bag.”
And First Lady Rosanna is blindfolded.
Ten
Ceyonne and Wu are the first to greet us as we emerge through the tunnels. They are also the first to bear witness to the flowering bruises across my arms and face.
Wu asks, “What happened?”
And I say, “A lot.”
Ceyonne wraps an arm around me, then slowly guides me down the hall, away from the big man and the First Lady he is carrying in his massive arms.
Dusty says, “Domino.”
The big man lifts his eyes.
“Follow me.”
“Where are you taking her?” I ask, wary of his intentions now that the First Lady has been apprehended.
The leader of the Southern Saints turns his head toward me and says, “It’s none of your concern.”
“I’m the one who lured her out.”
“And I’m the one who lost men to get her here. I’d say I have more of a vetted interest than you do.”
“I—” I start to say. “I don’t—”
But instead of listening, Dusty turns and begins to lead the man named Domino down the hall—and away from the quickly-developing crowd of people.
All Dusty can say is, “Go to bed! All of you!”
People shrink back almost instantly.
Sighing, I wrap my arms around myself, grimace as the pain in my left elbow begins to manifest once more, then turn my attention back to my friends.
All Ceyonne can say is, “Come with us.”
Back in the the old bar, Ceyonne goes to work arranging a cool compress from a damp rag on my face, while Wu leaves to find someone who can provide something to dull my pain.
As Ceyonne gently places the compress on my face, she says, “You shouldn’t have gone.”
And I, foolish and bullheaded, simply say, “No. I shouldn’t have.”
There is a long, drawn-out pause, during which Ceyonne says nothing and I remain silent. My thoughts are of what might happen to First Lady Rosanna now that she is here, and how, whether I like it or not, whatever fate will befall her will now be of my own doing.
You had to do it, I think. For us. For your family.
For them, I think, blinking before looking up at Ceyonne.
My friend offers me a short nod and uncaps a bottle of water before offering it to me. I drink slowly, but steadily, hating the fact that every action I put myself through causes me even more pain.
Wu arrives a short moment later, carrying a small paper bag. “I have sandwiches,” she said, “and a small bottle of painkillers.”
“Where’d you get them?” I ask, grimacing as I struggle to lift myself upright.
“Patrice gave them to me,” the girl says. “Just sit up, Kel. Ceyonne and I will get everything out.”
In mere moments, I am propped up with a number of boxes at my back and a sandwich in my hands. With my painkiller already swallowed, I feel more than ready to simply give in and allow the night to pass swiftly, but know that will likely not be the case.
At any point, the First Lady could wake up, therefor signaling the beginning of this new and personal hell.
As we eat, certainly but steadily consuming the meager portions that have been offered, Wu clears her throat and says, “I noticed there were fewer of you than when you left.”
I merely nod.
“I… I take it something bad happened.”
“Yeah. Some people died.” I close my eyes and sigh. “And it’s all because of me.”
“We had to do something, Kel. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“I feel like the whole world is weighing on my shoulders.”
“There’s three of us here, though,” Wu offers. “You don’t bear this burden alone.”
“I know.”
But do I? Do I really? It seems as though I don’t, because no matter how hard I try to envision Ceyonne and Wu standing beside me, awaiting to the anything that the world throws at us, all I can see is me.
Me.
Standing there, before the Spire, with members of the Saints around, the lady who helms Capitol City News ahead of us, a camera pointing directly at me—I see, briefly, a sliver of light as behind her a SAD lifts her rifle, then hear the bark of a gun as a bullet is fired not only at me, but my head.
As it enters my brain, I can think, for but one moment, what I’ve done.
Then I am dead, and there is nothing I can do about it.
“Kel?” Wu asks, tilting her head down so she can look at me. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I finally say. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay.”
And that’s the truth, too. Because for me to be okay, I would have to feel comfortable with what I have done, content with my decision, sure of what fate may befall not only me, but the people around me.
No matter how I want to feel, I know that will never be the case.
Not in a million years.
Closing my eyes, I finish the last of my sandwich, then lift a bottle of water to my lips and drink.
“I think,” I say, after I have lowered the bottle from my lips, “that I’m gonna rest now.”
“Go ahead,” Ceyonne says. “You deserve it.”
Do I, though? Do I really?
Remember, my conscience offers, that people died tonight so you could save others.
With that in mind, I settle down, pull a blanket over my shoulders, then try my hardest to fall asleep.
It doesn’t take much to realize that this will not be an easy night.
I doze for what feels like hours. In-between the realms of consciousness, I toss and turn, back and forth, roll over onto my stomach, then my back. It seems like I will never sleep, and for that reason, I am just about to give up when I slip into peaceful dream.
I am awakened what feels like seconds later by a scream.
Ripped from the depths of unconsciousness, I bolt upright only to experience every injury in my body anew.
“What—” I manage. “Why—”
“It’s her,” Wu says from her place at the metal gate.
“Who?” I ask.
“The First Lady.”
“What’re they doing to her? Tell me! Tell me!”
“She just woke up,” Ceyonne says, “and they’ve got her bound to a chair out in the hall.”
I am quick to rise to my feet, and even quicker to make my way to where the metal gate is blocking us from further entry.
I see, in the near distance, the First Lady, dressed in her nightclothes but bound to a simple metal chair. A paper bag is over her head—tied loosely around her neck with twine—and her arms and legs are stretched
in a way where, even if she wanted to try and escape, she couldn’t.
Before her stands Dusty McGee, who simply leans forward and asks, “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Let me go!” the woman screams. “Goddammit! I’ll have your head for this!”
“I asked you a question. Answer it.”
“I’m not answering anything!”
“So be it,” Dusty says, then turns his head to a figure that stands nearby. “Patrice?”
The woman steps forward.
“Hand me the pliers.”
“NO!” I scream, locking my hands around and then shaking the metal gate as hard as I can. “STOP IT! JUST STOP IT!”
The First Lady’s screams cease. A moment later, she asks, “Is that—”
“It’s me,” I say. “Kelendra. Kelendra Cross.”
“I should’ve known you had something to do with this,” the woman says, then laughs—a cruel, sardonic sound that cuts through the darkness and renders me speechless. “I thought it might’ve been you when I heard you screaming outside last night, but I thought, Surely it can’t be. She went down with the tower. Now I know.”
“Shut up,” Dusty says, “or I’m going to start removing nails.”
“You didn’t say we would torture her!” I cry. “Dusty! Please!”
“Shut up, Kelendra. I’m going to do with her as I please.”
“I won’t do it!”
The man turns to regard me, his eyes daggers in the light streaming from the nearby lanterns. “You won’t do… what?” he asks.
“The plan,” I say. “I won’t carry out the plan. Not if you hurt her.”
“Neither will I,” Ceyonne add. “This is wrong.”
“Totally wrong,” Wu agrees.
“None of us will do it if you torture her,” I say. “That’s final.”
“You honestly think,” Dusty says, “that you would defy me after I took you in?” He takes the pliers from Patrice’s grasp. “I don’t believe you.”
“You better believe me,” I counter, “because if you torture her, you’ll never make me talk.”
“You would risk everyone for one woman? Your family? Your friends?”
“I’d risk everything if it meant keeping her alive,” I say.
Dusty growls.
One moment, he’s holding the pliers. The next, they’re being thrown into a nearby storefront, shattering not only the glass windows dividing them, but the eerie silence that has begun to permeate the room.
All the people in the crowd can do is stare.
I open my hands.
Ceyonne takes one, Wu the other.
Dusty stalks forward, one foot in front of the other, his mouth a snarl, his eyes daggers upon us. He steps up to the grate and says, “I should keep you locked in here.”
“But you won’t,” I reply. “Because you need us just as much as we need you.”
The First Lady laughs.
“Shut up!” Dusty screams. “Just SHUT UP!”
“You underestimate your women,” First Lady Rosanna replies. “And you especially underestimate her.”
“I said—”
“No,” I say. “You stop.”
“Why do you propose we do with her?” Dusty growls, spinning to face me anew. “You want us to lock her up? Keep her imprisoned? Feed her, care for her? You’re out of your damn mind.”
“I’m not going to let you hurt her,” I say. “So if you want me to do as you say, you’re going to leave her be, and do exactly as I tell you to.”
Dusty lets loose a long, loud scream, then turns and tears off into the night.
Patrice glowers at me.
I narrow my eyes in response.
The man named Domino says, “What are we gonna do with her?”
“The first thing you’re gonna do is let us out,” I say.
“And risk you letting her go?” Patrice asks. “Absolutely not.”
“You are more likely to get me to cooperate if you do as I say.”
The woman sighs, then stomps over and says, “Okay.”
Moments later, the gate is lifted, and Ceyonne, Wu and I step out.
“What do you plan on doing?”the woman asks as the three of us make our way toward First Lady Rosanna.
“We’re going to talk to her,” I say, “and see if anything can be done.” I lift my eyes toward the crowd, then say, “Get them out of here. Now.”
The crowd disperses like smoke being carried downwind. Now alone, and with no one around to interfere, I step toward the First Lady and say, “Tell me how to stop it.”
“How to stop what?” she asks.
“The Serenity Configuration.”
Though I cannot see First Lady Rosanna’s face on account of the bag over her head, I see her lips through the cut-out hole they’ve provided so she can breathe. They purse, then, and part, before asking, “What?”
“I said—”
“You think you can stop the Serenity Configuration?”
“I know how this works,” I counter. “I know they need your approval to allow it to happen.”
“Smart girl. You were always more impressive than you appeared to be.”
“Quit with the small talk. Tell me what I can do to stop it.”
“They’re going to deliberate without me,” the First Lady says. “They’ll eventually find someone to act in my stead, and when they do, they’ll launch those bombs and obliterate those godforsaken people.”
“Killing everyone and everything, innocent or not.”
“Exactly.” The First Lady stiffens. “The Countess is beyond negotiation. She is done with the North’s antics.”
“And you’re not afraid that they’ll retaliate?”
“Oh, they will. They most certainly will. But we have bunkers, we have precautions.” She pauses. “You could be in there too. All of you who escaped. But only if you set me free.”
“I’m not setting you free,” I reply. “I’m going to stop this before it can happen.”
“And just how do you propose that?”
“The people won’t let you launch those bombs once they find out about them.”
“The people are the ones who should be rallying for retaliation.” She pauses. “Unless you mean to alert them through alternative means.”
“I’m going to tell them. No matter what it takes.”
“You will only draw the North down upon us quicker. You would be stupid to do such a thing.”
“And you think that’s going to stop me?”
The First Lady’s lips curl into a frown. “Kelendra,” she says. “I’m begging you—actually begging you—to reconsider your involvement with these… these people. They’re using you for their own gain.”
“And the capitol wasn’t?” I ask.
My declaration is so jarring that First Lady Rosanna doesn’t respond. However, when she does, she says, “We were trying to make a better future. A better world. A better life for everyone.”
“By exploiting everyone and everything.”
The First Lady doesn’t reply.
Instead of waiting for a response, I turn my head to face Ceyonne and Wu, then say, “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Where are you going?” the First Lady asks. “Don’t leave me! You don’t know what they’ll do to me!”
“They’ll do nothing as long as we live,” I say.
Then we begin our search for Dusty McGee.
Eleven
We find Dusty McGee at the edge of the corridor. Sitting, idly, with his hand balled into a fist at his side, he ignores our approach, and only lifts his head when I clear my throat to draw his attention.
He asks, “What are you doing here?”
And I simply reply, “We have to do something about the Serenity Configuration. Now.”
He turns his head to look at me. His eyes—still filled with fury, with rage—stare at me with a hot intensity that I imagine could burn holes through my person if he so wanted. His lips, on the other han
d, are pursed into a frown, leading me to determine that he is trying his best to control his emotions. It is clear that he is angry. But his rage? It is contained—at least for now.
Sighing, I draw my black hair back over my shoulders and approach cautiously, as if he is a lion waiting to be set free from its cage. When I come to stand beside him, I look out into the darkness and say, “We don’t have much time.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“What I mean,” I say, “is that someone is going to replace her, and agree to launch the bombs in her place.”
“And you believe her?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“She’s under lock and key, Kelendra. She could be lying to try and save her skin.”
“She’s not lying, Dusty. She has no reason to.”
“And you know that because?”
I wait a second for him to turn his head to look at me before replying with, “I just know.”
He laughs, long and hard. When it becomes apparent that none of us are laughing with him, he pushes himself to his feet. He then says, “This is ridiculous.”
“We didn’t kidnap her to torture her, Dusty. We kidnapped her to delay the process.”
“And you think they’re going to go ahead and do it anyway?”
“I already said—”
“I heard what you said. I just don’t believe you.”
I narrow my eyes.
He frowns.
Ceyonne and Wu cross their arms simultaneously.
I then say, “We have to contact Cynthia Demiro.”
“Who?”
“The lady who anchors Capitol City News—or, at least, used to. I don’t know if Revered Mother Terra had her fired.”
“You think she will help you?”
“There’s no reason for her not to.”
“But will she?”
That is a question I have been trying to answer since I initially thought of the plan. Though I know she is likely to latch on to anything sensational, especially if it makes history, I understand that she is likely in a position where she will be unable to comply to certain demands.
However, I then begin to think, there are ways to get around that. You know there are.
