by E. R. Arroyo
“Was it Nathan? What did he do?” She releases a sob into the towel, hiding her face from me. I grab her wrist and force her to look at me. “He’s hurt me before. He shouldn’t get away with it.”
“The rules don’t apply to Nathan,” she says. “You should know that by now.”
“What happened? Are you in trouble?” I grab another towel and wring the water from her sopping wet hair. If she’s in trouble, maybe I am, too. Again.
“He was drunk. He thought I was some other woman. Maybe one of the mothers or something.” She wipes her nose and leans her face on her knees, which are pulled to her chest.
“Alcohol? That still exists?”
She takes the towel I used on her hair from me. “Go back to bed, Cori.”
I stand to head back to bed, but when I reach the doorway she says, “Wait.” I turn back to her. “You can’t say anything about this.” Her eyes are pleading, and I understand her fear.
“I won’t.”
In the morning, I get ready for the day while Marsiana is still in bed. I’m learning to cope with the subtle throb in my head that accompanies every morning.
The whole day is spent rotating guard shadowing. The next day, interior tower shadows. I’m bored to say the least, but I’m getting by. I’m focused.
“Assignments are ready,” Marsiana tells us another day later. She’s matter of fact, but her tone is not as deadpan as it usually is when she addresses us. I wonder if it has something to do with why she’s seemed so off lately. Almost unhappy.
Titus hasn’t looked my way since the truck, and I’m anxious to find out where they’ll assign me. Women’s building security? There’s always a chance that if I perform well with whatever they give me, they could move me into trade later. But how long would I have to keep up this good-soldier charade?
“Sean. Your first assignment is to join Captain 204 on a trade convoy. They could use a good, strong arm like yours for extra security.”
Marsiana’s words are calculated like always, but not as emotionless. She has shattered me. There’s no way we both got on trade. I was right about Titus, I can’t trust him. He’s given my adversary the job he knew I wanted, that he didn’t know I needed. I’m frozen in time and I don’t hear another word that is said even though I can see her mouth continue to move.
Finally I meet Titus’s eyes and he nods toward Marsiana. I look at her realizing someone has just said my name.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Trade,” she says. “Same assignment as Sean. We’ll see how you do.” I look back to Titus but his back is turned, and he’s leaving the room.
“Dismissed,” the captain says.
Chapter Nine
I am a pile of nerves. I’ve barely slept in the last week. I spent countless hours mentally preparing myself for a getaway, and if everything goes according to plan, that happens today.
I guzzle two cans of soda with my breakfast since my body feels so unrested. I need the extra kick from the caffeine. I’ve been sitting with the other seventeen-year-olds at meal times. (We’re not pledges anymore; everybody was assigned to some duty or another except Twig.)
The boys ramble on about something, like they always do over meals, but something stands out and I finally start paying attention.
“Haven’t you noticed all the traffic in and out of Medical?” Billy asks Matt.
“I guess so. I wasn’t sure if that was normal,” Matt replies, a little defensively.
“They’re upgrading everybody’s access chips or something. I heard someone in the halls on my shift,” Jayce explains, referring to his security shifts on the medical floor. I wonder if they’re getting the kind of chip that Dylan told me about. The kind that records what we see. Just another means of control and fear, that is if these people can even feel fear anymore.
“Does everybody have them now?” Sean asks as if reading the next question directly from my mind. He takes a bite of bread, then looks over his shoulder and back.
“I’m not sure, but probably most of them.” Jayce straightens up in his seat. I sense this conversation is making everyone uncomfortable.
If they’re upgrading everybody, they must be getting ready to use what the chips are really capable of. What is it they are trying to do? Nathan already has complete control of every soul inside these fences.
I chew on it a little longer before shifting back to my goal for the day. Believing my plans will go off without a hitch would be naive to say the least, so I’ve run through multiple scenarios and how I would respond to each. Regardless of hiccups or surprises, I’m leaving Antius and Nathan for good tonight.
I know nothing about the colony we’re meeting up with to trade, and I have no idea what to expect. I don’t even know what we could possibly have to trade; to my knowledge we have nothing valuable. Sean and I were given strict instructions to be spectators only, not to speak, and to keep an eye out for possible threats to the security of our caravan. We are learning only, not participating. At least that’s what they think.
What they do not know, is that when we meet with whoever it is, I fully intend to be lost in the shuffle. I don’t know if the other colony would take me in, but if I could manage to mingle into their group long enough for Nathan’s team to pull away, I can go off on my own afterwards.
There’s a possibility that they would feel a certain loyalty to Nathan or Antius, and sell me out. But perhaps I could sneak away, and catch up to them later pretending to be a loner. Would they mistake me for a savage?
There are many variables. Almost too many.
After breakfast, I meet up with my squad. With a canvas bag containing a change of clothes over my shoulder, I stand in line next to Sean, merely because he’s the only one I know. I can still see in his eyes that he hates me to the core, but he tolerates me. Maybe because of Twig.
We’re loading onto a military vehicle with a large cargo area. There’s benched seating on either side, and gray containers near the cab. One of the first on, I find a seat close to the cargo--which I still don’t know the contents of--and settle in for a long ride.
Sean is close behind, but another soldier sits between us. Eight more soldiers climb aboard the truck, followed by Jacob, one of only a few members of Nathan’s elite Government division. I’ve never been this close to an official besides Nathan, and I had no idea he would be joining us. I suppose he’ll be acting as an ambassador. Our soldiers aren’t particularly charismatic or good with words.
The driver--whom I can’t see since there are no windows between the cab and the cargo hold--cranks the engine and revs it a few times to warm it up. I lean my head against the cold metal siding and allow my eyes to close. I realize the caffeine is no use for a weeks worth of missed sleep. I’m hoping to catch a little on the drive.
I pretend to sleep while the numbers add up in my head, and the odds stack against me. Ten soldiers, besides myself, share the cargo hold, including Sean. A driver and navigator occupy the cab. A government official is the icing on the proverbial cake. What a bitter cake.
Sean alone would have been difficult to overcome, but a total of thirteen armed and well-trained men will be on full alert the entire time we’re outside of Antius’s border.
The ride is far from comfortable, not that I’d expected it to be. I lean against cold metal siding; I sit on a cold metal bench. There is no heat, no warmth to be had. I wonder when spring will come again. The temperature isn’t the only thing in the truck that’s cold. Every single man in here is a stone-faced block of ice.
After a couple of hours, the driver pulls off the rugged terrain and onto something smoother. While I try to picture what the street would look like, sheer mental and physical exhaustion get the better of me, and I drift to sleep.
Later, I’m half-awake after an immeasurable amount of time, opening my eyes only momentarily to see that nothing has changed. I drift in and out that way several times, for what feels like only minutes. I realize it’s been hours when the truck slo
ws and the men begin to stir.
The squad leader, Captain Wilson, asks “Everybody loaded?” cueing us to check our weapons. I stuff a .45 handgun into the back of my pants and conceal it with my shirt, as I see others doing.
Wilson stands by the doors and readies his own weapon while he addresses us. “Rob, Evan, weapons drawn. The rest of you keep your weapons concealed unless hostility is perceived or required. Keep your eyes and ears peeled.” His eyes drift in my direction. “Sean and Cori will help with loading.” I nod, but this wasn’t the plan. We are supposed to be spectators. I need to be as far away from the action as possible.
The soldiers I assume are Rob and Evan strap rifles over their shoulders.
After another fifteen minutes or so, the truck finally comes to a stop, and Rob and Evan stand posted on either side of the doors. Everyone gets to their feet, and I follow suit. Jacob eyes me and gives a nod as if to reiterate Wilson’s instructions. I wonder what Nathan has told him about me. I’m not sure why, but I find him even more unnerving than Nathan.
I reach around to make sure my firearm is secure and concealed. For a moment, I rack my brain trying to remember if I loaded it. It’s too late for me to check the mag, Jacob is watching me. I know for sure I didn’t chamber a bullet, and the safety is on. I keep an empty clip in the gun most of the time, and a loaded clip nearby. Did I switch them? It might not be loaded. I hope I won’t need it.
Wilson bangs on the door. I hear male voices and footsteps outside the truck, then a click and a squeal as the doors pull open from the outside.
“Boss,” the man says with a nod as he props one door open, and the other man props the other. The driver and his comrade.
Jacob steps aside while the soldiers file out of the cargo hold. It’s dusk out, and I still can’t see anything outside from where I stand. Once the soldiers are on the ground, Jacob climbs down.
“Do you have it?” Jacob asks someone I can’t see.
“We do,” a reply comes, as Jacob gestures for Sean and me to follow him. I let Sean exit the truck first, and stumble after him. I trip, and almost fall but catch myself on Rob’s elbow (I can see his name tag now. I’m always intrigued by which ones choose to put their number on their tags and those who put their names instead). He looks down at me with pure irritation. I release his elbow and catch up to Sean and Jacob.
We stand on a paved lot near an enormous building that’s clearly been abandoned longer than I’ve been alive. Fallen power lines, dust-covered trash, wood and stone from the building’s rotted facade surround us. Everywhere. The setting sun illuminates foothills in every direction and a decent amount of shrubbery surrounding the parking lot we’re in.
Beyond the shrubs are decrepit houses. They were probably top of the line before the suburban people that occupied them fled or died.
The rear of our truck faces a large open space, on the other side of which is another convoy. My heart races when I see members of another real-life, non-savage colony of living, breathing human beings. Not a face among them is familiar, but I love every one of them for no other reason than they exist.
I hear something screeching across the metal floor of our truck and look back to see that one of the guards has slid a bin to the opening. Jacob nods to Sean and me, and we rush to grab it, pulling it onto the ground with great difficulty--it weighs a ton.
Jacob commands us, “Over here,” so we lift it again and carry it a good ways out in front of our group and set it down. Jacob stands beside it with a key in his hand, one that I assume opens the massive canister. “Come on then,” he tells the other group.
A man emerges from the back of their crew, which is smaller than ours by a few heads. He’s tall, and looks well-fed, probably out-weighing any of our men by at least forty pounds. I can’t figure out how in the world he maintains the extra weight. How much food slush could one possibly consume?
Behind him, his disheveled men come into view. They hardly look like an army. Certainly nothing of the order and structure of our convoy. They scurry with a crate of their own, though it’s made of simple plastic and open on the top--not locked, like ours, or even closed. As they draw closer to us, the contents of the crate become clearer--it’s food. Real food.
They set the crate six feet ahead of ours. Jacob takes a knee by their trade, and picks up what I think is a vegetable. He squeezes it, sniffs it, then grabs another. “And the grains?”
“In the truck,” the man says forcefully, as if he’s not ready to show us the good stuff yet. “Open it.” I notice a side arm that his hand hovers dangerously close to. With a group as menacing as ours, I would assume he has good reason to be cautious, but none of our soldiers’ arms are even visible (though I know they have them).
Jacob unlocks and opens the bin from Antius. He takes out a smaller container, and pulls out a vial of blue liquid. He holds it up for the man to see.
The man calls out behind him, “Test it.” A squirrelly man in gray ratted clothing approaches us with a low-tech looking device. Jacob pours a dab of the liquid onto a sensor on the guy’s gadget. After a few minutes the device analyzes the substance, and gives an alert, though I can’t see it.
“The med’s good,” Squirrelly says. Medicine? We trade medicine for food? Have we done it before? Because I’ve never seen real food in Antius.
The big man takes a deep breath, “What else? We didn’t bring all this for one med.”
“We brought the one you need most. And plenty of it.” Jacob puts the vial back and returns the case to the bin. Then his hands cross behind his back with his shoulders stiff. I recognize that posture. There’s not a sign of tension in him, but I can tell the big man from the other group is getting angry. His jaw is tense, and a vein in his forehead is standing tall.
“We need them all.” The man doesn’t grab his gun, but I can tell he wants to. “If our people die of infection, who’ll grow your food for you?”
“You’re going to have to take the deal or leave it,” Jacob tells him. The man’s gun hand twitches, and I’m not the only one who sees it. Sean pulls his weapon, and Wilson doesn’t scold him. I realize this situation is definitely not what anyone had in mind today.
“This isn’t how we’ve been doing business. Cornelius--”
“Well, this is how we’re doing business now.”
The man growls, “We’ll give you half. Next time bring all the meds we asked for.”
“We’ll take it all,” Jacob says with a nod toward Sean. In the second it takes me to register what’s happening, Sean pulls the trigger, hitting the man in the chest. I pull my own gun instinctively, and duck behind our bin. Everyone around me scrambles with weapons in hand, firing on the other group, and them firing back.
It’s the perfect distraction. I need to run now. I look toward the other group’s vehicle where all of our men are advancing and firing on them. I see a young man dart from the cab of their vehicles towards the shrubs on the edge of the lot. If I follow him, maybe he can take me to his colony. Maybe they won’t shoot me if I can convince them I wanted out of Antius.
Without another thought, I take off after him knowing he’s my only hope. My feet hit pavement hard and fast. When I hear my breathing grow heavy, I realize the shooting has stopped.
“Freeze,” a soldier yells, and a bullet hits the ground beside me. I stop in my tracks and turn back toward Wilson and his men, my gun still in my hand. Jacob is staring through to my core, a blended look of betrayal and satisfaction across his face. I get the sense that no one would mind terribly if I didn’t return with the group.
“The kid’s getting away,” I yell back to them, pointing at the kid a few feet from falling into the shadow of the shrubbery. To make it convincing, I fire a shot his direction but intentionally miss.
When I turn back, I realize Sean’s gun is the only one aimed at me, and I assume he took the shot that barely missed me. If I took a shot at Sean, I wouldn’t miss.
“Let him go, then,” Wilson calls to me,
eyeing Jacob as if awaiting orders. He doesn’t know what Jacob is thinking any better than I do. “Let’s load up.”
The men who just slaughtered a convoy begin looting their truck, taking all the crates and loading them on ours. I jog to catch up, as Sean’s gun is still trained on me. I grab a crate of food and load it, falling in line with the others. I can feel the heat of Jacob’s gaze on my back, and I don’t look up to meet it. While two other men take the weapons of those they killed, I check the cab of their truck.
“Take the keys,” Jacob shouts to me. “Don’t want the kid driving back to his people. If we’re lucky, he’ll die out here on his own. I want them to come looking so this will be a warning to them.” What warning? Our way or no way?
“I think I hit him, sir,” I lie, hoping he won’t go looking. When I realize no one can see what I’m doing in the cab, I grab the keys from the ignition and take the truck key off the ring and drop it in the cup holder, hoping the kid will come back and find it. Maybe he’ll make it home safely.
I turn back to the group to find Jacob, yet again, keeping his eye on me. I pretend not to notice.
After loading a few more crates from their truck, we load up into our own. The cargo space is packed much tighter now because of all the loot, but it smells amazing. Some crates contain vegetables, some fruits, some grains. And one other crate holds fresh bread. It’s mouthwatering, and like nothing I’ve ever smelled inside the compound.
I wonder who gets to eat it? It sure isn’t the citizens of Antius. We pull back onto the road and I try to prepare myself for the long trip back to the prison I thought I would never have to see again. The smell of bread reminds me over and over how hungry I am, and I begin to feel a pang.
I wonder if they’ll ever let me go on a convoy again. I might need a new escape plan. Titus did me a huge favor getting me this gig. Will he do it again? Am I back to the idea of climbing an electrically charged fence and facing a forcefield I can’t even see?
