Uroboros Saga Book 2

by Arthur Walker

  “You want one after I’m done?” Silverstein joked, the others making room so he could wrap his arms around me.

  “Maybe. We might all need one, depending on how this plays out,” Dragos said with a smirk.

  There was some yelling at the far end of the bunker and our guards grabbed lanterns and headed over. We were left along in the dark with almost no room to even sit or lean. Matthias reached over and touched one of the terminals willing the screen to come on and give us a bit of light.

  “What are we going to do?” Tullia asked quietly.

  “We wait. It’ll be dark soon and those poor bastards will be trapped out there with Ezra,” Silverstein whispered quietly.

  “That little man? Don’t you mean he is trapped out there with them?” Truman said hesitantly.

  “No. Ezra is from the Factory, Type One,” Silverstein replied.

  “Type One, I do not know what that is,” Truman replied.

  “I do. If they don’t have proper training, they all die when it gets dark,” Dragos said rubbing his blackened eye.

  “Little man will kill them?” Truman replied, incredulous.

  “Little man will kill them,” Matthias stated plainly.

  “I hope he hurries. I need to pee,” Truman whispered.

  Just after dark we heard gunfire and cries from outside. Tullia shivered and leaned on Dragos as he did his best to comfort her. I was somewhat unnerved, too. Whatever was going on out there was bad.

  Automatic gunfire and screams filled the area sporadically for another ten minutes. In the darkness of the bunker, we could hear glass breaking, and then a metallic cry as something was pried open. Ezra appeared beside the cage, lighting one of the lanterns with a match. He was bloody, his face and hands glistening with thick crimson that dripped on the floor next to him.

  “There are more on patrol. I counted bunks before I came and got you guys,” Ezra said out of breath. “We should skip even searching this place and be somewhere else before dawn.”

  He fished around in a pocket and produced a ring of keys. After a few seconds there was a satisfying pop and the door swung open allowing us to exit. Truman ran for a corner and began to hastily relieve himself.

  “Little man do good,” Truman half-shouted from his corner.

  Tullia bristled slightly, looking angrily at the back of Truman’s head as she exited the cage.

  “Told you,” Silverstein said clapping Ezra on the shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t have been able to get away if Dragos hadn’t been distracting them,” Ezra humbly replied.

  We did like Ezra suggested and headed back to the ship. It took us almost thirty minutes to get everything back on board and locked down. Ezra laid down in the cargo hold while everyone else loaded up. When I went to check on him I could see he wasn’t alright.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I think I need something to eat,” he replied.

  I went to the tiny food prep room in the ship and found a package of graham crackers and went back to the cargo hold. I handed Ezra the crackers and he began to shakily eat them, trying not to stuff them all into his mouth all at once. I felt a wave of worry seeing him like that.

  “Little man okay?” Truman said, locking down the last of the cargo.

  “Don’t call him that,” Dragos and Tullia snapped in unison.

  “He has a name,” Tullia snarled.

  “Ezra, okay?” Truman said, mindful of his sibling’s anger.

  “My blood sugar was crashing I think. I feel a little better now,” Ezra said standing up.

  “Good,” Truman said smiling awkwardly, giving Ezra a peanut bar from his own pocket.

  Dragos took up his rifle and turned toward the open cargo door. Ezra started out with him taking up his own recovered rifle. I couldn’t help but gaze uselessly into the dark and hope a patrol didn’t suddenly return.

  “Where are you going?” Tullia asked.

  “They’re making sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else,” I responded, knowing what Ezra intended to do.

  Dragos nodded and they both headed back out into the dark. They were gone twenty-five nerve wracking minutes and then we were airborne again. Ezra and I gathered at the porthole in our cabin and he counted down quietly as we watched the ground.

  There was a bright flash from the ground, and then a shockwave that rattled the ship a moment later. We watched as the fire and smoke trailing up into the sky got further and further away. Ezra hopped down and retreated to his bunk where he stripped off his shirt and pants. I took them from him and said I’d take them to laundry for him.

  “Thank you,” he replied sitting down on his bunk wrapped head to toe in a blanket.

  “You sure you’re alright?” I asked.

  “I was scared down there,” he replied.

  “You never been scared before?” I asked.

  “I never had anything to lose that I couldn’t do without. You and Silverstein are my best friends. I started to feel sick and I was afraid I wouldn’t be strong enough to get you out of there before they hurt you or worse,” Ezra explained.

  “Everything turned out okay and I was more than scared by the way. I was terrified,” I said shivering a little.

  “I want to teach you how to fight. You’ve got the strength to use my hand-to-hand style when you get angry or scared enough. It’s like the tiny nanomachines that make up your body bolster you when the pressure is really on. Y’know, like when we first stepped on this transport and you saw Matthias?” Ezra explained.

  “Why do you want to do that?” I asked, gathering a few more garments together of the laundry.

  “So that if something happens to me, you can fight when you need to,” Ezra explained.

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” I said with certitude.

  “I’m old, Taylor. You and Silverstein will probably outlive me,” Ezra said smiling a little.

  “You don’t know that for sure. Hopefully by then we’ll live somewhere I won’t ever have to fight,” I said stepping out into the corridor.

  I walked to the laundry and watched the clothes tumble about in the slim machine sandwiched between an industrial air filter and an onboard server that regulated water consumption. Matthias came in carrying some bedsheets. He sat down on the narrow bench beside me and watched the laundry for a moment.

  “Is Ezra alright?” he asked.

  “He’s physically okay, I think.”

  Matthias nodded. “We were all pretty scared, except maybe Dragos. I don’t think he’s been acquainted with that particular emotion,” Matthias replied, pressing his lips together tightly.

  “Ezra wants to teach me his martial style, y’know, how to beat people up,” I said looking to Matthias for his opinion.

  “He wants to make sure some part of himself persists in the world after he’s gone, and he wants to give you the only thing he has to give. You should let him,” Matthias replied.

  “We live in an uncertain world, sometimes bad things happen we can’t control,” I said nodding.

  “Like fingernail clippings on your bedsheets,” Matthias stated plainly.

  “Silverstein ratted me out?” I exclaimed clenching a fist in mock anger.

  “I think he wanted to go to sleep and I wasn’t going to let it go,” Matthias laughed.

  “If you leave your sheets with me, I’ll wash them,” I said with a sigh.

  “That’s all I ever wanted. Good night.”

  We flew all night and into the next morning. It felt like we were zigzagging through the sky, taking a much longer route than was necessary. I assumed it was because everyone on board was suitably paranoid about getting forced out of the sky again. I kept having to remind myself that the world had been changed forever.

 
The next morning we set down just inside the old Serbian border in what looked like a fresh patch of nowhere for repairs. Silverstein and Matthias were going to use it as chance to run engine tests, and the rest of the crew was out stretching their legs with Truman and Dragos. I think they left hoping for some game and a bit of firewood.

  I went to the pilot’s compartment where Tullia sat alone. It was early in the morning and the sun hadn’t even crested the horizon yet. It was just a faint glow in the distance.

  “Good morning,” I said sleepily.

  “Ah, hello,” she replied, clearly not expecting anyone else to be awake.

  “I really like your flight suit. Did you make it?” I asked, pointing to the garment she wore.

  “Yes. I had to. They don’t make them in my size. I can see you make your own clothes, too,” Tullia replied.

  “Used to be that was all I did,” I replied sadly. “I had to leave everything behind. All I’ve got now is what I carry around with me in this bag.”

  “That’s quite a bag, though. Did you make it?” she asked.

  “No, a Nigerian immigrant working in a market I liked to frequent made this. She said that it was magical, and that it would hold more on the inside than it appeared to be capable on the outside,” I replied proudly patting my shoulder bag.

  “Silverstein’s jacket?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I made that. We got it in the same market, and I altered it,” I replied smiling.

  “Ezra, he wears what looks like a rubber glove and coat, but they are all torn and worthless. He is wearing child’s clothes,” Tullia said, as if to scold me.

  “That’s why I’m here actually. I’m hoping you have some material that I could use to make him a set of clothes, or at least a warm jacket,” I asked.

  “None of my wire forms are the right size. He is so small. He will have to come to my room so we can measure him,” Tullia said climbing out of the pilot’s compartment.

  We went and ambushed Ezra while he was still sleeping. He looked up at us, squinting through grayish slits with his unearthly eyes. He followed along behind us wrapped in a blanket down to the second cargo container that had been converted into crew quarters. Tullia’s space was the largest and she had a collection of fabric anyone would envy.

  “Wow!” I said looking about.

  “You like?” Tullia said blushing.

  “Very much,” I replied pulling out a stool for Ezra to stand on.

  “Seriously, why am I here?” Ezra yawned.

  “Taylor and I are going to make you pretty,” Tullia said ominously.

  “Okay,” Ezra said with a shrug.

  Tullia and I both laughed at his easy resignation. We set about measuring Ezra which was an interesting experience. He was the size of a ten year old boy but at the same time he was far more like a man. He was slender, but well-muscled and his skin felt like what you’d think a shark’s skin would feel like, cold and just slightly prickly.

  Tullia was mesmerized by Ezra’s hair, which he usually shaved off but hadn’t had a chance to. I gasped myself when he took of his rubber skullcap and threw it to the ground. He had a head full of slightly wavy snow white hair. He stood there patiently in his trousers while we took his measurements and talking to us about what he’d like his clothes to be like.

  “Tough. Black. Made for utility and durability. They have to survive doing what I do, and water resistant, should I ever get back home,” Ezra explained as he sat down on the stool.

  “I have ballistic nylon that is black, but for the parts that must be more flexible, I have green canvas,” Tullia said, sifting through one of her many piles of cloth.

  “Green is good, as long as it isn’t too bright. Right, Ezra?” I said.

  Ezra nodded as he took out Truman’s peanut bar.

  “Yes, green will go with his skin, but he will need pants and a hat maybe?” Tullia replied.

  “He lost the last hat I made him, and he has such interesting hair, maybe not a hat?” I said kicking his rubber skullcap under a table where it would hopefully get lost.

  “A hoodie then, to keep the rain off him and his ears warm in the cold? Harder to lose, too,” Tullia replied.

  “A tactical hoodie?” Ezra said smiling as he finished off the peanut bar.

  “Yes, we should do a whole clothing line for Drones,” Tullia said with a smile.

  Tullia and I worked together all morning. We talked with Ezra, and each other, trading sewing tips mostly. We talked and laughed about what we’d make after we were done making Ezra his tactical hoodie and pants, even though we knew we’d likely be parting ways soon.

  “We should make Dragos and Truman jackets with the logo of your transportation company on the back,” I suggested.

  “I haven’t got a logo,” Tullia replied.

  “You going to make one?” I asked.

  “I have some ideas, but I’m terrible at drawing or painting. I want there to be a circle, with a branch and leaves in the background with birds just taking flight. All thick black lines. Something that would look good on the back of a jacket or flight suit,” Tullia explained.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “You are the only one who thinks so,” Tullia said, obviously in reference to her brothers.

  “Ezra, do you need some shirts?” Tullia asked. “I have many with a men’s cut that fit me. They would likely fit you, too.”

  “Oh, yes please. Will you guys help me pick out a couple?” Ezra said looking about the room bewildered.

  Poor Ezra didn’t know what he was in for. Tullia must have had a hundred t-shirts and he got to try them all on to see how they would look with his new pants and jacket. We chose a blue one that said ‘Varsity’ on the front and a black one that said ‘The Ramones’ on the back.

  Ezra was very pleased. He strutted about in his new pants and his tactical hoodie. Both were about fifty percent green canvas and canvas lined with ballistic nylon across the elbows, knees and shoulders. Tullia even patched his boots while I went and made us some brunch.

  When I returned to the sewing sanctum with my hard-as-a-rock waffles, Tullia was hand stitching a couple of patches on Ezra’s jacket. One was for an ancient band called ‘Slayer’. Then she began sorting through a shoe box full of what looked like old flags from the countries that existed before the Central Global Government.

  “You are from America, Ezra? You are an American?” Tullia asked.

  “Yes,” Ezra said after a moment’s thought.

  She took out a faded red, white, and blue colored flag and sewed it onto the breast pocket opposite the shoulder she’d stitched the ‘Slayer’ patch. Ezra reached over and ran his fingers over the patch sitting just over his heart thoughtfully after she finished.

  “Okay, button it up and make sure it fits properly. If it’s okay, we can begin adding the pockets to the inside you wanted,” I said excitedly.

  Tullia and I had made one incredible jacket. It looked really good on Ezra. Tullia cut fabric while I worked on the jacket lining to add the pockets. I think we spent more time adding the pockets than we did making the jacket. After a few alterations to Ezra’s specification the whole thing was finished and it was well into the afternoon.

  “Thank you,” Ezra said as he threw a few punches at the air, testing out his new apparel.

  “You are most welcome. It is the least I could do after you stopped those deserters taking my transport from me. You have my brother’s respect. That isn’t an easy thing to earn,” Tullia said.

  “I was just protecting my friends,” Ezra replied humbly.

  “Oh, and this was so much fun anyway!” I exclaimed, putting Ezra’s hood up to see how it looked.

  “Yes, it was,” Tullia said smiling a rare smile.

  Chapter 9

>   Bogovina, Zajecar District

  1:31 AM, January 25th, 2200

  Taylor’s Diary, Part 6

  We landed in a small patch of wilderness outside of Bogovina in the middle of the night. I knew this was one of our many stops before we were to try and break orbit for the moon colony. I was anxious after what happened in Hungary.

  Lawlessness seemed to abound in the wake of the shutdown, but the tiny village of Bogovina didn’t seem to notice. It had power and people appeared to be heading to work in the early morning hours. I knew it was extremely unlikely, but couldn’t help but wonder if the news of what had happened to the rest of the world hadn’t made it here yet.

  Dragos and Truman could scarcely wait for the loading ramp to descend so they could step out onto their home soil. It was cold, but there was no snow on the ground, and it was quiet save for the occasional dog barking in the distance. It was beautiful country, nothing like the concrete jungle I was used to.

  Tullia came down shortly thereafter to find Ezra and me sitting on the edge of the cargo bay, legs dangling over the side.

  “Good morning,” she said, taking a deep breath, as if she were breathing in her home.

  “Hello,” Ezra said, doing his best to eat the oatmeal I’d made him.

  “Where is Mr. Silverstein?” Tullia asked.

  “He and Matthias are probably still sleeping. They had a late night I think, messing with the engine. They were trying to get readings for the calculations Silverstein is supposed to make,” I responded.

  “Seems like some very hard math. Can your Silverstein really conjure the numbers in his head?” Tullia asked.

  “Probably. If he can’t, he’ll tell you so,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.

  Tullia nodded as she looked out at her brothers taking turns looking through binoculars. Usually I couldn’t read her, but at that moment she looked very worried. She turned and met my gaze with a scowl. I quickly diverted my attention back to Ezra who was still furtively attempting to eat his oatmeal.