by Aaron Hodges
“It’s okay,” he whispered. He drew her quietly away from the ticket booth, where the woman still stood watching them.
Liz was shaking in his arms, her hot tears soaking into his shoulder, harsh sobs tearing from her throat. Unable to find the words to comfort her, to make everything okay, Chris did the only thing he could. He held her in silence, and waited for her grief to pass.
Slowly the tears had faded away, her shaking lessening. When she finally pulled away, her eyes were wet, but with a gentle smile she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Chris smiled. “For what?”
But she only shook her head. Taking a breath, she looked across at the others, who waited nearby. Richard and Jasmine still stood apart from one another, the wounds not quite healed. Mira had wandered off amongst the rows of plastic chairs, her hands in her pockets as she eyed the tiny food stand opposite the ticket booth.
Looking back to Liz, Chris reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “So, where are we going, Liz?”
Liz’s lips tightened. “San Francisco,” she looked around defiantly as she spoke, as though daring them to object. “I’m tired of running, of hiding. Sooner or later, they’re going to kill us. Or worse, catch us and take us back. We have to find a way to fight back, to put an end to this once and for all.”
“And going to the capital is how we do that?” Richard scowled. “That sounds like suicide to me. You can count me out.”
Chris’s stomach twisted. “Are you sure about this, Liz?”
Pursing her lips, she nodded. Her eyes locked with Richard’s. “You were right, that night in the mountains, Richard. Living on the run, never knowing when the hunters will finally catch up, it’s not a life at all. Trust me, I’ve lived it. We have to find a better way.”
Jasmine had been unusually silent, but she stepped forward then. “There’s hundreds of street cameras, police, informants. How do we avoid them?”
Liz shrugged. “We keep our heads down, stick to the crowds. San Francisco is a city of millions. However hard they try, they can’t keep them all in line,” she paused, her eyes sweeping over them. “Besides, they’ve got our families. If they’re still alive, we can’t turn our backs on them.”
That last point had marked the end of any further argument. The discussion carried on for a few more minutes, but the thought of finding where their parents were, of possibly rescuing them, had taken the fight from Richard and Jasmine. Even Mira had returned from her wandering, asking whether they could find Artemis as well.
Now, as Chris settled back in the bus station chair, he smiled at the thought of the five of them taking the bus. It was genius of Liz, really. With the wide-open plains, they could not fly during the day, and at night they would have no way of telling which direction they were heading in. The bus would have no such problems. And better yet – it was the last thing Halt and his hunters would expect. After all, who would take the bus, when they could fly?
The only problem was the wait. For the last two hours, the five of them had tried lying in various positions on the rows of plastic seats, struggling to get comfortable. The bus was already an hour late, and there was still no sign of its arrival.
He hoped it would be in better condition than the other vehicles they’d seen in town, but from the state of the bus station, it wasn’t looking good. A corrugated iron roof stretched overhead, still radiating the heat of the day, but there were no walls to keep out the wind. The ticket booth was even smaller than their prison cells in the facility. The lady behind the glass had her feet up on the bench, and was reading from a book titled Wild.
Opposite the booth stood the food cart. From the pictures on its side, it offered an array of burgers and hotdogs. None looked particularly appetising, but the faint scent of food still made Chris’s stomach rumble. Unfortunately, there was not enough cash left in the stolen wallet for hot food, and they were forced to make do with the fruit in their bag.
A television flickered on the wall of the ticket booth, facing the row of a seats in which they sat. Glancing at the screen, Chris frowned as the image went black. A second later a new image shifted into focus. It showed a man standing on a steel podium, facing a crowd of journalists. The man wore a dark red tie and his short grey hair was slicked flat against his skull.
He held his shoulders straight as he looked out over the crowd. Prominent cheekbones gave his face a harsh look in the glow of the overhead lights. His hazel eyes fixed on the camera as he waited for the reporters to settle.
Chris stared at the screen, his heart starting to pound, as a sense of premonition tingled in the back of his mind. Swallowing, he glanced at the others. The man’s face was one they all knew. In fact, it was impossible to forget.
The man standing on the podium was the President of the Western Allied States.
17
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the President began, his voice smooth, his tone sombre. “I am here today with news on our recent troubles.”
As he spoke, the President stared straight into the camera, his eyes seeming to reach through the television itself. Chris shivered, glancing around to see if the others were watching. The volume was low, but his ears had no trouble picking up the words.
“As you know, we have recently stepped up our domestic counter insurgency efforts. Acting on intelligence provided by the Director of Domestic Affairs, numerous rebel groups and their foreign benefactors have been apprehended in recent months.”
“Mr President!” a woman’s voice carried through the speakers as a reporter stepped forward. Two men in suits moved to intercept her, but the President waved them down, and nodded for the woman to continue. “Could you provide some indication of the sources used to identify these groups?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” the President stared down his nose at the woman, “but I assure you, both myself and your Electors have scrutinised the source and can testify to its legitimacy. There can be no doubt, these are dangerous persons – both to our individual security, and the safety of our nation.”
The President paused then, waiting to see whether the woman would interrupt again, before continuing. “We have brought the full force of our laws down on individuals associated with these groups. Enhanced interrogation methods have allowed us to identify ringleaders, and collapse networks of foreign spies who work to undermine our sovereignty. Those found guilty of treason have been executed, while their families and close associates have been detained and sentenced to follow them.”
The others were all staring at the television by now. This was the first news they’d heard about their abductions, and how their disappearance had been presented to the public. It seemed Doctor Halt had been telling the truth when he’d said their families were accused of treason.
Chris’s stomach twisted at the mention of execution. He felt a hand on his arm, and glanced up to see Liz watching him. He attempted a smile, but the effort was a miserable failure. Silently he turned his head back to the television.
On the screen, the President was still speaking. “While we are confident our actions have discouraged further resistance by these groups, there has been an unfortunate setback,” he paused, and Chris’s heart lurched as he realised what was coming. “Several associates of these traitors recently escaped from a secure facility in the Californian mountains. While we had hoped to quickly reacquire these individuals, to date they have evaded our militaries best efforts to bring them to justice. Our soldiers have suffered several casualties due to their actions. Unfortunately, we believe they may have now reached civilian populations.”
The President broke off as the mob of reporters started to shout questions. Across the bottom of the screen, four faces flashed into view. Chris swallowed as he saw his own face staring back at him, alongside mugshots of Liz, Richard and Jasmine. Strangely, Mira’s face was missing, and again he wondered about the girl’s strange past.
He looked up at the woma
n in the ticket booth, and the man working the food stand, but neither were paying any attention to the broadcast. He looked around at the others, wondering what they should do. Liz shook her head, her lips pursed tight, and nodded back to the screen.
The reporters had quieted now, allowing the President to continue. “As I said, these four individuals are considered armed and highly dangerous. They should not be approached under any circumstances. The parents of each were apprehended for their involvement with rebel activities, and were sentenced to death for high crimes against the state. Their sentences were scheduled for the December executions, and carried out as part of the New Year’s Eve celebrations. Unfortunately, this only makes these individuals more dangerous – they have nothing left to lose.”
On the screen, the President’s mouth continued to move, but Chris could no longer hear the words. Blood pounded in his ears as he stared at the screen, drowning out all other sound. An awful pain lanced through his chest, as though someone had just driven a knife into his heart. He gasped, struggling suddenly for breath, as the pain swept out to consume him. Inside, he could feel something breaking, something shattering into a thousand pieces. A low moan built in his throat, as from some great distance he heard Liz’s voice, calling his name.
Almost in a trance, Chris turned to stare at her. Liz spoke again, her lips moving, her eyes watering with unspilt tears, but no sound reached Chris’s ears. She leaned forward, her arms wrapping around his chest, pulling him to her, but still Chris felt nothing. An empty void had opened inside him, stretching out to swallow him whole.
His stomach swirled and a sick nausea rose in his throat. Pushing Liz away, he staggered to his feet. He felt a desperate need to scream, to shout and shriek and rage, to lash out until the world felt his pain. Then an image of his mother rose in his mind, her eyes warm and lips curled in a smile, and despair swept away his fury.
Silently, Chris sank back onto the twisted plastic seat, and buried his head in his hands.
18
Liz winced as the bus lurched over another pothole, sending her bouncing towards the roof. The engine roared as they raced down the gravel road, its maintenance long forgotten by a government intent on expanding their own wealth. A massive network of railroads criss-crossed the prairies, carrying harvests from distant properties to the cities and their shipping ports, but for the locals, the bus was their only option for transportation. No one Liz knew had the money to afford the passenger train, let alone a car.
Now, some eight hours into the bus ride, Liz was still struggling to sleep. When they’d first boarded, the bus was already packed, and they had been forced to stand for the first few hours. The bus stopped and started constantly to pick up and drop off passengers though, and slowly they edged further down the aisle in the hope of finding seats.
Even with the fall of darkness, the heat in the bus was suffocating. The breeze from the open windows barely reached them in the aisles, and by the time a seat opened beside Liz, her head was swimming.
Unfortunately, Liz knew from experience the cramped seats were little better than standing. The old benches were meant to fit two passengers, but the cramped conditions meant three people squeezed onto each seat. This left Liz perched half in the aisle, still far from the cool breeze coming through the windows. To make matters worse, she could feel the muscles of her wings beginning to cramp beneath her jacket, and when she leaned back against them, a sharp ache quickly developed in her back.
Finally, the two large women in the seats beside her rose and shuffled their way off the bus. Liz quickly moved across to take the window seat, allowing the others to figure out who would take the two remaining spaces. Mira and Jasmine soon slid in beside her, while Richard and Chris stayed standing.
Her heart twisted as she looked up at Chris. He had not spoken since the news broadcast. His eyes had taken on a haunted look, and his skin was a pallid grey mixed with the red of his sunburn. She desperately wanted to pull him into her arms, to hold him and love him until he was whole again.
She had tried to comfort him, the way he had comforted her just a few hours earlier. But Chris had been as stiff as a board, his eyes blank, void of emotion. He had pushed her away and boarded the bus without looking back.
Now, closing her eyes, Liz prayed he would be okay. They had to stick together, had to be strong if they were to survive. They were alone now – truly alone, the five of them against the world.
Mira seemed to be the only one of them capable of sleeping through the hellish bus ride. She nestled between Liz and Jasmine, curled up on the seat with her knees tucked up to her chin. Glimpsing a tangle of feathers hanging out from beneath her purple jacket, Liz carefully reached down at tucked them back out of sight. She smiled, realising it was one of her mother’s favourites. She had often worn it when the winter storms rolled in, bringing with them the howling wind and drenching rains.
But the memory only brought back the image of her home, of the last connection she had to her parents, disintegrating in the flames. She turned away, struggling to banish the image, lest she fall back into an abyss of her own.
“They didn’t have her picture up,” Jasmine’s voice whispered from the darkness.
Liz looked across at her. The bus was full, but most of those sitting appeared to have nodded off. Even the people standing looked asleep on their feet, their eyes closed and heads leaning against arms clenched around steel polls. Only Chris and Richard remained awake, their eyes staring vacantly into space.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Liz replied finally. She eyed the girl carefully. Since the incident in the forest, and with the Chead after, something had changed with Jasmine. Maybe she had become less antagonistic, less distant. It was difficult to tell. “And she thought the Chead was her father.”
“And she was taken by Halt himself,” Jasmine added her eyes alight. “Halt wasn’t involved with any other abductions, as far as I heard.”
Liz frowned at the new information. She bit her lip, trying to make sense of what they knew about Mira, but the answers refused to come. They fell silent as the bus pulled to a stop in front of a tiny shack, and a new passenger stumbled aboard. The man leaned against a pole and closed his eyes, apparently well used to the torture of the night bus.
As the bus’s engine roared once more, Liz changed the subject. “Do you really think… do you believe what the President said?”
“He had no reason to lie,” Jasmine replied quietly.
After a moment’s hesitation, Liz reached out and squeezed Jasmine’s shoulder. She could hear the grief in the girl’s voice, the unspoken sorrow. They had all been so focused on staying alive, on surviving the horrors of the past weeks and months, that the fate of their parents had become a distant worry. Now it seemed that distance had crumbled, giving way to harsh reality.
She looked away after a while, and stared out into the darkness outside the bus. Clouds had rolled in with the evening, and now the sky was dark, the open plains hidden beneath the blanket of night. In the faint light of the bus’s headlights, Liz saw her reflection in the clouded glass. Her hair was a wild tangle, her eyes hard, her brow creased by frown lines.
She stared at the face, so different from the girl she had once been. Even before she had been taken, her life after the loss of her parents had been harsh. It had taken its toll. She had become hard, unforgiving in her desire to survive. It was a fate she would not wish on anyone.
“I hope it was quick,” she turned back as Jasmine spoke. Tears streamed down the other girl’s face as she continued, “I hope they didn’t suffer.”
Liz looked at the girl, surprised by her strength. She remembered then how she had reacted in the forest, when the soldiers had captured them. While Richard had begged, Jasmine had been silent, offering only a frosty glare to the circle of soldiers. And now, after hearing the fate of her parents, it seemed like she was coping better than anyone.
“What did they do, your parents?” Liz asked suddenly, sensing a ne
ed in Jasmine to talk, to remember.
The other girl fell silent, and for a moment Liz thought she’d misread Jasmine’s thoughts. She was starting to turn away, preparing herself for another attempt at sleep, when Jasmine finally spoke.
“They were managers in a rural meat packing plant,” Jasmine’s voice barely rose above a whisper, “They didn’t even put up a fight. We were sitting around the table, just starting dinner, when the SWAT team kicked down the door. They told us we were under arrest, cuffed our hands behind our backs before we could even think of resisting. Then they led mum and dad out of the room, and pulled a black hood over my head. A few minutes later, I heard a woman’s voice speaking, then something cold pinched my neck. That’s the last thing I remember, before I woke up in the facility.”
Liz shivered at the simplicity of Jasmine’s story. The passiveness with which her parents had surrendered only served to highlight the absurdity of their charges. Surely traitors would fight, would resist capture to their dying breath.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
“Don’t,” Jasmine cut in. She looked away, staring into the darkness of the bus. “I don’t need your false pity, Liz. We both know we’ve only stuck together this long because it’s our best chance of survival.”
Liz blinked at the harsh tone to Jasmine’s voice. She fell silent, turning over the other girl’s words, wondering whether they were true. She was right, in a way. There had been little love lost between them in the past, though she had thought that might be changing.
“You’re wrong,” she said at last. When Jasmine didn’t turn around, she continued, “We’re in this together because, whatever you may think, we’re family now. The five of us are all we have left.”
“Yeah, right,” Jasmine hissed, struggling to keep her voice under control. She looked at Liz then, her eyes hard. “In the forest, if the Chead hadn’t come, you would have left us for dead.”
