by A. K. Koonce
The young girl’s shoulders begin to quake, her eyes blink rapidly, searching the astounded members of our community. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Alright, we’ve wasted enough time,” the leading guard says. The other two begin hauling her away, clutching her roughly by her arms and leading her out of the building.
“Tell them I’m sorry,” she screams over her shoulder, tears streaming down her thin face. “Tell them I’m so, so sorry.” Mrs. Hollis nods back to the girl, taking a single daring step toward her before halting her movements, her hands clutching the table tightly as silence covers the room again.
A knot twists into my stomach when I realize she didn’t want to tell her three children she loved them, but that she was sorry for this life …
“Back to work,” Hollis says in a voice thick with emotion.
She hands me a thin slice of plain white cake, a boney fried chicken leg, and a quarter of a slice of bread. She doesn’t look at me or anyone else; instead her eyes absently stare down at the wooden counter top as her fingers trace the deep lines on the surface. I accept the small portions and leave the building as quickly as possible, my lungs heaving in the warm air in gulps.
I push the image of Emily from my mind. She’s just another person taken from our camp. I can’t dwell on it. Nothing will come of it.
I can’t dwell on what might become of those children either …
My stomach sinks even lower as I force myself to eat my lunch. I slide down the brick wall outside, the sun burning down on me.
As I’m eating the dry cake, Ky walks up. His tall, stocky build blocks out the sun as I stare up at his shadowy figure. His black clothes are similar to my own. His dreadlocks are pulled back from his assessing dark eyes.
“How’s slop duty?” he asks me, playfully nudging my boot with his.
“As delicious as ever,” I say with forced sarcasm.
He takes a deep breath like he has a confession to make. “Your mom asked me if we wanted to join her for lunch at the compound today.”
He’s acting different, even more serious than normal. I wonder if he and my mom got into a fight last night about me having a sit down with a pike. As much as they care about each other, and as much as my mom’s thankful for Ky helping us, they disagree often, and no matter what harsh words my mother says to him, he’s always there for us.
“I could go for a quick visit,” I say, eating the last bit of cake.
“I can see you’re really working hard.” He motions to the cake crumbs Ripper is now licking up.
“I have worked hard,” I say, frowning and still ignoring the sadness that pulls at my mind. “You have no idea what Mrs. Hollis has me doing today.”
He smiles. It’s such a small and infrequent gesture that it almost makes me smile back at him.
“I’d have to guess you’ve been busy with gizzards.”
I tilt my head. “How the hell did you know that?”
He laughs a deep loud laugh before reaching down and pulling chicken slime out of my hair.
“I have my ways,” he tells me, trying to act mysterious. His laughter only grows louder when he sees my look of disgust.
***
We walk about a mile to the compound in silence. Ky seems to have a lot on his mind, and I don’t press him to speak. Ripper prances with perfect posture beside us.
“Does he ever not follow you everywhere?” Ky asks, glancing at the happy brown and white dog at our feet.
“He didn’t dare follow me into the kitchen today to tear apart those chickens,” I say sardonically.
The noise of Ripper’s fast, tiny feet against the ground, and the unusual sound of Ky’s metal leg stabbing into the gravel with each step creates a strange repetitive sound as we travel.
When Ky was my age, he, too, was revealed his future plans. He was tall and muscular, similar to how he still is today, and he was told he would be a soldier. After his eighteenth birthday, he’d live his life defending our nation.
It is honorable, but a deadly dangerous duty with the creatures that lurk in the forests. My mother cried the day he left, thinking she would never see him again, but, one year later, he returned, as strong as ever, with one less limb and a completely different man than the happy, easy going man who had left a year earlier.
Ky checks his watch for the third time when the compound comes into view. As we get closer, he slows his pace and eventually altogether stops. I pause, and Ripper has to double back to us, looking as confused as I am.
“Why are we stopping?” I ask.
Ky looks at his watch again, and then back at the compound.
“I think Char will be off in a few. Let’s wait in the shade until she comes out.”
It’s a odd suggestion, but I follow behind him as sweat drips down my neck. I start to lean against the closest tree, as Ky walks further into the woods, sticks cracking under the pressure of his metal leg. I can tell he’s up to something, and it now involves me.
He paces the length of the tree line, keeping his eyes on the gray metal door of the compound as Ripper and I watch him.
An alarm rings out from the compound. My heart jumps, though the sound isn’t very loud. The lights on the front of the building remain off and the siren they use to update the public is quiet, while an internal alarm is sounding from within. I wonder if another pike lashed out, and a pain stings my chest at the thought of Forty-four getting his last strike.
Ky is as calm as ever, unaffected by whatever issue seems to be happening within my mother’s workplace. There are incidents that occur, but my mother is never harmed. The pikes respect her more than I’ve ever seen them respect another human.
“I didn’t see you stuff your pockets with chicken slop before we left, so what are we eating?” I say trying to break his silence. I wait for an answer that never comes. A twig snaps, and Ky turns toward the sound, his palm brushes over the gun at his waist. But he’s too slow, a knife is already straining against his throat.
It takes me a second before I realize it’s Forty-four holding Ky’s own blade to his throat. Forty-four grips Ky’s head at an abnormal angle to one side.
I blink a few times like I might be in a dream, seeing him outside the compound walls. He’s breathing rapidly and looking from me to Ky. Ky holds his hands in the air to pose less of a threat. I walk toward him, but he shakes his head as he backs up with Ky in tow.
Ripper growls at the stranger and stands protectively in front of me. The tiny dog is the only one showing aggression toward the dangerous pike.
“Let’s calm down,” Ky says in a slow, steady voice. “I’m on your side.”
Forty-four pushes the knife closer to Ky’s throat at his lame attempt at an explanation. Ky is tall, taller than Forty-four by a few inches, and I watch his body bow backward by the strength of Forty-four. Ky was in the military, yet his training and broad stature are nothing in comparison to Forty-four’s unnatural power.
How did he escape? They’re kept under so much sedation, it’s alarming seeing him move with such planned precision.
Ky’s terrible reasoning didn’t work so I take a breath and calmly try to speak over my anger. And slight fear. “You’re joking, right?”
Okay, not the best intro, I think to myself.
Forty-four narrows his eyes at me, but does not try to speak or release Ky.
“I mean, it just looks a little embarrassing, don’t you think?” I say with a spiteful smile as I take a cautious step closer.
Forty-four stares at my feet before taking a step back. A diversion isn’t going to work, but I am holding his interest. He tilts his head up at me.
“It’s embarrassing that you’re a vicious, bloodsucking pike who’s threatening humans with a little mortal knife.” He clenches his jaw tighter at the description I paint of him. “Clearly you’re the monster society fears. It’s a good thing they kept you behind those brick walls for all these years,” I say with a mocking voice.
I
expect anger towards me, anything to get the blade away from Ky’s throat. Instead of anger, he laughs. It’s a low sound that still sets the device in his neck off. I see him flinch, but the animalistic smile doesn’t fade from his face.
Distraction falls over me momentarily and my stomach dips at the sight of his smile. Then he jerks Ky back more aggressively, and I remember the situation we’re in.
“There’s no reason to hurt anyone,” I tell him, trying to think of what to do. Trying to quickly think through how to negotiate with him. I could attack him, but it would be a sad sight.
I bend down slowly with my hands in the air to show I’m not a danger to him. It seems to work until I pull the small knife out of my right boot. He instantly becomes tense and jerks Ky’s body to show me he still has control.
I nod but open the blade with a fast clicking noise. A small noise, but it sets Forty-four on edge. The two of us are making a far from perfect team; the terrible negotiator and the impatient terrorist. He growls at me, and I see a small trickle of blood leave Ky’s throat. The sight sends my heart and breathing into overtime. I hold my blade in an almost steady hand.
Ky closes his eyes now like he could accept death as long as he doesn’t have to watch it. There is no pain in his face, like he’s been through years of far more painful moments. I put the warm blade against my sweating palm. Forty-four’s attention is entirely focused. Ky stills and even his breaths appear cautious. I clearly have the floor. Forty-four looks intrigued. His metallic eyes flash in the rays of sun.
Quickly I slice the blade against my palm. In an instant, blood begins to drip through my fingers. Ky gasps, now watching me with wide eyes. To keep the throbbing down I clench my teeth.
I expect Forty-four to attack me as soon as the smell of blood hits the air, but he doesn’t. I raise my open hand into the air to make him more aware of the bleeding wound and walk toward him, my palm out like an offering. Blood runs down my arm and colors the brown leaves on the ground crimson.
His brow creases in confusion or possibly curiosity, before slowly releasing Ky. He points the end of the knife Ky’s way as a reminder and walks toward me.
“Don’t,” Ky says loudly. Forty-four only glares at him, his jaw ticking the whole time. “Just don’t hurt her,” he says a little quieter, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for his gun. He just watches with a strange interest in his eyes.
Forty-four stands in front of me now, looking from my eyes to my bleeding palm. My heart is pounding with fear even though he doesn’t look like he’s going to attack and murder me at any minute. He looks … worried.
He takes the short sleeve of his white t-shirt and tears it off. He rips it a few more times until he has shredded pieces of fabric in his hand. He tucks the knife into his belt and reaches for my hand. I move back, not completely ready to trust the pike. He holds his hand out closer to me, almost impatiently. I give in like a child who didn’t get her way and shove my bleeding hand into his palm.
He wipes the blood away the best he can before wrapping the wound with the other pieces of cloth. The white material turns red instantly and he exhales heavily before ripping the other sleeve off and wrapping it around my palm as well. Ky astoundingly stares at Forty-four. I’m staring a little myself.
“Sorry,” I say guiltily.
My mother jogs up to us from the compound, the alarm still ringing from within the walls. I expect her to escort Forty-four back to the compound, but she runs right past us. From behind a large tree a few feet away, she pulls out three backpacks and hands one to Ky and one to Forty-four. The three of them put the packs on without question, in synchronized motions.
“Forty-four, this is my friend Ky and my daughter Fallon, who you already met.” Her eyes drift to the thin cut on Ky’s neck. “I didn’t expect Ky to be joining us, but we are lucky to have him here.” She stares warily at Forty-four; relaxation settles into his posture with her short explanation.
She nods at Ky, who doesn’t acknowledge Forty-four in the least as he wipes a trickle of blood from his neck. Then my mother starts off at a swift jog down the tree line, Forty-four right behind her, Ky grudgingly running behind them, leaving me, bandaged hand still raised, staring after them like a turtle watching a herd of gazelles.
A few stunned seconds pass through my mind before my feet instinctively start jogging after them.
“What the hell was that? Why are we jogging?” I ask in a quick rant through straining breaths when I finally manage to make it to her side.
“Fallon, watch your mouth. We’re leaving the camp for a while to give … Forty-four a chance at a future. Now please save your questions for later,” my mother says in a fast reply.
She shames me all in one easy breath like it was nothing to jog through a forest giving adolescent speeches in the sweltering heat.
I take a peek at Forty-four who stares straight ahead, ignoring my outburst entirely. His body moves with confidence, expelling the gesture naturally the way most people exhale air. His spine is straight, his movement’s fluid, his chest minimally rising under the strain of our pace.
My stomach twists with fear as I remember the tale of the Red Hills. The land that is physically tainted and cursed from the battle between the mystics and the mortals. The last battle in the war that brought the vampires reign and existence to an end. I know nothing of the world outside my camp. What if we venture too far? Into cursed land? Why would she risk it? Is it worth risking our lives to save one pike? The guards that hauled Emily away flash through my mind. What if we’re caught?
I fall back behind Ky and Forty-four with Ripper at my heels, forcing space between myself and everyone else. Ripper runs happily with his tongue out like we’re playing his favorite game. My fear and anger grow with each long step we take through the humid trees. I was eating cake less than an hour ago! How did I go from eating cake to running aimlessly through the forest to help an escaped pike?
I continue my angry monolog in my head as we run for the next twenty minutes, until Forty-four speeds up to run effortlessly next to my mother’s side. He runs with ease, no sweat, no heavy breathing, nothing to show the slightest extended effort as they sign to one another. I’m sweating from every pore in my body. I inhale sharply causing a pain in my lower left side, and I let the warm air sting my throat in bitter revenge for our unplanned exercise.
Finally, I stop and double over with my hands on my knees, causing pain to shoot through my sliced palm. Forty-four stops dead in his tracks to wait quietly for me. He notices my absence instantly, while my mother continues on alone for a moment.
“We’re almost there, hun. Catch your breath and we will start back up in a few,” she says calmly with only minimal sweat on her brow.
Who is this woman I have been calling my mother for the last seventeen years? She is perfectly poised while I practically have a seizure for lack of air. Her straight blonde hair is pulled back flawlessly and my dark waves elude little curls from my hair tie, curls that plaster to my face and neck.
“Where are we going?” I push out between breaths.
Forty-four stands tensely beside me and lifts his hand above me like he might touch my shoulder. Then, he lowers it back to his side before vaguely pointing in the distance to the forest of trees. A few more trees that possibly have more trees behind them. How enlightening.
“Well, never mind, how silly of me to ask.” I stomp forward, away from him to confront my mother.
Her eyes just now catch sight of my wrapped hand; mother of the year is just noticing me. Her gaze shifts to Forty-four, an accusation flashing in her eyes. She says nothing, only stares daggers at him for several moments. If she thinks he’s hurt me, she doesn’t voice it.
“Why is it he knows where we are rushing off to and I don’t?” I ask, trying to push the petulant child-like whine from my voice.
“Because,” my mother is quiet when she speaks, looking only at the dying colorless leaves that occupy the ground, “he’s leading us.”
Chapter Three
Safe Haven
My mother never actually admits where we’re going. However, the farther we walk the more sure I am of our destination. She also doesn’t explain why we’re going there with an escaped pike either. I follow anyway. Always the compliant daughter. It’s best to not ask questions.
She is very good at deceiving everyone around her. Suddenly we’ve become quite the accomplished lying family, she and I. Her dishonesty should make me nervous, yet it doesn’t. I know when she lies and when she tells the truth. She would never lie to me. She has no reason to. We are honest with each other, if no one else.
I haven’t lied to her since I was fourteen and brought Ripper home. I snuck him into our quarters. I told my mother he wouldn’t be any trouble or take any extra food supplies. Even then I knew that that was a lie.
Pets are non-contributing companions in society, but Ripper has lived with us ever since. He was neutered immediately, to eliminate the pet population, and after that, he was part of our family. The guards of the camp are just waiting to catch the dog alone to get rid of him once and for all. The skittering and nervous animal stays out of sight for the most part, like he knows what would happen if he didn’t.
So here I am following a liar and a pike to my secret place.
When I was younger, my mother wanted to leave the camp and go out on our own. We walked for hours to the most beautiful waterfall I have ever seen. It was like a haven of water in the dying desert. Ky eventually talked my mother into coming back to camp after a few days, but, once a year from then on, Ayden and I came back and camped out.
Last year, after we received the rejection letter on our requested union, we came here again, and wasted hours talking about staying at the falls forever. Like my mother, however, I set aside my unrealistic dreams and returned to camp.
I can see the falls in the distance, and I can almost taste the moisture in the air. My heart is pounding, my side is killing me, and all I want is a drink of water.
It takes less than a moment for us to cross the open space between the forest and the pool of water. The water tumbles beautifully down into the small clear lake that we stand beside. A rocky opening within the cliff is barely seen a few yards above. Dirt and dust coat the crevices of the side of the cliff, centuries of wind and rain and life in general piling into the cracks.
