A Pawn's Betrayal

by Ernie Lindsey

  “What do you think?” I ask Hale and Finn. “It’ll work, right? We’ll send them up in the three-three-two pattern, then the one-two-one.”

  Hale grins knowingly. “Call to arms and send help. Maybe you’re worth something after all, Mathers.”

  Finn agrees but cautions, “It’ll alert the loyalists too. And besides, what happens if you don’t get the right people looking outside to see them?”

  “Those Tunguska bombs,” Hale says, “will make enough noise to get every nose in the city pressed against a window. Plus, the ones who want to fight can do their part in waylaying the loyalists.”

  Hale grabs my shoulder and squeezes. He’s all smiles.

  I can only hope that I haven’t sent a few thousand extra people to their graves.

  Chapter 15

  Lightning flashes outside. The small warehouse windows illuminate with flickering color.

  Thunder shakes the ceiling and the walls around us. Is it an omen? I don’t know. Could be. Back in my encampment, we held onto those superstitions. It seems like I’ve always known the constant rain, but there was a time before when the downpours and storms only came once in a while. I remember what the sun was like. I do. That flash of it back before we entered the walls of Warrenville sparked memories of dancing through fields with dry clothes, playing games outside without getting squishy socks, and growing a harvest of corn, peas, and potatoes.

  The lightning and thunder spark new memories—stories the Elders told us about a vengeful, angry God who was breaking the backs of angels with each lightening strike and the claps of thunder were their roars of anguished pain.

  Soldiers stand around us, anxiously awaiting the humongous bay doors to open.

  They’re clearly not angels—dressed in their ragged, dirty uniforms with camouflage paint smeared on their faces—but I can easily imagine their roars of ache out on the field of battle.

  It’s a mile away, if that, yet it feels like it’s in another part of the world.

  I’ve known it was coming for over a week now, this war, but I can’t grasp it. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that once we step outside those doors, once we blow a hole in the perimeter, and once we sprint headlong into a hail of bullets and bombs, this is it.

  We will be at war.

  And I will be leading the charge, alongside Finn, my friend, my confidante, and my fellow Kinder. We are the last two of our kind on Earth, and it goes without saying that I feel a special connection to him because of this. I already had a crush on him—that’s been going on for a while now—but there are two, and only two, of us superhuman beings.

  That means something. It’s bigger than us, it’s bigger than this warehouse, and it’s definitely bigger than this war.

  We are unique in every way.

  Finn and I stand off to the side and out of sight. Up in front of the soldiers, Hale gives a speech about God, country, and freedom. Most of the men and women nearby are caught up in his fervor. They shout and raise their fists in agreement while others nervously shift their weight from foot to foot, quietly rocking back and forth. They look calm, somewhat—like that young one about my age with brown hair and scruff on his chin—yet on the inside, I can feel their anticipation, their anxiety.

  I can feel them wondering if they’ll die tonight. I can feel them wondering if they’ll ever see their families again. I can feel them wondering if they should have made different choices in life.

  I think about all of these things, too, but the truth is, I’m sure I’m not immortal, but what has the ability to kill me? Will it take a bullet to the brain? I’ve already learned that I can’t heal myself in the same way that Finn can, but if nothing catches me by surprise, how easy will it be for me to simply bend time and get away from my potential destruction?

  If they can’t hit me, they can’t hurt me.

  But what about the others I care for? Mosley, maybe even Hale?

  Mother and Father are right here in the same regiment of soldiers. They could die tonight as well—not if I can help it, but it’s a possibility. I can’t fight shoulder to shoulder with them; I’ll be fighting my own fight. I can’t watch them as bullets and bombs scream past their ears.

  I tried to talk them into staying behind.

  I tried to convince them that I would be fine, but they would have none of it. Father insists that he can’t send his little girl off to war without fighting himself, and Mother says that with her skills as a nurse, the wounded and dying will need her on the battlefield.

  Outside the walls, she and Dr. Carlson won’t have the luxury of a tent and beds. She’ll have to treat the wounded on the fly when and where she’s able.

  We didn’t say our goodbyes. We said our see-you-soons.

  And I’m going to stick to that with the very best of my abilities.

  I know it’s the truth. I know they’ll be fine.

  I know, but yet I hope.

  I think about how, yeah, maybe I could have, or should have, chosen a different path for myself. I could have run. I could have hidden in the hills beyond my encampment. We were taught how to survive. I am young. I am fast. Even before my Kinder abilities were emerging, I could sneak up on a squirrel and snatch it with my bare hands.

  I could’ve made it. I could’ve lived in the woods for as long as it was necessary.

  I’d be free.

  I could’ve been free forever.

  However, in the end, I made the right decision. The right and just decision.

  I have abilities like one other. I am choosing to care for my flock.

  For about five minutes now, while Hale chatters and drones on and on in his somewhat motivating speech, I’ve subtly been trying to hear what’s going on inside of Finn’s mind. Either my abilities to hear the thoughts of others have disappeared, or I’m not in the right moment to land upon random chance, but even from the exterior, his mind appears strangely blank.

  The look on his face is distant, vacant, and if I’m reading it correctly, there might be a slight sense of distracted fear in there, like he’s trying not to think about the battle ahead.

  I take his hand in mine and lock our fingers together. He glances down at our union with a befuddled expression, like it’s a totally foreign act, as if he’s never done anything like it before. Then, his features soften and he smiles at me. It’s warm, cute, and trusting.

  This feels like the right time. This may be our—my—last chance.

  I step backwards, pulling him with me, and we slink around a pallet of cardboard boxes stacked high. The word on the side reads, “Rations,” and is likely full of canned beans like the disgusting mess we had earlier in the night.

  Finn looks over his shoulder, back at the soldiers standing in formation, and he quietly whispers, “What’re you doing?”

  I grin and tug his arm, feeling the reluctance give way as we slip behind a row of shelves stacked high with boxes and canisters.

  He whispers, “Caroline, maybe we should—”

  Before he can finish his sentence, I put my lips softly on his.

  Lightning crackles and the lights flicker. The heaviest, loudest thunder I’ve ever heard jars the beating heart inside my chest.

  Somewhere, God breaks the back of a disobedient angel.

  Is it an omen?

  I don’t think so.

  I hope not.

  My first thought is a complicated one, filled with ideas of this being, well, being the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. I feel clumsy. I’m not used to this. Way back when, a week ago, earlier, I’d never even experimented. I’d wanted to kiss Brandon a number of times, but I hadn’t found the right time.

  At the thought of Brandon, my heart sinks slightly, but then I feel Finn wrap his arms around my back and pull me closer. His lips mash into mine and we fumble, and stumble, and trip our way through this experience together.

  His mouth is warm, soft, and I could stay here forever, locked together like this.

  For a few seconds, the world, the wa
r, and our bleak future do not exist outside of this pounding-heart moment. I should have done this sooner.

  We open our eyes simultaneously, and it’s odd feeling our lips grin together in unison. For a moment, neither of us want to pull away, but then we do.

  “Wow,” Finn says. And that’s it. No more words.

  I apologize immediately, awkwardly, bumbling through my words until I get something out that sounds like, “Sorry, but I thought that maybe—you know, it might be our last chance and—”

  “Hush. It’s okay.” Finn puts one finger on my lips and with his other hand, he takes me by the back of the neck, gently pulling me closer for another kiss. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

  “You have? I mean, yeah, me too.” I doubt that I was able to hide my surprise.

  “When this is over,” he says, pointing to the soldiers standing impatiently and Hale wildly waving his arms, “we’ll go someplace warm, someplace where the sun is shining.”

  I nod, take one of his rough, calloused hands, and squeeze it. “I’d like that.”

  We don’t break eye contact for the longest time. My insides are fuzzy.

  Is this what love feels like?

  Maybe?

  It’s not like the love for Grandfather where I felt safe and secure in his presence.

  He was a rock. He was home. He was family.

  It’s not like the love for my parents. I’m glad to see them again, truly, but they’ve been gone for so very long. Whether they were forced to or not, they abandoned me when I was barely beyond a toddler, and I’m not so sure I’ve forgiven them yet, but they’re my mother and father. That kind of love, separated by however many years, is still there. It’s familiar and lasting, even if it’s laced with the need to get over my strained feelings.

  It’s the kind of love that can last through forgiveness.

  This, though, these feelings I’m having for Finn, right now, in this moment…they’re something entirely different. I almost feel giddy.

  But I’m also afraid. I don’t want it to go away, ever, and in a few minutes, we’ll be marching out into the world, ready to fight. What if something happens to him? What if something happens to me?

  We already know we’re not immortal. Anything is possible.

  “What if,” I say, and my words trail off. I can’t finish the sentence.

  Finn closes his eyes and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry. We’re Kinders.”

  “I know, but…” Still, I can’t finish.

  “Caroline, listen to me. I will never, ever let anything happen to you. Not now, not in front of a gun, not if we’re in chains.”

  He says these things to me, and I believe him. I trust him and my heart fills up to the point of running over. We’ll be fine.

  “Let’s get back before anyone wonders where the two saviors of humanity are,” with an eye-rolling layer of sarcasm. He chuckles, and I grin along with him.

  I’m almost ready to fight. In a way, I was dreading it, but it was something I knew I had to do for my people.

  Fighting for them was my purpose.

  Now I have something to look forward to on the other side.

  Something for me.

  When we approach the regiment as they stand anxiously in formation, Hale finally ends his speech with a hearty, “Get out there and kick some DAV ass! Hoorah!”

  Lightning flashes.

  Thunder rattles the walls of the warehouse, but I can barely hear it over the deafening roar of our army.

  Hale raises his arms in the air, both index fingers pointing skyward, and he arcs his arms down and parallel to the floor, then back upward again; that’s the sign for the infantry to follow the lead of their commanders.

  Beside me, Finn cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck from side to side. I can hear that popping as well. He rolls his shoulders and allows them to drop, loosening his body for the fight to come. I follow his lead and do the same. When my knuckles crackle and pop, they sound like gunfire to me, though I doubt anyone heard them, even Finn inches away, over the howling gusts and rain pounding the roof.

  Four metal doors, tall and wide, rattle and grumble to life as machinery somewhere within the building growls, clatters and pulls them open. Wind whips inside, bringing with it rain and far-off flashes in the night sky. The blackness stays distant, held at bay be the lights overhead, yet it seems ominous and foreboding, as if we have no way of knowing what’s out there.

  We do. We know what’s out there waiting for us.

  It’s the future we can’t see.

  Chapter 16

  A thousand soldiers, volunteers, medics, and plain-old citizens who hope to make a difference are running, running, running through the streets of Warrenville. Our small divisions of approximately two hundred and fifty each take different routes in case we meet opposition and get waylaid. This way, at least some of the forces can proceed to the weak spot in the wall.

  I’m thankful for the painkillers that Mother and Dr. Carlson gave me. My wounds feel like a dull, distant tug. Whatever they injected into my arm, it’s supposed to last for twelve hours. I’ll need every second of it.

  The air has an electrified feel to it, remnants of the lightening that has moved further to the east. The air smells like life drowning in water. The dark, rain-soaked road is hard against the soles of my boots as I pound one foot in front of the other.

  I lead one division, Finn another, Hale the third, and Mosley the last.

  I don’t know where they are at the moment, but I do know that we’re all heading in the same general direction, eventually. I have to slow my pace so that the others can keep up. They’re tired and malnourished. They’ve been training in secret for months and they’ve had minimal sleep at night while they’ve learned combat tactics, rather than contain and defend their walls.

  A girl about my age—her nametag says she’s Tilson—is about the only one who can keep up with me, matching me stride for stride. She’s not out of breath either, and for that, I’m thankful to have some company up front, someone to engage in conversation and take my mind off the oncoming insanity.

  I say, “How long have you been a soldier?”

  “For as long as they would let me,” she says, grinning. Then she adds, “So that was, like, two weeks ago.”

  She runs well and with purpose. She keeps her chest out allowing oxygen to have a clear path down into her lungs; arms cocked and fists at her waist, pumping in a parallel pattern. It’s wasted energy if you run, swinging your arms wildly. She’s been trained how to move with speed and efficiency.

  “Where did you learn to run like that?” I ask. She’s obviously not a scout.

  “In school,” she says.

  “They teach you to run in school?”

  “In gym class.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You play sports. Didn’t you have that where you come from?”

  I snicker and shake my head. “We ran for survival, not fun. Still, you’re good. You’d make it as a scout.” I say this before I take the time to really examine her.

  Her hair is blonde and stretched tight against her scalp, revealing high cheekbones and strong, but feminine features. She’s thin but sturdy; looks like she was built to fight, but my heart aches for her. She’s only been training for a couple of weeks, and she can’t be trained well enough to contribute.

  She changes my mind when she sees the pitying look on my face. “Don’t worry. I can fight. My father, his father, my brothers—every man in my family has been a part of the army for as long as anyone can remember. I’ve been training for something like this my entire life, even if I wasn’t wearing a uniform.”

  “And how old are you?” I feel ridiculous asking in such a way, as if I’m a superior questioning someone under my command. Technically, she is, but I’m out of practice.

  “Sixteen,” she says. “Everyone tells me I look too young for my age.”

  “Good. That’s good.” I hadn’t expected it. She’s olde
r than me. “What’s your name?”

  “Ellie Tilson.”

  “I’m—”

  “Caroline. I know. You were on the stage.”

  “Right.”

  Together, we hurdle a trashcan that has fallen over in the middle of the street. I glance behind us and watch the regiment swarming around it. Good. I don’t need to lose people to a simple injury for something dumb like that.

  We talk. We run. I learn that she can break down weapons and reassemble them faster than anyone in her family. She’s also a better shot than any of the men she knows, too.

  It’s good to have her on our side. I can only hope she lives long enough to do some damage to the other side.

  We’re roughly a half of a mile away from the wall when we hear a tremendous explosion. The flash brightens an area along the northeastern edge of the barrier.

  It means the forward runner has deployed the Tunguska bombs and the wall has been breached. It’s our call to arms. Our signal to charge forth into the war.

  Hale’s group is to the west of us, of that I’m sure, because I see the signal flares shoot up into the sky, burning bright, so bright, like fire-pits launched into the night sky and illuminating the ground below. His regiment took that route because it was over in the more densely populated area.

  The men and women in Hale’s contingency consist primarily of soldiers because he wanted those answering the call of the flares to see that the hidden army is on the move.

  Nearby, and as we run, lights turn on, shining in the windows of homes. As I run, I watch curtains being yanked to the side and windows thrown open. Hands appear on windowsills. Heads emerge with looks of confusion and fear.

  A man shouts down, “What’s going on down there?”

  I slow down, tell Ellie to lead them on. My regiment dashes past. I shout up at him, “We’re going to war.”

  “What war? With who?”

  “The DAV. They’re here. Will you fight?”

  He shakes his head. “No thanks. I trust you to send those bastards back to where they came from.” He slithers back inside his window and slams it shut.