Escaping

by Sebastien Acacia

  “I’m out of ammo! I’m out of ammo,” the third person was yelling, while his mag was empty.

  “Drones incoming!” The pilot declared and tried an escape movement by getting closer to the forest edge without managing to gain more altitude.

  “Step on the gas, dammit!” The hunk ordered him.

  “Coming! Coming!” The pilot panicked.

  The powerful engine brutally broke free, propelling the aircraft on the trees on an upward trajectory, barely avoiding a confrontation with the Legatee. The sniper grabbed the machine gun handle to avoid falling backward, while the other shooter was violently projected against the opposite side. Then, the powerful engine dropped down as brutally as it had broken free. The aircraft instantly dropped altitude. The handsome gashed man, who had anticipated the shocks and who was firmly holding a lateral handrail, took the crossbow strapped in his back with one hand and, anticipating a second jump of the Legatee, loaded a second titanium quarrel.

  “It’s not every day we’ve the opportunity to shoot the Legatee personally,” he thought loudly.

  His hunch was good, despite being approximately thirty yards under the aircraft, God’s knight jumped again toward it.

  “Oh my God, get us out of here!” The sniper was yelling, unable to find another angle of attack.

  “Who are these morons? Who are these morons?” Who are these morons?” Matilda was tirelessly repeating, while protecting Tao in the rear of the cabin where she had found a place.

  The pilot tapped on the energy management panel in order to redirect the resources dedicated to the telemetric and radar equipment toward the reactors.

  “Come on my dear, give me everything you can,” he mumbled, while pressing a last button on the touch screen.

  With two fingers, he slid up a power gauge and finally managed to get enough energy to steady the aircraft and gain altitude.

  “Exactly what I was expecting!” The crossbowman mumbled.

  While the Legatee was just a dozen yards below, the titanium quarrel flew toward its target at twice the sound speed. In a barely imaginable reflex, God’s knight, honouring his reputation, dodged the projectile by slightly moving the head. The aircraft gaining altitude, he gave up on the attack and calmly ensured his fall back to the place he started from. Feeling an itch, the Legatee touched his cheekbone. Then, he looked at his fingered covered of his own blood. Looking for his opponent getting higher, he gestured to him about the future revenge. Far away, a dozen fighting drones were arriving to intercept the rebels.

  “Whenever you want,” Trancavel yelled to the pilot who was accelerating progressively to escape from the drones.

  “Gaucelin, take the extractor and hurry up here!”

  The shooter, who had no more ammunition, took a device, which seemed to directly come from a torture book, and came closer to Trancavel who was already kneeling in front of Matilda. The other shooter closed the lateral door and sat on a small seat fitted with a harness. Gaucelin gave him the strange device.

  “Here it is, chief!”

  “Hold her arm, she mustn’t move!”

  “Hey!” Matilda declared as she wouldn’t let herself be pushed.

  “Don’t move, kid,” the rebels’ chief insisted.

  Whatever, she didn’t really have a choice. Gaucelin had already griped her arm and according to his size, it was useless to even think about resisting his hold at all. While Trancavel was nearing the device next to Matilda’s wrist, impact sounds suddenly resonated in the cockpit. It was like the shots were coming from every direction. In fact, it wasn’t a just a feeling, it was really happening.

  “Are you waiting the next radioactive storm or what? I remind you we’ve 10 drones closing on us!” The pilot declared.

  Impassive, Trancavel put the part of the device looking like a vacuum cleaner nozzle a few inches under Matilda’s palm and started a suction mechanism.

  “Hey! What are you doing to me?” She revolted.

  The operation lasted five small seconds. Matilda felt a faint pricking sensation.

  “It’s burning!” She complained.

  It’s to cauterise the wound, Trancavel answered with quite a caring voice.

  Then, he flipped the device and got a small bloody chip stuck in the suction cavity. He stood up, opened a disposal passageway in the cabin floor and threw it outside under the numerous impacts of the drones’ big calibre bullets, which were chasing them.

  “The keelson won’t hold much longer! With or without your approval, I step on the gas in ten seconds!” The worried pilot lowed.

  Trancavel patted Gaucelin’s shoulder to signal him to harness himself as fast as possible.

  “Sit here and buckle yourself, kid!” The tall man looking like a Viking told her.

  Finally, she grudgingly looked at the three brave knights who just saved her from a sure death. The observation was obvious.

  I can’t believe it, it’s the grandpa circle or what?

  Besides the four cronies advance ages, she also noticed they were all wearing an astounding completely symmetrical red cross surrounded by small golden moon crescents on each end. The huge man with braided hair, who had immobilised her, had one tattooed on his forearm, the machine gun shooter had one printed on his Kevlar tunic and Trancavel had an impressive one engraved on his exoskeleton chest. Concerning the pilot, he was too far to know the exact place he had it. She was seeing this symbol for the first time. Who were they? Where did they come from? Her few thoughts were interrupted by a volley of bullet impacts followed by mechanical noises sounding quite serious. The pilot was tired of waiting and yelled one last time.

  “In the name of Darwin’s beard! Hang on, we’re disengaging!”

  Trancavel had just taken place next to Aymeric, the machine gun sniper, and to Gaucelin, the gunner, and... Matilda who was still not properly buckled. The aircraft released the whole power of its engines to reach the 3G stupendous speed.

  “Oups!” Trancavel declared, while looking helpless at Matilda getting propelled on the armour side at the rear of the cabin.

  The impact directly knocked her out. Tao, literally crushed against his master’s chest, difficultly sought refuge in her cleavage, sliding between her generous breasts.

  “I would like so much to be a puppy!” Gaucelin was joking while gazing at the pretty silhouette.

  Trancavel wasn’t left out.

  “A beautiful kid, right!”

  “By the way, does somebody know who she is?” Aymeric asked.

  “Hmm, we will need to wait for her to wake up in order to know it,” Trancavel answered.

  “One thing is sure, she is too young to be Esclarmonde,” Gaucelin concluded.

  The aircraft was already flying at Mach 3. The drones left behind were desperately trying to find the location of the signal emitted by Matilda’s chip, somewhere between the rice fields and the cricket farms of the small community of Kalia.

  An unacceptable risk

  Inosanto was suffering. Even saying it was far enough from honouring the sacrifice he had agreed upon. As a habit, he was sprawling in surprising position to relieve his body parts which had the most stigmata. Indeed, he could barely lean on them. The few favoured person he allowed in his close circle could testify about his bravery and his self-sacrifice. Beside the Legatee, the only man allowed to get nearby him, Inosanto had created the servants of God order, a guild dedicated to the women who gave birth to twins. Normally, when a woman was getting pregnant, her husband and she had to leave their community to be welcomed in another city in order to provide proper education to their children and to avoid consanguinity issues which would irremediably impoverish the genetic diversity of humankind. For twins’ mother, an extremely rare phenomenon since Inosanto era, they had the infinite honour to join the sacred order of the servants of God and to take care of the last Prophet. Moreover, they were part of a TV show on the unique Church channel. Like Matilda, many women were in complete admiration with them, and a bit jealous too.
Indeed, they were considered as true blessed women, devoted to Inosanto, completely merciful. This asceticism was rewarded through the children who were allowed in the best Christian school of the powerful Terra Fecundis and by unmatched living conditions for the mothers. Concerning the fathers, they could join an engineer community or be part of the team working in the huge seed factories in the heart of the tropical forest. If most of the women joining the order were truly pleased, some weren’t really delighted. Others, who didn’t have such a big maternal instinct, sometime too sensitive to the sight of blood and pus, couldn’t stand attending the Prophet’s stigmata for too long. He wasn’t holding it against them. As he liked to repeat in the TV show episodes during the scenes dedicated to him, Inosanto couldn’t impose to other to suffer his torment for him. It was his burden, and he had agreed upon it free of will. The women who couldn’t endure it any more were reallocated to management or governance activities in the sacred palace. A total of a hundred young mothers were living in this place. Due to the tropical weather, they were all wearing the guild uniform, a kind of white toga, slight and transparent enough to perceive a complete lack of underwear. Despite his authoritarian aspect and his nonchalance, the Legatee was delighted by all the women living in this place. Each time he was summoned, he was fully enjoying the sight of all the women. Sometime, when he had nothing critical to do, he was going to fulfil his need in a private part of the palace where widows, less fierce than others, were letting visitors having the privilege to enjoy their divine bodies. Indeed, the priestly foundations of Inosanto’s Church were preaching neither celibacy nor abstinence. Monogamy was exercised, but divorces were fully tolerated. However, the Legatee had no time and no desire to commit to a couple life. He was enjoying much more ephemeral pleasures than family life ties.

  When he arrived in the huge circular venue overlooking over the Amazonian Forest and over the Church industrial facilities, he barely had time to great his Prophet as he should. Inosanto, who was almost completely hidden under his black toga with golden embroideries representing extract of the sacred scriptures and lying on the side maintained by many pillows, immediately started the discussion.

  “So, let me summarise your achievements. Four of your best soldiers are dead and the rebels have caught Sophie Lecuyer’s daughter. Then, despite your impressive intervention, they run away,” Inosanto said sarcastically.

  Taken by surprise, the Legatee knelt on the shiny marble and bowed his head as a sign of respect and submission.

  “Three, my Lord... three,” he said, trying to minimise his failure, looking away.

  “Shut up! To what ends are the powers God gave you if you aren’t even able to stop our worst enemies? You get fooled by some nobodies, some thugs flying a MRU which is still flying today thanks to God knows which miracle.”

  Before achieving his sentence, Inosanto coughed. One more time, he had to cover his mouth with a tissue to contain the bloody mucus which attested how serious the stigmata he agreed upon were.

  They had a new kind of very powerful machine gun, the Legatee tried to argue.

  “Or an old one!”

  “Hmm! Or an old one. But there is something more serious, my Lord.”

  “What are you waiting for to speak?”

  “When the fugitive was embarking in the MRU, her bag got opened and its content felt on the ground. I immediately recognised one of the lab bio-containers we used in our seed factories. That’s why I deemed good to intervene.”

  “Are you sure of what you’re saying?” Inosanto declared while straightening on his seat with a smirk of pain.

  “I know what I’ve seen, Master! There is no doubt that Victor travelled all this way to join the rebels and deliver them a substance. But to which purpose?” The Legatee was wondering.

  “Think! If you’ve the original seeds and you’ve scientists able to analyse and transform them, what would you do?”

  “In fact, I haven’t really thought about this.”

  “What would terrorists do, while thinking every day about a single idea, destroying the Church?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me, my Lord,” the Legatee answered embarrassed.

  “If in their position, I would develop a disease to wipe out the world exploitations and cause an uncanny big uprising capable of overthrowing my authority and Terra Fecundis power. We’ve no time to waste. We must find those heretics and destroy them before they cause a new plague even deadlier than the last one.”

  “Maybe I’ve a way my lord. The rebels are using chips they gathered on some corpses that escape our control. We just need to launch a huge census on all our territories and to compare each identity with the information contained in our database to identify them.”

  “We don’t have the resources to control almost a billion people, Legatee.”

  “So, we can check the funeral homes and find the traitors who deliver the chips to the rebels. We will be able to make them speak.”

  “Do you really think the rebels would take the risk to communicate their base location to a few undertakers? However, we could use one of them to reach the rebels!”

  “Hmm!”

  The Legatee moved toward the huge glass window of the religious complex where Inosanto was living. The view was outstanding. It was the Amazonian Forest in its purest state. The canopy was spreading until the horizon, inspiring respect and a deep feeling of contemplation. Since Inosanto had forbidden humankind to access all the tropical forests, the divine nature was taking back the territories where it had been destroyed in the past because of humankind cupidity who had forgotten God to focus on a few material properties easily bought and immediate pleasure. Everywhere in the world, in the sacred lands of South America, Africa and Oceania, the biodiversity was bouncing back, providing human population with an endless source of seeds, medicinal plants and building materials. Inspired, the Legatee added.

  “I’ve a plan to ambush them once and for all.”

  “Hmm, finally.”

  Inosanto coughed again. A bit longer than the last one. Louder too. The vibrations from his breath betrayed his congested lungs because of the too many secretions.

  “I need to see her... Where is she?” He painfully asked the Legatee.

  “We put her in a cell in the B wing of the prison.”

  “The B wing? Why in this horrible place?”

  “I was thinking...”

  “You do?” Inosanto interrupted him. “Set her up in the prince suite...”

  “But?”

  “Let’s give her luxury, and comfort too. Let her enjoy the pleasures of life, good food. She can develop the habit to admire the infinite beauty of the Amazonian Forest every morning when she wakes up. Send her our best masseurs. In a few days, or a few weeks, under the threat to be thrown in a five square yards cell without windows, without any comfort, I will get everything I want from her.”

  “I see! Well, I will have her transferred immediately.”

  “Now get out! And find me those heretics! Kill them all to the last, wherever they are.”

  When the Legatee got through the door, four guild servants sneaked inside, bowing the head, in order to resume the constant care they were in charge of. He discreetly turned back to observe the scene.

  Is humankind that precious so only one man suffers like this for eternity?

  He glanced a bit on the generous curves of the hips, thighs and breasts of the four beautiful women that their very thin tunic couldn’t hide. While two of them were already laying some gauzes on the Prophet’s festering wounds, the third one had just lifted her toga so the fourth one could gently stroke the object of his desire.

  Finally eternity seems to be good, the Legatee thought before the doors automatically closed.

  Montségur

  Paul is playing under the mangrove tree with their twin girls. Matilda is never getting tired of looking at him assuming his father role. The fiercest of the two is swinging on a rope hanging from the strongest branch of t
he old tree. Her sister is never getting bored from throwing a small yellow ball completely wore out to Tao, a now 65 pounds animal full of muscle and energy, who is always fetching it back to her, always ready and available for some more fun. Suddenly, one of the men dressed in black enter the garden, intimidating. One of them shoots at Paul who immediately collapses. Strangely, the girls don’t yell. They’re looking. Passively. Tao, which is a puppy again, barks and isn’t threatening at all any more. Matilda starts to run toward them while yelling.

  “Pauuuuuul!”

  “Hey kid! Hey!”

  Two hooded men took each one of the twin and escaped jumping over Paul’s bloody corpse whose face was shredded.

  “Nooooooo!”

  “Hey kid!”

  Matilda is violently knocked on the head. While she falls, she gets a glimpse at her assailant, tall, with bold head and dressed with a black tunic. She can’t properly detect his facial features, but a weird sensation invades her. Stunned, she soon loses any sense of reality. Her head is vibrating like a church bell ringing the beginning of the Sunday mass. Her vision gets dark. She is hurt, she feels head ache. She feels her heart beating in her head. Tao joins her. Tao is barking. He stays close to her to comfort her.

  “Wake up kid! It’s all right! It’s all right! Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

  Matilda difficulty opened her eyes. Her vision blurred, she first recognised Tao who had sought refuge inside her tunic and who was licking her everywhere in the neck.

  “This is me, Trancavel, everything is safe. You passed out, but everything will be all right.”

  She looked at the rebel’s face without understanding directly what was happening. He wasn’t wearing is exoskeleton any more. Her awareness of the reality was still being mixed in her mind with the dream she just woke up from.