by R. D. Hale
'They'll never find me,' a familiar voice is followed by giggles and I lift a pile of rags to see a sheepdog wagging his tail.
'I don't think you've quite got the hang of this game, Gary,' I say as the sheepdog rubs against my leg.
The gang gather in the largest room of the floor and split up to search behind cabinets and clothing rails. As I rummage through a mountain of green wedding dresses, a fiery dragon illuminates a wall which bears the writing: You'll never leave! Falling embers risk igniting the scattered clothing, but they fade before contact.
The slender dragon approaches and circles each person, causing them to hunch nervously. Fork-tongue slithering, facial frills swirling, it soars past my nose, generating a hot draft. Gary barks furiously as it swoops through a broken window, leaving a golden trail.
'What the hell was that?' Nelson whimpers, suddenly not so cocky.
'It came from over there.' Gary scurries towards a fully-stocked clothing rail and pulls out a grinning Rupert by the ankle.
'That was my elemental,' Rupert says with a proud grin.
'This way.' Nelson leads the gang up a pitch-black stairway where we bump into one another, somehow keeping our balance. He opens an invisible door at the top and I squint, blinded by the sudden brightness.
We venture from a cabin onto the roof of the building which has pyramid-shaped skylights. Nelson marches across pale asphalt with dark patches and spreads his arms at the ledge. Then he sits with his legs dangling, leaving me to wonder how natural selection has not 'taken care' of teenage boys.
While I would appreciate a closer look, my current position provides a decent and safe view of the dene. From up here, the decay is spellbinding – crumbling buildings and bridges, a rushing stream battering rocks, shrivelled leaves and broken branches bathed in sunlight. Once this place must have been swarming with people, but I am glad it was reclaimed by nature, even though some details are weird and unnerving.
Scoop, Oscar, and Gary copy Nelson by sitting on the roof-ledge, and us sensible ones sneer at how stupid they look, just one sneeze from death.
'Oh my, this is high,' Gary gasps as his nose pokes over the edge of the eight-storey building. 'So high.'
'Don't come crying to us if you fall.' I shake my head, still standing fairly close the cabin, unsure if the roof is structurally sound.
'We won't be coming to anyone if we fall,' Nelson yells.
'Y-yeah, because we'll be dead or something.' Scoop turns his head and clings onto the ledge as he wobbles.
'Hilarious.' I frown, tiptoeing along the creaky roof until I feel a touch of vertigo. I sit safely in the middle and the sensible members of the group do the same, staring at the backs of three idiots and a dog who are facing the breeze. I glance to Rupert's white robes which have accumulated dirt and wet leaves. 'Well, you're hardly dressed for the occasion.'
'These robes are all I have.' Rupert hunches, embarrassed.
'The Rebellion have been willing to lend you clothes all week,' I say.
'To be honest, the idea of wearing regular clothes makes me uncomfortable. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the thought of dressing like the enemy,' Rupert says.
'But we're not your enemy!' I say.
'That's not what I meant. Erm, these robes are part of our identity, the Enclave's,' Rupert says.
'And they make you a damn sight more conspicuous,' I say.
'What difference does that make now?' Rupert says.
'None really. I guess we're all wearing targets on our backs… So how did you guys make these robes, anyways?' I say.
'We gathered plant fibres and wove them together. It only took a couple of weeks practice. It's surprisingly easy,' Rupert says.
'Doesn't sound easy to me, but I guess you guys are superhuman geniuses,' I say.
Rupert blows over his robes and the wet leaves magically float away, settling on the pale asphalt. We fall silent so I look across to the idiots at the ledge, eavesdropping a conversation muffled by the breeze: 'Nelson, what's life in the Rebellion like, ya know, on a day-to-day basis?' Oscar strokes Gary's head then scratches his neck.
'Well, it was mostly training, but now I spend my time working on the farm or in the factory. It's down to the importance of revenue streams, I'm told. The Rebellion must get funding from somewhere… Sometimes I'm delivering packages, if I'm lucky. Occasionally, I'm asked to do something a little dangerous,' Nelson says.
'Like what?' Scoop says.
'I had to break into an office once. Stole some documents. Got caught in the act and fought my way out,' Nelson says.
'Whoa, what happened? Did you get hurt?' Scoop gazes sideways at Nelson with gooey eyes. I think I have a love rival.
'I climbed through the window into what I thought was the right office, but I actually needed the one next door. I snuck inside the right office and rummaged through files until I found what I needed, and then I heard footsteps. I took down two security guards with my phaser as they burst through the door, then I ran for my life. Somehow, I made it out intact,' Nelson says.
'What were the files about?' Oscar crosses the roof and lies facedown on a skylight which looks too fragile to support his weight, but I lack the energy to warn him again.
'No idea, never read them, and they had weird code names. One of our people worked there, but got fired before they could obtain all the info.' Nelson looks over his shoulder to Oscar who kicks his feet, and miraculously the skylight does not break. 'They knew what to find and where to find it, but needed someone to get past security and finish the job. Me. I earned a lot of respect that day.'
'So you risked your life and didn't even know why? Sounds like the kind of dumb thing my brother would do.' I sneer, feeling less impressed by Nelson, the more I discover. The last thing I need is another reckless idiot to worry about.
'Ssthoo if Oscar and me get trained, we'll be able to do stuff like that too?' Scoop says.
'If you prove your worth.' Nelson rises, balancing on the ledge, and he turns on the spot as though he wants to provoke a reaction. When he does not get one, he returns to the cabin door, and we follow him down the pitch-black staircase.
Set to explore the dene, we cross the largest room of the upper-floor, passing a mannequin in a torn red dress with its hands by its tilted head. 'Strange, I can't remember seeing a mannequin in this room,' I mutter without response as I trample over clothes, and I swear the mannequin's eyes are following my every move.
We continue into the room with sticks poking from the walls, approaching yet another repositioned mannequin. I refuse to avert my gaze from its lipstick-smeared face because something weird is going on.
'Argh!' I scream as the mannequin grabs my arm and the gang run without helping. It tugs as though trying to pull me in the opposite direction, maybe to throw me off the roof, and its grip is damn strong.
'Rupert, use your superpowers. I need help!' I yell as the mannequin loses grip and lands on its backside. The telepath disappears downstairs, leaving me to my fate as I slip and stumble.
'Emmi, your phaser.' Nelson glances over his shoulder but continues to run. The entire building rumbles and the combined footsteps sound like a buffalo stampede.
Abandoned, I withdraw my phaser and shoot back at the rising mannequin which shudders and flops onto the cluttered floor. The mannequin in the red dress charges from the previous room with its arms waving. I shoot its breast and momentum causes it to skid facedown so I kick its head. My hand is so shaky, I do not know how I managed to aim my phaser.
I hurry after the gang to see Scoop decapitate a mannequin on the rotting stairs, but it grabs his ankles and he drops his sickle. I shoot the headless mannequin in the backside and Scoop shrieks: 'It's the dummy apocalypse!' as he slaps his subdued attacker.
Scoop forgets his sickle as we descend the stairs, making it to the bottom floor where the gang are swerving between lunging mannequins. Gary is raggling the ankle of one, growling furiously, but strangely the mannequin does not respond. It seem
s interested only in humans.
Oscar bursts into tears as a mannequin grabs his ankles and he tumbles onto a pile of dirty clothes. I shoot his attacker and every other mannequin in sight as Oscar gets to his feet, wheezing. We sprint through the arched entrance of the building to see yet more mannequins in the dene, and some appear to be carrying phasers. Great, they are armed now.
'Everyone, get down! Emmi, it's down to you to save us,' Nelson yells and I dash behind a fallen log from where I shoot at the lumbering mannequins close by. Return fire inadvertently helps us, taking down several foes as the gang cower beside me.
The orange mannequins further into the dene are faceless and half of them are naked. They do not make easy targets as they switch between cover and counter-attack. The naturally toned, human-like mannequins are fully dressed and seem to be wandering aimlessly. And I cannot decide which I find creepier.
'Where the hell is Rupert?' I yell, glancing around in a panic.
'Emmi, there's no time, shoot!' Nelson yells and I close my eyes, spraying fire over the log then ducking into cover. I peer out to discover all the mannequins are still standing. Maybe it would be better to keep my eyes open.
Gary yells, 'Hurt my friends and I'll kill you!' as he goes for the mannequins which are charging in my direction. I cower from oncoming phaser fire, gasping, and I scramble to the end of the log. Gary raggles an ankle as I shoot three mannequins which slump one after another.
'Emmi, get behind that tree,' Nelson yells and I sprint to the tree from where I can see two hiding mannequins. I shoot them before they can react and glance at the gang taking cover at the fallen log. A mannequin shoots from behind a rock, but I take it down with a head-shot.
'Everyone, get behind me. We need to run for it.' I leave the cover of the tree, giving the subdued mannequins a wide-berth.
We run in a procession with our heads low and I keep my phaser pointed as I check every potential ambush point. The gang follow a trail up the dene wall and Gary identifies a mannequin lurking in the trees which I immediately shoot. My reactions are improving.
We reach the top of the dene and hurry through the woods, checking every tree trunk for ambush. Gary runs behind a bush, barking, and I shoot two lurking mannequins as we approach the waterfall. I am tackled to the ground by a mannequin I did not see coming, and Gary raggles its ankle as I punch the crap out of it, hurting my fist. I shoot my phaser until its face melts, getting an electric shock in the process, and I fling the mannequin to the side.
Rupert is still nowhere to be seen and his cowardice is quite breathtaking, given that his powers could have made our escape a whole lot easier.
As I stand, Scoop looks back and runs straight into a Jaworski spider's web, squealing. His side, legs, and upper-arm are ensnared, and he struggles desperately, but the web refuses to break. The spider approaches slowly and menacingly. I switch my phaser to power setting four and the energy beam burns though the web as Scoop whimpers. Strands of silk ping, one by one, until the part of the web holding the spider swings free and Scoop squeals again.
When every strand of silk is cut, Scoop rips off his shirt, and shuffles from the spider, unable to walk properly with his entangled legs. He removes his shoes and trousers, standing in just his underpants with web stuck to his hair.
'Why didn't you shoot the spider, Emmi?' Scoop yelps.
'It was too much fun seeing you panic,' I say.
'But it could've killed me,' Scoop says.
'Relax, I would've shot it, if it came too close,' I say.
The gang restrain their laughter as I scan for mannequins, almost forgetting we were being chased. We hurry all the way back to the farm, alive, thanks to little old me.
Sister of a Rebel Soldier
Nelson doubles over laughing in the farmyard as the others gasp and rub their eyes with filthy fingers. The startled cattle snort as Gary runs through puddles and leaps up to the barn doors, barking: 'Me and Emmi saved the day!' He sits at my feet, raising his paw, and I crouch to high-five a sheepdog, feeling a mixture of exhilaration and shock.
An abandoned house filled with mannequins armed with phasers and possessed by evil spirits, just waiting for us… I feel dizzy just thinking about it.
'Wow, Emmi, I'm impressed,' Nelson says between heavy breaths, resting against a tractor wheel. 'Congratulations, you passed.'
'Passed what?' I frown as the obvious dawns and I feel too stupid to say it aloud.
'Advanced combat training.' Nelson approaches Rupert who casually emerges from the farmhouse. He pats the telepath on the shoulder as they stand at the gate, and the rest of us join them.
'What do you mean advanced combat training?' I glare at Nelson and then Rupert. 'You were in on this, weren't you? You just ran and left us to fight the possessed mannequins.'
'Sorry, Emmi, I wasn't allowed to interfere.' Rupert blushes and his ginger dreadlocks flop as he stoops his head, embarrassed to have done what he was told. Deception is hardly in his nature.
'You were the best shooter on the range – apart from me, of course. We needed to know just how good you are,' Nelson says.
'So you scared the crap out of us for a stupid test?' I stare at the phaser in my hand, tempted to stun Nelson to teach him a lesson, because that first mannequin could have broken my arm.
'Believe me, a real battlefield would be a whole lot scarier.' Nelson is still grinning as he grips the gate post, and now Scoop and Oscar are grinning too. I swear those two are falling in love with him.
'Can we do the test again? I wanna weapon this time,' Scoop says, forgetting his nakedness and the fact he dropped his sickle on the rotting staircase. Forgetting he crapped his pants and demonstrated absolutely no ability to regain his composure. Now he thinks he can do it, because now it would be like a videogame.
I wave at Smig who I glimpse through a barn door, still shovelling shit. Poor lad. The gang enter the farmhouse, trailing mud into the kitchen where a mouth-watering dinner has been prepared, hopefully for us. Gary drinks water from his bowl as I inhale the wonderful smell of cooked food. A rare privilege for bottom-levellers and reasonable compensation for unwitting test subjects.
The last time we cooked our own food, we stole live chickens from a farm, chopped off their heads, and roasted them over a fire. Yes, we really did that.
'What happened to your clothes?' Jardine stares at Scoop who hunches before the dining table, blushing. He covers his boil-covered body with his arms as though he has just remembered he is undressed.
'I ran into a giant web. Had to take off my clothes because they were all tangled,' Scoop says, and Jardine turns bright red as laughter splutters from his lips, then everyone joins in, pointing at the naked idiot.
'I take it that's web in your hair. Don't touch it. We'll have to cut it out,' Jardine says.
The laughter settles and we sit at the dining table to eat cooked meat and vegetables which taste so damn good. I avoid looking at Scoop to ensure his bare flesh does not put me off my meal. For all the downsides of rebel life, this is quite the improvement from raiding supermarket bins, I tell you.
Once finished, I gulp orange juice and admire my upside-down reflection in a silver spoon, feeling nice and full. The lads stare at scraps on my plate as though they cannot believe they remain uneaten. Jardine leaves the kitchen, heads upstairs, and returns with a pink frilly gown which he hands to Scoop, saying: 'There you go'.
'I can't wear thissth,' Scoop protests.
'It's either that or nakedness,' Jardine provokes another round of laughter and Scoop grudgingly wears his pink frilly gown which he does not tie at the waist. Suddenly, I am struggling to breathe as laughter makes me choke on my orange juice.
'Serves you right for decapitating the mannequin,' Nelson says.
'He did what?' Jardine says.
'Oh, it wasn't intentional, I can assure you. Scoop was in such a panic, he had zero control over his actions. I nearly stunned him because he was a threat to us, and himself… Almost dec
apitated poor Bex at one point,' Nelson says.
'Well, someone will be getting chores to pay for the damage,' Jardine says and the half-naked idiot pouts.
'What the hell were those mannequins all about, anyways?' I say.
'Not all of them are mannequins. Some are old combat droids – the human-like ones aren't practical on the battlefield so they're used to train new recruits. As for the mannequins, they were already in the building. They're the mechanical kind that double as service droids. We just recharged their batteries and let 'em roam around. They're so old, their AI chips are no longer functioning properly. They're like zombies. We dressed up some of the combat droids like mannequins to replicate the confusion of a crowded area,' Jardine says.
'Well, training was certainly intense and don't even get me started on that weird building. Literally nothing about it made sense. Who would even design such a place?' I say.
'I've asked myself the same question.' Jardine laughs, opening a cupboard door as Nelson places his hand on my shoulder.
'This girl is impressive. Decent aim, good composure, and leadership qualities. I scored Emmi ninety five on today's run. I'll write up a full report later,' Nelson says.
'Ninety five is good for a first attempt. Something tells me Emmi will prove to be more than the sister of a rebel soldier.' Jardine gives an impressed nod. 'So, I take it you guys had fun today?'
'Fun? Fun? In case you've already forgotten, we were attacked by your bloody mannequins. I thought it was the friggin' apocalypse or something. Poor Scoop and Oscar were crying their eyes out.' I growl.
'No, we weren't.' Scoop and Oscar yelp as Bex bursts out laughing, spraying chewed food on the table.
'Well, you lot are pretty filthy. You'll have to get cleaned up.' Jardine rummages through the cupboard, then approaches Scoop with a pair of scissors and roll of tissue. 'Please sit very still. I cannot get this stuff on my fingers. It may look like string, but it's stickier than superglue and strong as hell at room temperature. The only way to remove it is with heat or acid, and neither option is pleasant to say the least.' Jardine cuts out patches of Scoop's shaggy hair, wraps it in tissue and drops it into the bin. The rest of us smirk at the sight of his patchy head and filthy face.