A burst of light blinds me for a moment as intense heat wafts over me, and my feet leave the pavement as an explosive force propels me backward. My body slams into the ground, and I inhale, desperate for air as muffled screams surround me, while ash, burning embers, and metal chunks land on the ground around me, enclosing me in their prison of death as meandering feet shuffle past, unsure of where to go or what to do. Pain grips my left elbow, telling me that it bore the brunt of the impact when I landed. Lifting myself up, I shake my head, wishing that the muffled sounds would go away, that my ears would clear up, but I haven’t time to wait for the ringing to dissipate as woman runs toward me in a panic, unaware that I lay in her path. I roll out of the way just as her foot strikes the ground near where my head had been. I lift myself to all fours and stop. Next to me are two children in blue uniforms, one is missing a face while the other has a hole in his chest from shrapnel and stares at the gloomy sky with vacant eyes, the eyes of death. My hand shakes a little as I close his eyes, allowing him the illusion of sleeping.
More people rush past, tripping over the rubble on the ground, and I jump to my feet to help them. At first, they recoil from me, afraid that I intend to arrest them, which puzzles me; arbiters are to protect Arel and her citizens, not harm them, and my mind drifts back to my first day in the eastern sector and the fear in people’s eyes when they saw my uniform, forcing me to wonder if more goes on than we are told in training.
“Are you okay?” I ask one of them, forcing myself back to the present.
They both nod.
“Get to the nearest medical center,” I tell them as I help one of them to his feet, and they both run off.
I head for the epicenter of the explosion, determined to help any who might have been caught in its wrath, but I only take two steps when three of the gears from the moving walkway break free of their hold and crash onto the ground in rapid secession, creating an earsplitting sound that breaks through the ringing in my ears. I drop to the ground, covering my head as more shrapnel careens toward me, pelting the pavement around me. In a daze, I rise to my feet, detached as I watch more people flee the chaos while pieces of the moving walkway strike the ground around me, creating a metallic melody of doom and despair, while flames wrap themselves around the remaining support beams, determined to take them down. Wisps of hair float past me as a woman runs away, her frizzy perm having broken free of the yellow and green bandanna she has tied around her head. My body remains rooted there as swirling trails of smoke dance around me, beckoning me to succumb to their choking fumes, telling me that there is no need to flee or fear for my life, and I stand there, watching them until…
A hand touches my shoulder, and I snap back to the present, regaining my senses. Luther stands there, urging me to move. Just then, sharp clicks reach my ears, surrounded by the roar of the fire spreading across the pavement from the grease that drips from the gears that work the conveyor belt, alerting me to danger. I look up just in time to see another gear drop from above, and I plow into Luther, tackling him to the ground as I force us both out of the way, and the gear crashes into the ground, cracking the pavement and breaking into two. Once it’s still, I look at Luther and he nods to my unspoken question, letting me know that he is unharmed.
“Everyone,” I yell at the top of my lungs, putting a strain on my voice box, “get out of here! Head to the nearest medical center! If you can walk, help someone who can’t!”
I hear a cry for help. Without thinking, I run to it with Luther right behind me, and we find a man with his right leg pinned underneath a beam. “Are you all right?” I ask.
“I can’t move my leg,” he says in short gasps as he chokes on the smoke.
“Help me,” I tell Luther.
Together, we grab one end of the beam and heave it off the man’s leg, but the moment we do, blood spurts from his thigh, shooting into the air, warning me that he has bigger problems. We drop the beam and I run to the man, pressing my hands on the wound, but they slip as blood pools around them, refusing to stop trying to break free of the man’s arteries. Luther reaches for the man’s shoulder, knowing that we have to get him to a medical transport or he will die, but he stops when a shrill voice screams, “Don’t move him!”
Natalie rushes up to us, and at first, I am puzzled to see her, before remembering that I had seen her moments before the explosion; she must have heard it, and being a nurse, came to help. She kneels beside me, studying the man’s wound and the force with which the blood gushes from his leg. “Give me your belt,” she says to Luther who obeys, yanking his belt free of their loops and handing it to her.
“Keep putting pressure on that wound,” she tells me as she wraps the belt around the man’s thigh, above the gaping hole in his leg and cinches it so tight that it almost cuts into his leg, forming a tourniquet. More chucks of metal fall around us, warning us of the danger we are in. Natalie reaches up and pulls three bobby pins from her hair. “When I tell you,” she says to me, “remove your hands.”
I nod my head in agreement.
“Now!”
I remove my hands, and both Luther and I watch as Natalie shoves her hands into the man’s wound, pulling on the damaged artery and placing the bobby pins just above the nick. “When need to get him to a medical center now,” she says, taking one of the man’s arms and lifting him up, looking more like a butcher in her medical uniform as bright red blood stains the front, adding more gloom to the macabre scene around us.
“Help her,” I tell Luther, and he obeys.
I watch them haul the man away to safety, hoping that he makes it to a medical center in time, before turning back to the melee behind me, knowing that more people might be trapped. Whimpering catches my attention, and I rush to it, finding a plebeian crouched underneath some fallen pipes, clutching a bundle that her master must have sent her to fetch. “Give me your hand!”
She stares sat me, too afraid to move. The conveyor belt slips from its hold. There isn’t much time before it crashes to the ground, just like the gears that run it. Realizing that I need to coax her out, I crouch down until I am eye level with her, keeping my face soft and inviting. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
I hold my hand out to her. She studies it, debating if I am toying with her, and each second that passes, the conveyor belt sinks lower and lower as the fires continue to consume the other support beams, crippling them, causing them to buckle. Voices in my head urge me to leave her, to think of my own self-preservation, but I remain crouched next to a frightened woman, hoping that she will move, but determined to not leave her. I move my hand, urging her to take it, and she does, grasping it with a tighter grip than I thought possible for her slim arms to possess. With a yank, I whip her out from underneath the pipes and away from the dangling conveyor belt, pushing her away from the fray and toward a medical transport that has appeared, while other arbiters show up, each grabbing an injured person and dragging them to safety. A man rushes up to us, screaming at the woman for dropping her bundle, but I seize his arm and turn him so he faces me.
“Take her to a medical transport,” I growl at him, my face matching my desire to seek revenge for the devastation caused here today.
He holds his hands up in submission, and I release him, watching his every move as he takes his plebeian to the nearest medical transport before spotting Luther who studies me as he helps someone else to a group of medical personnel. When my gaze meets his, I spot Mandi giving orders to a group of people in white uniforms, and not far from her is Renal, issuing instructions to the arbiters who have just arrived, reminding me that, in my desperation to help others, I never heard the sirens of the medical transports or noticed my wristband flashing, summoning all available arbiters to this place.
A cough snatches my attention, and I run toward it, finding a girl trying to crawl away from the suffocating smoke, her red uniform having turned brown from the ash. She looks up at me when I reach her and collapses. I grab her before she hits the ground and lift h
er up, cradling her in my arms as her head rolls to the side, but before I get any further, I stop. Painted in red is the symbol of Arel with a line through it, and anger rises within me, swelling to the point where I want to scratch that symbol off the metal it rests upon, but the harsh cough from the girl in my arms, forces me to contain myself. Turning, I hurry away from the fires, away from the crushing smoke, and away from the falling debris, with the girl cradled in my arms, ignoring the rain and its failed attempts to wash the soot off my face. Doctors take the girl from my arms before I am able to reach the closest medical transport, their pristine, white uniforms standing out in the smoky mist that surrounds us.
“Noni.” Renal hurries up to me.
“Lieutenant,” I say standing at attention, “I traced two suspects here. One got away. The other died in the explosion. There are more wounded in there, we should…”
He shouts orders at a group of arbiters and they run off into the direction I had pointed in. “Are you okay?” he asks me.
“I’m fine.”
“Get that looked at.” He points at a cut on the side of my forehead; I didn’t even notice it until he pointed it out and reach up to touch the droplets of blood that ooze from it.
“Lieutenant, I…”
“That’s an order.” He waves a man in a white uniform over. Before I have time to protest, the doctor whisks me away to a medical transport and assesses my wound, giving me a complete lookover and asking me questions about how I feel, if I have a headache, if I feel weak, while flashing a soft light in my eyes to test my pupils’ reaction.
“There’s some ringing in my ears,” I tell him.
He picks up a medical scanner and runs it around my head, focusing on my ears, while I sit straight up, determined to not show weakness, but my heart knows that it is a façade as I watch two men in white uniforms administer CPR on a younger man that looks to be about my age, reminding me of the news I had received earlier. It is time for me to tell Gwen.
“No damage to the ear drum,” he says, which is a relief, though the ringing isn’t as bad now. “The ringing should pass within a day or two. If it doesn’t, have your commander send you to the nearest medical facility.”
The distinct whine of a drone reaches my ears, mimicking the annoyance that plagues them, I turn my head, much to the ire of the doctor as he applies an ointment to the cut on my head, causing me to wince a little from the sting, and fixes a bandage over it. The drone hovers nearby, capturing everything on its camera, but the more I watch it, the more-angry I become by its presence and the knowledge that what it films will be used in future videos to recruits, citizens, and plebeians about the greatness of Arel. As it spins, capturing everything it can on its tiny camera, I swat at it, knocking it to the ground and watch as it skids across the pavement, sending out miniscule sparks as a few pieces break away from it.
“If you feel any dizziness or suffer from headaches, visit a medical facility immediately,” says the doctor, dismissing me.
I thank him and jump out of the medical transport, focusing my attention on the area where the bomb had gone off. The fire crews focus a hose on a set of flames, putting out the last fire and all that remains is a charred mess, resembling a black hole more than a piece of impeccable engineering. Most of the wounded have been carted away, leaving only the dead to be disposed of as they lay piled in a corner, awaiting a transport that will cart their bodies to the crematorium. As the commotion dies down, a mixture of emotions reel within me, each clambering for my attention, but pushed aside by another, more powerful feeling.
“Arbiter Noni.”
Renal stands behind me with the door to a transport open. “You can take this back to the manor.”
“I can help,” I tell him.
“It’s not a suggestion.”
His even tone unnerves me, and I wonder where his friendliness has gone, until I spot another drone hovering behind him, recording every second for posterity. Why doesn’t he want me here? Does he not believe that I can do my job as an arbiter? Have I not proven myself?
“I can walk,” I say.
Renal opens the door wider, indicating for me to get in. Knowing better than to argue further, I amble over to the transport and pause when I see who is inside it: Grelyn.
“She is on her way to her outpost,” says Renal. “You can catch a ride with her.”
Not liking this at all, and still wondering why Renal is so intent on getting me away from here, I get inside the transport and take my place in the back seat next to Grelyn. She never glances in my direction, which suits me just fine.
“What about the girl or the man…” I begin to ask, but Renal shushes me, though it is not the harshness within his tone that catches me off guard, but the fear I sense in it. I clamp my mouth shut.
“Take Arbiter Noni back to her post in the eastern sector,” Renal says to the driver, “and then take Arbiter Grelyn back to her assigned outpost.”
The driver salutes him and Renal shuts the door, sealing me inside in the most uncomfortable situation I have ever been in. As the vehicle pulls away, I spot Luther speaking to another arbiter, and we lock eyes for a moment before the transport turns down a road and he disappears.
Neither Grelyn, nor I, speak to one another, choosing silence over pathetic quibbling. It’s just as well. Anything we say to each other could be reported to one of our superiors by the driver. I lean my head against the glass, allowing the vibrations of the moving transport to tickle my inner ear as I glance out the tinted window at the empty streets, disconcerted by the lack of bustling activity. No one wants to be on the streets at this time. Not that I blame them. I’m certain that an emergency curfew has been put in place. I shift my gaze to the overcast sky above me, watching the drops of rain fall toward me and strike the window, making muffled ticking sounds on the glass as the vehicle rumbles along the road, taking the curves with caution.
The lulling sound of the engine shifting from a soft purr to a resounding roar each time the gears change almost tricks me into closing my eyes, but they remain open, too afraid to miss anything, while my mind wanders miles away, chasing a ghost and wondering how I will tell his sister the terrible news. A tickle forms in the back of my throat as warm tears threaten to escape my eyes, forcing me to swallow in an effort to stop them. I cannot allow them into the open, to betray me. One by one the buildings pass by us, becoming more rusted, more dilapidated the further away from the center of Arel we go. I watch as the pristine siding transforms into crumbling brick and rotted wood, cursing when one of the wheels hits a pothole, telling me that we have entered the eastern sector, and all of its decrepit glory. The rain picks up as we drive down the street, alone among a crumbling graveyard, the only sign of life on this dismal day, and my heart sinks the closer we get to the manor, to Molers. With one final turn, the transport pulls in front of the gate that marks the driveway going to the manor. Not a word is said when the driver stops the vehicle, and I open the door to step out.
“You shouldn’t concern yourself with others,” Grelyn says to me, breaking the silence, stopping me,—and why she does is a mystery—but I face her, tired of her always acting as though she is better than me.
“If I hadn’t, you’d be buried in a mine.”
I slam the door and mosey up the drive, following its twisting nature to the rundown building that has been deemed fit to house the arbiters charged with protecting this section of Arel. The familiar yellowed glass door slides open when I approach it, looking more pitiful than it did my first day here, and as I step inside, dread weighs my stomach down with its apprehensive nature, making me want to run away, but I ignore its pleas, knowing that I must face what comes next.
Darkness surrounds me as the door closes, putting me at unease, but I ignore it and walk through the entrance, past the staircase where I had first seen Sheila sweeping up paint chips—another pile is there now from the always peeling paint—heading… I don’t know where. Images of burning corpses run through my mi
nd, replacing the wall paper coated in mold as it drops away from the walls, and I reach out to one who steps toward me with fear and torment etched on his face as flames engulf his body, boiling his flesh from his bones, striking my nostrils with its putrid odor, causing my stomach to churn and push its contents against my esophagus. I try to hold it back, to will my body to obey my command, but vomit explodes from my mouth and sprays the floor. When finished, I find myself in the dim hallway of the manor staring at the bile that has escaped my mouth, though its stale orange color does little to make the soiled rug look less attractive. Soft footsteps capture my attention, and I look up into the comforting eyes of Sheila.
“I’ll… I’ll clean this up,” I tell her, embarrassed to have vomited in front of her—a sign of weakness.
Instead of being angry with me, she drops the dish towel in her hands and embraces me in a giant hug, not caring if bits of vomit drop from my chin to her grungy shirt, and I hold her tight, pleased to see her again, to see the face of someone who cares about my well-being, glad that she is safe. I study her pale face, glad that she was not anywhere near the bombing, and notice a yellow mark on her cheek, the mark of an old bruise still in the midst of healing. My fingers brush it, but she pulls back.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Who did this?” I demand.
“Anan,” she replies.
All the pain I have experienced today transforms into anger, a wild beast thirsting for revenge and starved for retribution. Having never liked Anan to begin with, I envision the things I wish to do to him, to make him suffer in the same manner he has caused others to, but I stop myself, remembering that I am no better.
Sheila pulls me from my internal wrestling as she places a bony hand on mine, her pale skin contrasting with my walnut-color shade. “Gwen is going to be thrilled that her brother is back.”
My face falls. How am I going to tell her what Tapiwa had told me? She despised me before I left and she will have every right to hate me even more: his death is my doing. “There is something I need to tell you both.”
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 24