Hands seize my shoulders and haul me onto the platform just before the railcar soars past and screeches to a halt. Eyes watch me as I rise to my feet and brush my uniform off before standing at attention in front of the arbiter that rescued me. I have never seen him before, meaning that he is not from the eastern sector.
“What is the meaning of your actions?” demands the arbiter that saved me.
“That man,”—I point at the man I had knocked unconscious as he starts to wake up and move—“has the architectural plans to an education center, but he is no architect.”
Two more arbiters appear and one puts a foot on the man’s back, pinning him to the ground.
“In that bag,” I add, pointing at the satchel.
The arbiter questioning me grabs the satchel and pulls out the blueprints before switching his focus to the man. “You know the penalty for being in possession of these?”
Fear grips the man’s face.
“Take him away,” says the arbiter, before turning back to me. “And the plebeian? Why risk your life her?”
“I thought she might have more evidence of his disloyalty to Arel,” I reply.
“You are young. Last year’s?” he asks, referring to when I received my commission.
“Yes, sir.”
“In the future, all you need is one piece of evidence.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Report back to your commander.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute the commanding arbiter and turn to walk away, but before I do, I spot something on the back of the satchel as another carries it away. At any other moment, the darkened spot on the leather would appear to be nothing more than a smudge, a stain from greasy fingers, or from being set on a grime infested surface, but the more I study it, the more I realize that it is not a stain at all, but something that has been put there on purpose, but only those who knew to look for it would have seen it; it is the same symbol I have seen countless times since the bombings: the insignia of Arel with a slash through it.
“Sir,” I say, pointing at the satchel, “there’s a…”
“You’re dismissed, arbiter,” the commanding arbiter snaps at me.
I start to say something, to prove that I am not just uttering useless words but receive a reprimanding glare from the arbiter in charge, and decide to just do as ordered and leave.
The doors to the railcar ding, warning everyone present of its impending departure, and I hurry onto it, jumping onto the rail transport—a couple moves out of my way, allowing me some space—just as the doors hiss shut behind me, enclosing me in its transparent tube as it takes off, jerking me backward, but I reach up and grab one of the handholds dangling from the ceiling. The railcar jounces upward, following the rail as it navigates its way through Arel and to the eastern sector, causing me to lean back a bit and the muscles in my arm to tighten as I hang onto the handhold. Stray eyes watch me—I feel them—while pretending that they are more interested in the amber building we pass, and the honey incandescence of the afternoon sunlight as its harsh glare reflects off the side of the building, being softened by the amber coloring and forced to cast a warmer glow on the people passing below. For a moment, the railcar pauses, almost as though it teeters on a precipice, deciding if it wants to take the plunge before rushing downward, forcing me to lean forward, as the muscles in my arm tighten again to keep me rooted in place. I allow my body to be carried by the motions of the transport, for just a moment, before straightening myself up, remembering to maintain my erect posture and to not allow anyone to see any sign of weakness, knowing that those present always keep a tentative gaze on any arbiter they come across.
The railcar dips below an archway, and I look up at it, remembering my first day as a commissioned arbiter and the excitement I had then, only to be replaced by reality, though my desire to help the people of Arel and to protect them never wavered, just the misconception that Arel was perfect had. As we pass underneath the archway and its engraved depictions of a people once enslaved and set free by our presidents—the image of the saviors always changes to match the current president, or in this case, presidents, of Arel—with their resolute faces staring back at any who glance upon them, providing us courage in a time of fear, bright white paint catches my attention, and that of everyone aboard the railcar. The glossy white symbol stands out among the bronze archway as though screaming for attention, which it received, but whether it is favorable or not remains to be seen; but it is not the fact that another of Arel’s pieces of art has been defaced that stuns me, as it is the symbol marking it that worries me. Once again, the insignia of Arel with a slash through it stares back at me, taunting me, and filling me with dread.
Crackling fills the railcar as the speakers come to life and dancing fuzz fills the screens that permeate the transport car. Most days, they are never used, but are meant only for emergency broadcasts from the presidents, but by the static greeting my ears, something tells me that this is not such a message.
“Rise up, brothers and sisters! You see the arbiter before you. She is part of the system of oppression that enslaves you all. Think of what they have done to you. How they have made you suffer. Join the revolution. Destroy the system.”
The voice cuts out and ends with a variation of the arbiter salute, except that the fist faces outward and is painted red. A multitude of questions pummel my brain as I wonder who is behind this and how he broke into the Arelian communication system, but as silence swarms around me, and the air stills, unease fills me.
Glancing around at the faces around me, I can tell that they all saw the symbol and heard the message, and as murmurs rise through the crowd on the transport car, I know that I must get off as a mixture of fear and rebellion swarms through the car I am in, and most eyes turn toward me, the lone arbiter. Hairs on my legs and arms stick up, rubbing against the material of my uniform as I observe the faces in the car, knowing what thoughts go through their minds.
I press my wristband, sending out a signal for help, but am uncertain if I will make it until the next stop. The moment my finger leaves my wristband, someone charges me, his heeled shoes thudding on the metal floor of the shuttle car, and I jump onto a seat, dodging out of the way of his attack, only to land on another who shoves me to the floor. Pinned between the seats and the cold floor of the railcar, feet kick me with such force, that no amount of effort on my part to block the attack protects me. Squirming, I wriggle my way free, and crawl underneath one of the seats and jump up, but a series of hands seize my arms and chest, holding me still, just as another jumps over the back of a seat straight for me. I lift my feet, shoving them into the man’s chest and he flies backward into a pole, while forcing the ones holding me to support my weight, causing them to lose their own footing, and we crash onto the floor, rolling over seats, until an armrest slams into my stomach. I haven’t time to catch my breath. A hand grabs the bun in my hair, jerking my head back, but I twist around, drop to my knees, and punch her in the stomach. She takes two steps back, but before she can regain her footing, I ram the heel of my hand into her nose, feeling the blood squirt from it as she drops unconscious. Someone kicks me in the side, but I ignore the pain and whirl around, swinging my fist, catching another in the cheek while ramming my elbow backward, jabbing it in the stomach of another.
Clutching my side, I stumble down the aisle, trying to get away from these people, but there is nowhere to escape to. Never before have people ever had any courage to fight an arbiter, having been forced into submission for so long, but the recent terror attacks have changed all that. More come at me. I lurch to the side, landing on some seats and jump over them to another set of seats, swinging my feet out and catching a couple in the head, before landing on the floor again, as I try to make my way to the door, but there are just too many. More hands seize me, ripping me off my feet, dragging me back, as a series of fists and feet fly for me, taking their anger out on me, and despite my struggling, their grip on me holds firm.
The railcar a
pproaches a curve, and for a moment, I notice that it is approaching too fast, and we all tip to the side as the shuttle car nears the bend in the track, but the hands never release me. The car shakes. All movement stops as everyone within the railcar realizes that something is not right, and their own sense of impending danger takes over. Before any one moves, a roar rips through the shuttle car as the track explodes, and bits of metal and wood burst through the windows, ripping through any unlucky enough to be in its way, before jettisoning out the other side. Glass flies around me, pummeling me with its razor edges as I cover my face, while the railcar falls over the side. Gravity takes it hold and the car plummets downward with me in it, throwing unfortunate victims from its protective hold, only to stop with a sudden jerk as the rest of the train remains on the track and maintains its hold, while seats fly past me as I plunge downward, before my hand manages to grasp a metal pole and hold tight, stopping me from falling through the now open windows. Static fills the screens in the car as a slow creaking noise grows by the second, warning everyone that time is against them.
Below me is a man gripping the bottom feet of a seat, as his feet struggle to find their footing on the smooth floor of the railcar. Even though he is one of the ones that attacked me, I am still an arbiter; it is still my job to protect the citizens of Arel. I lower my right hand, while clinging to the pole with my left.
“Take it!” I yell at him as his dark eyes meet mine, but pure hatred fill them.
“Burn in hell!” He lets go and falls through the now glassless windows, landing on the streets below with a sickening crunch.
Another loses their grip on the back of a seat and screams on the way down. Once again, my stomach churns when they slam into the pavement.
The dangling shuttle car lurches a bit as the bolts securing it to the other cars still rooted on the track start to slip free. I look around for any survivors, but my hopes dissipates as I realize that I am alone in a tube of death. Knowing that I have two choices (death or life) I haul myself up onto the pole, until I straddle it and reach for the a row of seats, jumping just as the railcar lurches again, but my hand slips, and fear fills my frantic movements as I scramble to grab hold of anything until my fingers wrap around the back edge of a seat, stopping me from plummeting to my demise. Taking slow, deep breaths to calm my heart rate, I look up at the door and my only way out.
Resolved to not die today, I force my arms to lift me up, and I bring my feet up, placing them on the back of the seats, using what strength I have to push myself upward, until I can grab the back of another set of seats. Wires dangle around me, sending out sparks that singe my face, but I ignore the stinging, burning pain as my arms strain from the effort of climbing, but failure is not an option. My sweaty hands slip again, but I push myself upward with my legs and catch the back of the set of seats above me. Crackle, hiss, pop—that is all I hear as a creaking noise swirls around me, filling my chest with its ominous sound and its promise of certain death should I fail, but as my mind wanders to what might happen, I force it to think of Chase, Sheila, and Gwen. I force it to think of Renal and Commander Vye. I force it to think of what matters and how I refuse to be carted away as nothing more than a piece of refuse, and the knowledge of what will happen to them if I abandon them fuels my efforts, driving me onward as I climb seat over seat, inching my way to the sealed door above me.
I reach the last of the seats and see a pole just above me, which will get me close enough to press the button, unsealing the doors, but I’ll have to jump. Sweat drips from my ears, down the back of my head, soaking my hair as I gauge the distance and climb onto the seats, pressing the flats of my feet into the backs and bracing myself for one final leap to safety. As I prepare myself, a mixture of thunder and metallic creaks mix together deafening me as it surrounds me, warning me of what is to come next, but I stop as the soft whimper of a young woman reaches my ears. Nestled in the same rows of seats I crouch upon, cradled by them as though they attempted to protect her from danger, is a woman who appears to be no older than me, sitting frozen to her spot, unable to move.
Was she one of the ones who attacked me?
I shake the question from my mind. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she is in danger, and I am here to help her, as is my sworn duty, my oath, and the one thing I believe that arbiters are to do above all else: protect the people of Arel from outside and inside threats. If I save myself and let her die, I will be no better than the ones who had tried to kill me moments before the explosion on the tracks. I reach my hand out to her as the car drops just a bit, warning me that I need to get out of here.
“Take my hand!”
She shakes her head in fear, and I know that I must be quite the sight with the fresh bruises on my face, but I need her to trust me.
“Take it!” I yell, but she hugs her knees even closer, burying her face in her knees, having never faced death before, while death seems to be my constant companion.
Realizing that harsh words will not convince her to trust me, I lower my voice, talking to her, like I would when talking to Sheila or Gwen. “Look,” I say, keeping my voice calm and low, “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I need you to trust me.”
“I tried to kill you,” she whispers, not believing that I would risk my life for hers.
“I know,” I say.
The railcar lurches again as more wires release a loud zap, sending more sparks in every direction, showering her black curls and cheeks with orange flares, reminding me of embers around a flame.
“I don’t know why I did. I was just so angry,” she rambles, “and that voice said to do it, and…”
As I listen to her words spill out of her mouth, I realize that, like so many in Arel, she was assigned a job, her station in life decided for her, as was mine, and that no one bothered to ask her what she wanted, nor has anyone ever asked me the same; and so enters the puppet master, offering a false sense of choice, while pulling everyone’s strings to achieve a master goal. I look the woman in the eyes, keeping my voice calm, but firm, and ask, “What do you want?”
“To make my own choices,” she says.
“Then make one now.” I hold my hand out to her again.
She studies it for a moment, looks into my eyes, and seizes it. I grip it tight and together we jump from the row of seats to the pole above us and clutch it, while the clanging of the bolt popping free surrounds us, piercing my ears and forcing me to move fast. My hand rams into the button for the doors and they hiss open, allowing bright sunlight to wash over us, and causing me to blink as my eyes adjust, but I haven’t time. The railcar falls away from the track as the last set of bolts pop free. I haul myself upward, placing my feet on the pole, while stretching my hand upward through the door, and lift myself up onto the side of the railcar. Once stable, I reach down for the woman, who looks at me with wide eyes, but she takes my hand, and I heave her upward, until she stands beside me on the dangling railcar.
It falls beneath our feet as we jump for the rails above us, and just as we haul ourselves onto the track, the shuttle car breaks free of the ones holding it and plummets to the ground below, smashing into a multitude of pieces as people scurry out of the way and a flurry of screams reach us before fires consumes what is left of the car itself. Desperate to get out of here, I look around and spot the platform, but we need to run for it.
“Go!” I yell at her as I jump to my feet and take off.
She is right behind me. Together, we sprint for the platform, not wanting to stay on the track in case another train comes, our breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as we charge down to the platform. Almost there. I pick up my pace, forcing her to pick up hers and leap for the side of the platform, clinging to it the moment I touch it. She does the same. I lift myself up, turn, and grab her by the shoulders, yanking her onto the platform and to safety, but before either of us can relax, armed arbiters appear from all around, yelling at her to remain on ground, while others drag me away from her.
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br /> “Stop! Stop!” I scream at them, forcing those holding onto me to let go. “She helped me!”
An arbiter approaches me and speaks to me several times before I understand the words he says to me. “Are you injured?” he says to me a third time.
“No… no, I’m fine.” I reply. “Because of her, I am fine.” I point at the woman. I have no desire to see her punished, even if she did join the others on the railcar in attacking me, but the other arbiters refuse to let her go as they shove her to the edge of the platform while clearing the gathered crowd away, and my mind races as it tries to grapple with the fast pace of events, not understanding why no one is listening to me.
“For participating in an insurrection and an attack on an arbiter,” says the arbiter that had asked me if I had any injuries to the woman on the platform, “you are to be hereby executed without trial.”
“No!” I scream. “She helped me! She—”
“It’s okay,” the woman says to me, standing proud and accepting her fate, and she looks right into my eyes, all the fear I had seen earlier gone. “You have given me hope.”
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 42