by Brenda Poppy
Gradually, her progress down the dark lane slowed, then stopped entirely. A crowd of people 80 or 90 strong stood in a pack blocking her way. She took advantage of her somewhat smaller stature, weaving through gaps in the chain and ducking under arms and between bodies.
The further she got, the louder and angrier the people seemed to be – not at her, but at whatever barrier stood in their way. She craned her neck, trying to get a look at what was holding them there, but she couldn’t see over the crowd. Continuing onward, her progress slowed, becoming harder and harder until she finally reached the front of the gathering.
From her viewpoint, Burn could at last make out the roadblock that was keeping these people trapped, barring them from their destinations. It was an actual roadblock, comprised of armed Peace Officers standing shoulder to shoulder blocking the passage of anyone up or down.
The crowd was incensed, screaming profanities and insults at the immobile officers. Burn was equally infuriated. How could she get back to her sister if they wouldn’t let her out? How could she save this place if she couldn’t escape it?
Then one of the Peace Officers spoke, quieting the crowd. “We have reason to believe that a dangerous criminal has escaped and is now on the loose in this part of the city. This man is armed and dangerous. Until we have this man in custody, no one will be allowed to travel between tiers.”
Bullshit, Burn thought acidly. They were trying to keep the people where they were, sequester them in the lower tiers and foment a roiling anger. It was no doubt all part of Cross’ plan: create an environment of hostility and anger, then dose them en masse, creating a bloodthirsty horde.
Burn had to get out of there. Anger and frustration fueled her on, and she made her way parallel to the blockade, traveling down the lane and out of the congestion. The further she went, the fewer the people that stood in her way, and she was soon free of the crowd altogether. Before long, she found herself alone in a disused side alley, a dark passage that reeked of mud and filth.
Her mind was spinning, looking for any loophole that would help her get out. She could try to bribe one of the officers with the money she’d gotten off Wight. But they would never accept a bribe in front of so many people. She could scout around for another alley or secret passage up to the next tier. But Cross was thorough. He would have every route blocked – on this level and the ones above it. She was going to have to get creative if she wanted to get out of there alive.
A noise sounded at the other end of the alley, and Burn jumped back, hiding herself in the shadows. She glanced around, searching for a weapon, and her eyes landed on a large dislodged brick a few feet away. Without thinking, she lunged forward and grabbed it, hastily retreating back into the darkness.
She waited for a moment. Then two. Nothing happened and no one came down the dark lane. Yet she stayed where she was, silent and ready.
Then, through the darkness and haze, she heard footsteps. They sounded uneven and clumsy and were followed by loud crashes, like the person was injured – or drunk. Burn held her breath as the figure approached, emerging from the smog into the low light.
It was a Peace Officer. And he was clearly smashed, off his head on drugs or alcohol or some combination of the two.
Burn didn’t even think. Instead, she jumped out of the shadows and swung, smashing the heavy brick into the officer’s head. He dropped like a stone, hitting the dirt and staying there without so much as a twitch.
Her brain panicked at what she’d done, but she quickly recovered, pulling the body into the shadows alongside her. This was her chance – her one chance – and she wasn’t going to let it pass by. Working swiftly, she stripped the officer of his gear, putting it on over her rags.
Despite the man’s small frame, his tactical apparel still hung loosely around her limbs. It would have to do, though. She fastened his weapons belt around her waist, feeling the comforting weight of a loaded gun hanging against her leg.
Looking down at the unclothed officer lying in the dirt, Burn couldn’t even muster a hint of remorse for leaving him. She threw the brick down at his side, turning her back on him and returning the way she had come, back into the fray.
As she walked, she secured his goggles and mask around her face, carefully concealing any trace of her identity. It would be one thing to be caught sneaking through a roadblock, but another thing entirely to be caught impersonating an officer. That was an offence you didn’t come back from. She would have to tread carefully from there on out, being deliberate with every word and every action.
She tried to stick to the shadows as much as possible. Being a fugitive among Peace Officers was dangerous, but being a Peace Officer among protesters was doubly so. While her new garb would guarantee safety among fellow officers, it would also ostracize her from the masses, positioning her as an enemy of the people.
At first, as she traipsed through the disused alleys, no one stood in her way. In fact, no one even seemed to notice the lone officer creeping through the shadows. But as she neared the blockade, the tension around her mounted and people began to take notice. Some stood in her way, daring her to make them move. Others threw scraps and garbage as she passed. Yet more hurled insults her way, calling her a monster, a tyrant, a traitor.
“Move aside,” Burn shouted at the crowd, adding authority to her words by grasping the weapon at her side. She tried to channel her father, tried to find his conviction and strength within herself and mold it into a character she could play. With a straight back and a straight face, she pushed onward, her eyes trained on the passageway that would allow her to escape.
She was close, but not close enough. A scream of rage erupted from someone behind her, and before she could turn to locate the source, she felt an enormous weight strike the middle of her back, knocking her to the ground. The breath escaped from her lungs as she landed hard on the packed dirt, her face bouncing painfully against the cool surface.
The crowd surged, gaining energy and purpose from one individual’s act of bravery. They started advancing on the row of officers, their combined anger stripping their individuality and forming them into a joint force with one thought and one goal: to make their oppressors pay. And right now, Burn was one of those oppressors.
She tried to get up, tried to stand, but was knocked down again and again as countless pairs of feet trod over her, stepping on her legs, her hands, her back. Tears streamed from her eyes, fueled by pain and frustration and utter hopelessness. She had escaped one prison just to die in another. The taste of blood and dirt mingled in her mouth, threatening to choke her.
A sudden shot rang out, breaking through the bedlam and stopping the protesters in their tracks. Another shot followed, this time accompanied by screams. Still pinned to the ground, Burn couldn’t see what was happening. But she could hear.
“He’s dead! Oh my god, he’s dead!”
“Stand back, unless you want to be next! Step aside. Go home.”
“They shot him. I can’t believe they actually shot him.”
Gradually, the crowd surrounding Burn parted, and a dark figure approached her. She lifted her head to find a Peace Officer standing before her, holding out his hand.
“Are you alright?” he asked, helping her gently to her feet. “Is anything broken?”
“I’m fine,” Burn said, her voice wavering unsteadily. She took a step, but her legs no longer wanted to hold her weight, and the officer had to catch her to keep her from falling back into the dirt.
“You’re not fine. Those animals did a number on you. But don’t worry, we got the guy who started it. He won’t be hurting anyone else.”
His words didn’t penetrate Burn’s fog, only serving to confuse her further. But the sight of a body lying in the road surrounded by a pool of deep red liquid – that got through. It was the man who had hit her, she was sure of it. And now he was dead, shot through the head.
She stumbled again and bile rose up in her throat, threatening to spill over onto the street. His d
eath was her fault. His life had been snuffed out in an instant because of her stupidity. Burn imagined his family, picturing daughters and sons whose lives would be forever altered, forever damaged.
But she had to keep going, another voice chimed in, pushing the grief into a corner of her mind. If she didn’t make it back, if she didn’t tell the Lunaria what was about to happen, it wouldn’t just be the death of one man on her conscience – it would be the death of thousands. She couldn’t let that happen.
“I got her! She’s fine,” the officer holding onto Burn yelled to his colleagues. A small cheer went through the ranks as they approached, and she received more than one pat on the back. Burn found herself unable to speak, so she merely nodded at the men, hoping it was enough to pacify them.
“Let’s get you out of here, shall we,” the officer said to Burn, less a question than a statement. “I’ll escort you back, make sure you get through the rest of the blockades without issue.”
“Thank you,” Burn managed to get out, her voice still wavering slightly. She decided silence was her best option for getting out of this alive, so she kept her mouth shut as they walked, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
Her whole body felt broken and bruised, and it was a struggle to keep moving. She wanted to sit down, put her head back, and go to sleep. She was certain she would have, too, if it weren’t for the surprisingly strong officer at her side who kept her upright.
As they made their way upward, the man chatted genially, but Burn was unable to focus on his words. The conscious part of her brain wondered how she was going to ditch him so she didn’t end up back at the Peace Station and back in Cross’ clutches. The other, not-so-lucid part kept replaying the atrocities of the last day on a loop, starting with Cross’ attack and ending with the man lying facedown in his own blood.
“…would love to lock them all up and throw away the key,” the officer was saying. Burn heard the words, but they didn’t penetrate the thick fog in her mind. He went on, “Of course, boss says we need the cells. They’re overcrowded as it is. Gonna have to toss some of ‘em out, if you know what I mean.”
Burn must have fallen into a daze because the next thing she knew they were walking through another checkpoint and up into a higher tier. The air was steadily losing its viscosity, and Burn took several deep breaths to clear her head. It worked and some of the fuzziness floated away, leaving a renewed clarity in its place.
She slowly started to take her weight off the officer, testing her own strength. Her legs were shaky at first, but the more she moved the more her muscles responded, and she soon found that she could hold her own weight.
They had passed the final blockade now and were a few tiers away from the station – and from Scar. The shops and houses were now tinged with familiarity, and Burn knew she could find her way back on her own.
“I can take it from here,” she said. “Thank you for your assistance, but you should get back to the team. It’s clear they need you.” She tried to put as much conviction into her voice as she could muster, and she hoped it was enough.
“Are you sure?” came his reply as he looked her up and down, assessing her myriad injuries.
She nodded, and without waiting for his response she walked on, leaving him behind in the street.
The journey back to her house was longer than Burn had anticipated. Every step sent a shock wave of pain through her limbs and up her core. But her stubbornness outweighed her agony and she kept moving, kept working her way closer and closer to Scar. The thought of Cross and what he would do to her sister if he had the chance was enough to propel her onward.
Finally, what seemed like hours later, she caught sight of her house. It stood there clear and bright, beckoning her forward. It felt like it took her an eternity to reach it, but she finally did, pressing her finger to the scanner to gain entry.
The door swung open and Scar – glorious Scar – turned to face her sister, her eyes wide with surprise as Burn removed her goggles and mask to reveal her identity.
Burn looked up weakly at her sister, willing the words to come out. “Cross is coming,” she managed to whisper. “We have to go.” With that, the world dropped out from under her and everything went black.
Chapter 20
Burn woke up with a start, panic coursing through her veins. They had to get out. They had to flee. They had to find somewhere safe to hide.
“Scar!” she called out, frantic and confused, not even taking the time to process the world around her. “Scar!”
“I’m right here,” came her sister’s voice, calm and reassuring. Burn turned, eyes wild, to find her sister seated next to her on a low stool.
“We have to go. We have to get out. Cross could be here any minute.” She spoke hurriedly, the words coming out in a jumbled stream. But Scar didn’t seem worried. She was concerned, yes, but she made no move to get up or start packing or do anything else to indicate that she understood the severity of their situation.
“Calm down, Burn. It’s OK. We’re safe,” Scar said, rubbing her cool hand against Burn’s hot face. The gesture felt strange and foreign, and Burn flinched back from her sister’s touch, retreating into the confines of the bed.
Bed. Something registered in Burn’s brain, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. Her thoughts seemed to be moving both too fast and too slow, creating a confused maze within her mind. Scar put her hands on Burn’s shoulders, trying to keep her down as she struggled to rise.
“We have to go,” Burn repeated, softer this time, pleading. Her sister shook her head, her strong hands keeping Burn from struggling.
A noise sounded in the hallway, and the door to the room creaked open, revealing another figure. Burn’s mind jumped ahead, sure it would be Cross coming to take her sister away from her. But it wasn’t. It was Symphandra.
Burn stopped her struggles, confused. She looked from Scar to Symphandra, not making the connection. She felt like she was lost somewhere in her own mind and was struggling to put the pieces of reality back together.
“We’re safe,” Scar said again, and this time Burn didn’t protest. Instead, she looked around again, finally taking in some of her surroundings. This wasn’t her bed. It wasn’t her room either. Which probably meant it wasn’t her house.
“Where…where are we?” she croaked weakly, looking up at her sister with a searching gaze.
“We’re at Symphandra’s,” Scar said softly, removing her hands from Burn’s shoulders and putting them back in her lap. Burn must have looked confused, because Scar explained, “When you collapsed, I grabbed your tab and messaged the last person you’d spoken to – Symphandra. I told her what happened, and she rushed over with the cart from her shop. We put you in, covered you with dresses, and brought you here.”
As the words sank in, the panic in Burn’s chest slowly abated and her breathing slowed to a more normal rhythm. They were safe, at least for the time being, and Cross would have no idea where to look for them. The sudden lightness made her feel giddy.
“Here,” Symphandra said, coming closer to the bed and holding out a bowl. “Eat this. It will make you feel better.”
Burn reached out, the movement causing her bruised arms to protest, and accepted the bowl. It was steaming, and she took a long sniff of the contents, breathing in the savory aroma of vegetable soup. The smell was enough to make her stomach growl loudly, and she realized that she hadn’t eaten anything since the party. How long ago was that? Just a day? It seemed like a lifetime.
She carefully took a spoonful of the rich soup and brought it to her mouth, her hands shaking as she tested the temperature. Once she was satisfied that it wouldn’t burn a hole through her tongue, she took a tentative bite, then another. The warm liquid soothed her throat, and each spoonful brought more clarity to her mind.
“How long have I been out?” she asked between bites.
“A few hours. It’s evening now,” Symphandra said, having returned to her post at the door.
>
Something nagged at the back of Burn’s mind as she ate, and pieces of her disastrous exploits started to fall into place. Cross. Wight. ManniK. The massacre. She dropped the spoon into her bowl as it all came together.
“The Lunaria. I have to talk to them. Tonight. I know what Cross is planning.”
Symphandra moved uncomfortably in the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Burn…about that,” she said haltingly, trying to find the right words. “Hale told everyone you’ve been working for the other side, that you’ve been reporting back to them on our activities. He called you a traitor.”
“But you knew what I was doing! Couldn’t you have told them about my plan, what I was trying to accomplish?”
“I tried,” she said apologetically, wringing her hands. “Honestly, I did. I think some of them believed me. But…Hale was convincing. And your disappearance last night was suspicious. It raised a lot of doubts about your allegiances.”
Burn shut her eyes, considering her options. She could leave the Lunaria to their own devices, leave them to fumble alone in the darkness. Or she could try to convince them of the danger in their path, putting her own life at risk for the chance to save thousands. There was no contest. She knew what she had to do. Burn opened her eyes again and regarded the two women in front of her.
“Symphandra, you’re going to have to call an emergency meeting. I can’t do it since I’m blacklisted. And they’ll be just as suspicious of Scar.” Symphandra started to speak, but Burn held up a hand to stop her.
“We have less than two days to stop a war that will kill tens of thousands of innocent people. We need to work together or we’ll have no chance of succeeding. Get me in front of the Lunaria and I’ll do the rest. I just need the chance to tell my side of the story.”