The Slave Series

by Laura Frances

  Close gunfire reaches our ears, and Cash rises.

  “That’s too calculated to be combat.” Blake walks past the trees to get a better view, raising his rifle. The popping is rhythmic, a pause between shots. Heat pours over my body. Then dread…as cold as death.

  Ian steps close to Cash. “That’s an execution.”

  Cash and I share a look. If we help these people now, our timing will be off, and we could lose so many more later on.

  Blake returns in long strides. “They’re close enough. We can’t leave them to die.”

  Three more seconds, and we’re pushing past the branches, following Cash just inside the tree line until we reach a door in the fence. A guard stands rigid just inside, rifle at the ready. Only one, which means the Council must be calling in most of their troops. That could work in our favor.

  The gunfire stops, and my heart tries to stop too. It’s over. They will all be dead. But a few seconds later, another shot is fired. Then two more. We emerge from the tree cover, all our weapons aimed at the guard.

  He aims his rifle fast, eyes wide. But his shoulders drop, and he lowers it just as quickly. Opening the fence without another hesitation, a whispered Thank God passes his lips.

  The door guard runs with us, keeping pace with Cash at the front. My pulse spreads fire through my blood. The closer we get, the more desperate I feel; every shot fired is another life gone.

  We follow an alley two blocks, stopping at the corners to check for enemy fighters, our backs to the brick, forcing our breaths to slow. The wind brings voices; they beg for mercy, asking Please…please don’t! But the guns don’t stop.

  The next alley opens to a side street along the edge of a factory. Across the street, five Watchers pace with their backs to us. Beyond them, at least two dozen Workers stand pressed against a wall, tears streaking their panicked faces. People lie dead along the ground. My whole body pulses, ready to lunge forward, trying not to scream. Don’t they see the disparity? Don’t they see that there are dozens of them and only five men to take down? The Workers cower like well-conditioned slaves, like all the other broken shells. They don’t know they are more.

  One of the Watchers lifts his handgun to fire, but Ian is faster. The man goes down, and the other four whip around to return fire. We scatter, taking cover. Bullets ricochet off metal and shatter glass. I crouch behind an empty bin, twisting to see over my shoulder. I aim at a Watcher ten yards back, but just beyond him are the terror-stricken faces of my people. What if I miss?

  Someone’s bullet finds the Watcher, and he falls hard, grabbing at his side. Only one remains, and he runs, retreating into an alley. Cash and Ian take off after him.

  My ears ring when the firing stops. I scramble to my feet. Across the alley, Blake drags himself off the ground, but he ends up in a sitting position, gritting his teeth. Christopher rushes to examine the injury. I run with the fence guard toward the trembling Workers.

  Looking into their eyes is like looking into my past, only it wasn’t so long ago that I was the one shaking against the brick, wide-eyed while Edan yelled at me to run.

  Run as hard and as fast as you can, and don’t stop!

  I scan the scene, waves of anger washing over me at every dead body, every bleeding figure that shakes in the last seconds of life. I try to only look at the living.

  The first woman I approach presses her body to the wall when I stretch my hand to her. Every movement I make causes her to retreat farther.

  “We need to run,” I insist. I turn to the man at her left. “We have to run now.”

  No one screams. No one wails. No one reacts to the dead around us. Instead their suppressed terror pours out of their eyes in silent tears, their lips trembling. I have to make them run.

  I grab the man by his arm and yank until he stands.

  “Run to the fence!”

  Next a child. I lift her from the ground, and her knees shake under the weight of standing…under the weight of living through hell and being told to keep going. I level our eyes.

  “Run!”

  One by one the Workers are pulled from the ground. No time for grieving, though I feel it with them. I’m clenching my teeth, trying to do what my father would. I’m trying to be like my mother. They were brave when they didn’t feel it.

  Christopher and Dani run with them, guiding them to the door and protecting their path. There are so few Watchers here, but the thought isn’t comforting. I know what their absence means.

  Cash and Ian return with stony expressions. I look beyond at the alley where the Watcher ran, but nothing stirs.

  The last of the surviving Workers turn the corner toward the mountain. Blake limps over, blood staining the side of his pants. We take off toward the fence.

  I know I shouldn’t look back. I can do nothing for the dead. But before we take the corner, my head turns. My eyes land on one of the Watchers. He lies on his side, curled like a child, and his chest still rises with breaths. I turn back to the path and say nothing.

  7

  They won’t look at us. I remember the feeling well. Their gait is submissive, shoulders sagging and faces down. Except one man. One man scowls, his face streaked with mud and tears. The moonlight glows over his features, and his eyes fix on our guns.

  Beside me, Blake limps, quietly grunting.

  “How bad is it?” I ask.

  “There’s an exit. The damage could’ve been worse. It’ll slow me down though.” A frustrated breath leaves him.

  “You’ll have to dress it and stay with this group in hiding,” Cash says from ahead of us. “I’m sorry.”

  Blake holds up a hand. “Don’t be. I’ll protect them with what’s left of my life. At least I can do something.”

  I want to argue that it isn’t the end, but there are several ways he could die, including infection. Instead I smile.

  “They’ll be in good hands.”

  The Workers stumble, their tattered shoes too thin for a mountain trail. The woman at my left can’t stop crying, and her breaths are choppy. She presses a hand to her chest.

  Cash turns to address the group. “There’s a rock outcrop another three minutes in. You may be able to hide a fire. Blake can help you start one. Stay together and as warm as you can. I can’t tell you when help will come, but when it does, I’ll direct them to you immediately.”

  Dani stands with a shaking child, her arm holding the young girl against her side.

  “I’ll stay with them,” she says. Cash nods his agreement.

  Movement flashes from the corner of my eye, but nobody reacts fast enough. The scowling Worker jumps forward, lunging at Blake. He knocks the wounded soldier to the ground, stealing his handgun. In a rush, all other weapons point to the man. He doesn’t say anything as he stands there taking aim.

  “We’re trying to help you,” I say, lowering my gun a fraction to prove it. The man doesn’t move. His body trembles, but his face is hard. A tear cuts to his chin.

  Blake drags himself from the ground. “Think about what you’re doing.” His hands raise slowly, trying to calm the panic. Some of the Workers cling to one another, cowering, distancing themselves from the violence.

  “We get a gun,” the man’s cracked voice finally says. His eyes dare us to challenge him.

  “Do you even know how to shoot it?” Ian asks, but he gets no response.

  Cash moves closer to me. “We’re running out of time. What’s your name?”

  Again, the man says nothing, but his hands shake. Two more tears fall, glistening in the moonlight.

  “He is Aaron,” a woman’s soft voice says from behind the man. Slowly she steps forward.

  “Please,” she says, her outstretched hands trembling, “he only wants to protect us.”

  Cash lowers his gun slow, but his finger still hovers near the trigger. “I believe you. We have the same goal.”

  Blake limps forward without fear and sets a hand on the gun shaking in the air. Slowly he pushes it down, and Aaron allows it
to lower. He stares at the ground, the muscles in his face twitching from all the emotions, all the things he’s lived and seen. Blake extracts the gun from his grip.

  “I’ll teach you. But we’re not your enemies. Next time ask.”

  8

  They are not the highest authority, my father once said. That is only what they want us to believe.

  How do you know? I asked. It was only days before the Watchers came. Only hours.

  Think about it, he replied, using the edge of a spoon to press rocks and glass from the soles of his boots. His eyes met mine, and he leaned forward. They don’t control the rain or the thunder we hear when it storms. The Council cannot predict what illness will reduce their manpower. They are subject to the same forces as the rest of us.

  He shook his head and returned to his boots.

  You’ll see, Hannah. Their pride will be their end.

  The first explosion sends a shock through me. I forget, for a moment, that I know it’s coming. But the second is not a surprise. Five blasts echo in rapid succession, then four more almost perfectly timed. We run to nearby trees and climb until we stand on low hanging branches, just high enough to see fire rising from the center of the valley, where the airfield and barracks are situated. Ian scrambles on hands and knees to the top of a large rock. The shrill cry of sirens fills the air. This is a blow to the Council’s forces, something they couldn’t have predicted.

  I turn from the blaze to find Cash. He balances with one foot propped on a notch in the next tree over, his arm around the trunk. We turn to one another at the same moment, silently sharing in this victory together.

  “They did it,” Lina murmurs. A laugh tumbles after the words.

  My heart falls. Just because they were successful doesn’t mean they’ll make it out alive.

  A closer explosion goes off, and vibrations roll through the branch beneath me. A factory erupts in flames, then another a couple miles to the east. My heart drums. This plan could fail. So many things could still go wrong.

  We run through the trees until we see the fence. Two guards patrol the door, but they’re distracted, trying to see past the buildings.

  Cash takes my hand, pulling me aside while the others crane their necks to watch for fleeing Workers.

  “Take them as far up as you can,” he whispers, his hand on my arm, gaze locked on mine. “You know how this goes. They’ll be panicked. But they have to stay quiet if they want to be well hidden.”

  This close, I see the lines on his skin, where tension has left its marks.

  “And you’ll be behind them,” I say, my eyes questioning.

  “I’ll be behind.”

  Another factory goes up in flames, and I see the glow from the corner of my eye. But Cash is watching me, and we only have these seconds before the violence and danger overtakes us. Maybe these are the last seconds before one of us dies. Pain blossoms in my chest, spreading outward. Words rise out of my heart, and I know I’d mean them if I let them loose. He pulls me into a hug, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I only want to keep him longer. This Watcher has become my home, but one bullet has the power to steal him from me.

  I pull away first.

  “Why is Ian going with you?”

  “You think I’m wrong to trust him.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not that I don’t believe him. I do. But taking him with you alone…”

  Cash leans closer, his face nearly touching mine. “I’d rather have him close than somewhere he can’t be monitored. But I promise, Hannah, he won’t betray me again.”

  I acknowledge his words in silence, just a nod to show support. But I’m not sure. How can we know?

  When he pulls away, I stare at his back as he runs toward the fence. Ian runs with him. They kick the door in, and the two guards are overtaken easily. They lie on the ground, unconscious, and Cash and Ian disappear from sight. Christopher stands guard, his eyes on the downed soldiers.

  I’m left numb, staring out across the factories and wondering who will be here in the end to remember it.

  I drag in a slow breath…and wait.

  9

  One minute passes. Two minutes. Five. At ten minutes, my eyes are wide, staring at the fence door, my thumbnail chewed raw. Pain stabs through my teeth, but I don’t loosen my bite. I can hear my heart.

  Guns fire in the distance, the popping reverberating in my chest. I try counting under my breath to settle my nerves, but each number drifts past my lips in sync with a gunshot, and I feel like I’m counting deaths. I’m counting bodies falling and lives lost to violence. I stop counting.

  The other two pace behind the bushes. I sit perched on my toes with my back against the rough bark of a large tree.

  Run, I think. Don’t stop.

  They won’t encounter as many Watchers as we did. Most of the Council’s men are already assembling. We should see them soon.

  I stand, taking three slow steps, my eyes never shifting. If we messed this up…if we’ve just led Workers to their deaths…

  A young woman appears under the street lamps just outside a dark alleyway. She stumbles, her hands landing in sludge before she rises to run again. Behind her, five more figures appear, all desperate, all running like the next bullet is theirs. I race to the fence door. The guards still lie unconscious on the ground. A man reaches us first. He only wears his sleeping clothes.

  I'm ready to shush them, to quiet their sobs, but they are silent when we meet face to face. The only sounds are the chattering of their teeth and their breaths. Their tears are noiseless.

  “This way,” I whisper, and we run low toward the trees. The speed will be difficult for their tired bodies, but it will also warm them. The wind gusts, bending thin trunks, and the Workers hunch, shivering.

  I glance over my shoulder, and the crowd has grown. They are faces of every age, from children to the elderly, running on wobbling legs, grasping for support with misshapen hands. Christopher stands at the fence door, gesturing with his arms for the people to follow.

  “Hurry!” I hear him saying. “Get to the trees!”

  I peer past the fence, but Cash and Ian are nowhere in sight. There's a pulling trying to drag me toward Cash; a tethering wound tight between us. Turning back to the forest hurts; each step I take feels like choosing. I am choosing these people, because they need guidance and protection. But a part of me is always reaching for the gentle Watcher. I grit my teeth and run ahead of the crowd.

  Sirens echo in waves, the sounds hitting the mountain with force, then returning to the cement battleground behind us. The factories burn, and fear squeezes my chest. This group of Workers is now deep in the trees, but there are similar groups running for life around the entire perimeter of the valley. Will they make it?

  We run for ten minutes before reaching a clearing surrounded by thick trees. All the Workers flood into the open space. Some huddle together, and I suspect they are family. The rest wrap their arms around their own bodies and struggle to bear the cold wind alone. But these people will have to trust one another if they want to survive the night.

  Christopher pushes through the group, his breaths heavy. “Start gathering branches of pine needles,” he says, his voice gruff. “And any other thick foliage. We'll use it to block the wind and try to warm you.”

  No one moves.

  Christopher continues bending to pick up branches. But soon the silence draws his eyes back to the crowd. Some of the faces are slack, emotionless and distant. Others wear round eyes and quivering lower lips. They mirror the girl inside of me, the one I'm learning to calm. But I still feel it when I look at them. The trauma is fresh for all of us. I set a hand on Christopher's arm and step past him.

  I am black-clothed like a Watcher, but they know that isn't true. What Watcher is small and slight? Curves have attempted to reshape my body in the last weeks, but I am nothing more than they are. Right now, I need them to see the Worker in me.

  “I know you're afraid,” I say above the wind and mountain sou
nds. “So am I.”

  A baby cries, and the mother tries soothing it with gentle cooing. My muscles tense; the child's cry could draw the enemy to us if they're hunting. The mother meets my gaze, her eyes sharing the same worry as she bounces her baby tight against her chest.

  “This is not the best way,” I continue, “but any chance is better than certain death.”

  I take a branch from Christopher's grip and hold it up. “These are pine branches. They can help shelter you. Please, I know you're confused. But we have to hurry!”

  Only a few people move at first. Five or six Workers slowly twist to search the ground. With trembling hands, they begin to gather their shelter. With tears leaking from their eyes, more men and women join. Christopher and Lina saw at thin, low hanging limbs with their knives. Others yank and twist until branches break free.

  One man pulls my attention by the way he bends. His body is old, his skin paper-thin. His hand presses to the trunk of a tree, and he slowly bends his knees, crooked fingers stretching to reach a cluster of pine needles. A weight hits my chest, because I have seen this man. I have seen him in the lunchroom, slowly scraping oats into his mouth, his hands shaking when the spoon raised. I’ve seen him slump over after two or three bites, unable to stay awake for more nourishment. And I have seen him fall asleep in his food, his face half-pressed to the oats he couldn't summon the energy to eat.

  I run to his side and kneel on the soft, damp earth, gathering the needly branches in my arms before he reaches them. A pang hits me when I look in his eyes. I wanted to help him before, but they wouldn't let me. I couldn't tend to this man's needs without bringing consequences on us both.

  I stand slow, my arms full.

  “I am Hannah,” I say softly, my words breaching the wall of separation. We can be friends now. Now we can be free.

  “Amos,” his quiet voice responds.