We turn inland, closing the distance between us and the mainland. The monster boat slows until it bumps against a wooden jetty that juts out from the beach. The four of us—Abigail, Delphine, Rich and I—peer over the edge of the boat from the top deck. The engine continues to hum as someone leaps on to the jetty. They catch a heavy rope and tether the boat to a wooden piling and finally the engine cuts out.
The beach is deserted and about a chain wide. A lush, bountiful forest grows up the sand. Other than the sounds of sea birds wheeling above us, there are no signs of life.
The divinity, Yanx’s elite fighting force, pour off the boat below us. Each of the women wear the bird tattoo that marks every member of Yanx’s army. Their heads are shaved on the side to expose the stylized bird tattoo, wings out wide as though preparing for flight.
The women—strong, fierce and ruthless—are armed with identical, large black guns. I know from experience that these are not ordinary guns. These guns fire multiple bullets in a continuous stream. The people from the station don’t stand a chance.
Lincoln, one of the Washingtonians accompanying Yanx on this search and destroy mission, appears behind us. He puts his hand on my shoulder. It is not a friendly gesture and his fingers tighten like a vice. I shrug him off.
“Are you ready?” He speaks in a rough voice as he hands us our weapons. Abigail and Delphine both receive a shotgun, similar to the old guns we use on the island. Rich is given a crossbow, and I am handed a small, black pistol.
I turn the pistol over in my hand. “Is this all we get?” I ask.
“You won’t be on the front line. You won't need anything else,” he replies. He leans his head left to right, cracking the bones in his neck. When he glances at me, there’s no warmth in his eyes.
I remember the ferocity with which Lincoln smashed the bronze horse statue Ada and I were hiding inside, back on that fateful night they smuggled us into Washington to obtain the launch codes. He has a violent temper as well as a history of scandalous liaisons with Yanx.
“Are the gangs here?” asks Rich.
We know from meetings in the war room with Yanx and the Washingtonians that gangs loyal to Yanx between Washington and Canada have been gathering and riding here. There is a wall of terror closing in on the area, determined to stop the station.
“The first wave should arrive later today. But we can’t wait for them,” replies Lincoln. I detect a note of disdain in his voice. “We need to move now. Washington has advised that the mass transit pods have already landed in Canada near the area known as New Hampshire.”
“New Hampshire?” I ask.
“The Mainers and New Hampshirites rebelled against the government around three hundred years ago and pledged their allegiance to Canada. In our eyes it will always be United States territory… and it’s not like there is a Canadian government anymore to defend it. I don’t know why they keep calling it Canada.”
We look at him wide-eyed, unsure of how best to reply.
Lincoln shakes his head in disgust. “All you need to know, it that we have to leave now. It will take us at least half a day of hard riding to get to the location.”
“Where will we get horses?” I ask. I look around at the empty stretch of beach and dense forest beyond the sand. There’s no one around.
“Yanx has people,” he replies. He offers no further explanation.
We leave the boat tethered to the narrow wooden jetty with a single sentry on guard. No one seems concerned that the boat will be attacked. Yanx is clearly the apex predator around here.
I look at our small group as we walk across the sand. The four of us have been transformed since we left the island. Our loose tunics and trousers have been replaced by the dark leather vests and pants favored by those on the mainland. We are leaner and harder, more suspicious and wary. We each grip our weapon as though we actually mean to use it. And we can, and will, if necessary.
“Can you believe how far we’ve come from the island?” I say to Rich.
“It’s hard to come to grips with,” he replies. “Only a few months ago we’d never left the island. Now look where we are.”
“I hope Mother is okay,” I say. Rich nods. We are both nervous about her being caught in the crossfire.
Abigail and Delphine grip hands as they walk up the beach. I pretend not to notice but Rich catches me watching them. His face creases in concern. He’s worried about me, worried that jealousy may tip me over the edge and I’ll lose myself completely in this land of violence.
“Chris, I know that things haven’t—” he starts to say, but I cut him off quickly. I don’t want to talk about Delphine or Abigail right now.
“What do you think is happening back on the island?” I ask.
“It’s hard to say. I doubt that we’ll ever go back there, so I try not to think about it.”
“I have a strong feeling we’ll go back someday,” I reply.
I glance over my shoulder at the ocean one last time before we walk into the forest. We pick up our pace to catch up with the divinity who are jogging steadily through the forest. They are lithe and sure-footed, even with their heavy weapons.
I sense Rich bristle next to me and I follow his gaze to where Yanx is walking purposefully with Apollo. The Washingtonians are by their side. Everyone is focused on one thing: find the mass transit pods from the station.
Apollo is a Runner—the Runners are a mainland gang loyal to Yanx—and Yanx’s close confidant. He’s also the one who killed Ada Rothman, the young woman from the station.
“I’ll kill him as soon as I get the chance,” says Rich in a low voice.
“I’ll help you,” adds Abigail savagely. “But we need to bide our time. When we are ready to escape, we’ll do it for Ada.”
I speed up so I can walk a few steps ahead of the others. I know I played a big part in her death. The guilt is overwhelming.
We hear the colony before we see it. Raucous voices penetrate the calm of the forest. It’s Yanx’s final outpost. Back on the boat she told me she hasn’t ventured into Canadian territory, yet. There are too many wild animals and even wilder people. She said there are thousands of people living in the Canadian wilderness, tough enough to survive the harsh winters and fierce storms that frequently batter the region.
We arrive in a clearing outside the camp. “What’s going on?” whispers Abigail.
Everyone from the boat is standing around watching one of the divinity hold a lone sentry by the throat. She has pushed him against a massive oak and is gesturing at the threadbare barrier made from fallen branches that stretches the perimeter of the camp.
The gang members inside have not realized we are here and their cacophony of debauchery continues unabated. I hear a woman scream over the din of the camp and my discomfort intensifies.
“Why do you have this man by the throat?” asks Yanx.
Apollo passes Yanx a knife, and she walks over to the oak tree. She towers over the sentry and divinity, magnetic and beautiful. “Let him go,” she says to the divinity. The woman releases the sentry, and he gasps for breath, clutching his throat with both hands.
“We found this one sleeping,” replies the divinity with a cool intensity. The heavily tattooed sentry stares at the ground. Yanx grabs the man by the hair with one hand. She takes the knife in her other hand and holds the tip of the blade to the man’s eye. I realize I’m holding my breath.
“Please,” he splutters.
“Please what?” replies Yanx. “You’ve left me open to attack. We are only as strong as our individual parts. You are supposed to be keeping watch, and you’ve failed. You have made us all weaker.”
I can tell by the look on Yanx’s face that something terrible is about to happen. I turn away just as the sentry screams in agony and when I look back he is on the ground, covering his eye which is bleeding profusely.
The sentry’s screams bring the people inside the camp running. Thirty or so dirty, brutish men and women pour out through the threadba
re barrier, brandishing all manner of weapons and roaring fiercely.
I brace myself, drawing the pistol and preparing to fire. But Yanx steps the front of our group, her hands on her hips. The people running towards us stop short the moment they see her.
Yanx paces back and forth, the center of the universe in the small clearing. Everyone stares at her in the deathly silence. Even the injured sentry is laying quietly, his remaining eye on Yanx. I feel a cool breath of wind and hear the rustle of leaves as it passes.
Yanx stops in front of the gang members from the camp and points the knife at them, moving it slowly over the group. “You disgust me,” says Yanx, finally. “You leave all of us vulnerable to attack. You are responsible for holding back the Canadians. But we find you drunk and carousing or sleeping.”
No one replies or meets Yanx’s eye. She draws the knife menacingly across her throat before saying, “We need horses. Now!”
Half a dozen people turn and run back inside the camp. There are rows of tents and makeshift structures through the barrier. A central fire burns high and bright and the remains of a dead animal, killed and roasted, lie beside the flames.
“You,” says Yanx to one man. “Get twenty of your men ready to ride with us. The rest of you are to be on full alert. And you,” she kicks the fallen sentry. “You keep your remaining eye open if you want to keep it.” The man nods as he curls pitifully into a ball.
We follow Yanx through the barrier and into the camp—her last, lonely outpost. Delphine has placed herself between Abigail and me, her blonde head bowed. She’s holding her hand where Apollo cut off a finger. I’ve noticed that she does this when she’s anxious. Abigail and I both reach for her at the same time. I drop my hand in midair.
The camp is filthy. Garbage is strewn all over the ground and the whole place smells like sewage and things left to rot. Rich pokes me and gestures towards a tree towards the edge of the camp. There’s a young woman tied up there by one arm. She’s pale and shaking, bleeding and naked below the waist. She clutches a torn length of cloth around herself.
“We need to help her,” I say.
“We can’t, brother. It’s not our business,” replies Rich.
Delphine has followed Rich’s gesture and gasps when she sees the woman.
“We can’t just leave her,” I say.
Abigail is nodding her head and already walking towards the woman. I grab Abigail’s arm but she shakes me off. I don’t want her to walk through the camp alone. I run after her and I arrive at the tree just behind her.
The woman shrinks back when she sees us approaching. Her hair is matted and filthy. Her hollow eyes and the marks on her body speak of horrific trauma. I put my hands up, palm out, lowering my eyes. But the woman shrieks.
Abigail turns and sees me behind her and smiles briefly. She whispers: “Thank you.”
We work together on untying the young woman. She pulls back under my touch and doesn’t seem to hear our reassurances. Abigail finds a blanket that has been abandoned nearby. She shakes it off and ties it around the woman’s waist. The woman barely registers the gesture. When I urge her onwards, to follow us, she submits without resistance. I feel disgusted and also frightened by how completely they have broken her.
We find our way back to Rich and Delphine. They both stare at the woman until Delphine reaches out and touches her cheek softly. “Come on,” I say to them. “We need to catch up to the Washingtonians. We don’t want to be left behind here.”
“There they are,” says Rich. We see Yanx and the Washingtonians who are climbing onto saddled horses a couple of chains past the tents.
When we reach them, Yanx appraises us coolly. “What’s this? Yanx asks.
“She’s coming with us,” I say. “We aren’t leaving her here.”
“Kill her. That thing is not coming with us. We don’t have time for this.”
Rich moves in front of the woman. Delphine and Abigail also take a step forward and form a human shield between the woman and Yanx.
“You’ll have to kill us first,” I say. I try to sound bored but I know Yanx can see the slight tremor in my hand.
Yanx looks at us and seems to be calculating something in her head.
“Fine,” she says. “You can keep your little play thing, you naughty boy.” Yanx turns her attention elsewhere but I can feel my cheeks flush red in anger. I clench my jaw tightly.
One man from the camp, tattooed and fierce, leads four horses to us. He looks with narrowed eyes at the woman we’ve untied from the tree but says nothing.
“She can ride with me,” I say to the others. Abigail gets some clean clothes from her pack and helps the young woman dress quickly, and then I help her up behind me. Our horse is dappled gray and seems underfed. She whinnies softly and looks back at me with sad eyes.
“What is your name?” I ask the woman once she’s up on top of the horse. She looks back at me blankly.
“Let’s go!” calls out Lincoln. He’s riding a tall black stallion branded with a small bird on its flank—Yanx’s symbol. I’m sure my horse has a matching one. Lincoln is charged with aggressive energy, which seems to be catching. The thirty or so horses are saddled, riders ready, the group skittering sideways and pulsating like a living, angry organism.
We ride hard through the countryside. It’s mostly comprised of dense forests interspersed with patches of wild grassland. On the horizon, large snow-capped mountains loom.
The group of divinity forges ahead. They are clearly the most skilled and hardy of the riders.
The gang members we picked up at Yanx’s final outpost follow closely behind, desperate to keep up with the fierce female warriors. Yanx and the small group of Washingtonians follow, with the four of us—plus the woman we took from the camp—riding at the tail of the group.
“We could just peel off and disappear,” says Abigail to me at one point as we cross a magnificent field of brilliantly colored wildflowers.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I reply, my eyes on Yanx. “She would shoot us in the back without hesitating.”
“She likes you for some reason,” says Rich.
Maybe she sees the darkness in me, I think to myself.
We stop to allow the horses to rest and drink by a broad but shallow river. I take a seat on the ground and the others come and sit by me. The air is cool but the spring sunshine is warm on my shoulders and forearms. Despite the sun, I can see a storm coming on the horizon. The clouds are moving towards us quickly.
Michelle has one of the communication devices from Washington out. Yanx has an identical one gifted to her before setting out on this mission. They are comparing the information on the prisms.
“We should be an hour or so out from where they landed,” says Michelle.
“We’ll need to approach from here,” says Yanx, pointing at her prism. “It will give us the best cover when we attack.”
“We are vastly outnumbered,” notes Michelle. “There were around three hundred people on board the station. Assuming all of them got off the station alive, we could be in for a difficult battle.”
“We have more powerful weapons,” says Lincoln. “And the element of surprise.” He sees me watching them and scowls.
“What’s his problem?” whispers Abigail.
“Unrequited love,” I say. It’s meant to be an insult but I flush at the personal implications and try not to look at Delphine. I’m grateful when Abigail glosses over my comment and instead looks at the woman we found at the camp.
“Can I help you get cleaned up?” I ask her. She looks at me and nods. I fill my water bladder from the steam and I am bathing and inspecting her wounds while Abigail holds her hand gently, soothing her with quiet words. Delphine passes Abigail a note.
“Delphine is wondering if you are from around here,” Abigail says to the woman. “Do you have a family? Is there somewhere we can take you?”
The woman gazes at the rolling hills in the distance, deeper into Canadian land. We follo
w her gaze.
“You’re from Canada?” I ask.
The woman nods.
The four of us know very little about Canada. Our world was so sheltered, so small, back on Martha’s Vineyard. But we’ve heard Yanx and the Washingtonians describing the fierce, savage families surviving in the mountains beyond where we now sit.
Delphine passes me a note.
Tell her we will protect her until we can get her home to her family.
I read Delphine's message and the two young women lock eyes, staring intently at one another. An unspoken promise passes between them.
“Hey, islanders, time to move on,” calls Michelle. There’s no malice in her voice.
We gather our things and mount our horses once more. Yanx has planned for us to approach the landing site of the station from inside a steep gorge that snakes its way to a river. On the other side of the river, we should find the mass transit pods that bought Commander Rothman and the other down to Earth.
It’s eerie riding through the gorge. I wonder what caused this deep rift in the land. Has it always been here, for as long as people have walked this land, or is a sign or more recent trauma?
The sound of the horses’ hooves clacking on the dusty ground echoes boldly around us. We are all tense, weapons ready in case we meet someone, or something, unexpected.
The wind has picked up and is growing in intensity. It howls up the length of the gorge and the sky is now gray and clouded. Rain is coming, and worse. I feel the group surge forward ever faster.
By the time we reach the river, the sky has opened up. The rain is heavy, pounding us. Yanx has to yell over the wind and rain to be heard.
“The landing site is just through this thicket of oak trees. They are just on the other side. Stop under cover of the oaks, we’ll wait until everyone is ready and then attack as one. We are outnumbered but we can do this! Take no prisoners. We want every last one of them gone.”
With that, we break into a fast canter through the forest. I realize that the woman is gripping me tightly from behind. I have the fleeting thought she seems to be returning to herself. I’m glad to feel the power in her arms.
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