The dark sky finally begins to yield drizzling snowfall blurring their visions. Rhetta tucks her son inside her overcoat, wrapped in his pelt, and holds him even closer to provide protection and warmth. They come to a halt at a busy intersection. From there, they can see the hospital, one of the few buildings allowed electricity that doesn’t belong to the Elitists. The site is depressing. Sprawled all across the dried and mudded courtyard and ramps leading to the building are hundreds of people who are either dead or on the verge of dying. Payments these days are only accepted in the forms of food or whatever money can be scavenged, neither of which anyone hardly possesses.
Rhetta shudders when she sees the entrance to the hospital. Looped several times through the handles of the two doors are a couple of iron rusty chains with two separate locks to keep people from entering.
With such a large group of people so close to their position, Rhetta wraps her hood tightly around her face so she isn’t recognized. Next to the hospital, they see what they were looking for, the Hawk Station. The building is only two stories tall, constructed with solid black granite with five massive columns to support the large solid stone overhang. There is a set of steep white staircases that lead up to the large glass doors. The emblem inscribed on the face of the overhang confirms this is their mark; a hawk with its wings raised and feathers spread as if in mid flight with its talons curved and extended ready to strike down on its prey.
These stations were set up almost two decades ago as a means to funnel in money for the Federation. One of the grand ideas Cromus first devised to create a new and unique way to entertain the Elitists. At first, he seized all children in orphanages and foster homes and claimed them as property of the nation of Knav. The Grodarian Federation decreed this to be the policy for the future of all children should they have no guardian. The original strategy was for Grodar to steal or buy children cheap and advertise them as high end Tokens, men and women built to follow every order given without question. The perfect servants. Humans could be owned as if they were pets. These children were sent to the newly claimed Hawk Islands miles from any other countries. The children would be sold at auction years later, after extensive training to conform to every expectation of Grodar, to the highest bidders at auction. The Elitists became enthralled by this concept and began to develop numerous rivalries with each other to land the Tokens they wanted at every auction. None of the citizens are even aware of what the Tokens are used for after auction.
Of course, Cromus was the type of person who enjoyed challenging the status quo. He wanted to test the limitations of the desperate and starving citizens and see how far they would go for their own survival. He began offering 500 currens for any child, from birth to ten years old. Unfortunately, the amount of children being Hawked sky rocketed for an amount of money that may only possibly provide food for a few months. Cromus found this to be amusing, always toying with the exchange rate to see how low he could drive the price down. Kidnapping became a major problem. The Grodarian troops were the worst. Children were constantly being taken and brought into the Hawking stations and sold before the parents even knew they were missing. Whenever the parents discovered their children were gone, the first place they would go would be the local station. Desperately hoping their children were not already being shipped to the Islands, they would frantically describe what their kids looked like to the Hawkers. They didn’t care. If the child was healthy and breathing, they paid, no matter where the baby came from, and the deal was final. No names were ever taken.
Hawkers, themselves, were easily identifiable. They were all dressed in black suits with gray trench coats and a black fur and sheepskin hat stamped with a gray Hawk symbol. They all seemed to be of the same mold. All of them were around the same height, with the same brown-cropped hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. It’s as if they were all cloned from the same generic person.
Rhetta is depending on their callousness and lack of accountability. No questions, just take the child, and forget and where and who he came from. He will become just another Token, and no one will ever know who his parents were. They will never know he was the son of Jackson and Rhetta Maddox. It may not sound like a great alternative, but Rhetta is comforted by the fact she knows he will survive. She knows he will be protected and fed. He will at least get the opportunity to grow up and live.
Around the corner, a small group of ten Grodarian troops come marching around most likely surveying citizens if they have seen the woman who is within a mere stone’s throw. While they are gaggled up talking, Rhetta knows it’s now or never.
Kloe must be the one who goes in to make the exchange. Rhetta is putting her in another dangerous situation. For the last time, Rhetta promises herself.
Rhetta never would have survived her pregnancy without Kloe. She was the only one who ever ventured of the room for food and supplies because the citizens had no reason to recognize her face, as striking as it was, as they did Rhetta’s. She safely delivered Rhetta’s baby into this world and took great care of both them as if they were her own family. Rhetta will forever owe Kloe her gratitude, and her only hope of repaying this debt is to keep her alive. Rhetta hasn’t told Kloe yet, but she means to separate from her once they finish their task. Kloe will be safer without Rhetta’s bull’s eye hanging over their heads.
Rhetta turns to Kloe and says, “When you go in, be as brief as possible. Make the exchange and take whatever amount of money they offer you. We don’t want them to be suspicious of our motives.”
Rhetta embraces her child close to her bosom, kisses his soft forehead, and promises, “I will see you again one day sweet child.”
She hands him over to Kloe. Kloe pulls him in close to protect him from the bitterly cold falling snow.
Kloe tries to comfort Rhetta.
“You will see him again one day. I know it. He will understand you did what was necessary to protect him.”
Rhetta smiles and pretends for a moment it might actually be true, but she is brought back down to reality. She knows there is no way she will survive. She will die just as Magnus and her husband before her. She has embraced her impending death, but she wants to reassure Kloe she still believes there is a chance.
“When I am no longer the most wanted Rebel, I will find a way to get him back. And we can live in peace away from it all.”
Kloe brightens at the thought of such a time being a possibility.
Rhetta gives her son one last kiss on his forehead and hugs Kloe tightly.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” Kloe says.
“I know, but just be careful. Take care of yourself.”
Kloe looks back at Rhetta with confusion. Rhetta fears she has said too much and revealed her plans to leave her.
She rebounds quickly and assures Kloe when she says, “It shouldn’t take longer than ten minutes. I will wait for you here when you come out, and we will make our way out of the city.”
Rhetta reminds her, “Give me your weapon. They scan bodies before you are allowed to enter the building.”
She promptly hands her gun over and begins to make her way across the street ensuring there are no Grodarian ground transports coming before she crosses over. Rhetta pulls out an extra bag, begins to stuff Kloe’s weapon, half of their rations, and the note she had already prepared explaining her actions and thanking her for everything. Rhetta drops the bag where they are supposed to meet. She looks up just as Kloe is crossing the threshold of the white steps and entering the door. She sees her son’s deep blue eyes stare back at her as Kloe disappears from view. Rhetta almost crumbles to her knees with the realization that may be the last time she ever sees him.
After Kloe enters the building, Rhetta catches sight of three of the troops from the corner come sprinting down the sidewalk toward the station.
NO!!!. It can’t be. There is no way they could possibly know whose baby that was. Scenarios come crashing through her head of how she might have given any indications she was here, of if anyone knew sh
e was with child, that she and Jackson had a son. No. She had been so careful. The troops keep coming towards the steps increasing with speed. This can’t be happening. THEY KNOW!!! She can’t help it. She begins to venture out into the street. She has to stop them. She doesn’t care if she dies. She has to try. The thought of them murdering her child engulfs her. An almost inhuman-like sound escapes from her mouth. Then she sees why they were running. They were chasing after one of the men’s hats being blown down the sidewalks by the heavy gusts of cold winds. But she has caught their attention now. She was too loud. Another onset of strong winds erupts, and her hood is blown off her face. There she is, standing in the middle of the street completely out in the open. Exposed. The string of emotions runs across the troops’ faces. First confusion, then surprise, and finally recognition. They know who she is. In an instant, they are barreling down on her with their weapons raised.
Chapter 1
Hawk Islands
15 ½ years later
Token: Kincaid
Deep blue eyes stare back at me, as I solemnly look at myself in the faint reflection of the water trough. I can barely recognize the man gazing back at me. My young boyish features have begun to fade replaced by the strong jaw line and bronzed tough skin of a man. Stubble has already begun to grow on my face. The years and countless hours spent drudging in hard labor have made us all look much older than our actual ages. I am sure this drives our value up as well. No one will want a Token who looks too young and weak. I cup water in both of my hands and splash it across my face. Nayze is growing impatient waiting behind me. I cup one more handful of water and drop my hands on my head letting the water cool the top of my scalp and my golden blonde tousled hair. I flick some water at him as I walk away from the trough. He looks annoyed, but jokingly swears he will get me back.
“Get back to work, we have two hours and still haven’t met our quota yet,” one of the Grodarian guards grunts. We just call them Grods.
The Grod looks at us in disgust. He begins to stride back towards camp and stops to talk to one of the Holds to put in charge while he goes back to his air-conditioned quarters. I don’t think the Grods from Knav ever quite get accustomed to the climate here. They rotate here in cycles, and we hear the weather in Hub City is extremely wintry year round, which sounds miserably uncomfortable. But I guess they have preference for the cold instead of the simmering heat here on Island 3 of the 10, correction…9, Hawk Islands. I sometimes forget Island 10 was completely destroyed.
The Hold placed in command is one of the few good ones. His name is Zeke, and if I remember correctly, he came from Island 8 a few years ago.
He walks over and encourages us with a supportive tone. “Come on gentleman, let’s push through these last couple of hours and get it done. We’ve got to get our portion of the harvest over to the cooks for the Retreat Feast tonight.”
It is difficult not to stare at the scar that runs from his right temple down to the corner of his eye and continues to widen and grow deeper down his cheek. Unfortunately, the scar makes him look grotesque and is most likely the reason he became a Hold. He is a kind man unlike some of the other Holds who have become bitter over the years. They were left behind on their Islands while every other person they have ever known was sold to become a Token. This may happen for several reasons. As with Zeke, any outward blemishes drive our price down. It is quite important to the buyers our physical appearances remain completely intact, and we possess some sort of appeal. We need a reason to make the other Elitists jealous our bidder is the one who gets the privilege to own us. We become eligible for auction at the ages of 16-18. There is one auction every three months per year. If we are not sold through the first 12 auctions we go through, we become Holds. They are to work on the Islands the rest of their lives managing the various labor and training stations for the rest of us coming through. Although they are moved up into management positions, they are constantly reminded how no one wanted them when they were eligible to become Tokens. Some do not take their permanent assignments with dignity and take their discontent out on the Island trainees.
I jump down off the raised dirt path into the fields. There are rows of pineapples growing out of the rich dark soil as far as the eyes can see. Yency and I begin to work twisting pineapples out of the ground tossing them to Nayze and Benja. They deposit them into the collection bins. We used to have to wear gloves and shirts whenever we were assigned to pineapple harvesting, but our hands and skin have gotten so tough and calloused over the years that the sharp leaves and skins of the pineapples could not even leave a scratch now. We four have been living together for almost eleven years now in the same assigned shack. Once we turn five years old and are deemed capable of walking, talking, and physically capable of working, we are moved from Island 2, the island for infants and toddlers. Although I don’t remember much of my life from Island 2, I know we all owe thanks to the female Holds who were stationed there. Trainees used to be assigned 5-digit numbers as identifiers rather than given names. But they decided to begin naming all of us, to give us a true identity rather than a random string of digits. This is how I came to be called Kincaid. It is how we all have our names. After we leave Island 2, we are transferred to the Island where we will live and train until we are sold as Tokens or phase into Holds.
We continue to rotate jobs every half hour keeping our bodies fresh and rested, and we meet our mark right before sundown. Zeke graciously dismisses us and reminds us we must be at the Feast tonight.
We have a couple of hours before we have to be there so as they begin to trek back home, I yell back, “I will meet you guys at the Feast.”
“Tell Hadley we said hey,” they say in unison as they all walk away chuckling.
It is no secret to anyone on the Island as to whom they can find me with after every day of work or training. I am with Hadley. I have been every day now for the past two years. I know I am going to be late again so I begin to sprint in the opposite direction of the camp. I can easily run at my top speed the whole fifteen-minute trip to the lagoon without getting winded. The harsh weekly training and work we go through ensure we are all in top-notch shape. I discovered the lagoon when I was nine rummaging around every nook and cranny of our private isle. I found a stream that transformed into a cascading waterfall with about a seventy-foot drop off. The first time I saw it, I did not even hesitate for a second. I just leaped off the ledge into the clean and crisp blue water. I let my adrenaline take control.
I began to make near daily trips to the lagoon after a hot day’s work to cool off and relax. It was peaceful. The place seemed to have a soothing effect on me. Most importantly, it was mine. Something I could call my own. There were not many things on this Island I could lay claim to. After I had been several times, while swimming, I noticed a yellowish-red fish underwater with a purple fin and blue spotted tail swimming underneath an outcrop of the rocky reef. The fish never re-emerged from the reef, and I decided to pursue the fish. As I crossed under the reef following the same path, I found I could surface for air on the other side. When I emerged, I could not believe my eyes.
Flowing from the top of the cavernous stony wall was water from the stream above, creating my own personal light-streaming waterfall. There were crevices in the roof allowing light to filter in striking the walls and waters of the cave in a stirring manner. I looked around my surroundings and noticed the water I was treading seemed to be emitting an iridescent blue glow. I climbed out of the water onto a jutted out section of the limestone, and a bench seemed to be almost perfectly carved out of the wall. The temperature seemed to be close to twenty degrees cooler in here than outside in the scorching heat. This became my refuge from the Island. My real home. It was a sight so exquisite I never told anyone about where it was. Not even my closest friends. There was only one person whose aesthetic beauty could match that sight, that memory. Hadley.
I was eleven when I first saw her. She had just gotten off of the Helo, one of the Grodarian hover transpo
rts. The aircraft captivated every inhabitant of our Island. We knew the Helos existed because we could just barely hear them fly over every once in a while, but they always kept their invisible camouflage shields up. Since all of us had been brought to the Islands as infants and grouped together at the same age, there was never any need for aircraft to land or transport other people here. Even the few Grods and Holds who had to rotate in came via ship transports from the processing island, Island 1. Island 1 is where we are processed when we first reach the Island and where we go after we are auctioned before we are sent to our proud new owners. Of course, that is after the whole Island celebrates with the Retreat Feast before departure.
But I could not even describe one single detail about what the hovercraft looked like. I still wouldn’t know a hovercraft from a palm tree. I was only fixated on her. I could not take my eyes off of her. I had known all the other girls on the Island since we were kids, and they were all like sisters to me. But I was positive, then and there, no other woman in the world could match her beauty. I got lightheaded for a moment. I think the girl actually made me forget to breathe. She never allows me to forget she was the girl who took my breath away.
She was brought to our Island with a group of about ten other kids all around our age. We later learned the Grodarian Federation used to segregate the Islands from one another. We were grouped by age and how long we had been there. We had never met anyone who had not lived on the Islands their entire life other than the Grods. They used to take all the children who were old enough to remember life back in Knav and group them all together on one Island. They did not want to taint the training they had spent on us already by allowing in outside influences and distractions. Apparently, the decision turned out to be disastrous. The new children of Island 10 did not adapt well to their new lives of hard labor and physical training. They organized themselves and revolted against the Grods and Holds on the Island. I even heard they were successful and had taken control. They must have thought they had finally achieved the freedoms they so desperately wanted. But retaliation was inevitable. Their moment of triumph didn’t last long. A bomb was dropped by one of the Helos flying above, completely annihilating any evidence of the prior existing landmass or its population. I was out in the fields the day it happened. I had never seen such a color paint the orange horizon. The bright white flash blinded my eyes for several minutes.
Token (Token Chronicles) Page 2