“They always make it hard,” the tall officer said. “Dungrove, you carry this one; Shiloh, grab the other. I'll get the girl.”
Rolanda giggled and hid her face in her hands. “They're like puppets, you're pulling their strings. Do you have strings? Everyone seems to. It's a big web of them.”
He cocked an eye at her. “You're not all there, are you?” He shocked her with his truncheon and slung her limp body over his shoulder. “Easier this way,” he muttered to himself.
...
Gideon woke on a threadbare cot in a damp and cold cell. The beds folded down from the concrete walls, Rolanda and Leanin were still lying on theirs, tucked in neatly. His head throbbed and his eyes hurt in the pulsing yellow light. Outside the cell a desk sat empty, a few sheaves of paper scattered across it. He stood and checked on Rolanda and Leanin, they were both breathing but out cold.
“Hello?” he called out through the bars. “Is anyone out there?” His voice echoed jarringly on the bare concrete walls. A door on the far side of the office opened and the slow, plodding sound of boot heels echoed down to him.
The main officer from before stepped in front of the cell, sucking his teeth. He was a middle-aged man, his eyelids hooded and heavy. His face sagged, a sandpaper stubble clung to his cheeks. Though he was tall he was thin, and his shoulders hung inward. “What's with all the noise?”
“You can't keep us here, locked away like this. There's no way those charges are true, you have to believe us.”
He sucked his teeth again, making a wet raspberry sound. “You're Gideon? My name's Ishmael. There's quite the litany of charges against you.” He strung out his sentences, articulating slowly each syllable. “Word down the pipeline is that you're selling these girls out to lonely men. I have to say, that doesn't sit well with me. I feel a man ought to respect women, we wouldn't be here without them.”
Rolanda and Leanin were beginning to stir behind Gideon. “You have to listen to me,” he said, “I'm trying to protect these women, not sell them. That woman there, she's my fiance. She got taken from me a while ago, moved from bubble to bubble and forced to...forced to...,” Gideon choked up, his throat closing as he tried to push the words out. He simply couldn't say them.
“Forced to whore herself out,” Leanin said, joining him at the edge of the cell.
Ishmael ran an eye over her short cut hair and leather riding jacket. “And how exactly do you fit into this picture?”
Leanin met his stare with a fierce defiance. “I had a sister go through this when I was younger. I have a bit of a soft spot for Gideon's quest. Believe me, no one hates the pigs that do this more than I do.”
Ishmael picked a piece of food out from one of his front teeth, looking over Gideon and Leanin. “That's quite the tale. There is one thing that doesn't quite gel. You see, these posters came all the way from the top here in Dagmar. Messenger came from Algernia, from their parliament, to our council. It was all done through legitimate channels. It ain't easy communicating between bubbles, nor cheap, so why would they go through all that trouble if you was actually trying to do right by these ladies?”
Leanin and Gideon exchanged a glance, their eyes wide with fear. “Akem must be better connected than we thought; if he's able to get the Algernian parliament to work on his behalf then we have no idea how far his reach actually spreads.”
Ishmael spit to the side and cocked an eye at them. “Akem? Who's this now?”
“I've been asking myself the same thing,” Leanin said.
Stepping away from the bars of the cell, Gideon ran a hand over his hair. “All I really know about the guy is that his name is Akem, or at least that's what he called himself to me. I met him a little while ago, he was willing to help me find Rolanda for an unspecified price in the future. He always showed up where I was going, eager to lend a hand, but...” Gideon's eyes had puffy bags under them as he looked at Leanin. “He asked me to do things for him in return. I think he might have been using us to disrupt some of his competition. I can tell you a physical description, but I don't really know more than that. He's a smaller guy, he's got these quick little black eyes that always creeped me out, he's got black hair and a thin frame with a thin mouth. Oh, and he seems to walk with a limp.”
“A limp?”
Gideon shrugged. “Yeah, I noticed it when I was taking Rolanda out of the last bubble. He wasn't walking quite right.”
Ishmael began to pace back and forth in front of their cell, his hands interlocked behind his back. “Now,” he said quietly, talking to himself, “why would members of the Algernian parliament take the time to trouble themselves for a few runaway prostitutes and a pimp? And why would the prostitutes vouch for their own pimp? There's a stink about this, that's for sure.”
Rolanda joined Gideon and Leanin at the bars. Her hair was tussled and she yawned and wiped the sleep from her eyes, as though she had woken from her own bed without a care in the world.
When she came to the bars Ishmael stopped his pacing and stared at her, his mouth falling open. Rolanda smiled at him. “I remind you of someone,” she said.
Ishmael paled. “I noticed it when we brought you in, but I didn't get too good a look.” His hand went to his heart and he licked his dry lips.
Rolanda cocked her head to one side and gripped at the bars of the cell. “Was it your daughter? You're carrying death on your shoulders and in your eyes. Was it bad?”
Gideon and Leanin both looked at Rolanda with wide eyes. She payed them no attention.
Ishmael pulled at a silver chain around his neck. A locket came out from under his shirt and he held it tightly. Rolanda's eyes were large and watery, slowly moving over Ishmael's face.
“Elizabeth loved going outside the bubble,” Ishmael began quietly. “Shelly and me could never really stop her. Didn't feel right to stop her, either. It'd be like telling a flower not to bloom. She didn't come home one night, and it stormed pretty badly. We went out anyway, got burned a little but not bad. Didn't find her until a week later, she'd fallen into a crevice and gotten stuck. No gear, exposed out there, getting rained on. Wasn't much left of her but this locket.” Ishmael stopped speaking and tried to clear his throat, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping at his nose. “She had a face like yours, not exactly but close.” He took a deep breath and turned away from them. “I'll get Shiloh to come in and give you guys a supper.”
Without another word he walked away from them, his footsteps ringing off the concrete walls until he shut the door behind him.
Chapter Twelve
When the lights shut off that night Gideon's heart began to race. He felt trapped, like the dirt was being thrown on him again. He told himself to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out, and soon enough the night would be over. He stood and felt along the wall until his fingers found the cold metal bars of their cell. They provided an odd sense of comfort, they told him that this was above ground, that he was in a cell, not a grave.
“What is it?” Leanin's voice called out in the darkness. “I can hear you gasping over there. Is that Gideon or Rolanda?”
“It's me,” Gideon said. He placed his face against the bars, the coolness feeling good against his sweating brow. “I just don't deal with confinement well. It makes me feel like I'm back in that grave.”
“So stop putting such an emphasis on your eyes,” Leanin said. “Listen to the drip of water coming from the faucet. Feel the cold cement under you. Smell the rankness of the toilet if you have to.”
He did as she told him to. He shut his eyes and concentrated on all of those things, the sharp smell of urine, the maddening drip, the cold. Something scraped along the ground and reached out in the darkness, a warm hand feeling for his. Arms were around him and he knew he was okay, at least in that moment. The smell of her hair c
almed him, the feel of her soft cheek against his drove away all thoughts of dirt and graves and pressure.
Some time later the light was turned on again. Gideon had fallen asleep curled around Leanin, his hand cupping her breast, his face buried in the softness of her hair. He sat up and rubbed his eyes in the light. Rolanda was huddled by herself in a corner, her knees drawn up to her chin, shivering. Her mouth was drawn tight together.
Leanin sat up and stretched, yawning largely. “Well, it should be an interesting day today, I should think,” she said.
Without blinking, Rolanda stared at Gideon, her eyes unfocused and far away. “I shouldn't think it will be that interesting at all,” she said.
Gideon shivered and rubbed his hands up over his arms. A tingling began as his sluggish blood finally started to move. He stood and stretched out his arms and legs.
“No, come on Rolanda,” Leanin said, smiling as she stood. “It's not every day you get to die. Let's make today a happy day. I'm guessing that Akem will come here himself; that would really send a good message to anyone trying to free their loved ones. He'll most likely torture us for a while, really get us screaming, but he'll have to take us to another place to do that. I think that his connections are probably political, so he'll need to get us away from these peace officers first. I for one am excited to see how it will all play out.”
Leanin paced in front of Gideon, a semi-crazed grin on her face, her hands constantly fidgeting around her legs. Gideon had the surreal feeling of watching all of this happen from three feet above his own head. He felt removed, buffered, insulated from the possibility that today would be one of his last. Rolanda too looked calm, her gaze a long way off.
A door opened and footsteps rang out in the hall, crisp, even, and unhurried. Leanin stopped walking and the smile momentarily fell from her face. Ishmael appeared in front of their cell, his face sagging and haggard; he didn't look at any of them as he unlocked the door. In one hand he carried his electric truncheon, at his belt he had a pistol holstered. “Come with me, please,” he said.
He directed them down the hallway and through a set of doors, his footsteps echoing all around them, saying nothing. There was a row of cells that they passed; the conversation between the occupants fell silent as they walked by. Finally, they reached a large iron door that Ishmael fished out keys for. It unlocked with a loud clank and he held the door open for them. They stepped out into a bright and sunny day.
Gideon turned and confronted Ishmael. “Is this it? Is this the end for us? Put one in the back of our heads and just be done with it all?” He gripped Leanin and Rolanda's hands, clenching at them tightly, finding little comfort.
Ishmael's eyes were empty, staring back at him without emotion. “No, son.” His eyes moved to Rolanda and then quickly back to Gideon. “You get to trust your instincts when you work as a peace officer. I looked around enough to know something's rotten here, and I won't have my hands dirtied on it. I have to leave the posters up around town, the council wants them there and I rather enjoy providing a roof for my wife. You can't stay here, I would hope that much is obvious. But the only people who knew that I took you guys in are my own deputies.”
“Do you trust them?” Leanin asked. “I find most people just wait around long enough to stab you in the back.”
Ishmael ran a hand through his hair and squinted off into the distance. It was morning, the sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains, the streets were empty and it was cold enough that they could see their own breath. “I don't like that times have gotten to where you have to ask that question. I've known these boys for years, and yes, I trust them. You'll find your things bundled in a bag back where you left your bikes. Don't come back or I won't be able to let you go again.”
Gideon still held tightly to Leanin and Rolanda's hands. “I don't know how we can thank you, there's not many that would stand up for people like us.”
The tall man sucked at his teeth and nodded his head to them. “Don't ever have to thank a man for doing the right thing, that's what my dad always said."
“Did you find out anything about this Akem guy when you did your checking around? We only seem to just be discovering how large his reach really is,” Gideon asked.
He stroked at his unshaven face, his skin hanging off him. “I'll tell you what I know and what I think. There's a lot of people who work the track, using the fact that us bubbles don't communicate often with each other to their advantage. They keep moving the women around, keep 'em disoriented and dependent. Lot of money to be made that way, more than enough for everyone who works it. Now, I've heard that there have been a few high profile deaths, someone may be trying to consolidate things. Take a bigger slice of their pie. It could be this Akem guy you're talking about, but that's just speculation. I would say you should stay away from any bubble you can until you get as far away as possible.”
Ishmael walked them to their motorcycles to see that they left his bubble. Gideon thanked him and shook his hand before putting on his helmet. He waved them off and the trio sped north, down the rest of the mountain, staying to the coast. The ocean was black and menacing to their left, the mountains sharp and frigid to their right, and they straddled that knife edge, driving as fast as they dared.
Chapter Thirteen
They rode for days, stopping only when the lack of light forced them off the road; they slept only a few hours and then were back riding as soon as the light was available. The fierce determination of necessity drove them north along the coast. There was very little conversation between the three, and Gideon felt the exhaustion in his muscles by the end of each day. His thoughts frequently turned dark. Would life simply be like this from then on? Frantically fleeing until their feet simply couldn't keep up and they fell into a hole in the ground?
Their trail north was blocked by the middle of the fourth day, a looming bubble informing them that they would be back on the track if they continued to ride in that direction. It was either cut in east through the mountains or risk traveling through a bubble. They cut east.
The weather had been kind to them, the rain holding off while their tires crunched over the dusty gravel road. Large rocks and heaps of barely decomposed trash formed obstacles as they skirted up a narrow path along the edge of a mountain. The air grew crisp and cold, the path leading higher than they originally thought. Eventually it curved around to the other side and Gideon braked hard, holding a hand out and signaling for Leanin to do the same.
Far below them was a valley that was tinged green in the sunlight, though not the sour blue green of the ocean. This was a vibrant and earthy emerald color. There was no bubble over it, this was just a green spot surrounded by white mountains.
“What do you think it is? Chemical spill?” Leanin asked.
“I don't know,” Gideon said. The mountains curved all around this large green patch, walling them off. In the distance, soaring below them in altitude out over the valley a large bird flew, slowly weaving in circles. “I would have thought any dump sites would be closer to a bubble.”
Rolanda took off her helmet and joined them at the edge of the path. She tilted her nose in the air and inhaled deeply. Smiling, she turned to them. “I smell water.”
Gideon ignored her. “I think we should try it. It's not like we have all that much of a choice. We have our helmets, they should help against any toxic gases, and our tires are solid, worst case scenario we have to turn around.”
Leanin shrugged and donned her helmet. Rolanda did as well, though she left her visor up.
“Rolanda,” Gideon said. “You should put that down. You don't know what we're getting in to.”
She smiled at him again. “I can see clearly.”
As they rode down the side of the mountain Gideon gradually slowed his pace, his j
aw going slack, his pupils dilating. The green was not a chemical spill at all, though it was no less shocking. Though there was no bubble to keep the environmental toxins out, there were living plants here. Not living like some of the other trees he'd seen outside bubbles; those trees struggled to live, with grey dying leaves and brittle branches. No, these trees were thriving. Their branches were filled with green leaves thrust out into the air to grab the sunlight, and underneath a plush carpet of grass grew. Gideon stopped them when they were close, a deer stood at the edge of the forest, watching them, its jaw moving in little circles.
Rolanda hopped off the motorcycle and ran into the woods, chasing it.
“Rolanda, wait!” Gideon shouted. “You don't know what's in there!”
There was no trail for them to ride into the woods, so Leanin and Gideon set off on foot, leaving their bikes parked just outside the wall of trees. The forest towered around them, shading the ground. Pine needles, leaves, and mossy grass formed the floor underfoot. They saw the dark grey of Rolanda's jacket darting between the trees and they followed.
There was a break in the forest, forming a natural meadow where the grass grew even more lush, with little bushes lined in a row speckled with berries. Rolanda was in the meadow, talking to a woman in white who turned to them as they approached.
The woman was old, the wrinkles on her face and the sagging of her eyelids attested to that, but her limbs didn't wobble and she stood straight. Her hair was greying around the temples, the smile on her face like the parting of curtains. She wore a long dress that she had pulled the front of up, forming a natural basket that held little blackberries. Rolanda was picking out of her dress, a smear of berry juice on her cheek.
“Hello children,” the woman said as they approached. “You don't need to put your hands to your pistols like that, I'm just an old lady out picking berries.”
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