“Whisterly’s troops are coming for him. That’s what the higher-ups believe.”
“And we’re ready. I’m done here,” he said, as he pushed back his chair and stood up, revealing a small caliber pistol holstered at his side. “I’ve got watch aboveground in an hour.”
“See you at the mission briefing at 1900 hours.”
Thomas kept his gaze glued to the two men as they left the mess hall, dressed in what appeared to be working uniforms from an unknown branch of service. Thomas focused on all he had just heard. Clearly Simon had believed his brother would hang in there until the cure was fully developed. Now with that hope shattered and more blame to place, Simon would surely have no qualms about moving forward with his mysterious mission.
The second bit of news would take longer to digest. Is Whisterly coming for me? While in the cell, he had all but given up hope after repeated attempts to connect with someone at the compound. Yet it seemed to be general knowledge, if the troops knew about it. I must be prepared to do whatever possible to help their plan succeed, while still being Simon’s underling.
While not entirely sure where his allegiance should lay at this point—Day Watchers or Night Dwellers—his sister was at the compound, so that was where he needed to go. With a little more freedom now and the ability to train, he would use this opportunity to formulate a new plan. Conscious that his mind would betray him, Thomas put up mental walls in an attempt to hide his personal thoughts, as he had learned it from Arista—which seemed like ages ago now. He knew that Simon could bust through these meager amateur attempts at private thought control, so the exercise seemed somewhat pointless, but it gave Thomas something to do that moved him in a small way toward his goal.
He focused on his sister with his eyes closed as he concentrated hard, directing all his efforts, working behind those mental walls he had just created. Belle, please, I need to hear from you. Answer me if you’re there, he pleaded. Belle? God, Ma and Pa tell me that you’re there. Help us please, he prayed silently. His mind raced, and his palms began to sweat as he thought of everything that could happen to her. He waited, listening, hoping he might break through. Belle, anything will do. Speak to me. Let me know you’re alive. Where are you?
He heard nothing. He scanned the food left in front of him. At least he felt somewhat revived as he loaded up on food and water, giving his brain the needed fuel it had been deprived of during his captivity. Thomas felt his energy returning. Now with his hunger and thirst momentarily satiated, his attention alternated from the Night Dwellers’ mission to his own. Deep in thought he missed the guard’s first attempt to get him on his feet.
“I said now. Not all of us care so much about your well-being.” The guard laughed, poking him with the butt of his rifle. “I could slip at any time, and this firearm could accidentally discharge, and then, well, that wouldn’t be my fault, now would it?”
The other guard sneered in return. “One less share of our resources taken up by a lover of the Day Watchers. Let’s move,” he said. “We’re taking you to your quarters.”
In between the two guards as they walked in silence, Thomas concentrated on the details of his path as he assimilated where he was in context with the few places he had been, making mental notes along the way. A few corridors and three doors later they arrived.
“I see I’m still a prisoner.”
“No, actually we have received orders not to lock this door after leaving. Trust, however, that we are very close by and fully cognizant of all your movements. Simon is, shall we say, attached to you. If you have hopes of ever leaving, I suggest you fully cooperate. Should you choose not to, well, that would be your downfall. Go in and get settled. Your training will commence at 2100 hours.”
“I’m honestly looking forward to that.”
As the guard beckoned Thomas forward, he pushed through the door, entering his sparsely furnished room.
“We’ll return for you at 2050 hours,” he stated, closing the door firmly behind him.
Glad to be alone, Thomas took a deep breath and released it while he surveyed his surroundings. The room had a small desk and chair, utilitarian bed, and a modest-size chest of drawers. No problem, Thomas thought, as I don’t have extra clothes. Upon opening the drawer, however, he saw four identical sets of pants, shirts, and underwear, neatly folded. He moved closer to the desk and spotted the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived.
Suddenly remembering, he grabbed his pants and shoved his hands in the pockets, eagerly searching. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled out the heart-shaped rock and his compass. They’re still here. He rolled the rock over in hands, feeling the texture again and remembering how happy Belle had been when she had given it to him. As he pocketed the small treasure again, he pulled out the chair and sat at the desk. The solid weight of the compass in Thomas’s hand brought him comfort as he mentally bridged the time and distance to his parents. Will I see you again? He brought the compass absentmindedly to his face and closed his eyes, registering the chill from the silver on his warm cheek as he remembered the farm and his family. He drew a deep breath, squeezed the compass once more, then exhaled and resolutely returned it to his pocket.
The small clean space made a world of difference to Thomas’s psyche, after what he had been living through in the dungeon. Full and relatively comfortable he made plans for his next steps.
His sister—he knew how she must feel. Alone and scared. He was alone and scared, and he was years older. His insides broke for her. Belle came into focus in his mind. He leaned on the desk and closed his eyes again, focusing hard, silently directing all his efforts, just like Arista had taught him.
Then, in the void, very faintly he heard, “Thomas…? Thomas, where are you? I’m so afraid.”
“Yes!” he shouted. “Belle, we did it!”
ARISTA LED THE triune as she pushed through the doors, the commotion and unrest assaulting her senses. Council members talked animatedly. She moved toward her seat, prompting Vinique to take her place as well. With a nod of her head, Arista looked to her mother as she stood before the group, waiting for silence. A hush formed over the gathering now as Whisterly looked skyward, entering a trancelike state. In unison the group followed suit, turning their gaze upward while all connected as one. Arista knew her mother began the meeting in this manner to give Arista a quick excuse to join, then stay united with, the collective consciousness, thus enabling her to move undetected into each individual mind, as she attempted to gain information while remaining undiscovered.
A brief pause gave her the necessary time to focus the majority of her energy on her mother. Carefully, so as not to draw too much at once, she pulled some of Whisterly’s life force into her own, and, feeling her stamina and fortitude strengthened, she pulled partially away, hearing her mother’s warning as Arista moved to Vinique and performed the same task. Engulfed in a unison chant now, she focused on her mother’s thoughts, making them her own, as she built pathways in her own mind to all the council members, disguising the source of the passage that connected each to her own.
The first task completed, she was now intricately entwined with each council member but disguised in a manner to replicate another. A rare intensity and energy engulfed her. She admired her mother as Arista took stock of her energy’s source. Still a stunning beauty, though age was taking its toll, she had a heart full of admiration for this woman who actually gave birth to her. Arista knew there were only a few like herself, and her mother had knowledge of at least one more, and had shared this discovery with no one. Doctors believed these fortunate few would remain disease-free, their genes unaltered and unmarred by the disease, while others, born in the lab, would eventually succumb, the weakening gene pool depleting itself with each successive generation. How could she ever repay this woman for her guidance, education, and legacy? she pondered.
Actively rejoining the meeting, she heard her mother speak.
“We believe traitors are among us in this very ro
om.”
Arista observed as the group’s reaction spread like wildfire.
Whisterly continued. “Those who are even now, at this very moment, putting the cure of our people at risk. We have agreed within these four walls to pull together an elite force to extract Stephen from the Night Dwellers. That effort is underway, as we agreed. However, we will protect the innocent bystander who got caught in our efforts to transport Stephen. We must not abandon the values that define who we are,” Whisterly stated, her voice gaining power and momentum. “To compromise innocent life will not be tolerated. Those who are found to have engaged in this form of insurrection will be dealt with harshly.”
Arista felt tempers flare in reaction and immediate attempts to squelch those strong emotions, which drew her to the path of its origin. Several repositories within her senses burst with energy, and she drew input from their source, which then led down other pathways. She was not surprised to find Garrick as a central artery, extending in many directions, leading to deep-seated deception and treachery. Carefully uncovering layer upon layer of duplicity, she was amazed at the guile of two members especially and shocked at the involvement of the third. The energy flow waned. She thought of pulling back before she was discovered, but extraction was almost as arduous a process as infiltrating and needed to be accomplished delicately, she knew from experience.
An influx of vitality rose within her, and she took a deep breath and continued on, smiling inwardly, knowing she was buoyed now by Vinique and her strong telepathic skill. With a renewed virility, she extracted herself from the bonds she had so carefully created. Voices and tension escalated as Arista finalized her withdrawal, covering her path as best she could.
“I demand an audience,” Arista heard from an instantly recognizable voice in the back.
“You may speak. No demand necessary,” Whisterly added.
“For some time now, those of us believe,” Novaryous said, “that you are going soft. You don’t have the stomach for the strong, difficult decisions and tasks that must be completed to maintain our dominance over the Night Dwellers and this disease that has all but wiped out our race. As a result, I move for a vote of no confidence in this council and an end to any further proceedings under your leadership. We will disband and vote in our own leader.”
The voices in the room rose to an unidentifiable din. Turmoil and confusion took over, while everyone spoke at once. Thoughts went rampant, and negative energy filled the chambers.
Now was Arista’s turn to lend aid to her mother, as she helped Whisterly to fend off and prepare for a mental onslaught. Reaching out to Vinique, they created a barrier, effectively dodging the aggression as it came over her mother, wave upon wave.
“I see. I assume there are others who share your view.”
His voice dripped with an acidic tone when he spoke again. “There are. We will vote you out here and now,” he spat.
Mother, he’s wrong. I know he is. From my connection with each member, I only sensed a few who unfortunately should be banned from the council. He is among them, and there are two others, Arista quickly communicated.
“So be it. We will take a formal verbal poll. Each member will cast one vote. Vinique, you will tally. Five votes against will lead to an election to be held after seven days’ time. Let us begin. You will each stand and state your vote aloud for all to hear. Novaryous, your position is documented but state it formally.”
“I want you out. I am a no.”
“Hailo?”
“Status quo.”
“Kaixin?”
“I’m with you, ma’am.”
“Vinique.”
“I stand behind you, as always.”
“Thinn?”
“I vote for change and a new head for the council.”
“Noted. Aero?”
“I stand with you.”
“Pawk?”
“I’m with you as well.”
“Kix?”
“I remain loyal to you, Whisterly.”
“Garrick?”
“It’s no surprise, I’m sure, that I’m with Novaryous. You are leading us down the wrong path. Others are more qualified.”
“Your opinion is noted.” Whisterly noticed Novaryous looking side to side, as he lifted his arms waving animatedly to his neighbor. He now knows he has lost, Whisterly communicated to her daughter.
And well he should.
I second that, Vinique chimed in through their telepathic link.
“Arista?”
“I stand firmly with you, Mother.”
“Novaryous, you have lost in your vote of no confidence, and you have now abdicated your place on the council and will be taken to the brig where your friends will join you. Guards! Arrest these three for conspiracy and suspicion of murder.”
The room went silent as all turned to Whisterly.
“You can’t do that. It’s my right!” Novaryous shouted.
“I can, and I have,” Whisterly said. “He never had a chance, did he? Riam, I mean.”
“He was weak,” Garrick sneered. “Worried about an inconsequential girl? We were doing him and us a favor.”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Novaryous shouted.
“You’re making a big mistake. You don’t even know how big yet, but you will. Mark my words, you will,” Garrick said slowly, speaking each word full of venom, his animosity no longer hidden.
Arista was repulsed and could feel similar feelings among the other members.
Vinique clapped her hands, and, like a virus, the remaining council members joined in one by one, creating a chorus, interspersed with yells of triumph as the three were marched away at gunpoint, their hands bound.
Arista leaned in next to her mother. “You see? You are victorious.”
“Officially, yes, but this is a bad omen. Where there are three, there may be more.” Whisterly straightened and spoke to the council again.
“We still have much work to be done. However, for now, we will disband so all may rejuvenate.”
Whisterly exited the chamber as the noise abated.
Arista noted that the regal head of the council who had entered the chambers not long ago was leaving with a posture of defeat.
“I’m concerned for her, Vinique.”
“This has been a betrayal. Give her time to regroup.”
“Time? If you recall, our people don’t have much of that.”
UNSURE WHAT TO expect, Thomas readied himself by 2050 hours. His palms started to sweat as he thought of all the atrocities he might be asked to perform. Wiping his hands on his pants, he stood, alternating between glancing from the door to the clock as the moments ticked by. Seconds later he heard heavy steps in the corridor, and his heart skipped a beat as he sucked in his breath, temporarily frozen in anticipation.
The door opened, revealing two young men Thomas hadn’t yet met. Wondering where the usual guards were, he surveyed the newcomers as he waited for the instructions that were sure to come. The first to enter appeared to be a couple years older than Thomas, dressed in khaki pants, T-shirt, and vest, with a holstered revolver at his side. The second was quite possibly his age, Thomas estimated. Similarly dressed, he was outfitted quite differently, however. His weapon of choice was a shotgun. Since it was perched on his shoulder, Thomas was able to see the gun quite clearly—a Winchester model 12 pump-action shotgun. His gaze didn’t leave the weapon as he hungrily took in every inch. He had read about their use in the war, and it was a far cry from the .22 his dad had taught him with. This was not the squirrel hunt back home, he thought, as his fingers twitched, aching to get around that gun for an up-close look.
Thomas was lost in his thoughts and caught off guard when the first visitor came from behind and spun him around, staring at him now square in the face.
“Uh, hi.”
“I see you’re an admirer of fine weaponry.”
“I, uh, yeah, guess you could say that.”
“Simon says you know how to shoot.”
&nb
sp; “Sure, I’m all right. Hunt all the time back home.”
He chuckled. “Is that right? Ever hunt…people?”
Thomas stared at him for a few seconds, unsure what to say. “Well, no, can’t say I’ve done that. But I imagine it can’t be that different.”
Thomas looked from one back to the other, uncomfortable in the awkward silence, waiting for their response.
The older one spoke first. “I’m Errol. My friend here is Terron, and we will work with you on the shooting range. And you’re wrong, shall I say, dead wrong. First lesson, animals don’t shoot back. People do. We’re leaving in just a few minutes but, before we go, thought it might be prudent to remind you what’s at stake. Simon wanted us to deliver a message. It goes like this. Sorry I can’t be with you personally right now, but I trust these two completely to assess your training needs. Be comforted by the fact that I can be by your side in a moment’s time, offering you any additional hands-on guidance as the need arises.”
“Was the message clear?” Terron asked.
“Yes, I believe so,” Thomas replied, stifling an uncontrollable shiver that crawled up his spine.
“Good, good. Let’s go then. Follow me.”
Thomas followed Terron down a dimly lit hallway, then up several flights of stairs, and through a series of doors which led aboveground. The sun had set, but the scene above was full of activity. Thomas observed several teams, who appeared to be at work. Some gathered food, while others prepared it. Meals were enjoyed by laughing families, and a few were gathered in smaller groups, sharing more intimate moments. Thomas felt an instant pang of loneliness while witnessing the gatherings; he longed for home, his friends, his sisters, even his community, but most especially his ma and pa.
“Move along,” Errol said and motioned with his arm. “We’re going just over that ridge there to the range. See the bright lights?”
Thomas followed the trajectory and saw the massive range ahead. Even at this time of night many men and women were outfitted in PT garb, fine-tuning their shooting skills. As the trio neared the range, successive gunfire could be heard, and once again Thomas felt the urge to grab the Winchester and explore its life-altering possibilities.
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