by Casey Hays
Jesse chews on the inside of his cheek, but Max’s eyes fill with purpose.
“That sounds like the best plan I’ve heard yet.” He half smiles. “Where should we start?”
“I don’t know. Up north somewhere, maybe. They go where there’s a need to learn information.”
The guys have built a fire pit and set up their tents in a clearing. I settle on a large log and lean the rifle against it.
“What’s your plan?” Jesse sits next to me and holds out a bottle of water. “You coming with us?”
I shake my head.
“I can’t leave Kate. I’m going back in as soon as I can. General Berg has surrounded the village with his men.” I lower my eyes with a sigh. “I’m kind of on his radar, but right now, they don’t know where I am.”
“Okay then,” Max interjects. “You get back to Kate. We’ll find these Rovers.”
He looks at Jesse. Jesse nods, a half grin lighting his face, and a rapid swelling of excitement floods me.
Finally, the Boys of Eden have ourselves a decent plan.
The Lord said,
Go out and stand on the mountain
in the presence of the Lord, for the
Lord is about to pass by."
Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains
apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord,
but the Lord was not in the wind.
After the wind there was an earthquake,
but the Lord was not in the earthquake.
After the earthquake came a fire,
but the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire
came a gentle whisper . . .
1 Kings 19:11-12
Kate †
Chapter 11
T
he scream begins deep inside me. It nudges up against the pain racking my body as consciousness invades. At first, it is only physical agony that tortures me—that sends me spiraling toward the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. It sears through me until the scream transforms and bursts forth from my lungs in a harsh display of sound.
The agony moves beyond the physical when I peel my eyes open to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. A cacophony of popping noises reaches my ears followed by the sound of shattering glass as a window bursts into a thousand pieces and rains down over me. A burning sensation, hot as wax from a candle, grazes my leg. Wincing in panic, I roll to one side . . . and I’m falling.
I slam into a wooden floor, grunting on impact. My breath heaves out in a rolling peel, and several seconds pass before I’m able to drag one gulp of air into my lungs. But the fall jolts me enough to bring me to my senses. I haul my aching body to the safety beneath the bed, a searing pain battering my ribcage. My heart won’t stop its rapid thrumming.
I scan the room from my hiding place. Clearly, this is not my hogan. The underside of a chair. A set of wheels connected to metal legs. . .
I rub my eyes, attempting to clear the fuzziness of my mind, and I remember . . . I’m not in the Village anymore. I sweep the room again.
But . . . where am I?
I’m drawn to a sharp pain in my arm. It bleeds a small trickle, and I wipe away the blood and stare at the wound—a single, small prick in the crook of my elbow. I turn my arms over, see the tiny shards of glass sparkling along one forearm. Suddenly, my flesh is stinging. I begin to shake.
I fumble through my thoughts, trying to remember what happened, how I got here, but all the images are fuzzy bits and pieces disassembled and splintering out of reach. Everything seems heavy, as if I’ve been sleeping for a thousand years.
My leg bleeds the most from a fresh wound, so I use what lucidity I have to concentrate on applying pressure with the palm of my hand. For a moment, it lends a distraction from the shock the rest of my body feels. I curl in on myself, the fear shuddering inside me.
“Kate!”
Startled, I raise my head. My eyes settle on the face of . . .
A boy.
The thudding of my heart is joined by a second fanfare of rapid beats, banging against my ribcage like prisoners bent on escape.
He reaches for me, his fingers lingering mere inches from my leg, and another wave of panic begins a slow rattling through every nerve in my body. An explosion ignites the room again. I wince, curling my knees into my chest. The pain is tremendous.
He stands; I study his shoes. In half a second, the protection of the bed is gone, and I’m staring up at a colossus. He settles the bed against the window and kneels, a slip of a reassuring smile on his lips. He places a large hand on my leg. Those lips move quickly, expressing something, but the warning signals pounding inside my brain prevent me from hearing his words. I squint up at him, trying to remember his face, even as I scuttle out of his reach.
The loud, popping sounds continue outside the window, and I think for a moment I should be afraid of them. But they are no match for this stranger who makes another move toward me, concern glancing across his face. He’s as big as Justin; he must be from Eden. But . . . who is he?
“Where—where am I?” I ask. My voice is ragged, my breathing heavy. I press a trembling hand to my forehead, grazing a painful, scratchy lesion. “What—?”
If he answers, I don’t hear him. I tremble with such force, I can concentrate on nothing else. He makes a move toward me; my ears ring with panic. On hands and knees, I scramble away, but my moves feel slow, sluggish, as if I’m swimming in molasses. I press myself against the wall at the far end of the room, my eyes pinned on him. He blinks and blows silent air into the fuzzy scene unfolding in this dream.
It has to be a dream.
His head moves in a slow motion arc as another person rushes into the room and slams the door behind him. Another stranger—with terror haunting his features. They speak. I hear only mumbling, distant sounds inside my head. My brain trudges through my fragmented emotions, trying to make sense of it all.
I clamp my eyes shut, pull my knees up to my chest and bury my head beneath my raised arms.
It isn’t a dream. It’s a nightmare.
Wake up, Kate. Wake up!
My body aches so profoundly, I wonder for a moment if I’m dead. Perhaps this is what death is. A place of pain, where unknown faces enter the tight space of your post-existent room. One by one, your entire afterlife fills up with strangers.
I peer through my fingers. The boy is gone, but the man stands in the open doorway and shouts into the adjoining room. He swings the door closed and locks it.
He moves toward me with caution as if he’s approaching a frightened animal, but he’s shaking as much as I am. I shrink away as he squats and holds up a guarded hand.
“Hello, Kate.” The surprising softness in his trembling voice counteracts the harsh sounds coming from outside, and I focus on him through my hazy awareness. Two black circles frame his eyes, and his nose is swollen, a large cut gracing the bridge. He smiles briefly. “It’s good to see you awake. I’m Aaron.” He places his hand against his chest as he gives his name. “My wife is a doctor. She’s been taking care of you. But she—she had to go away for a little while.”
I stare at him. A stream of popping fills the room. I press my hands over my ears, terrified. Aaron instinctually ducks his head, then bounces on his haunches anxiously.
“What is happening?” I rasp. My chest hurts.
“There are some pretty bad people outside, but I’m going to take you to safety.” He nods, eyes wide and trusting. “And then I’ll find my wife and bring her to you so that she can finish making you better.”
He holds out his hand. I stare at it. My eyes float up to meet his.
“Where am I?”
“Jordan.”
Jordan. Yes. This is where I was to come, before . . .
Before what?
I search my memory, but it returns only a black veil of . . . nothing.
I shake away my confusion, and I cover my head with my arms, trying to get my bearings.
Another ro
und of popping, and I jolt upright.
“Kate, we have to go. Please.”
His hand extends toward me again, and he indicates an opening in the wall with a nod of his head. I gape into its dark recesses, riddled with confusion. I don’t know what lies outside of this room; I don’t know what causes the loud, threatening noises that pierce my ears. But I am certain that this man intends to leave through that opening, and I have no idea what will become of me if I choose to go with him . . . or if I choose to stay.
“Where is Justin?” I blurt. “I want to see him.”
Surprised, he shakes his head. “He’s not here.”
I frown, squeeze my eyes shut.
“But—then, how did I get here?”
“Ian brought you.” His words are rushed, his eyes glancing toward the locked door as noises filter in from the other side. Someone is coming. “He’s giving us a chance to get away.
I stare at him, blank-faced.
Who is Ian?
“Please, Kate.” His fingers extend another inch. “We must go. Now.”
I consider him for a moment. This is not a dream. The smell of the blood running in a thin trail from my elbow to my wrist is real; the new pain throbbing from the wound on my leg is real. The stinging slivers of glass are real.
Another round of popping; I slam my hands against my ears, terror flooding me, and I nod rapidly. He springs to his feet.
“Come on. The soldiers could bust through that door any minute.”
Soldiers?
He pulls me upright before I have time to process his words. The action causes severe pain to ripple up my spine. I cringe, lean forward to relieve some of the torture as dizziness threatens. I know immediately I’ve suffered something terrible. Aaron steadies me and gently coaxes me toward the wall. His hand on the small of my back sends a scream of terror riveting through me. I don’t know this man; I shouldn’t go anywhere with him. But I move forward—one step, then another.
The entrance leads to an extremely narrow passage that disappears into blackness only a few yards in. I hesitate, my hands pressed against either side of the opening, my body refusing to go further—to actually step through the gaping mouth and into the darkness beyond. But Aaron gives me a firm nudge, I stumble through, and the passage collapses into complete blackness as he snugly replaces the wall. I hold my breath, frozen in place, until a sudden beam of light brings back my sight.
Gently but with urgency, Aaron ushers me forward flashlight in hand. The narrow path carries us on a downward journey, sloping deeper and deeper into the belly of darkness beneath the ground. I trudge along with this stranger, my heart filled with anxious fright. The air grows thinner, the atmosphere grows cooler, and the walls of the passage become damp and slippery where I place my hands. I don’t speak; I try not to breathe too heavily, but my body refuses to cooperate as the aching throbs grow worse with each step. The pain in my leg causes a limp. I can feel the warm blood trickling down my shin. Aaron slows, speaking over my shoulder.
“How’re you holding up, Kate?”
I swallow. “Faint. My leg is bleeding badly. How much farther?”
“A few hundred feet.” He pulls me to a stop, turns me toward him, and angles the light at my leg. The crimson color covers most of my shin in an oozing smear. He squats. “Take a quick break. We’re going to begin ascending in a minute, see? It’s steep.”
Panting, I stare up the sharp incline, suddenly aware of a pain in my side. I lift my shirt, press my palm against a white bandage, confused. Dizziness settles over me, and I press my back against the wall to steady myself.
Aaron rips off two long strips of fabric from the bottom of his shirt. He wads one into a ball and presses it into the wound on my leg. I hiss through my teeth.
“Sorry,” he exclaims. He takes the other strip and ties it securely over the first to staunch the bleeding. “It’s not the cleanest job, but it should help.”
“Wha—” I bend at the waist, hold up a finger as I try to catch my breath. Blood soaks through my clothes where the tiny pieces of glass have embedded themselves, leaving red blots intermittently along my sleeve. “What happened to my side?”
He stands. “You’re liver was injured. Penelope had to fix it.”
I straighten in surprise.
“How did I injure my . . . my liver?”
The word is foreign to me.
A rumbling behind us yanks Aaron’s attention away from my confused face. With a start, he takes hold of my elbow and maneuvers me ahead of him.
“Let’s keep moving! We’ll have time to discuss all of this later.”
We begin our ascent, and it is steeper than it first appeared. Aaron propels me up the incline from behind, a firm palm on my back. When my knees finally give out and weakness and pain win, he hands me his flashlight and scoops me up into his arms, huffing with exhaustion even with his obvious strength.
The initial shock of waking to find myself in a room with two strange men seems suddenly trivial compared to the trial of climbing out of this hole in the ground with my obvious injuries. Injuries that I can’t recall receiving.
I search my mind, suddenly aware that I can’t remember a number of things. In fact, the last thing I can recall is spending the night on the side of the road in a tent. Justin and Jesse were with me. Max . . . and Diana. She’d only just learned we weren’t going to Eden. She was so angry that I’d kept this from her. But for the life of me, I can’t remember why I did.
Now, I wonder . . . where are they?
“Where are we going?” I dare to ask.
I inhale in an attempt to take control of my breathing. Aaron’s hands tighten around me. He huffs under my weight, and this slows his pace, but he never stops moving.
“To a safe place,” he wheezes.
“But who is after us?” I cling to him limply, barely able to keep my head up. “What do these soldiers want?”
“They aren’t after us. They’re after Ian. And Justin... and anyone else like them.” He loses his footing briefly, sliding back a few steps before regaining his balance. “What they really want is Eden.”
“Was that Ian back there?”
“Yes,” he pants. He looks at me, confused.
My blood quickens.
“Do I know him?” I ask.
Aaron pauses momentarily, lifting his fingers away from where they grip my body. The sudden disappearance of warmth is a harsh shock in the dank passage. I shiver.
“Yes,” he answers tentatively.
“I can’t place him.”
I hold the flashlight, and I turn the beam of light to catch his eyes. His fingers return, pressing more strongly, and he trudges up this ever increasing slope. His eyes show me nothing.
“Almost there, Kate.” His breathy whisper, heavier now, lifts a section of my hair. “Hold tight.”
Chapter 12
T
he sky is bright blue and blinding as we exit the passage. It’s hard to breathe in the hot air, and immediately sweat drenches me like the aftermath of a fever that has finally broken. Aaron sets me down, and wipes away a strand of wet hair from his forehead. His shirt soaks through in spots. The sun is hidden by the covering of large trees with wispy branches that hang in long strands to sweep the ground. It gives some shade to ward off the heat and helps to keep us hidden. Still, Aaron remains cautious, having us pause every few paces behind a tree or a bush between houses so that he can scout for soldiers. And each time, I stand behind him, bent at the waist and puffing loudly. My knees are weak, and my lungs torture me with every intake of breath. I’m uncertain whether the constant halting is a blessing or sheer torture. I’m exhausted.
Only once does a group of five or six soldiers come close enough to our hiding place for us to feel the ground beat beneath the pounding of their feet. We crouch low in a stand of bushes, and I do my best to hold my breath against the aches riddling every muscle, my head tucked low as I lean against Aaron for support. It appears the men found the ent
rance to the passage and followed us, but they do not know this area as Aaron does, and soon they lose track of us.
In this guarded and stealthy manner—and in complete silence—Aaron brings us to a house huddled with a group of others in a row along a gravelly street. After ensuring there are no scoping eyes on us, he helps me with a sturdy arm around my waist to hobble up the three steps to a long porch. He knocks—three quick raps and two slow ones, constantly checking over his shoulder. A long moment of silence, the door cracks an inch, and a girl pokes out her head.
“Uncle Aaron!” she whispers, pulling the door wide. She quickly gestures us inside, throwing herself into his embrace.
“Hello, Sophia.”
He still supports me, but he takes a moment to return her hug with his free arm. She locks the door and steps back a pace. Her eyes widen in astonishment.
“What happen to your face?”
“It’s a long story.” Aaron shakes his head. “Where’s Uncle Michael?”
“In the kitchen. He said we aren’t allowed outside anymore. Is it true?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Then you aren’t going to be happy with Thomas.”
Aaron frowns. “Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s back. But boy is he in trouble.”
Aaron merely sighs with a shake of his head. Sophia’s mouth tips down in the corners as her gaze washes over me. She’s no more than fourteen years old, and every bit of her youthful curiosity suddenly rises to the forefront.
“Is this Kate?” she whispers, her slender fingers shielding her mouth as she says it. As if perhaps it is a dangerous secret, my name.
“Yes,” Aaron nods.
“Aaron?” A woman’s voice. She enters the room and comes up behind Sophia, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. The moment Aaron sees her, his eyes fill will tears. He covers his face.
“What happened, Aaron? Your face!”