I look at the front wall and can see two guards holding their rifles at their hips, chattering quietly with each other. If I wanted to, I could listen to what they were saying, but I’ve done it before, and unless I want to hear how much liquor one could hold or how many women another has had, I’ll keep my ears focused on where it matters.
I look up at the red brick building to my right. It’s a three-story structure that used to have a café on the first floor. The sign has faded and boards have been nailed into the outside wall below it with writing that says: Headquarters. The first floor is usually reserved for Paxton to meet with people like Gabe or the food and ration committee, or the medical staff, but the second floor is where Paxton and the other four elders meet, and that’s where I want to be. The third floor is where Paxton sleeps, and I don’t want to be there. According to Gabe, Paxton doesn’t have a bodyguard, so I shouldn’t be running into anything unexpected. But he did warn me that the town leader is notorious for his insomnia and often spends much of his nights on the second floor, going over meeting notes or plans that may have been discussed.
All it will take for me to know if he’s there is a slight tilt of my head and my ears will be able to tell me. I have no idea why I gained this ability. I know when it happened, and it saved my life, but ever since then I’ve been able to turn it on and off as I need it. I haven’t told a soul about it, and I don’t plan to. That’s why I was so startled when Paxton had asked me about special abilities. I just knew he had me figured out, but he hasn’t asked me about it since. Of course, I don’t exactly make a habit of hanging around Paxton. Mostly I just try to avoid him whenever I can. He seems nice enough now, but I’m not going to take any chances. Then again, I’m crouched outside Headquarters ready to break into the floor just below him. I suppose my skills of avoiding him will be truly tested in a few minutes. I feel nervous, but confident. There is no reason I should get caught. I’ve got an advantage over anyone that might try to catch me. I suppose that the nervousness that creeps into me comes from knowing that I can’t be completely sure I won’t get caught.
I turn my head toward the second story of the headquarters building and try to focus my hearing. The sound of a few hundred or more people breathing heavily, snoring loudly, and some of them arguing in bed, comes into my head all at once, but the key is to tune all that out. The voices, the breaths, all fade away as I focus on the second floor. If Paxton is awake, I will hear movement, his breathing, the turning of pages, the creak of a chair.
My eyebrows crease when I hear a short squeak and the sound of tiny nails scratching against a wall. My lips curl up into a smile as I pull my head away and turn to look at Headquarters. The second floor is quiet as a mouse.
I glance to my left toward the wall and see the guards still chatting away. To my right, the street is clear. No patrols yet. This is going to be too easy. I stand with my back still hunched over as though I’m ducking for cover from bullets. It feels stupid since there isn’t anyone around—almost like I’m pretending to run from bad guys. Within three seconds I’m standing in front of the Headquarters door. The faded words above read The Crestwood Café, and I suddenly remember that most cafés answered each new customer with the sound of a happy bell. Though I’m sure the cute welcoming jingle used to put a smile on someone’s face, it’s a quick way for me to get caught.
I bite my lower lip and look from side-to-side. Would anyone actually hear it? At midnight, most people in Crestwood would have been asleep for at least a couple of hours. Of course, who knows how deeply Paxton sleeps when he’s actually out.
I decide against going through the front door and make my way to the left of the building. There is a narrow alley that leads to the next street over, but it’s the door next to the dumpster that catches my attention. I walk swiftly but softly toward it and feel the doorknob. It is locked, but I had expected as much. I reach for my back pocket and pull out a tiny flathead screwdriver—the kind people used to have for repairing glasses. I would have never thought about carrying one of these things around before I had been on the road for a few months. A guy named Jerome taught me its wonderful uses and I’ve always made sure to keep one on me. Luckily, Gabe hadn’t seen it as a threat when they took my knife and gun away. I remember half-heartedly smiling at him and saying that if I ever live to be forty, I might need reading glasses.
I insert the screwdriver into the lock and wiggle it softly until the blade is between the tumblers. With a gentle push and a soft twist, the knob turns as easily as if Paxton had made me a copy of the key. Before opening the door all the way, I hold my breath for a moment, listening for movement ahead of me. The worst part of sneaking around is being caught by surprise. I would rather know my doom was ahead of me than be blindsided by it. There is nothing but silence ahead. Quietly, I pull the screwdriver from the doorknob and slip it back into my pocket.
I pull the door open all the way, relieved there is no squeak from the hinges. I hold onto the side of it until it closes silently behind me. I let out a sigh of relief and turn to find myself in the café’s old kitchen, though it isn’t much of a kitchen anymore. Sinks sit dirty and bare, and refrigerators stand open and unplugged. Dirt and a sticky slime is pasted against the walls. A roach narrowly escapes the destructive power of my boot as I take a step forward.
This place isn’t quite up to code, I think to myself. Of course, the kitchen has probably never been used by Paxton or anyone else here for that matter. I just hope it isn’t completely closed off to the main seating area where I will gain access to the stairs. I walk to the end of the kitchen and stand in front of a set of double doors that are meant to swing in or out. I take a deep breath and push against the right one softly but it doesn’t move. I try the left one, same story. Next, I try to slip my fingers into the small crack between the doors, and once I finally get a good hold on the left one, I pull it toward me. I’m relieved to see that only a table has been pushed against the doors, and I will be able to sneak past it. I’m not taking my chances by crawling on top of it, so I hold the door open with my left foot and crouch to my knees. There is plenty of room for me to crawl underneath and to the other side, so I start to move slowly and I ease the door shut against the table.
The aged carpet beneath my palms and knees leave a grimy residue on my hands. The feeling makes my lip curl into snarl. When I get out from under the table, I wipe my fingers on my pants and scan the room as best as I can. The only light I have to work with comes from the moon, so all I can see are a few tables set up with three rows of chairs nearest the entrance. Closer to me, there is a single chair, probably where Paxton sits to address the committees.
My eyes go to the top of the front door and I feel relieved that I chose to go through the back. A single bell hangs over it, announcing to anyone in the building that a customer has arrived.
The stairs are to my left, and when I get to the bottom, I look up. The dark shadows loom over me as a warning for me to stay where I am and not to go snooping, but I ignore them and take each step with caution. The first stair gives off a short groan as it settles under my weight, but it’s the fourth step that makes my heart stop for a beat. It creaks loudly and slowly, and I know if I recoil, it will only sound louder. My teeth mash together as I look up, but I don’t hear any movement ahead. As long as Paxton remains sound asleep, I will be safe. I lift my foot; the step lets off a short squeak, but it’s not nearly as loud as before. The rest of the steps are silent.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I can see that the layout is much like the diner below, but has substantially more clutter. It’s an open room without walls in the middle or any doors but for a small bathroom in the back corner. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books line the spaces between the windows. There is a round, wooden table with five chairs around it, probably where the elders meet together. To the right of the table is the large desk that Gabe told me about. Jackpot.
I wait by the stairs for a minute and look up, listening for
any sound or movement, but there’s nothing. I don’t really like nothing because that means there isn’t heavy breathing or snoring. But I suppose right now, nothing is better than something. As I walk slowly toward the desk, I keep my head up, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on any noise from above. To the left…to the right…silence, so I continue to walk forward. Finally, when I’m only a foot or so away from the desk, I can hear the faintest sound of breathing. In and out, in and out. I must be standing directly below Paxton’s bed.
I go around to the other side of the desk and slowly pull out the middle drawer. Gabe said that Lillian had mentioned putting in a request with someone called Shadowface. I shake my head at the thought. Someone that calls himself Shadowface couldn’t have had too many friends growing up. I smile at my own thoughts, but can’t help but wonder why someone would need to disguise himself…or herself. I haven’t been a part of this town for very long, but having secret dealings with someone that keeps his own identity a secret seems…shady. Part of me doesn’t care what these people do so long as I have a roof over my head, and food in my stomach. I’ve long given up on caring about the corruption of leaders and people that crave power. It seems to always lead to death.
I catch myself staring at the open drawer, forgetting to look through its contents. This happens sometimes. My thoughts take over my mind and I forget where I am. It can happen to me anywhere, at any time. I think about the last group I was with before I lost them. Two had been bitten. Another was eaten completely. And I was separated from the last one in our group. I bite my lip and shake my head sharply.
How can I be so stupid? I can’t keep going into a daze like this. Those people are gone. I’ve got walls now. The greyskins are a memory. Now I can spend the rest of my days in Crestwood in peace.
I stare down at the desk and my heart beats like a drum in my chest. What am I doing? Why am I risking my future in Crestwood just so I can work as a soldier? Why do I even want to be a soldier? Shouldn’t I just be happy watching after those snot-nosed kids where I’ll be safe? What do I care if Gabe feels uneasy about some loser that calls himself Shadowface? It means nothing to me.
But I’m here now. The desk is right in front of me. I push aside papers and pens, looking for the journal Gabe told me about. I reach for the drawer to the left when my eyes see the drawer on the far right. It has a lock. I reach for my small screwdriver and insert it. I’ve always found that doors tend to have easier locks to pick than safes and drawers because of the size difference, but the drawer pops open after a few attempts.
I feel my eyes widen when I see a pistol lying on top of a stack of papers. I let my fingers clasp around the metal handle and admire the silver glint in the moonlight. I pull the magazine from the bottom and find it fully loaded. I shouldn’t take it. I know I shouldn’t, but my instincts force me to tuck it safely under my belt at my back. I feel like I’m too loud as I shuffle through the papers. It’s too dark to really see what all of them are, but I freeze when I see a small, leather-bound book at the bottom. I drop the papers to the floor and grab it. This must be the journal. It has to be. I flip open the pages, but there is no way I can read it here.
I stand and walk slowly to the window where the moon shines the brightest. I turn page after page. The print is tiny and the book is thick, but I know this has to be what Gabe was talking about.
The creak of springs in a mattress snaps my head to attention and I look up at the ceiling. Paxton is awake. The sound of feet hitting the floor above me starts a tempo in my heart that couldn’t be healthy. I try to keep my breathing slow, but it feels impossible. His feet are moving now toward the door…the stairs.
I tiptoe to the stairs as the third floor door opens. Each step down I take is a potential alarm system to Paxton. Which board creaked when I came up? My foot lands on the fourth one from the bottom floor and it seems to let out a much louder sound than the first time.
Paxton is near the second floor.
“Is someone there?” he calls out. He flips a switch in the stairwell and the light flickers on, blinding me for a moment.
I decide to make a run for it, skipping the last steps completely, jumping onto the landing at the bottom.
“Hey!” Paxton yells out, probably following closely behind. I run through the middle of the café and slide under the table. I crawl as quickly as I can and push the swinging door open. I look behind me as I run into the kitchen and catch a short glimpse of Paxton following. I run through the back door and scan both directions of the alley.
The dumpster.
I open the top lid and the smell of trash engulfs me. I try to hold my breath as I climb to the top and slide in, allowing the lid to fall slowly over me. It’s not even seconds before I hear the back door crashing open. All Paxton has to do is open the lid to the dumpster and I’m done for.
Was this a bad idea? Wouldn’t this be the first place he looked? I suppose not since I hear him shuffling up and down the alley before finally cursing and running back into the kitchen, probably to get a radio and a gun.
I wait a moment before daring to open the lid. I know I only have a minute or so before he alerts the guards to be on the lookout. That gives me little time to run back to my apartment building.
I’m sure he didn’t see who I was. At least, I hope he didn’t. I close my eyes and focus my hearing toward the top of the building. The echoes on the walls indicate he’s running up the stairs. This is my chance.
I hop out of the dumpster and make my way to Main Street. I stay crouched as I run to the roundabout, and when I get there, I watch the guards on the wall to make sure they aren’t looking in my direction. Satisfied, I take a deep breath and sprint for my apartment building and don’t stop until I reach my home.
I’m almost wheezing by the time I close my apartment door and lock it behind me—as if doing so will keep me safe. I hurry to the window on the other side of the room and stare out at the guards on the wall. They are talking on their radios now.
“I don’t know who it was,” the voice of Paxton says over the radio. “I want you to do a sweep of the entire town.”
“Can you give a description?” one of the guards asks, but he is met with silence.
I smile, thinking Paxton probably only saw a shadow of me, never getting a good enough look to even tell that I am a woman.
“I know it was a woman, but I didn’t see her face,” Paxton says.
So much for that thought. But it doesn’t matter. There are plenty of women here in Crestwood. Sure, I might be one of the first people he questions because I’m newer, but that doesn’t mean he’ll find his precious journal.
I hold the book in my hands and sigh, hoping that I’ll find out something good enough for Gabe. But more than that I hope I don’t find anything too damning. I would like to stay here, after all. It would be a shame to find out Paxton was planning to kill everyone in Crestwood or something. Then I would feel obligated to leave.
My hand feels for the slick, grey metal of the pistol at my back and I pull it out in front of me. Nothing in this world, not the safety of walls, not the promise of protection, not the roof over my head, nor the food in my stomach, can give me peace of mind like a loaded gun in my grip.
Chapter 6 - Remi
Spending the entire next morning holed up in my dirty apartment going through Paxton’s journal feels like I’m in school again. I hate it.
The entries date back to the first meeting of the elders, and for the first hundred pages it makes no mention of any Shadowface. But then, things start to change. Dating back to just under a year ago, Paxton writes about a meeting where the elders talked about a supplier. He didn’t make mention of any name until a few pages later when an elder named Kenneth suggests requesting a truck from Shadowface. As I turn through the pages I see this more and more. Everything ranging from food, to weapons, to clothing. There seems to be no mention of him unless the elders want or need something. I flip through every page until I reach the most recent
entry.
Shadowface, I think to myself. He’s just a supplier. I stick out my lower lip and nod, happy that I didn’t find out that Paxton is some axe murderer with a twisted plan to turn all his citizens into greyskins. I slip the journal under my mattress and I see the silver glint of the pistol I stole last night. I hesitate for a moment, wanting nothing more than to keep it by my side but I know I can’t. First, there’s the rule that no ordinary citizen is allowed to be armed. Second, it’s a nice pistol. It’s not the kind you just steal and show off to all your friends. It’s the kind an owner would recognize which is why it was doubly stupid for me to take it in the first place. I panicked last night. I saw it, so I took it—just like they took my gun.
My ears perk up at the sound of the building’s front door crashing open. “We’ll start at the top floor,” comes the voice of Gabe.
I sit up straight in the bed as the pounding of footsteps rushes up to the top floor. The pit in my stomach is growing and I know they will come barging in here, looking for the journal. But it’s Gabe, right? He wouldn’t set me up like this. Would he?
I look down at the mattress and wonder if I should find a better spot to hide the gun and the journal. What if they find it on me? They’ll kick me out. I shake my head. The old rules of law don’t apply in this situation. For this offense, the rules will be different. I don’t know what kind of man Paxton is. For all I know he could have me executed for something like this. I curse and smash my hand against the mattress as the footsteps come closer to my door.
The Starborn Ascension: Books 1, 2, and 3 (The Starborn Saga) Page 6