Extinction_Planet Urth

by Jennifer Martucci

  “I can’t believe you’d even say that. You can’t blame yourself. No one saw this coming. No one.” June slashes the air horizontally with her hand to punctuate her point. Too bad she can’t change my mind. I blame myself. For every death. For all of it. I blame myself.

  “I should have. As the leader, I should have.” I shrug, my gesture as dejected as my tone. “And I’m sorry that I hate that you were surrounded by Urthmen near Vox. I’m sorry that I hate that you were anywhere near them.” I scowl at their corpses. They’re dead and no longer a threat. Still they are an offense to my species. “Did you follow them from Tyr? I didn’t see you. Didn’t see anyone, for that matter. Even the Urthmen couldn’t keep up. How did you do it? How did you find this place?”

  “I did follow them. It wasn’t easy. I had to keep the headlights off. Even with the moon full, I could barely make out shapes. But I managed,” she says offhandedly. “I stashed the bike that way.” She turns and points behind her. “And came on foot. The bonfire gave me enough light for a clear shot.”

  Once again, my hand moves to my forehead. I cradle it with my palm. “June.” Her name comes out as more of a sigh. I want to say more, but decide to leave it alone. To be grateful that she’s okay. And that she saved me.

  When I raise my head, June looks at me expectantly. “We have to warn everyone,” I say.

  “There is no one to warn, Avery,” June says somberly. “They weren't lying about our cities.” Tears fill her eyes. “I was headed into Galway to warn them and have them radio to Kildare. But when I got to the city limits, Urthmen guards were leaving. They weren’t like the royal guards either. They were in military clothes and heavily armed. Smoke rose up higher than the walls around Kildare.” June’s voice breaks and tears stream from the corner of her eyes to her chin. “They’re gone. Everyone in Kildare, Cassowary and Galway. Gone.”

  “D-did you see them die?” I ask the question with my eyes squeezed shut. I do not want to know the answer but need to hear it. Whatever it may be. “Oliver? Lark? Riley? Any of our friends?”

  “I saw many of our friends fall. Not Oliver and Lark. Not. Riley. But I watched as many were struck down,” June replies.

  Sounds of the forest echo hollowly as if I’m hearing them from underwater. The news I’ve just heard crashes against every bit of resolve I possess with the force of a tidal wave. I want to collapse. To fall to the ground, tuck my knees to my chest and cry. But I can’t. My children may still live. They may still be out in the world alive. And as long as there’s a chance that their hearts still beat, I will never stop looking for them. I will never give up. So I roll my shoulders back and say, “We need to find William, John, Sully, Riley, Oliver and Lark. We need to find all of our friends. And Prince Garan. If Prince Garan is alive.”

  “I doubt he is,” June says. “But if he’s alive, wouldn’t that mean he’s involved? I mean, there’s no way he’d be allowed to live otherwise.”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t believe he was involved,” I reply. “He couldn’t have been.” My mind works around the long list of supposed friends who’ve betrayed me. Mim’s name is at the top of that list, urging me to not rule anyone else out. But it doesn’t feel like the Prince would betray the humans. Or his father either.

  “How can you be so sure? This was clearly planned for a long time. Uprisings don’t happen overnight.” June begins pacing. “It doesn’t add up. It doesn’t make sense that all of this happened right under the King and the Prince’s noses. That both of them were that oblivious.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. How could prince Garan, who’s as smart as anyone I know, not have heard anything about it or seen it unfolding. Or I don’t know...sensed it?” I shake my head. I feel like a hypocrite even saying those words aloud. The same could be said of me. Why didn’t I hear anything? Why didn’t I see it start to unfold? Why didn’t I sense what was happening? I would imagine that the planned slaughter of my people would crackle through the air with the energy of the atmosphere before a lightning storm. But it didn’t. I didn’t feel a thing, other than an intense dislike of Cadogan. “It doesn’t make sense,” I continue. “Prince Garan didn’t like Cadogan. In the past, he’s always gotten a good read on people and I could tell he didn’t like Cadogan. But he didn’t seem suspicious of him. Just annoyed by him.” I turn and look at my sister, searching her face for answers I know she doesn’t have.

  “Maybe he led you to believe he was annoyed by Cadogan because he knows you’re spot-on when it comes to reading people. Maybe he was in on it from the beginning and that's how his father didn't know,” June says. One arm is folded across her midsection while the elbow of the other is balanced on it. Her hand is fisted and beneath her chin as she continues to pace, trying to place the sequence of events that led to this.

  “No way.” I shake my head. “Prince Garan is our friend.” As ridiculous as it seems to be so adamant about the loyalty of an Urthman after all that’s happened, I still feel confident that I’m not wrong about Prince Garan.

  “So was Mim,” June counters flatly. Her words are a blow to my gut. True. I did view Mim as a friend. But not remotely of the same caliber as Prince Garan.

  “No,” I reply immediately. “Mim was a bartender and restaurant owner with whom we were friendly. I thought he was a friend, but never compared him to Prince Garan. The Prince was like family. I know him. I’ve spent years forming the friendship we have with him. I saw him all the time. He can’t be involved.” Even to my own ears it sounds as if I’m trying to rationalize Mim’s betrayal. Whereas Mim would be capable of such an atrocious act because he was more of an acquaintance, Prince Garan would never be because he was like family. If today has taught me anything it should be that anyone is capable of anything. Loyalty doesn’t exist. But as I try to convince myself of that dark, bleak and possibly true thought, it just doesn’t ring true for the Prince.

  “Then how else could this have happened?” June asks. “If Prince Garan didn’t help overthrow his father, how else did this happen?”

  “Cadogan. It was clearly Cadogan. He and his father had to have been at this for a long time, rallying all of the Urthmen and getting them onboard little by little.” In my mind’s eye I see Cadogan’s smarmy expression. The smug look he wore at all times as he bowed and seemed to dote on seeing to the Prince’s every need. All of his words were right, but they never matched his face. He was never sincere. Insincere people always think they blend seamlessly. Maybe to those who aren’t paying attention they do. But not to me. They can’t hide in plain sight around me. I saw Cadogan for what he was: sneaky. I just regret not saying something. It would’ve been a tough subject to broach with the royal family. But it may have saved lives.

  “How do you know it was Cadogan for sure?” June asks.

  “He called the orders at Cassowary. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw his slimy smile when I opened the box with King Garan’s head inside. And I also heard Mim call Cadogan’s father ‘King Cadogan’. Who else would it be?” Recalling my final conversation with Mim before I ended his traitorous life causes the sick pit in my stomach to deepen.

  June’s feet halt. Her pacing stops. She stares at the ground for a moment. When she looks up at me, she says, “You’re right. Prince Garan isn't behind this. He couldn’t be.” She shakes her head, dispelling the idea he could turn on us. “But since he wasn’t involved, he must be dead.” Her voice trails off, the word “dead” whispered. Her green eyes shine with unshed emotion.

  The thought of Prince Garan being killed as his father was—or in any way for that matter—evokes a clenching in my chest. “We don’t know for sure that he’s dead,” I say. I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more, June or myself. Neither my tone nor my words inspire much confidence. Still, I have to hope. I have to believe he’s survived his father.

  A stretch of silence spans between us for several beats. Moments pass and June asks, “Where do we go now? What do we do?”

 
My brow dips and my eyes narrow as I think. The only possible answer also happens to be the riskiest one. The only possible place Sully and the children and Garan could be is the one place any surviving humans should avoid. Especially me. There is a bull’s eye on my back. I was marked for death long before the massacre at Vox. But if I ever want to see my family alive again and have a chance at rescuing them, I have to go. I am willing to risk my life. To surrender my life. For them. Looking at June, I say, “We have to head to the new capital. We have to head to Elian.”

  “What?” June breathes, shock etching her features.

  “I need to find Sully and the kids and Garan. If they’re alive, that’s where they are.”

  June’s expression is a knowing one. She knows the love I feel for my children. She knows that the moment they entered this world, my life forever changed. I found meaning. I found purpose. I felt love unlike any I’d ever dreamed possible. I was gifted with the privilege of being their mother. I will not rest until I find them. My heart will not beat the same in their absence.

  Gnawing her lower lip as she thinks, June lifts her chin. Her emerald eyes meet mine. “We can't take the roads leading there. The whole Urthmen army is traveling back. It’ll be blocked.”

  “We need to figure something out. We need a plan.” The Urthmen army clogging the roadway blocks entrance to the city. Judging from what I’ve witnessed, the new self-proclaimed king will likely have security that exceeds that of the late King Garan. King Garan was far more accessible. He was a King of his people. They didn’t fear him as much as they respected him. Or so I thought. “But we can’t stay here. I don’t want to be anywhere near this scum.” I nod toward Ed, Tom and Earl.

  “Yeah, me neither. And the smell!” June pinches her nose. “What is that?”

  “I don’t know for sure what it is. All of the individual smells combined equal whatever they were,” I reply.

  “Vile people. That’s what they were. They were vile people,” June says.

  We both glare at their bodies for a long moment. Between the fetid stench and the sight of the wretched men, my skin feels as if innumerable insect feelers scuttle across it. “We need to get out of here,” I say with a shiver.

  “I have an idea of where we should go for now to figure our next move. A quiet place that’s safe,” June offers after a brief pause.

  “Where?” I’m out of ideas and curious what she has come up with.

  “We need to head west to Peter’s house,” she says then watches me, waiting for my response. Peter left Cassowary years ago. He wanted to live with neither humans nor Urthmen. He simply wanted solitude. The atrocities of war weighed heavily on him. Peter craved a simple life. Not that which was offered by the newly-created cities and villages. He yearned for the time before all of the new creations deemed “conveniences” by humans and Urthmen minus the hatred and battle. He met a woman, fell in love and left. I never questioned his decision. In fact, in some ways, I envied it. I envied his bravery. I envied the simple life he was living. And I missed him. I missed his company. He moved west of the cities to a heavily wooded area arguably in the middle of nowhere, but I made a point of visiting him often, at least once a month. I’d love to see him. And June is right. It would be the safest and best place to think. He is in a location where the Urthmen would never look. Without suspicion of a large population of humans to find and subsequently kill, they wouldn’t have a reason to look either.

  “The Urthmen wouldn't be headed that way. They have no business out by Peter,” I think aloud. That area is so sparsely populated most forget it even exists. “But I don't want to bring him into this. He has a new baby, a wife and a happy, peaceful life.” He was the smartest among us to leave.

  “Avery, no one can be kept out of this. What Cadogan has done affects everyone. Peter would never approve of it and he deserves to know. He needs to protect his family just as much as a human family would need to.” She shrugs. “Besides, we don’t have anywhere else to go. Peter is family. He needs to know and he will help us. I’m sure of it.”

  I consider her words. She’s right, of course. And inasmuch as I want to keep Peter safe, the bottom line is he isn’t. No one who’s ever befriended me is, and any humans that live have been marked for death. I could also use his counsel.

  “Okay,” I agree. “You’re right. Peter’s place is safest and he needs to be warned. We shouldn’t wait though. We should go now while it's still dark.” Travel by day will be next to impossible. We’re being hunted once again. Night is our only option to move with any degree of safety. Darkness will conceal us.

  “Okay. The bike is this way.” June turns, leading the way to the edge of the clearing where her bike rests against a tree. “I’ll show you to where theirs were left.” She climbs on and I follow suit, wrapping my arms around her waist as she starts the motorcycle. The engine snarls to life. June steers us around the clearing, over bramble and brush, until we reach the spot where I arrived with Ed. I climb off of June’s bike and onto the closest one. Seated, I lean back, then slam my foot down on the pedal. There is a brief ripping noise and the bike rocks from the force of my thrust. The engine whines as it idles. The loud whine of the engine tears through the woodland. “Follow me!” June shouts over the buzz.

  “Okay!” I reply. I twist the throttle and the bike snarls, rumbling like an angry beast beneath me. I nudge the gear shift with my left foot and release the clutch in tiny increments. The gear catches and the bike lurches forward. It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden a motorcycle. Thankfully it comes back to me quickly.

  Following June, I navigate the bumpy pathway to the street. We head west, nothing but the open road and the navy, moonlit sky before us. Minutes turn to hours. The roar of the engine fills my head. And for a brief moment, on the stretch of deserted road, there isn’t room in my mind for anything other than what’s before me. I concentrate on the sound of the bike and how it makes me feel, imagining I’m one with the powerful machine as I take deep turns and swerve sharply following the roadway. A mere flick of my wrist makes it rise up on its back wheel before darting off. Racing. Heart-pounding, for a fleeting second, I’m invincible. Filled with pure power. And hope.

  Knowing I’ll soon have to face my worst fear, a possible reality that will kill me in a way far worse than killing my mortal instrument, I try to escape it. I shift down a gear, testing the engine further and feeling cool wind drill through my body and hoping it will purge me of the pain. The guilt. The terror and dread. But the faster I speed, the faster the potentially grim, tortured reality pursues me. I realize I can’t outrun it. I can’t dull the razor-sharpness of thought. The finely-honed edge of fear.

  June rides ahead of me, expertly handling her motorcycle and navigating winding and at times partially-paved roads. My fuel gauge reads that it’s nearly empty and I fear I won’t make it to Peter’s. If June is in the same predicament, she and I may find ourselves stranded. Fortunately, however, I begin to notice landmarks I recognize. And when we finally turn off onto a street, deserted long ago, I know we’ve made it. We’re at Peter’s home.

  His house sits alone in the woods on a street where the few other houses there are dilapidated. His does not sag in disrepair as the others do, though. His is well-maintained after being essentially rebuilt. Sully and Oliver helped with the renovation. The single-story house with large, over hanging eaves and a long, low roofline is an L-shaped structure that is neat and tidy in appearance. The windows are dark. Seeing them makes me feel all the more guilty. Still, we park the bikes close to his house and make our way to the front door. Reaching out a hand that trembles with a full range of emotions, I knock on his front door.

  “This is awful,” I whisper to June. “I feel so guilty! He’s got the new baby and here we are to deliver the news in the middle of the night!”

  Before June can reply, the thud of footsteps approaching swiftly echoes from the other side of the door. A dark eye peers out from the peephole carved in the door.
Within seconds, the door swings open and Peter is framed by the doorway, clutching a sword. As soon as he realizes who we are, the sword is lowered. “Avery! June!” Happiness fills his tone but his smile capsizes the moment it registers that we’re covered in blood and on his doorstep before sunrise. “Are you alright?” He steps toward us, leaning the sword against the house and embracing us simultaneously. He hugs us tightly. He smells of new baby. Of clean clothes and sleep. He smells like peace. And I’m here to destroy that. My heart sink like a stone. “What happened?” he asks.

  “King Garan is dead,” I say.

  Peter releases us so that he can see our faces. “What?” he breathes the word, horror and sadness and panic lacing the single syllable.

  “His head was offered as a present to me at tonight’s celebration,” I say. In my mind’s eye I see it. I see it again. I see what was once the face of a kind, benevolent ruler twisted and contorted into an expression of abject fear and horror.

  “No,” Peter says. He takes his head in both hands and collects himself for a moment. “Come in. Come inside.” He ushers us over the threshold. “Adele and the baby are sleeping,” he says as he closes the door behind us. Inside, the atmosphere is warm and inviting, a far cry from the world beyond its walls. It smells of food and sweetness. Of new baby and hope. Of life. “But please sit.” He gestures to a piece of furniture fashioned of wood and hay and fabric. June and I sit and he positions himself across from us in a chair. “Now tell me what happened.”

  We tell him everything that happened from start to finish, careful to use quiet voices. He listens, shocked, placing his head into his hands multiple times. We do not leave out a single detail. When we’ve finished, Peter is left without words.

  After several beats pass, he looks directly in my eyes and says, “I-I can’t believe this has happened. After all you’ve fought for. After how far we’ve come. To have it all...end.” His voice is haunted and his posture is dejected. I know exactly how he feels. I feel as he feels. Only my children and my husband are not with me. I don’t have that piece of mind. “It’s...I’m struggling with it.”