by A. Q. Owen
There had to be another way in.
I looked down into a shallow valley that wound its way into the heart of town. A narrow creek flowed through the ravine and under the high fence. I was certain the zealots had put some kind of blockade in the water, but for the time being it seemed like going in through the little river might be the best option.
I led Billy down the hill through a series of thick oaks, pines, and poplars until we reached the bank next to the creek. Looking up to the top of the fence about five hundred yards away, I could see a set of guards loitering on a tower positioned over the waterway.
The zealots had taken precautions, but I wondered to what lengths they’d gone to keep people from coming in by way of the creek.
Only one way to find out.
I tied Billy to a dead tree branch and hustled down the riverbank to the water. If I didn’t make it back, Billy could easily break the branch and make his way back to the mountaintop or wherever he wanted to go. Why would I care? I’d be dead—or at best, a slave.
I dipped a finger into the water and was relieved to find it wasn’t too cold. Cool but not freezing. In a few months, going into the city by way of the creek would be a death sentence. Hypothermia would kill anyone foolish enough to try it.
I stepped into the water and started trudging downstream, keeping my eyes on the flickering torchlight atop the guard tower. My bag was waterproof, so the contents inside would be fine. Keeping it securely strapped to my back was another matter altogether. I didn’t know how it would react once I went under. Would it keep me afloat? Or would I be able to take it deep enough with me to go unseen by the guards?
I stopped for a second and unzipped one zipper, squeezed as much of the remaining air out of the bag as I could, and then sealed it again.
My parents had been deliberate when it came to their preparations. Waterproof backpacks were one of the first things they bought when they began getting ready for the collapse.
I slipped the pack on my back again and tightened the straps to keep it snug, then proceeded downstream once more.
When I was about two hundred yards away, I started moving out toward the middle of the creek. The cool water went up past my knees, then my thighs, and then my waist. At the deepest point it only came up to my shoulders, but that was good enough, as long as it didn’t get shallow close to the fence. It would be hard enough to stay concealed.
I kept moving and narrowed the gap to only a hundred yards between me and the fence. The going was slow and methodical. More than once, my boots got caught on some of the jagged rocks jutting up from the bottom of the creek bed. I scraped my leg at one point but kept moving. It would take more than a little scratch to push me off course.
I paddled with my hands to move faster, keeping them under the surface so I didn’t make a sound. My chin skimmed the water, and I prepared to go under. At fifty yards away, I forced my body completely beneath the surface except for my nose and eyes, which I kept above water by tilting my head back at an extremely uncomfortable angle.
I made sure to keep my movement silent as I approached the fence. I could smell the smoke from campfires and torches wafting through the air, mingling with the smell of creek water. I was glad it flowed into the city because there was no telling how polluted it was on the other side. I’d hate to try to sneak in from that direction.
With twenty-five yards to go, I ducked my head under and stroked as hard as I could while maintaining stealth. The water was murky, but I could see out of it enough to see the orange lights of the torches above. I pressed my body down to the bottom to make sure my pack didn’t break the surface.
The swim seemed like it took an hour, but in reality it was only about thirty seconds. I felt my hand hit something in the water, and I stopped. I pulled myself up to the surface and took a deep breath. I could hold my breath for nearly ninety seconds when I was sitting still, but activity decreased that capacity exponentially. Above me, the guard tower loomed over the shore to my right.
I ducked back underwater and felt around on the fence. I’d been correct in assuming it went below the creek surface, but how deep I didn’t know. Luckily, I reached a point near the bottom where I felt the fencing end. The gap wasn’t huge, only a few feet tall and slightly wider. It wasn’t optimal, but it would have to do. I went back up for air one more time, took several quick breaths and one long one, and then dove back down to the hole.
I scraped my chest on the creek bed as I pulled my way through the narrow gap. I was almost on the other side when I felt something tugging me back. I turned around to try to see what had grabbed me, but it was too dark and the water too dirty for me to tell.
I jerked my torso one direction and then the next to get loose, but whatever had a hold of me wasn’t letting go. I kicked my legs wildly as desperation swelled in my mind. My lungs started aching for air.
I didn’t want to drown. I couldn’t go out this way. My parents. I thought of my parents. They needed me. I couldn’t die now.
I reached my hand back and felt something metallic snagged on my backpack. A jagged piece of fencing had stuck into one of the hooks on the side of my bag. I had to do it by feel, but after only a few seconds I managed to loosen the hook and swim up to the surface.
It was all I could do to keep from bursting through into the evening air and drawing in a big, gasping breath, but I fought the urge and surfaced as quietly as possible, staying next to the fence as I gulped air. I looked up at the guard tower and listened. They’d not seen me.
Relief flooded my body for a moment as I collected my thoughts and continued catching my breath. Up the bank to the right, an empty street ran along the creek and into downtown.
Next stop: Darius’s connection.
11
A sickening stench wafted through the air and filled my nostrils as I made my way down the street toward Diggs’s house. I wondered what kind of name that could be but didn’t dwell too much on it. In this day and age, people went by all sorts of monikers. Social conventions went out the door with most of the cultural norms society had in place.
Somewhere in the night, a woman screamed. Shivers went up my spine, but I pressed on.
According to the map of the city Darius gave me, I was close to Diggs’s place.
As I made my way through the streets, I recalled a conversation with Darius from just a few days before.
I’d been curious about witches, wizards, and magic. I’d inquired about the power used by those with wicked intentions and where it came from.
He’d told me about the power he and others like him used to fight evil, saying it was a power the creator had built into the universe, which any human could tap into as long as their belief was strong enough.
The answer to my second question had been the same.
“The witches and wizards who use this power for evil are tapping into the same thing as we are. The only thing that is different is their intent for it.”
“Why would the creator do something like that? What kind of god puts something like that into the system, knowing it could be used for evil?”
“God didn’t intend for evil to be done. That was the choice of man. Humans have free will, Eve,” he’d said. “We are free to choose whatever path we want. Our choices do not change the basic setup of the universe.”
I hadn’t liked his answer, but it made sense in a weird sort of way. Secretly, I hoped I didn’t run into anyone using the power for evil. I chalked up my experience at the inn to mere luck. If I were to encounter someone with more training, a higher level of knowledge, I’d be screwed.
I continued down the street, sticking to the shadows until I arrived at an intersection. The old, grimy street signs told me I was in the right place.
I hung a right and walked down an alley that curved downward at a slight grade. The old brick buildings were silent. A few of them had candles burning in the windows, but for the most part everything looked abandoned. The zealots had a strict curfew in place, which me
ant anyone out past a certain time could be arrested. And if you made too much noise or they even saw you awake past curfew, they could bust down your doors and take you in.
Once a person was arrested, they never came back. That was a fact I knew all too well.
I stayed close to the walls of the buildings I passed, hoping to stay out of plain sight. I’d memorized the address and knew I was getting close when I sensed the first signs of trouble. Footsteps.
I scanned the street for an alcove, a side street, anywhere I could find a place to hide. There was nothing. My only choice was to turn back and find sanctuary off the main road.
The second I turned around to head back, I heard a man’s voice call out.
“Hey!”
I froze for a second. The next moment, I wished I’d run like hell.
“What are you doing out here? Curfew was over an hour ago.”
I took a step up the hill to see what their response would be.
It wasn’t good.
“We got a runner!” the man said.
A whistle pierced the night. The sound of the men’s footsteps pounded the pavement.
I looked over my shoulder and saw two men in black uniforms running my way. Their shiny metal badges glittered in the pale streetlights.
“Stop right there!” the one on the right yelled.
Nope. Not a chance.
I took off at a full sprint, pumping my legs as hard as I could. Where was the speed I had before at the inn? That would come in handy right about now.
The cold feeling in my veins didn’t return.
I saw the corner of the main road just ahead. If I could make it there, I could lose them in the slew of old buildings and alleys I’d passed on the way in.
That hope vanished the second two more cops appeared around the corner. I skidded to a stop and looked back. The other two were closing fast. I clenched my fists and tried to conjure the feelings that brought about the ice from before, but nothing happened.
It looked like I was going to have to do things the hard way again. I reached back for my sword, but the second my fingers touched the hilt a bright flash of light seared the darkness. A circle of orange fire rose from the ground around me, creating a wall of flames between me and the cops.
“Run,” a voice whispered.
I looked around but didn’t see where the voice came from.
Suddenly, the wall broke to my right, giving me a clear lane to run into a narrow corridor between buildings. I hesitated for a second and looked through the fire. The cops on both sides were desperately trying to find a way around.
This was one of those scenarios where you could run through the mysterious wall of flame into a strange alley and find yourself staring down even bigger trouble. My mom used to call that jumping from the frying pan and into the fire. In this instance, I didn’t really have much choice. The risk of staying put was a certain fight to the death, and it would only be a matter of time before more police showed up.
I took off and ran through the opening. As I passed beyond it and into the side street, I looked back and saw the flames close once more, blocking the way behind me.
Up ahead, the narrow alleyway veered left. I followed the path until I reached a dead end where a ten-foot brick wall blocked the way.
I stopped and desperately looked around for another way out, but there was none.
“Oh come on,” I said, doing my best not to shout. “I thought I was supposed to go this way.”
Slowly, dejectedly, I stepped over to the wall. I let out an exasperated sigh and leaned my back toward the bricks. I was cornered, and as soon as the cops figured out which way I went, they’d bear down on me. I could take out the first wave or so. I was fairly certain of that. Eventually, though, they’d overwhelm me.
As I leaned back, I felt myself keep going where my shoulders should have hit the bricks. I waved my arms frantically for a moment as I lost my balance and fell backward.
“What the....?”
I landed on the ground and immediately scrambled to get back to my feet. Looking around, I was still in the alley, but something was different. The wall behind me was gone. I could still see in the direction I’d just come, but the wall had disappeared.
“It’s an illusion,” a voice said from the shadows.
“What?” I spun around, my sword in my hand in the blink of an eye.
At first, I didn’t see anyone. Just an empty corridor between buildings. Then a figure stepped from the darkness. He was wearing a gray cloak with the hood pulled over his head, concealing his face.
“The wall you saw, it’s an illusion. I put it there to keep them from following you. But it won’t fool them for long. We need to hurry.”
My eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Why are you helping me?”
He flipped back the hood and revealed his face. His short, dark blond hair was swept to the side, and he had a matching, closely trimmed beard.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said. “Darius told me you’d be coming although I didn’t anticipate waiting this long.”
I cocked my head to the side and frowned, confused.
“My name,” he said, “is Diggs.”
12
I followed Diggs through the maze of buildings until we reached a dilapidated brick structure that appeared to have been an old warehouse, maybe a sewing factory or printing press. We stopped at a thick metal door, and Diggs knocked on it five times in what sounded like a very specific rhythm. Someone pulled back the slide window in the center and looked out. A moment later, the door opened.
We strode through the entrance and into a dark corridor. The place smelled like mildew—damp and musty. Several doors lined the hallway. As we passed by, I noticed an occasional person standing just inside the rooms, watching as we continued by. There was no rhyme or reason. Some were men. Some were women. Nearly all of them had tattoos.
I noticed one creeping up over Diggs’s jacket collar. It was hard to tell exactly what the tattoo represented, but from the looks of it I thought it was a bird’s head.
We turned to the right and kept moving, guided by the light of candle sconces hung intermittently along the wall every twenty feet or so.
My guide didn’t seem like he was in the mood to talk. With so many peering eyes watching us down the hall, I kind of felt the same way. There were a trillion questions flying through my head, but I kept them to myself. I didn’t want to come across as an idiot. First impressions were a one-of-a-kind sort of thing.
We finally reached another metal door similar to the one on the building’s exterior, and Diggs stopped again. He rapped on the hard surface the same way he’d done before. A second later, the slide opened, and a pair of dark eyes peeped out, same as the last door.
“Who’s she?” asked a gruff voice from behind the door. The gravelly, cracked tone sounded like whoever asked the question had spent a lifetime smoking cigarettes.
“A friend.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“I have you, don’t I?” Diggs’s smooth answer sounded good to me. Apparently, it didn’t flatter the guy behind the door.
“You know the rules, Diggs. No outsiders. She could be a cop.” The guy was stubborn. I’ll give him that. It was just the kind of personality you wanted in a security guard.
“I’m no cop,” I volunteered. “I came from the mountains.”
The guy let out a short laugh. I heard others snickering in the hallway behind me. I turned and saw them staring at me with lifeless, vapid eyes like zombies—dead but strangely alive.
“We’ve heard that one before,” the guy behind the door said. “Where’d you find this one, Diggs? How do you know you can trust her?”
Diggs sighed. “Darius sent her.”
The corridor fell silent. Even the tough guy behind the barricade turned eerily quiet. It was hard to tell if they shut up because of fear or out of respect.
“Is that true?” he asked me. “Did Darius send you?”
“Where is he?” the guard asked. “Where’s Darius?”
“I…I’m not sure.” I didn’t know how to tell them I thought Darius was dead, let alone murdered by an army of vampires. “He said he would see me again. That’s all I know. And he told me to come here and find Diggs.”
“Satisfied, Hem?”
The guard, apparently named Hem, drew a deep breath and then exhaled. The door lock slid free, and a moment later the door creaked open.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” Hem said as we passed through.
He had dark skin and darker eyes with a splotch of freckles on his nose and cheeks. His broad forehead rose high to a short cropping of hair.
“Thank you,” Diggs said as we passed through.
“Thanks, Hem,” I added.
Hem said nothing and immediately shut the door, locking it in place again.
He resumed a seat on an old metal chair just inside another doorway to the left of the entrance as Diggs and I descended a flight of stairs into the bowels of the building.
“What is this place?” I asked when I thought we were out of Hem’s earshot.
“This is the home of the resistance,” Diggs said without turning around. He continued down the stairs, taking me deeper underground.
“They won’t come down here. Their police forces are strong, but they’re afraid of what they might find.”
The cryptic way he made the statement sent a splinter of fear through me.
“What exactly would they be afraid of?”
Diggs stopped in the middle of a flight of stairs and looked over his shoulder at me with a scowl.
“Look. I didn’t sign up for babysitting duty. Okay? I’m letting you in here as a favor to Darius. He’s a good friend. He taught me everything I know. Other than that, I don’t want to have anything to do with whatever brought you here.”