Flame

by Jim Heskett

  When he turned, a limping Tenney was standing there, nodding.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Yorick said.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The room outside the cells was a little brighter but still dark and dungeon-like. A long hallway with desks and shelves opposite the cell wall. Yorick looked left and right, trying to pick a direction. Either way ended in a closed door. If those doors were locked, no way to know.

  So, he picked right. He waved Rosia on, and Tenney followed. Tenney now limped, in addition to the grimace from the lingering wound of being shot in the stomach.

  And then, Yorick saw all of their possessions sitting on a table near the door. A flickering light bulb above cast light and dark in cycles every few seconds. Their backpacks sat open. The contents had spilled out. Battle suits, toiletries, clothes. Not their guns, though.

  But that didn’t matter for long. Against the far wall, a rack of rifles hung. Yorick lifted one, then he checked it, The LED display along the side lit up, and he inserted a magazine. The number jumped from 00 to 64. He walked two more rifles to his companions and distributed them. Rosia accepted her rifle and slid her backpack onto her shoulders. She checked the magazine, and then nodded at Yorick.

  He collected his belongings, but there was one foreign object there. A small baggie. Yorick opened it, and there they were. The control chips Olivia and Laertes had confiscated. The source of all of this grief and pain over the last week. Why his parents had done this to him. And, although Yorick would never know for sure, he suspected it was why Valentine had chased them across hundreds of kilometers.

  Yorick picked up the baggie and turned it over, spilling the chips on the hard floor. Tenney and Rosia watched but said nothing. Yorick raised his foot, just as he had to break off a chunk of the concrete slab a couple of minutes before.

  He met Rosia’s eyes, and she nodded at him.

  Yorick crushed the control chips under his foot. They gave a satisfying crunch as he brought his foot down again and again, a dozen times until they were so pulverized, no one would ever have known what they were.

  When he finished, panting, he looked up at his two companions. He didn’t know how to explain his reasoning behind such an impulsive action. “I had to do it.”

  “We understand,” Tenney said.

  “It’s okay,” Rosia said, “but we have to go, now.”

  Yorick swallowed and took a deep breath to steady himself. They raced toward the door. Yorick, heart pumping, barely slowed down long enough to push down the bar to open it. As soon as he’d crossed the threshold, light spilled from the other side, like a wave crashing through the slit in the door.

  And Yorick stumbled into a room, unlike anything he had ever seen. Banks of electronics everywhere. Blinking lights, beeping speakers, knobs and levers. Rows of vid screens. And, unlike the vid screens he’d seen at the plantación, these were massive. Bright like the sun.

  And his parents, sitting at adjacent desks, scribbling ink pens along paper forms.

  They both whirled in their chairs at the same time. Yorick met his mother’s eyes.

  Olivia snatched a pistol from her desk and raised it in their direction. Yorick had only a split second to react, but he raised his weapon and leaned to the side.

  Too late.

  Olivia’s chest exploded in a burst of red. Out of the corner of his eye, Yorick watched the wave of light emanating from Rosia’s rifle. The LED readout on the side ticking down as bullets pulsed from the end.

  His girlfriend had shot his mother.

  Olivia fell forward, across the desk. A circle of red on her back. Her pistol slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the hard floor below her.

  Laertes did not have a weapon nearby, and Olivia’s pistol was out of his immediate range. Laertes dropped down, crawling under the desk. He seemed to have no immediate intention to go after them.

  Time to move.

  “Go!” Yorick shouted, and he tugged on Rosia’s hand. At the far end of the hexagonal room, there was an open doorway leading to a hall, and a green EXIT sign lighted above it.

  Yorick pulled Rosia, and Tenney followed as Laertes moved between the desks. He grabbed his wife and tried to shake her awake. It wouldn’t do any good, though. Yorick could see her blank eyes from here. He could tell from the size of the wound in her chest that she had died instantly.

  Rosia had killed Yorick’s mother. Had that actually happened?

  Halfway across the room, Yorick turned his head in his father’s direction. His face seemed to indicate he now understood his wife’s fate. So, he raised up and ran toward something on the far wall.

  Tenney spit shots in that direction, but it didn’t matter. There were too many obstacles in the way. They didn’t have a clear shot at Laertes. Bullets pinged off vid screens and banks of electronics.

  No use. Better to focus on fleeing.

  “Move! Move!” Yorick said, his feet pounding against the shiny floor. Beyond the rows of desks and shelves to the doorway. The three of them jumped the last meter from the room into the hallway under the EXIT sign.

  And then, Laertes reached his destination on the far side of the room. The older man turned and met Yorick’s eyes for a brief moment. The expression on his face showed nothing but rage. No hint of remorse for what he’d done to his son, or for what he intended to do now. Nothing but raw anger.

  Yorick watched his father jab a fist against a red button jutting out from the wall.

  A steel gate slammed down, shutting off the room. Preventing them from leaving the hallway to attack him. Yorick jerked around as another steel gate dropped down, shutting off access to the door at the far end of this current hall. Ten meters away, sealing them in and turning this long hallway into a cage.

  They were trapped inside another cell. There were no other doors along this hallway, no grates or panels or any other way out now not blocked off by this finite cage.

  Yorick spun back around, looking for Laertes. He had disappeared from view.

  “What do we do?” Tenney said. “Do we shoot it?”

  Yorick’s brain raced. He tried to peer through the cage to see his father, but he had disappeared. Where was he?

  Yorick lifted his rifle and slammed the stock against the metal bars of the gate, but it was too sturdy. He wouldn’t find any tiny screws to liberate to escape this one.

  “You should have left me behind,” Tenney said. “You should have run when you had the chance.”

  “Not now,” Yorick said, frantic.

  Then, Laertes appeared. He jumped out from hiding at the side of the cage, a circular device with a trigger in his hands. Before Yorick could raise his rifle, Laertes pressed the button, causing a whine in the air and a strange sensation—like a yawn—passing through his body. But, it didn’t cause pain or make him lose consciousness. Actually, for a brief second, Yorick had no idea what had happened.

  Then, he looked down at his rifle. The LED had gone out. The rifles were dead.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  They rattled in the back seat of the truck as it rolled over the land. Yorick first saw the mountains, much like the ones back in Wyoming. Rocky, mostly brown and gray, with patches of triangular green trees in spots. After a few minutes of staring, he decided it was the same mountain range, only a few hundred kilometers south. Yorick, Rosia, and Tenney were all chained at the hands and feet, and those chains were linked. Also, they were connected together in one long tether also chained to a hook welded to the interior of the truck. Sturdy and unbreakable.

  No way would they be able to free themselves of these bonds before arriving at their destination. No one was going to save them with a well-timed RPG blast now.

  Laertes sat up front, driving the car. He’d said not a single word to them since they’d been trapped in the hallway. Not about their failed escape attempt, not about Rosia killing Olivia, not about Yorick smashing their prized control chips.

  He had to know about the control chips because Y
orick could see their packs piled in the front seat. They’d been in pieces all around the floor below those packs. Yorick was a little surprised his father hadn’t killed all three of them after that discovery. But no, he could still sell them for a few hunks of gold or whatever currency they valued in Colorado.

  Laertes kept silent. He drove, eyes forward, a single tear sliding down one cheek. Yorick had a hard time feeling sorry for this man’s grief over his dead wife. Laertes didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to sell his child and friends into slavery.

  Yorick studied his father as he leaned closer to Rosia. Laertes either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the shift in the back seat.

  “It’s okay,” Yorick said, whispering as softly as possible. “I know it looks dark, but I don’t want you to lose hope.”

  “Why would I hold on to hope? We did everything we could, and we’re back where we started.” Rosia showed no glint of optimism or rebellion in her eyes. She was clearly resigned to her fate. “We’re worse off, actually.” She flashed her eyes at Tenney, and Yorick knew she meant the loss of Malina. She didn’t have to say anything.

  Tenney didn’t acknowledge or notice the look. He kept his head down, his eyes shut. Probably not sleeping. Maybe he was enjoying his last few futile minutes of freedom before they arrived in the First City.

  “After all this,” Rosia said, “what is there to be hopeful about?”

  Yorick set his jaw. “I have a plan.”

  Rosia gave him a sad smile, nodding her support, although it was clear she didn’t believe him. And, he didn’t blame her. The world felt like a swirling mass of despair right now.

  She gasped as her eyes drifted past him, and Yorick craned his neck to see what she was seeing. Out the west side of the truck, the towering walls of the First City of Denver made their grand appearance.

  An excerpt from “A brief history of the decline of the United States of America”

  by James Eppstein, Ph.D.

  I don’t know if anyone will ever read this journal. There’s a good chance what I’ve recorded will mean my demise. Speaking or writing of the time before the First City is a crime punishable by death.

  I’ve taken bits and pieces of accounts from various sources, from my own fading memories, to reading between the lines of the official accounts, to tales whispered in the alleys behind gang-controlled pubs. I’m an old man, and not sure how much my own recollections can be trusted.

  But, I do believe this story needs to be told.

  After King Nichol’s territory expanded beyond the reach of Colorado, the feudal system established by the Mexican invaders began to break down. An empire formed. The fiefdoms of the lords remained in name, but they were no longer autonomous. They all served at the pleasure of the king.

  The great mystery is this: was an empire the plan all along? Were the individual city-states and the decentralized power structure of the lords and serfs meant to be a permanent system, or only until the Frenchie rebellions could be quashed?

  No one even knows how Nichol gained his power in the first place. Did the Mexicans put him in power and give him the means to rise to king, or did he take what he was given and outgrow them? Is King Nichol even King Nichol? Is his grandson or great-grandson carrying on the same empire-building in his name? Or, has he been taking life-extending drugs, as some rumors suggest?

  We’ll probably never know. It’s not as if he or his close advisors would ever tell that tale and reveal his secrets.

  In the states bordering Colorado, there has been a shift over the last few years. Fewer city-states and plantacións, and more open cities. But, despite this change, travel is harder than ever. Great walls mark the boundaries of the old state lines, and crossing is nearly impossible. Even some “free” cities have erected walls to keep citizens in and undesirables out.

  The feudal system is not gone; it’s technically still the law of the land. By the strictest sense, King Nichol is not a legitimate king. But, might makes right, and no one has an army to rival his royal soldados.

  But, there are whispers. Whispers of an organized revolution against him. A dozen kilometers from here, a young lord named Wybert owns a plantación. There are rumors that he has banded together with others to form a rebellion against King Nichol. Gangs like the White Flames and the disorganized sun worshippers gather more power every day. The White Flames have seemingly no desire to topple the government, but that could change.

  Technologies long-thought destroyed are still out there, and the little pockets of resistance are not as weakened as Nichol claims. Do not believe what you read in the official accounts that there is no worthwhile opposition to the king. Do not believe the lies they sell you every day. Do not believe that the only option is complete and total surrender to the king’s might.

  There’s still hope.

  Tap here to get the conclusion to the trilogy, or move forward a few pages to read a sample chapter.

  Afterword

  Want to continue the story? You can get a free Slave Games short story featuring Yorick and Hamon by signing up for my dystopian reader group.

  You can also get the final book in the trilogy here, or tap forward a few pages to read a sample chapter.

  So,

  Thank you for reading my book!

  Please consider leaving reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. You have no idea how much it will help the success of this book and my ability to write future books. That, sharing it on social media, and telling other people to read it.

  Are you interested in joining a community of Jim Heskett fiction fans? Discuss the books with other people, including the author! Join for free at www.jimheskett.com/bookophile

  I have a website where you can learn more about me and my other projects. Check me out at www.jimheskett.com and sign up for my reader group so you can stay informed on the latest news. You’ll even get some freebies for signing up. You like free stuff, right?

  For Laura, because you reminded me why I write everyday. For something better.

  Sample of FIRE

  A sample of the final book in trilogy, FIRE.

  This place wasn't a prison, but it might as well have been. Yorick knew the walls the minute they been transferred inside. Shackled, corralled in a small room at first. Standing room only with two dozen other new slaves as they’d processed into the facility. The stink of fear and lack of bathing had made Yorick’s stomach turn several times.

  He, Rosia, and Tenney had only been here a few short hours. Long enough to know there seemed to be no way out. They were in holding cells inside Denver, the First City. Not that they’d had much of a view on the way in from inside the van driven by Yorick’s father.

  They were waiting for their transfer paperwork to put them on the auction block, to be sold to the highest bidder. Or to be given as a reward to some high-performing member of the king’s government. Yorick didn’t know for sure. Lots of rumors rolled around in the chatter among the other prisoners.

  Unlike the tiny cell where his parents had kept him only hours before, they had room to roam here after the initial processing. They were housed in an open, warehouse-like structure, with side rooms for offices and bathrooms. Yorick appreciated the small measure of privacy in the bathrooms because it had allowed him to keep his secret.

  He examined the cuts on his arm he’d received when stretching to open the cell door back at the transfer facility. None of them looked infected. Achey, but not a permanent problem. Best to keep them clean, though, if possible.

  Now, he just needed a chance to tell Rosia and Tenney about his secret so they could plan. So they could start to work getting out of here, and then figuring out what was next.

  There were twenty or thirty other people inside the holding facility with them. These poor souls wandered around, slept on the cots, or sat on one of the rows of benches and stared at the walls. No windows to gaze out.

  Most here were young, but a few were old and grizzled. The rumors were the old ones would fetch no
price at auction and would probably be executed. By the looks on some of their faces, Yorick assumed they wouldn’t put up much of a fight.

  "As pretty as you are," said one man who'd been staring at them for the last hour, “I would expect I could buy the fanciest house in town for what they'll pay for you." He'd said it directly to Rosia, and Yorick positioned himself between this man and her. Not so much to protect her, but more like to prevent her from attacking him. They were both on benches only about ten meters apart.

  And they had all had enough. After an exhausting trip across Wyoming, after Malina's death in the tunnel into Colorado, after the betrayal by Yorick’s parents. Enough. The fire in Yorick’s belly had fizzled to burnt sticks, and Yorick could see the same in the eyes of his companions.

  The warehouse was like a giant cage, with a metal grated ceiling four meters off the ground. Armed guards strolled along the top of the ceiling, their boots clanking. A watchful eye at all times. Enough of these guards patrolled that there didn’t seem to be a blind spot anywhere out here in the main room.

  Yorick needed to get his two friends alone to share with them his secret. His bit of hope. Maybe it would light their fire again.

  "I'm talking to you," said the man across the room. Tattoos ringed his neck. He was wearing a dirty yellow shirt and brown pants lined with pockets from hip to floor. Very much the same style of dress as the White Flames they had encountered across Wyoming.

  "Well," Yorick said, "we’re not talking to you, old man. We have no business with you, so go bother someone else. This is not a good time.”