by Kody Boye
“The effects of a nuclear war would be devastating. The sun be blocked out from the dust and chemicals created as a result of the bombs. Plant life would die. Animals would starve, then people with them. Global temperatures would change—and existence, as we know it, may end.
“But time is still not out. You, the people, can change the course of history.
“Our question is: do you stand with your government, or against it?”
Then, in moments, the screen is lowered to reveal the bleak landscape of what is now the ruins of the Spire.
All the people can do is stare.
There is a brief moment during which I believe that this whole thing has gone unnoticed—that the people in attendance were simply scared into submission. But as the marching sound of footsteps come barreling up the street, I turn; and with hesitancy I could have never imagined, raise my head.
A squadron of SADs have appeared at the end of the Spire’s long slanting road. Equipped with rifles, riot shields, and the flying drones known as Seekers, they fall into formation and begin to block off all exits to the area.
“Are we running?” Wu asks, turning her head to face me.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammer, struggling to maintain my composure in light of what I know might happen.
“I’m not,” Ceyonne says. “I’m done being afraid. I’m done being scared.”
“What are we gonna do then?” Wu asks.
“We wait,” Ceyonne says, “and see what we started through.”
She extends a hand to me.
I, with fear in my heart, take it.
I extend my hand to Wu in kind.
And she, with a trembling wrist, takes my hand in return.
As the SADs come barreling up the drive, and as Seekers lift into the sky and move to see into the broader area, I lift my head to face them and see that there is one ahead of the pack.
Is that— I start to think. Diana Winters?
I don’t know. What I do know is that whomever is leading this movement will surely see that we have made an impression, and for that, I simply hold my ground and wait.
“Do not be afraid,” Cynthia Demiro says over the loudspeaker, “for in darkness, there is always light.”
“In darkness, there is light,” the three of us girls say.
We grip tight each other’s hands and watch in horror as the SADs move into position.
Those in the front row fall to their knees. Those behind them move to the left, then those behind them move to their right. In perfect formation, they could easily slaughter all of us.
But will they?
A tremor of terror begins within the core of my being and spreads like a disease throughout me. Rendering me unable to move, but even worse, unable to speak, I swallow a lump in my throat and begin to pray for all the people whose lives will be affected by this demonstration.
Further footsteps sound from the east and west.
It takes but a moment to realize that we are being surrounded.
“Great God,” Wu whispers, “hear my plea: keep us safe and unharmed on this cold and heartless day.”
The people surrounding us turn to view the SADs homing in.
I see a man reach into his jacket pocket.
I yell, “STOP!”
But it is too late.
His gun is drawn, his weapon pointed.
And the shot fired casts the next die in this cruel and horrible game.
A SAD’s helmet is knocked askew.
Her companions’ weapons are raised.
Then, in moments, they fire.
They are indiscriminate in who they cut down. Men. Women. The elderly. Even children are given no mercy as they fire their weapons into the crowd, and we watch in sheer shock and unadulterated horror as blood explodes from chests, heads, persons.
Wu is the first to pull me back, then Ceyonne. I am in such shock that I cannot even find the means to move, but somehow, someway, I am able to retreat, pumping my legs and moving my feet in platform shoes that would have never served me in a previous life.
We are just about to round a corner when I see a Seeker overhead.
“Look out!” I cry.
Wu ducks.
The drone flies overhead.
I see a laser point at the back of Ceyonne’s head and push her out of the way.
A bullet flies past my head and causes a sheer ringing to cut through my ear.
In my stunned state, I can barely acknowledge the drone, let alone prevent Ceyonne and Wu from dragging me into a nearby alley.
“We gotta keep running!” Wu says, spinning to drag me against the wall. “Come on, Kelendra! We gotta run!”
“I’m running!” I cry, grimacing as both sound, and sensation, return to my eardrum. “I’m coming! I—”
A spray of gunfire sends shards of brick raining down above us.
Ceyonne cries out.
Wu pushes me forward.
I run.
My friends follow in turn.
We have just made it to the edge of the alley when a SAD agent with a riot shield pins us in.
“Oh sh—” Ceyonne starts.
But she cannot finish.
One moment, she is speaking. The next, several laser lights are swerving over our shoulders, attempting to gather aim at the back of our heads.
The three of us instantly raise our hands in surrender.
“Well well,” the SAD at the edge of the alley says, stepping forward to reveal herself in full. “I’ll be damned. You are alive.”
“Diana,” I say, lifting my eyes to face her.
The woman’s steel-blue gaze meets me in kind. “Quite the stunt you pulled there, Mrs. Cross. You do know what happens to people who incite violence against the government. Right?”
I have never been one to know history, politics, or even law. But I know—deep down, and from a life that seems so long ago and so far away—just what this means.
My mother once told me three things:
Don’t speak out.
Don’t lash out.
And don’t stick out.
We have done all three.
And because of that, even more people are dead.
As gunfire continues to fill the streets, a series of SADs come up from behind us and take hold of our hands.
“Kelendra Cross, Ceyonne Marsden, and Wu Dao,” Diana Winters says as we are put into restraints. “You are hereby under arrest for high treason against the Great South. You will be tired and punished under the Criminal Acts of War Doctrine.”
I lift my head. Swallow. Stare.
The CAW Doctrine? I think.
Those who commit Criminal Acts of War are said to receive only one punishment.
Execution.
As we are ushered through the alleyway, I can only turn my head to look at Ceyonne and Wu.
I mouth, I’m sorry.
All my friends can do is nod.
Sixteen
We are loaded into a military vehicle and driven to a location I cannot understand. Cold, unsure, and terrified out of my mind, I look first from Wu, who is silent but in tears, then to Ceyonne, whose impenetrable gaze is set out the nearby window—at the carnage taking place around us.
“All of this,” Diana Winters says, as is able to see us with eyes behind her head, “is because of you.”
“Someone had to do something,” I reply. “Someone had to stop the bombs from being launched.”
“And now there’s war in the streets. Tell me,” Diana says. “Do you find pleasure in creating conflict, Kelendra?”
“I—”
“Because it would seem, based off your past actions, that you crave it. Desire it. Long for it.”
“Shut up,” I say. “That’s not true and you know it.”
“Do I?” She laughs. “Do I really? Let us not forget that it was you who chose to dedicate your purpose to the war, you who said that you would go to the Rita Blanca. Tell me again how you held your father’s one remaining hand a
s he bled out right before—”
I scream and lash out—kicking the metal grate that divides the back seats from the front.
Diana laughs.
Her partner turns and points a pistol at me. “Don’t make me shoot you,” she says.
I collapse into my seat and let out a long, low sob.
Ceyonne and Wu remain silent—and though as much as I would like for them to say something, anything for my benefit would likely get them into even more trouble.
In the end, silence is golden, especially for them.
But for me? What use am I if I am not ranting and raving, roaring and raging, screaming and sobbing?
I don’t know; and that, in the end, is what terrifies me.
Rather than consider my options outright, I lift my head to view the progress before us—and see that, though there is gunfire in the distance, we are slowly but surely making our way from the nexus of the Glittering City.
Though I know that we will find out where we are headed in due time, I want so badly to know now.
Maybe then that would keep me from despairing.
We pass through a number of security checkpoints. Some are simply bags of sand with barbwire snared around them, with hand-placed metal bars erected for passages. Others are lined with slabs of concrete, and possess military-grade assault weapons that rise from the ground like twisted monstrosities. But it isn’t these that cause me unease.
No.
It is the fact that we are approaching the SAD headquarters that immediately give me pause.
“You’re… taking us to jail,” I say, matter-of-factly and with little emotion to spare.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Diana Winters asks. “You’ve broken the law, committed high treason, incited riots in the streets. You are as big a threat to us as the people who brought down the Spire.”
“That’s not true,” Wu says. “We didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“And yet it did,” the SAD replies. “Now, shut up and be quiet.”
Wu trembles. Ceyonne, meanwhile, remains deathly silent, staring bullets at the back of Diana Winters’ head.
Don’t say anything, I think, hoping, to the Great God above, that Ceyonne will keep her mouth shut. Please, don’t say any—
She doesn’t, though. Instead, she merely sighs, then turns her head to look at me, a pale and somber expression in her eyes.
It takes several agonizing moments for us to be processed into the inner perimeter of the SAD Headquarters. However—as we enter, and as the gargantuan metal gate closes behind us, I feel a sense of panic that I couldn’t have imagined seeing before.
You sent them away, my conscience offers.
Who? I ask.
The Southern Saints. The few who could’ve helped you.
No, I think. I sent them away because they couldn’t help us. I didn’t want more people to die, and yet, they still did. Are. Are going to.
I struggle to fight back tears.
My life has been one bad decision one after the other.
First it was the Procession, then the train, then the red carpet, then the wedding. After that came my Purpose, and from there, it’d all gone downhill—so downhill, in fact, that everyone around me is either dead or dying.
And now, I’m to pay for my sins.
Swallowing, I lift my eyes to face Diana Winters as she opens the door, then as she unlatches and opens the back compartment where we are stored.
She rips Ceyonne out first, then her partner forces Wu out second.
I am just about to think that I am to be spared when a third person comes out—a man, wearing a thick cloak, his face all but hidden except for his chin. But I don’t need to see his face to know who he is.
“Commandant,” I say as he draws near.
“Don’t. Say. Anything,” he responds, then rips me out of my seat with a jerk of his hand.
I try to resist the urge to cry out, but find myself doing that anyway as I come to stand on solid ground.
“Winters,” he says. “Omara.”
The two SADs stand at attention.
“Take Ceyonne Marsden and Wu Dao and put them in the holding cells on the top floor. I’m going to deal with this one myself.”
I tremble as he begins to pull me along—as ahead of us the two SADs practically drag Ceyonne and Wu through the earth. Their feet are struggling to find purchase. Wu even loses one of her shoes, which goes rolling into our path.
The Commandant grunts and kicks it aside before jerking me through a side door being guarded by an additional SAD.
Inside, me, Ceyonne, and Wu are thrown against the walls and forcibly searched for anything on our persons. Our shoes are the first to be removed. Then our dresses are cut off, leaving us standing nearly-naked in front of two women and a man who would rather have nothing to do with us. His lecherous eyes look upon us three girls with disgust. No longer are we property. Now, we are prisoners of war.
“Take them to the top floor,” the Commandant says.
“You’re sure?” Diana Winters says. “What if we need to remove them?”
“They’re not going anywhere,” he replies.
Diana Winters takes hold of Wu and Ceyonne’s arms, while the woman named Omara takes hold of me and begins to march us down the hall.
As we make our way around the corner, then up the stairwell, I try not to look outside, but find myself doing just that regardless.
An explosion rocks the distance.
Someone screams.
Several Seekers fly past.
“We would’ve been better off dealing with the North than this,” Omara says. “Our own people turned against us.”
“It’ll die down,” the Commandant says.
“Can you be so sure of that?” Diana Winters replies.
“It has to. The Countess won’t stand for this much longer, not without resorting to more… drastic measures for crowd control.”
I grit my teeth at the thought of them turning even grislier weapons than bullets upon the people—their people. It seems too impossible to fathom, and yet, I’d known she’d do it. The Countess is mad with grief. She would do anything in an attempt to seize control.
At the top of the stairwell, the Commandant stops to observe the outside world, then gestures to three cells that stand side-by-side. “Throw them in there,” he says. “One to a cell.”
We are shoved inside with little regard for our dignity, or even our persons.
“Winters. You keep watch at the bottom of the stairwell. And you, Omara.”
“Yes sir?” the SAD asks.
“Go fetch the Countess,” he says, a grisly smile on his face. “She’ll want to begin her interrogation personally.”
I cross my arms over myself and retreat as far back into my cell as I can
As the SADs prepare for their perspective duties, I turn to look at Ceyonne and Wu.
Both of them can do little more than watch the Commandant seat himself in a chair at the far edge of the room.
“Kelendra,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes,” I reply, settling down atop the mattress.
“You better pray that she lets you live. Because if I were her… and goddamn, I wish I were… I would do whatever it takes to get the truth out. Even if it means killing your friends.”
Ceyonne gasps.
Wu sobs.
And I, with little left to do, simply collapse.
No, I think. She wouldn’t. Won’t. Can’t.
Would she really torture us?
Somehow, I don’t doubt that she wouldn’t.
It takes what seems like ages for anything to occur, let alone for the Countess to arrive. Mostly numb, but dwelling in dread, I try my hardest not to look at the two girls who have stood by side no matter what, but find myself doing just that.
They did this, I think, for me.
They sacrificed their safety, I want to add, to try and save their world.
And now we
may die as a result of it.
My fingers play solemn drums along the metal railing that lines the simple bed I lie upon. Like my heart, the iron is cold, the texture rough. It’s like it’s braved the world ten times over only to end up in the most unfortunate position ever. This is why, while lying here, on this forsaken bed, I try my hardest to remain silent.
But my world is not meant to remain quiet.
It is Ceyonne who speaks first—and who, with bravery in her heart, asks, “Where is she?”
The Commandant lifts his eyes from where he has set them on me. “The Countess, you mean?” he asks, and offers a grim semblance of a smile. “She’s coming. Don’t worry.”
“She’s not even here, is she?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she would’ve come already. I know she would’ve.”
“Ceyonne—” I start.
“Don’t stop me, Kelendra. It’s not like he’s going to come in here and do anything to us.” She turns her eyes from me to face the Commandant once more. “He’s just as scared of her as we are.”
“Silence yourself,” he says.
“Why?” Ceyonne questions. “Is it not true that she has you on a leash?”
“I said silence!” the man barks.
The girl smiles. “It’s true,” she says. “You’re nothing but a stupid little—”
He throws himself from his seat and draws a gun from his holster.
Ceyonne doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. She merely stands there, watching the man who holds a gun no more than a foot away from her head. When she finally does decide to say something, she says, “Go ahead. Shoot me.”
“Don’t think I won’t,” the man growls.
“I know you won’t,” Ceyonne replies, “because she’d skin you alive before you could blink.”
He howls with anger and spins to face the stairway just in time for the sound of footsteps to come marching up them.
“I should’ve known not to leave you alone with them,” a familiar voice says. “You always did have a bad temper.”
“Aa’eesha,” the Commandant says.
The woman appears from the threshold. Dressed darkly in a shawl that covers almost her entire body, she lifts her eyes to face us and centers her gaze directly on me. “Mrs. Cross,” she says. “It’s so nice to see you.”