by T. C. Edge
It's a weak hope, but it's all I have.
I busy myself with helping to arm and train the fresh recruits coming into the camp, supported once again by Jackson and Athena, who splits her time with the trainee Watchers now stationed within the wall. Among the new soldier recruits are Jackson's three brothers, his father, and my own brother Carson, who's grown stronger by the day. All of them arrive with grit in their eyes, and I see the change in them when they hold a gun in their hands for the first time. The power a weapon gives you, to take a life, to defend your own, imbues many with a sense of belief that they can make a difference here and have some measure of control of their own fate.
The flood of refugees here astounds me, the numbers even greater than in Petram. They come from all sides and at all times of the day, many of them wounded or carrying minor afflictions. Such are the numbers that the camp continues to expand on a daily and almost hourly basis, most now being placed into smaller camps just beyond the wall on the Deadlands away from the front line. There, a field hospital is established, itself expanding constantly to deal with the continued influx of the injured and infirm.
The most poorly are sent to the medical bay inside the military base itself. Being small and only able to cater to a couple of dozen people at any one time, however, others are shipped back to Petram where they can escape the heat and humidity and enjoy the security of the mountain. Stein, acting pilot as always, performs a number of journeys back and forward, the smile never leaving his face whenever he reappears every day or so.
“How is life back in Petram?” I ask him a few days after Link and Ellie's disappearance.
“The same as it ever was,” he says with a wink. “Boring. It's much more exciting here.”
“And Leeta, how is she?”
“Very busy, although she tells me often that she misses you and Ellie, in particular. I heard about what happened. You must be very worried about her and Link?”
“Worried about Ellie and Link?” I say, with false bravado. “They're not people you need to worry about.”
He smiles weakly, my veiled attempts at side stepping the topic all too clear.
“They'll be fine,” he says comfortingly, squeezing my arm lightly.
The days pass by, with the convoy returning once again with more reserves before turning immediately back to the Deadlands. Soon, all of our forces from Petram, minus the few left behind to guard the city, have arrived at the camp. I move up to the ridge to take a look at it, and shake my head in awe at the speed of expansion. What started as a military base and a field of tents, catering to less than fifteen hundred, now stretches far and wide and beyond the wall itself, with well over ten thousand souls littering the earth.
“It's quite something, isn't it,” says Jackson, joining me on the ridge. “You know what they say...there's strength in numbers.”
I nod in agreement, but can't help but feel the opposite also applies. That so many people might become a burden, many of them unable to fight and unarmed, needing to be fed and watered and cared for.
And they don't stop coming.
“This place is a beacon,” I say to Jackson as more refugees are spotted on the horizon.
He shakes his head.
“You're the beacon, Cyra. You're the Golden Girl.”
“Jack, I don't like that, you know I don't,” I say.
He covers his smile and looks away, mumbling: “but it's true.”
The thought makes me uncomfortable, as it always has. I've never quite liked the mantle of attention that I've been given, ever since the day of the Duty Call when Leeta announced to everyone that I'd be going to Eden. Everywhere I've gone since then, people have looked at me; some with disgust, some with confusion, some with awe or anger or jealously.
Everywhere, eyes have followed my every step. And now, here, a new label has been attached to me: the Golden Girl. The girl who has faced down High Chancellor Knight, the girl who started this whole revolution.
But not really. None of this has been in my control. None of it has been part of my plan. All I wanted was to save Jackson, that's it. What's followed has had me swept up in a wave, one that's now grown into a tsunami. And I fear it might wash us all away...
Jackson leaves me on the ridge, hugging me tight and kissing my lips before moving away towards a small convoy gathering down below. It's what he always does before heading out on any mission. He comes to find me, gives me a hug and a kiss, but never says goodbye. Never gives voice to the option that he might not come back.
With so many people still coming, he's been going on missions regularly. As before, small parties have been sent out daily to find more sources of food. In order to find it, they've had to go further and further, deeper into Agricola. And the picture that's been built from such excursions isn't a happy one.
More towns are being burned. Some of them completely eliminated from the landscape, others merely having their warehouses targeted to destroy their food stocks. Other warehouses, it seems, have already been emptied out, taken to the coast to add to the enormous stockpiles already on Eden. It's clear what they're doing – just like back in Petram, they're trying to starve us out.
Slowly, this is once more becoming a war of attrition. And Knight holds all the cards.
Each mission usually results in some casualties, with those unaccompanied by a Watcher commonly faring worse. Troy and Drake lead several of them, with Athena always putting her hand up to offer support where she can. I, however, am ordered to stay at the base, deemed too important – or at least too valuable to Knight – to risk being sent beyond the protection of the camp and the wall that towers above it.
Of course, Jackson attends many missions himself, adding to my worries. With Link and Ellie having been gone for nearly a week, and with no sign of their return, I find myself with a constant knot in my stomach that appears to be only curable by the safe return of all those I care about.
Drake, towing the line between being comforting and blunt, tells me that there's nothing I can do but get on with things, with the caveat that I needn't worry anyway, and that everything will work out for the best. He delivers the line with such ease that it seems rehearsed. Or, more likely, he's said it to me so many times that it appears to lack sincerity.
One day, he comes to me out in the training area beyond the wall. Every time he appears out of the blue, it puts me on edge, walking through the desert like the harbinger of bad news.
I brace myself for the worst, but his relaxed facial expression puts me at ease.
“Follow me, Cyra,” is all he says, leading me through the gate and towards the registration point for new refugees entering the camp.
“See anyone you recognise?” he asks with a smile.
I feel a brief jolt in my heart at the thought that Ellie and Link have returned. I scan quickly, passing over faces I don't know. They're not in the crowd. I frown, and turn up to my father.
“No,” I say, disappointed.
“Look a bit harder,” he says, guiding my eyes towards a small group of men to one side.
I scan again and then begin shaking my head.
“No way,” I whisper.
Ahead of me, our former captive and guide stands in scruffy brown jacket and old, torn jeans. His hair looks longer and his face a little older than last I saw him, only months ago. His eyes meet mine and, together, we step forward, me away from my father and him away from his small cohort of men.
“Tommy!” I say. “What the hell are you doing here!”
He shrugs and looks around.
“I guess you converted me, Cyra,” he replies.
I see him look past me and at Drake. He quivers a little, shrinking into his shell at the sight of him. It makes sense. After all, Drake did threaten his life on more than one occasion.
I step in and give him a hug.
“I can't believe you're here,” I say. “You're a Custodian.”
“Was,” he says, as I release him. “Not any more.”
&
nbsp; “Tell me...tell me everything.”
We pass through the checkpoint set up for the registration of new refugees, and wander off to find a quiet spot to talk. I examine his face as we go and see signs of several scars lingering beneath some fresh abrasions, most likely earned during his journey here. The scars, however, tell of older wounds. I suspect I know the cause.
The last time I saw him, I was sending my fist into his jaw and knocking him out. That, though, wouldn't have left any such mark. Instead, I quickly learn that his enforced role in our journey across the mainland and out towards Tartarus wasn't without its repercussions.
“They beat me,” he says, confirming my suspicions. “They didn't believe I did what I did under coercion. They thought I was working with you.”
“I'm sorry for that, Tommy,” I say. “We used you, it wasn't right...”
“No...you had no choice. I know that now. I suspected it when I was with you, and it was all confirmed after. I saw the concentration camps, and the killings. They tried to get me to kill too, but I wouldn't. A lot of us felt the same way...”
“Custodians, you mean?” I ask.
“Yes. We're just normal people too. We're not monsters. Well, not all of us. Some can turn a blind eye to what's happening, believe all the lies. Not me. I stood up against it, gathered those I could, and began spreading the word. When we heard about this place, we decided to come join in.” He looks back at the refugees. “We had a lot more originally,” he says solemnly. “A lot of us were killed coming here.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It's OK,” he says. “We're all losing people. It's just the norm now. Its just...war.”
“Well, I'm sure you'll make a difference, you and your people. Most have no experience. We could use soldiers like you.”
“Happy to join the fight,” he says. “We had weapons, but they were taken from us when we arrived. Do you think we'll be able to get those back?”
“Sure, of course. I'll see to it.”
I lead him out to join his people, mostly men but a few women. Not all are old Custodians, many others picked up along the way. By the sounds of it, they've already seen combat, fighting their way here from the far reaches of the mainland. Hopefully, they'll have helped clear the path for others to move through, easing the passage of those who are unarmed and untrained.
He appears to have aged significantly since I last saw him. Before, he was afraid and timid, fresh faced and innocent. Now, he's grown hardened by his experiences, those with us and those without, and has grown into a leader, guiding dozens to safety.
War, I suppose, will do that to a person. Harden them to the dangers of the world, forcing them to adapt or die. Many I've known have been through that transformation. Now, I'm surrounded by leaders.
The same night that Tommy arrives, I hear another familiar voice. One that I've been hoping to hear from, but frightened to as well.
Lying in my bed, I hear a whisper coming from below me, from inside the bag beneath the frame. In the deep darkness I reach down, grab the old canvas strap, and pull it up onto my lap. I hear my name, whispered quietly.
“Cyra...Cyra, can you hear me?”
I reach inside and pull out a small device. The one given to me by Ajax. My heart thunders as I hold it to my lips and answer back.
“Yes, I hear you,” I say, equally quietly so as not to wake the sleeping Athena nearby. I look up at her and see the mould of her body in the darkness beneath her blanket, snoring lightly.
“I've been trying to reach you, Cyra,” he whispers, his voice a little strained. “Where are you keeping the communicator?”
“Under my bed,” I say.
“That's no good. Keep it on you at all times, do you understand?”
I nod, before remembering he can't see me.
“Cyra?” he asks again.
“Yes...yes, I will.”
Across the room, only a metre of two away, Athena stirs. I lower my whisper further.
“What's going on?” I ask. “I haven't heard from you yet...what's happening there?”
“Things are in lock down. The entire city's under a stranglehold, and security is tighter than ever. I know because I'm seeing to much of it myself.”
“And Knight? Have you thought of anything...?” I ask hopefully.
With Ajax on board, I feel as if the mission to take Knight out has fallen to his shoulders. Certainly, everything here has been too busy to consider such a thing.
The short period of silence on the line doesn't comfort me.
“No,” he says plainly. “Not yet. I haven't seen or heard from him. He's gone into hiding in his mansion. He doesn't leave, unless to descend to the lowest underwater level for council meetings.”
“That means he's scared,” I say confidently. “He's worried...”
“Perhaps, but he's more dangerous than ever. Fewer and fewer people are being kept in his circle. Some of the Councillors have been excluded. I haven't seen him in weeks.”
I hear him take a deep breath on the line.
“Cyra, I need you to be careful. The entire mainland is going into turmoil...”
“Yes, I know,” I say, interrupting him. “We're spilling over with refugees here.”
“That's exactly why you need to be careful. Are you vetting people as they enter?”
I don't like the stress in his voice. It unnerves me.
“Um..yes, we are.”
“Good. You need to know who's coming in, Cyra. You need to be able to trust them.”
“I trust the people around me...”
“No, not the people around you. The people you don't know. Knight...he no longer wants to capture you....” His voice falters a little, growing lower. “Cyra...he wants to kill you. You want my advice right now...don't trust anyone.”
My heart pulses harder. On the line, I hear a sudden noise in the background. Then, his voice again.
“I have to go, Cyra. Remember what I said. Don't trust anyone.”
And with that, the communicator clicks off, his words fading away, leaving only the light sounds of Athena's snoring in the room.
And the heavy beating of my heart.
26 - Sneak Attack
I hardly sleep that night, my mind filled with the familiar imagery of death. And with his name mentioned once more, Knight's haunting visage comes to me again, face to face with me in the darkness. His cold grey eyes stare, his expression flat and emotionless.
I wake with a shudder, and a terrible thought – that wasn't a memory of Knight, it was a vision. One day, perhaps soon, I'll be in front of him again...
As I creep through the camp a little past dawn, Ajax's words echo around in my head.
Don't trust anyone.
I look at the faces of the many refugees with a new slant. A suspicion begins to rise up inside me as I wander along, ready to start another day. I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't notice my father's voice calling my name behind me.
“Cyra...Cyra.” He catches me and spins me round. The look on my face draws the question from his lips: “what's wrong?”
“What are we doing to vet these people,” I say, half in a daze as I look around at the fields of tents and shelters stretching into the distance.
“You know what,” he says. “We have scanners here to check their barcodes. We know what duties they had...”
I nod, still staring about.
“What's got into you?” he asks. “Has something happened?” He shakes my shoulders to get my attention, bringing my eyes to him. “Speak, Cyra,” he says firmly.
“I spoke to Ajax last night. Knight wants me dead.”
“Ajax! What did he have to say?!”
“I just told you.”
“We know Knight wants you dead. He wants us all dead. What else?”
“He's in hiding,” I say. “Knight, I mean. Hardly anyone sees him any more.”
“Hmmm,” says Drake, thinking. “That'll make it harder to get to him.”
I co
ntinue to look around at the people.
“How do we know we can trust them?” I ask again. “How do we know there aren't spies among us?”
Drake stands up a little taller and looks around himself. It seems as though the thought hadn't dawned on him yet that we might have enemies in our midst.
“All we can do is scan their codes and trust them. It's either that or we turn them all away.”
I know we can't do that.
“I'll speak with the Generals,” he says. “Make the hierarchy aware of the threat. What exactly did Ajax say?”
“Just what we're saying now. I think he senses something's about to happen here.”
“If he's sensed it, then one of us would have too. We're right here. We'd see it coming.”
“I guess.”
“No, you know, Cyra. We have powerful Watchers here. No one is slipping through our net.”
His words help to douse my concerns a little, but the tension in Ajax's voice still lingers in the back of my mind. Truly, my father is powerful, but I've never met anyone quite so wise as Ajax. If he thinks something is going to happen, then I have to trust that he's right.
My guard now raised, I look upon each new refugee, each face I haven't seen before, with a little more mistrust and wariness. The vast majority appear just like normal people, frightened of what's to come, caught up in a war that seems to have sprung out of nowhere. Families and friends, all huddled together, hoping for the best.
But, I know, appearances can be deceiving. Who's to say the quiet old lady, comforted by strangers, isn't really an agent of Knight? Or the young man, nothing but a factory worker from Arma, a mole sent within the camp to report back to his master?
Anyone could be under Knight's influence. Their families at threat, or the promise of a more comfortable life, could have forced them down this path. People will go to great lengths to save themselves or save the people they love. I know that all too well. And as more people flood inside, the threat only serves to grow in my mind.
I go to see the trainee Watchers that morning to ask them what they've seen. It seems that nothing but the murder of refugees as they cross the country is visible to any of them. All of them, myself included and Athena and Drake and Troy...all of us witness the chaos occurring beyond our borders on a nightly basis.