The expense involved in fleeing the country truly shocked Sierra, but she realized that buying freedom is expensive, and it was worth it. Air traffic controllers needed a lot of money to persuade them to turn their heads while a covert mission took place under their noses. Airport guards were also eager to accept bribe money. The meager wages they received from Reginald Rawlings was hardly enough to support their families, who like most of the citizens of Rendier lived in poverty.
And the expense didn’t end there. Once Sierra arrived in Baylend, she would need to pay the proprietors of the crosser home for taking her in and caring for her.
Over the course of several years, the rebel insurgents had set up a network of crosser homes just over the border in Baylend. These were essentially high-security safe-houses run by families who made it their business to guard and protect defectors from Rendier and help them become integrated into Baylend society.
Of course most people in Rendier couldn’t afford to escape the ruthless rule of Reginald Rawlings. The only reason Sierra could do so is that she had cashed in her father’s life insurance policy after his death, a policy funded by one of Rawlings’s banks. In a round-about way, she realized, Rawlings was responsible for her father’s murder and was now inadvertently funding her escape.
But an even greater irony, it painfully occurred to her, was that her father’s life insurance money was being used to fund the flight that might very well take Sierra to her death. A hot tear slid down Sierra’s cheek. She missed her father dearly. If only she had just said yes to the marriage proposal, maybe he’d still be alive today.
*****
“Did she make the plane?” Clive Roberts asked, an unlit cigar dangling between his lips. He held the telephone receiver to his ear with his shoulder while he rummaged through his desk drawer to find a lighter.
“Yes, Mr. Roberts,” the voice on the phone told him. “I dropped her off just in time. I should tell you, though, that I had to take out one of the gate guards. He hadn’t been affected by the poison, and I couldn’t risk him seeing Sierra leave. He’d have sounded the alarm.”
“That’s fine. I’ll make some calls and have the body removed before anyone discovers it. You did your job well, son. Stop by and I’ll give you your payment.” Roberts found his lighter and puffed the cigar as he lit it.
“Thank you, sir. Let me know if I can be of service in any other way.”
Roberts hung up the phone and sat back in his chair as swirls of smoke hung in the air. His personal aide sat across the room on a wooden chair.
“Was it a successful departure, Mr. Roberts?” he asked.
“Yes. The plane crossed the border undetected.”
“Do you need me to take care of a body?”
“Yes, a guard at the rear service gate. Work your magic on this one. We can’t have Reginald thinking he needs to be suspicious.”
“We should have just killed her while we had the chance. You know that Reginald will find her and bring her back.”
“Yes, I figure he will. He can’t let the last Montgomery slip from his grasp. But I want the good doctor to join our side, so we’re playing his game. When they bring her back, we’ll dispose of her then.”
The man left the room, leaving Roberts alone to think. If the earlier assassination attempts on Sierra’s life had been successful, it would have never been discovered that Reginald Rawlings’s personal physician, Dr. Roth, was working against him. No, this was a beautiful discovery, and it would be used to the best advantage of the underground.
*****
Sierra’s left hand held the leather strap above her head, and her right hand clutched a vomit bag. The terrible turbulence from the storm was enough to test even the strongest of stomachs. Several other defectors had already used their bags, and she feared she would lose the battle with her stomach as well.
She pushed her thoughts back to the reasons she fled: Victor and Reginald Rawlings. She remembered her father’s funeral and how the small gathering of mourners was interrupted by the cavalcade of armored vehicles bringing Reginald to the service. He wanted everyone to think he was coming to pay his respects to Donald Montgomery, his trusted advisor, but Sierra knew better. She knew how Reginald’s mind worked, and she suspected he was responsible for her father’s death.
After the services, Reginald spoke with Sierra and offered her residency at the palace. “There have been threats against your life, Sierra,” he said loudly enough so that everyone could hear his expression of exaggerated gracious concern for her well-being.
“Oh really?” Her sarcastic tone didn’t go unnoticed.
“It’s my business to know of possible threats to myself or my family. I’ve known you since you were a little girl, and I consider you my daughter. Please come to the palace until we can eliminate the threats against you, for your own safety, Sierra.” He looked around to make sure the assembled mourners were listening.
She knew there was no point in refusing him. He wouldn’t let up until he got what he wanted. He wanted her at the palace so she could be announced as Victor’s future bride. If she only knew then what she knew now, she would have put him off for a day or two and disappeared, but instead she agreed. In essence, she gave away all of her freedom and entered the guarded gates of the palace to become a prisoner.
She remembered the first few pleasant and relaxing days of palace life. She was pampered, and all her needs were cared for. She saw Victor only twice, and then only in passing. She saw Riley more often, however. It wasn’t unusual for Riley to be at the palace. He was Victor’s best friend, after all. To see him and know he must be angry with Victor for taking Sierra away from him made her wonder what kind of friendship they actually had.
Her lodgings at the palace were exquisite, with several handmaids appointed to her. It seemed like a fairytale life until Reginald caught her talking with Riley. She remembered those events from four months ago is if they happened yesterday.
Riley found her walking the hall and pulled her into a vacant room.
“Riley, what are you doing?” she asked. She twisted her arm free from his grasp and stepped back away from him.
“I have to talk to you,” he insisted.
“What is it?” She impatiently folded her arms across her chest.
“I can get you out of here. I can help you escape.”
“I’d love to get out of here, but not with you.”
“I shouldn’t have told him. I feel like it’s my fault.” He massaged his temples as if they hurt and closed his eyes.
“What are you talking about? What’s your fault?” It shocked her that Riley could feel at fault for anything, or could feel at all for that matter.
Footsteps outside the door caused them to freeze in their spots until the steps passed by and faded.
He closed the gap between them and grabbed both her shoulders, pulling her face close to his. “He wouldn’t have wanted you if he didn’t know I did. I should have kept my mouth shut. They warned me. I screwed up, but I can make it better. Leave with me and I’ll keep you safe.”
“Who are ‘they’? What are you talking about?”
“We have to hurry, Sierra.” The urgency in his voice scared her.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re babbling on about what, I don’t know.” She broke free from him and moved to the other side of the room, putting distance between them.
“He only wants to marry you because I wanted you first.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t truly want you. Your life will be unhappy with him, and when he gets tired of you, he’ll move on to someone else, discarding you like an empty milk jug.”
“You sure know how to make a girl feel good, Riley.” She turned her back to him and walked toward the door.
He crossed the room in four quick steps and spun her around by the shoulders. His fingertips dug into her skin, and the frantic sound of his voice frightened her. “You’re not taking me seriously, Sierra. Listen to me!
You’re a prisoner here. I can help you escape, but you have to trust me.”
“I can’t do that. You only want to even the score with Victor. You’re mad at him, more than you want to help me. Leave me alone, Riley, or I’ll tell Victor what you’re up to.”
The door burst open and several armed guards entered, followed by Reginald Rawlings. “What’s going on in here, Sierra?” he yelled. His eyes moved from her to Riley with a heated anger. Riley quickly released his grip on her and stepped back.
She turned her back to Riley. “Nothing. We were just having a little discussion. But we’re done now, aren’t we, Riley?” She looked over her shoulder.
“Oh yes, we’re done.”
Sierra picked up on his intended double meaning. The look in his eye and the intent behind it scared her as he calmly reported to Reginald: “Sierra was asking me how to escape from the palace, and I strongly advised her against it.”
Astounded, she quickly looked back at Reginald. “That’s not true! He’s lying! He came to me with — ”
Reginald cut her off by slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. She was so stunned that she stumbled backwards into Riley. Riley held her under her arms to give her stability. Her eyes instantly filled with moisture. Not tears — that would be giving Reginald satisfaction. She gained her own footing once again and pushed Riley away.
Reginald stepped closer to her. “You are nothing but an insolent, immature, unappreciative girl who has yet to learn her place around here. I shall take it upon myself to teach you.” He turned to his guards and flicked his hand toward the door. “Take her to the blue room.”
Sierra remembered the long walk to the blue room, appropriately named because when you left it, you were covered with blue bruises. She remembered being crumpled on the floor after her first beating and the many times she had been pushed through the doorway since then. The cruel memories brought the fresh sting of tears to her eyes.
Reginald’s lecture preceding her first beating sealed her suspicions. “You are here, alive, because of me,” he said. “And this is how you thank me? By trying to escape? I have cushioned your life since you were seven years old, giving you every opportunity and letting you experience things no other girl your age would ever dream of. You should be grateful. If there were still a throne to this kingdom, you would be heir to it. Now, my son will marry into the royal line that the people of this country cling to so dearly. You will bring peace to my reign. But if you think for a second I’m going to allow you to flee, think again! I will teach you until it sinks into your obstinate mind.”
The next four months consisted of several attempted escapes followed by beatings and lectures. It didn’t matter how many times Reginald beat her. It didn’t deter her from trying to escape. It only strengthened her resolve to make sure she would never again be subject to cruelty by a man’s hand.
In Sierra Montgomery’s mind, escape was preferable, but death was acceptable.
She reached to her upper left arm and tightened the knot of the fluorescent orange bandana. She knew how it worked. She knew what to expect, but it still left her uneasy. Once on the ground in Baylend, assuming she was still alive, she would need to make her way to the town of Slaterville, located on the lake’s northern shore. There she would have to wait on the side of the road until someone came for her. The orange bandana identified her as a crosser in need of assistance. Hopefully a caregiver would come by to pick her up. Hopefully they would be good caregivers.
She had heard stories about crosser homes and the horrible things that sometimes happened there: the abuse, the fleecing of money, or the betrayal of the defector just to get the reward money from Reginald Rawlings for turning them in. It loomed in the back of her mind, but she’d still take her chances. She had nothing left in Rendier and nothing to lose.
The pilot yelled over the speaker, “Folks, we are nearing the drop-off point. Good luck and God bless.”
The door opened, and a rush of freezing wind forced its way through the cargo hold. People were already jumping out of the plane, and Sierra’s heart raced so fast she thought it might explode.
Everyone ahead of her had already slid down the bench and jumped out. Now it was her turn. Bravely, she stood in front of the door. The wind was unbearably cold and felt like glass shards ripping the flesh from her face. The helper patted her back and placed the ripcord into Sierra’s hand. She jumped into the blackness, counted to five, and pulled the cord.
The jolt of her chute opening sent her stomach to her toes. The icy wind was nothing now as her face was completely numb. She was glad, a little, that the dark prevented her from seeing how far the ground was below her. She brought her wrist to her face and glanced at the face of the elaborate altimeter-watch that her father had given her when she turned sixteen. The glow-in-the-dark dials and numbers were barely visible. Three thousand feet, it said. She looked below into the darkness as she fell.
It seemed like an eternity as she glided down through the gloom. Then she broke through the underside of the clouds and saw the lights of the town named Slaterville. She checked her altimeter. Eight hundred feet. Soon, very soon. She readied her body for impact. Roll when you hit, she’d been told.
The ground was coming up fast, and she saw the ice now. She could see strange movement on the ice. No, not on the ice — in the ice. The other jumpers had crashed through the ice!
No! No! She wanted to be back on the plane. She wanted to be anywhere but here at this moment. She was about to plunge into the freezing water of the lake. The ice wasn’t thick enough! This was not the death she would have chosen.
Her feet connected with the ice in a spot still intact, but not for long. She attempted the rolling technique, but the force cracked the thin ice. She plunged under the freezing water completely. So cold! So black. No air!
Struggling to remain calm, she reached up to her parachute cords. Her chute was still on top of the ice. If only she could follow the cords back up to the surface without pulling the chute under, she could get some air into her lungs.
She kicked her feet and carefully guided her body up the cords to the broken ice above. When her head broke through the surface of the lake, she took a sharp intake of frozen air and coughed violently. She could hear the eerie shrieks and screams of other crossers caught in the ice on the other side of the lake. She looked all around to see if anyone was near her. She couldn’t see anybody.
Sierra’s body felt heavy and frozen. Cold was a long time ago. She was simply an ice cube bobbing up and down in an enormous punch bowl. But at least she was alive, for now. She had to get out and make her way to the town if there was to be any hope of surviving.
Her chute was caught in the ice. She pulled on it gently, hoping she’d be able to use it as a rope to get on top of the ice. Unfortunately, the ice was too thin to support her weight and cracked beneath her elbows. She inched forward and tried again. The thin ice broke again as she tried to pull herself up on top, so she continued to inch toward shore. The ice was getting thicker, but not thick enough. She had to disconnect her parachute from her harness because it was holding her back. Then using her elbows, she pounded at the ice in an effort to break it so she could advance toward shore.
Staying afloat wasn’t a problem, thanks to her bubble coat. Staying awake was another story. Her body didn’t seem to be cold anymore. In fact, she felt warm — almost hot. Yet the water on her face and hat had frozen to a thin layer of ice.
She noticed that the yells and screams had subsided. Her kicking was all but a standstill now, and she felt so tired and lethargic, but she was close to the bank of the lake. Her foot struck something hard.
It was the ground. She had reached the shallow depths. Now if only she could stand up and climb on the ice. She was so weak, so tired. If she could just rest a little first, then she’d have enough strength to get out of the lake. The last thought that crossed her mind before she slipped into unconsciousness was of her father. He had a smile on his fa
ce.
Chapter 2
Paul Bronson drove his faded blue Datsun through the streets of Slaterville with his palms beating the steering wheel in time to the song on the radio. The roads were choked with snow and increasingly dangerous as the blizzard raged on. He let out a compassionate “Oooh, man!” as he passed a vehicle that had slid off the road into a ditch, but he didn’t stop because a tow truck had just arrived. The tune on the radio blared out Another One Bites the Dust by Queen, and Paul chuckled at the irony of it all.
He directed his focus back to the task at hand: looking for orange bandanas. Not just any orange — a distinctive fluorescent orange, and it would be tied to someone’s arm, the sign of a crosser. He had already picked up four, all male, and delivered them to his family’s home. They still had room for two more if he could find anyone else.
Paul lived with his parents, his older brother Sam, and his grandmother on his father’s side. His family operated a crosser home, and crosser season had just begun. As soon as the lake froze over, they came in swarms. They always arrived under cover of darkness, usually on the coldest wintry nights, when their tracks were quickly covered by snow and detection by the Rendier secret police was least likely.
He had been told earlier in the day that a plane would be coming that night, and his mood headed south. All throughout the winter months his life centered on crossers — pick up the crossers, hide the crossers, shop for supplies for the crossers, drive the crossers to Northtown, scout for more crossers. He was tired of it. He was almost twenty years old and wishing very much that he could get out of the house, wishing to get out of this tedious life.
“When will it end?” he wondered. Paul had recently expressed his frustrations to his mother, Elsie. “When will they stop coming?” he asked. “When do we get to live a normal life?”
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