by Joe Vasicek
At least, so he hoped.
“Here,” he said to Mira, “keep your hand on my arm, and do your best to keep up.”
“What?”
“Just stay close. We’re going to take a shortcut.”
Her eyes widened a bit, but she kept hold of his arm as he led them down one of the side alleys. The stench of the garbage mingled with that of tomatoes from the factory to produce a hideous smell, but he held his breath and stepped quickly, keeping his eyes focused on the light from the opening up ahead. They passed a few sleeping beggars, but got through without any problems.
To Jalil’s dismay, the alley ended in a courtyard, not a street. A couple of large trees stood at the far end, while the brick walls of apartment buildings towered all around them. A single lamp post stood in the center, illuminating the open area.
Another alley led out of the courtyard on the other side, heading the same direction. Undaunted, Jalil pushed forward; this one was longer than the other, but the train had sounded so close he had no doubt—
Midway through the alley, something stirred in the shadows. Mira gasped, and Jalil turned to see three dark figures silhouetted by the light from the courtyard, following them.
“Run,” he said. Mira did not need to be told twice.
The men behind them shouted and gave chase. The alley came to a wall and turned abruptly, but it opened up a few dozen yards down. If they could reach the street before—
Three more figures stepped out from a doorway, blocking their path. Two of them pulled out knives and held them as if ready to dart forward and attack. The silvery blades glittered in the darkness, reflecting one of the streetlamps not ten yards away.
Jalil stopped and dropped his bags, making ready to unsling his rifle. Before he could, Mira let out a muffled yelp; the men behind them had caught up, and one of them now held her with one hand covering her mouth. As she kicked and struggled against her captor’s grip, a knife blade flashed near her throat.
“Stay where you are,” came a rough voice. Mira stopped struggling, her eyes wide with terror.
“Drop the gun.”
Jalil spun around, looking for an opening, but he was surrounded. A tall, skinny man stepped forward, his bedraggled face partially covered in shadow. He reached out and took hold of the rifle. At first, Jalil refused to let it go, but hands grabbed him from behind, and someone pressed the edge of a blade against his neck. He drew a deep breath and released it.
“Impressive,” said the robber, running his filthy hands over the weapon. “It’s not every day you see something like this, eh?”
“Let us go,” Jalil hissed.
“Why?” said the man. He glanced up and grinned, revealing a set of grimy teeth. From the deference that the others gave him, Jalil guessed he was the leader.
“What do you want from us?”
“That depends entirely on what you have.” The man flicked his wrist, and two of the robbers stepped forward with the bags. As Jalil watched, they opened them and began to spill their contents on the filthy ground.
Mira whimpered, and Jalil turned to catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye. Her captor held her with both arms twisted painfully behind her back, his other hand covering her mouth. Thankfully, the knife was no longer at her throat, but Jalil’s blood still boiled to see her treated so roughly. He clenched his hands behind him into fists, but suppressed his rage; if he fought back now, one of them might be killed.
“Well, what have we here?” said the leader. A horrible sinking feeling formed in Jalil’s gut as the man pulled out the bag with the cash datachips and poured them into one hand. The others crowded around like a flock of vultures.
“Not bad,” said the leader, ignoring Jalil’s furious glare. “Not bad at all.” He set the rifle down and spent a few moments distributing the datachips among his men, then turned to Mira.
Blood rushed to Jalil’s cheeks as the man reached out with his filthy hands and stroked her neck. Mira whimpered and grew tense as he stared hungrily at her uncovered face.
“Let’s make this fast,” said the leader, unbuckling his belt. “Everyone gets a turn, starting with me. As for the—”
Something inside of Jalil snapped. He shouted with rage and tore himself free, knocking aside his captor’s knife with his elbow. The man hesitated for an instant, just long enough for Jalil to spin around and face him.
Adrenaline surged through his body like lightning, and time slowed to a crawl. The man lunged forward to strike with his knife, but Jalil caught his hand and redirected it into his stomach. The would-be attacker’s eyes grew wide with shock; in the dim light of the distant street lamp, Jalil could clearly make out every bit of stubble on his chin, the droplets of sweat on his furrowed brow, the half-rotted teeth in his now gaping mouth—everything. He took hold of the knife and ripped it out across the man’s belly, slicing through his flesh as if he were just a dumb animal. Blood spurted from his wounds, and he fell silently to the ground, clutching at his midsection as his intestines spilled out across the broken concrete.
Jalil spun around with the knife in his hand, expecting the robbers to jump on him at any second. To his surprise, they stood as still as statues, mouths gaping wide. A knife clattered to the ground, and one of the men turned and ran back toward the courtyard. The one holding Mira dropped her and joined him, while the other two did the same, fleeing in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” shouted the leader, his voice tinged with fear. “Don’t—” his eyes met Jalil’s and widened in terror, the hunter becoming the hunted.
Jalil screamed and lunged forward, but the man snatched the rifle from the ground and blocked his attack, knocking him aside. For an instant, it looked as if he would attack, but instead he dropped the rifle and grabbed Mira, holding her in front of him like a shield. From his belt, he produced a long curved knife, which he pressed against her neck.
“Don’t move!” he screamed. “Don’t move, or I’ll—”
In one smooth motion, Jalil retrieved his rifle and sighted it between the man’s eyes. The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the alley as the kick of the recoil rammed against his shoulder. The man arced up into the air, and for a moment he seemed to float there, a thin line of blood trailing from the middle of his forehead. A moment later, he fell to the concrete with a sickening splat.
“Oh Lord!” Mira gasped, running to Jalil and throwing her arms around him in fright. He lowered the rifle and held her with one arm to comfort her. As the adrenaline high of the last few moments wore off, exhaustion swept over him, leaving his knees weak and his head dizzy. He blinked and stared at the aftermath of the fight: two men down, both lying in pools of their own blood, both unmoving.
He took a deep breath and shouldered his rifle. Mira had fallen to her knees and was now sobbing, her whole body trembling from shock at the fight. A little bit of blood had gotten on the hem of her robes, but other than that she was uninjured. Jalil’s hand was bloody from the man he’d disembowled; he tore off a piece of the leader’s shirt and used it to wipe himself off.
It had all happened so fast, with no time to think. Jalil had expected the men to put up more of a fight; the way they’d fled, it was as if they had no shame, no honor.
He looked to the bags, their contents spilled across the ground, and his pounding heart skipped a beat. The money—where was it? Kneeling over the dead leader, he hastily searched through the man’s pockets, but only came up with three cash datachips—three, out of what had once been over a dozen.
He unslung the rifle and for a moment thought about going after the robbers, but Mira’s quiet sobbing made him stop. He shouldered his rifle and returned to her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, offering her his hand. She nodded mutely and took it, and he helped her to her feet.
“We’d better get moving again,” he muttered. “They’ll be back before long.”
He glanced down at the two bodies as she bent over to retrieve their bags. Killing t
hem had been so easy—so frighteningly easy. Still, he told himself, Mira was alive and well—that was the important thing.
And the money? He fingered the remaining three datachips in his pocket. God-willing, things would work out somehow.
God-willing.
* * * * *
Mira stole a glance at Jalil from the window seat of the night train. He sat with his head bowed over his chest, his hand on the dimly lit tray table in front of him. His fingers grasped the few datachips they’d managed to recover, clutching them as if afraid someone would take them. After the events of the last few hours, that possibility seemed all too real.
She shuddered as the attack in the alleyway played over and over in her mind’s eye. Heart pounding as the men chased them through the narrow space. Hands clutching her from behind, holding her captive. The leader, eying her with a frightening look of perverse hunger as he unbuckled his belt. And finally, Jalil scooping up the rifle and leveling it almost right at her. She could still hear the sharp crack of the gunshot, echoing in her ears even after the terrible moment had passed.
It had all happened in such a blur. She could only remember a few brief fragments; the rest was blackness. Her mind must have blocked out the worst of it, which was just as well. But more than anything, she remembered the look on Jalil’s face as he picked up the rifle and made to shoot. She’d never seen such determination in anyone before—such total commitment, as if he would die if anything happened to her.
He saved me, she thought to herself as the gentle rumbling of the train slowly lulled her back to sleep. He said he’d protect me, and he really meant it.
But then she remembered the blood on his hands, and the two bodies they’d left in the dirty alleyway. Those men would be alive now if Jalil hadn’t killed them. He had taken their lives without hesitation, as easily as if he were slaughtering cattle.
He was a killer.
Yes, but he saved me, she tried to reason with herself. He only killed because he had to. Perhaps there was some truth in that; but even if there was, it didn’t change the fact that the attack had robbed them both of their innocence.
She glanced over at Jalil one last time as sleep began to overtake her. He wasn’t the pure, young boy she’d fallen in love with as a little girl; he was something darker, something much more dangerous.
Strangely, she almost liked that even more.
Chapter 7
Mira stood beside the massive stone pillar and tried very hard to be invisible. The vaulted marble ceiling of the train station rose nearly a hundred feet over her head, but she still felt as if she were trapped inside a cave. Vast crowds of strangely dressed people pressed in from all sides, and several of them eyed her, especially the men in their strange, black suits. Their stares made her feel as if she were naked—and without her headscarf, perhaps she was.
Jalil argued with the agent behind the window, his voice steadily growing louder and more agitated. Ever since they’d crossed over the border into Raya Dome, it had been like this: delay after delay. Mira didn’t mind so much, except that with nothing to do and no one to speak with, she was left alone with her troubled thoughts.
By Earth and all her stars, how she longed to go home! Almost a month had passed since she’d seen her mother or talked with her sisters. Never before had she been away from them for so long. Without them, she felt as if she were dying.
Make sure he returns, her mother’s voice hissed in her mind. Don’t come back without him.
“Let’s go,” said Jalil, taking her by the hand and hefting their bags with his other. He led her through the crowd across a polished stone floor so smooth she could see her reflection in it.
She followed him silently, trying to ignore the less than innocent glances from several of the men in the concourse. Jalil, of course, was oblivious to all that. She could tell that his conversation with the man behind the desk had put him in a foul mood.
“I don’t know how we’re going to get through,” he muttered. “It’s going to cost us almost everything we’ve got just for the next train.”
“That’s not so bad,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll make it.”
“How? Without money, we can’t go anywhere.”
“Well… I’m sure Allah will provide.”
“God-willing,” Jalil muttered, leading her into a long, vaulted passageway. Gates to the various trains lined the walls on either side, with benches full of people waiting to board them. Through the glass ceiling overhead, the fading twilight sky was dark and starless.
“So what will we do?” she asked.
Jalil shrugged. “Go as far as we can. One thing’s for certain; there’s no turning back.”
Three young men with slick black hair and tight muscle shirts leaned against the nearest wall, watching them. Mira cringed as she saw the hunger in their eyes, remembering the men from the alleyway in Aliet Dome. There is holiness within you, she told herself, trying desperately to believe it.
Lord of Earth, how she wanted to go home.
* * * * *
Jalil paused briefly in the door of the train, staring at the parallel rows of lights running down the dark blue carpet. The place felt oddly familiar, like something out of a dream. Perhaps it was the way he and Mira had to step sideways through the narrow aisle, or perhaps it was the way the walls of the cabin curved naturally into the ceiling and floor. It brought back a memory of him staring out a window at a glowing blue horizon, with the sky dark and starless overhead.
It’s almost as if this isn’t a train, he thought to himself as he threw their bags into an overhead storage compartment. More like… something from my childhood. Something meant to travel in the sky, not on the ground.
Mira took the window seat while he took the one next to her, placing himself on the aisle, between her and the other passengers—just as he had done in Aliet Dome. Raya Dome had the same ban on the headscarf, and so it seemed only prudent to take the same precautions.
“According to the schedule,” he told her, “we should reach the next station in just under two hours. Are you hungry?”
“Just a little,” she mumbled, smiling weakly. If she was anywhere near as hungry as he was, she must have been absolutely famished.
Her smile was surprisingly disarming, especially with her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders. For a moment, Jalil felt almost as if he were back in the living quarters of the Najmi camp, surrounded by his adopted sisters as they shared all the details of their lives with each other. Most of the time, the conversations were frivolous—talk about which cousin secretly liked who, which relative was about to have a baby, what kind of a man they hoped to marry. Now that he’d been away from it all for over a month, however, Jalil realized he missed it more than he’d thought he would.
Mira turned and looked out the window. “Oh wow!” she exclaimed, bringing Jalil back to the present.
“What is it?” he asked. She pointed mutely out the window.
He squinted and leaned over her lap, staring outside. In spite of the darkened sky, he could just make out the black silhouettes of buildings, pocked with thousands of lighted windows. They rose straight up from the ground, towering almost out of sight. Between them danced hundreds of floating lights like little glowing bugs. Those lights, he realized with a shock, were actually flying cars. It was as unlike the desert as anything he’d seen.
Before he could say anything, a beeping noise interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and saw a blinking light above their heads.
“What’s that?” Mira wondered, a look of fear on her face.
Across the aisle, Jalil saw the other passengers pulling down straps across their shoulders from the tops of their seats. An image from his memory flashed into his mind—a row of people seated in front of myriad displays, strapping themselves into their seats as explosions out the window lit the spinning sky. Jalil trembled, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Attention passengers,” came an airy female voice from some unseen speaker ove
r their heads. “Please fasten your seat restraints, located on the top of your chair. Pull both straps down over your shoulders to the clip by your waist, and fasten the connecting harness across your chest.”
“What is she saying?” Mira asked. Jalil shushed her and strained to listen.
“For your safety, seat restraints must be worn at all times while in transit,” the voice continued. “In the unlikely case of an accident, your seatbacks may be used as an emergency parachute. Simply press and hold the button underneath your right armrest to disengage.”
Parachute? Why a parachute?
“What is she saying?” Mira asked again.
“Strap yourself in,” said Jalil. “This could be dangerous.”
After playing with the restraints for a while, he figured out how they worked and strapped himself in. Mira, however, had some trouble. As leaned over to help her, a terrible flashback popped into his head—his birth mother, putting the locket around his neck before pushing him down the chute to the escape pod. A lump rose in his throat, and his hands began to shake.
“What’s the matter?” Mira asked, a look of concern on her face. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Jalil said, hastily strapping her in.
“On behalf of all of us,” the voice said, “thank you for choosing Raya Skyways. We hope you have a pleasant ride!”
Skyways? Jalil wondered to himself. I thought this was a train.
As if in answer, the train shuddered and lurched. A low whining noise sounded through the walls, and an invisible force pushed him flat against his seat. Next to him, Mira cried out in terror, but across the aisle the passengers all seemed unconcerned, as if nothing could be more natural.
Jalil gripped his armrests and leaned back against his chair, turning to glance out the window. The lights outside fell away, leaving nothing but the faded purple twilight.