by C. R. Turner
Winded, I gasp for breath, feeling tiny pieces of glass lacerating my back. I push myself off the glass-covered concrete and run over to a policeman who’s been shot. He’s slowly bleeding out and barely conscious, so I manage to steal the keys off his belt as the Union and the TPRA go about slaughtering one another in a squall of weapons fire and explosions.
Handcuffs off, I race over to Max who’s lying on his stomach at rear of the cage, struggling to breathe in the thick acrid smoke. I fumble through the keys, trying to find the right one while coughing in the putrid smoke, but when I get to the last key, I still haven’t unlocked the cage. I start to despair. “Max!”
There must be another set of keys. Poor Max is wheezing as the fire at the front of the truck threatens to engulf him. I go through the keys again. Finally! The right one. I swinging the door open as hard as I can and lead Max, who’s dazed and winded, down onto the concrete and away from the thick smoke so he can catch his breath. My backpack and Max’s saddle and reins are still in the rear tray of the four-wheel drive. I grab them whilst the striker scout and police continue fighting under heavy attack from the TPRA.
“Come on, Max.” He lethargically rises to his feet and we both run for one of the ramps built into the drain.
As we reach the top of the ramp, I turn to look back at the battle. Four more Union vehicles come tearing up the stormwater drain and skid to a halt, dozens of Union soldiers joining the fight. Two Union single-seater strike jets roar overhead dropping ordnance on the TPRA. The force of the deafening explosions hits me like a punch in the chest.
From a safe distance, I briefly look back. I don’t know if I’ll ever trust another person for as long as I live. This city breeds misery. The fight for survival makes people turn on one another. I can’t wait to get out.
Max struggles for breath. I thought for sure I’d lost him in all that smoke and fire. I’ve been alone for so long; I don’t know what I’d do without him now. We head along the edge of the drain, the fighting behind us. I carry all our gear to give Max time to recover, but I fear they’ll catch up to us, so I look behind every now and then. I know Max is going as fast as he can. “Keep going, mate. You’re doing good.”
After about an hour, the noise of the fighting has faded and there’s a stillness in the air. We continue on, and I find myself constantly imagining what it would be like to finally step foot on Arcadia, and for all this to be behind us. That dream is what drives me to keep going, even when everyone is telling me I won’t make it. The fear of failure isn’t what haunts me; it’s that I’ll give up and end up just another broken soul that litters these city streets.
Chapter 7
After a decent night’s sleep, I ride Max, enjoying Hati’s warmth on my face. We’ve been travelling for a couple of days, and the stormwater drain we’ve been following has been getting wider as it gradually turns to the east. Up ahead is another ramp. I direct Max over so we can exit the drain and head north instead.
Before we reach the ramp, a Union jet swoops down out of nowhere, startling both of us. It’s so low I can feel the heat from the engines and the fumes from the unburnt jet fuel stings my eyes. Its engines point downward as it lands in front of us, kicking up sprays of dirt and water. I squint through the dust cloud to see the Union striker scout sitting in the front passenger seat. I glance at the ramp, then back at the jet. Just as the striker scout climbs out, I rib Max hard and yell, “Yah! Yah!” He takes off running at a blistering pace towards the ramp. The striker scout, seeing Max’s astonishing pace jumps back in the jet and signals to the pilot to take off.
As we reach the top of the ramp, I spot an industrial area on the other side of a large field. I steer Max towards it and in mere seconds, we’ve streaked across the field and into the sprawling industrial area. Max runs on with the sound of the jet stalking behind us. I slow Max’s pace to a trot, then pull on his reins to spin around. The jet is landing in the field behind the giant buildings.
We reach the end, we’re blocked by a really high concrete wall running from east to west and cutting the industrial area in half. I direct Max west, and we follow the wall until we come across an area where the wall has been reduced to ground level. The adjacent buildings, whilst still standing, have every single pane of glass smashed and the concrete columns and floors are crumbling. Whatever hit the wall must have been massive. I stop Max at the gap in the wall. I look behind us in the direction the jet landed, wondering how far behind us the striker scout is, then instruct Max to go forward.
He takes a couple of steps and stops. “Come on, Max. Move.” He doesn’t budge, but lowers his head to the ground and sniffs. I look down. Landmines! The ground on the other side of the wall is filled with them, running off in both directions for at least a hundred feet and all linked together in a spider web of rusty trip wires.
“Stop right there!” the striker scout hollers from afar. I spin around. He’s sprinting towards us. There’s only one choice. Hopefully, the mines are that rusted they won’t even work. I can’t give it another moment’s thought. “Come on, mate.” Max hesitates, but I squeeze him in the ribs and finally he moves, lifting his giant paws, one at a time, and carefully placing them back on the ground. Clearly, he’s had training from his time in the MOSAR. If he steps on one, we’re both gone.
Slowly we pace forward to the far side of the minefield. Max has only a few more paces to go when he steps on one of the wires and there’s a distinct click. This is it. A few seconds pass. Nothing. I don’t know whether it’s a dud or if it’ll go off when Max lifts his paw. I reef on his reins to stop him from taking another step, then slowly look down at the ground to see if I can see the wire Max has trodden on. “Stop. Don’t move.”
I spin around to see the striker scout standing at the gap in the wall, forty or so feet away, his Ashra pointed at me. I rib Max hard in the ribs with the heels of my boots and yell, “YAH! YAH!” Just as Max takes off, I hear a second distinct click and look behind us to see if the striker scout will fire. He hears the click, looks down and realises he’s standing right next to a mine field and jumps off to the side behind the wall for protection.
Although Max moves lightning fast, we only get about thirty feet from the minefield before one of the mines explodes. Max lets out a yelp, and seconds later there are several more explosions echoing like rolling thunder.
Max continues to yelp with every stride he takes. He’s been hit. I direct him to a side street and jump off. There’s a piece of jagged metal sticking out of his back leg and blood running down his leg. I scrunch up my face, trying not to look at it. From my training, I know what I have to do. I grab hold of the shrapnel. “Sorry, Max. I have to do this.” I reef it out. He yelps and the blood runs faster down his leg. His paw is now soaked in blood. I feel horrible for causing my mate so much pain. I bite my lip hard. If I lose it now, I won’t be any good to him.
I drop my backpack on the ground and frantically rummage through it until I find my first aid kit. There’s no time to stitch the gash, so I strap Max’s leg tight to slow the bleeding. I’ve only just finished throwing everything back into my backpack when I hear several more mines explode, off in the distance. I run over to the corner of the main road and peer around a building. The striker scout is heading in our direction. I run back, grab Max’s reins and lead him down the road on foot as fast as I can.
After half an hour, I run out of breath and stop to look at Max’s leg. The bandage is soaked in blood, and I look behind to see if Max is still leaving bloody paw prints on the ground. There don’t appear to be any.
Strangely, nearly all the buildings in the area have windows and doors intact. I lead Max towards a factory and take him inside, locking the door behind us. The space is filled with old machinery and everything is covered in a thick layer of dust and pigeon poo. It’s silent except for an occasional fluttering of pigeons living in the rafters. I lead Max into a room filled with spare parts and tools, and rummaging around, I come across a draw filled wit
h dozens of torches. “Score!” I flick them on, one at a time, until I find one that works, close the door behind us and barricade it. With no windows and very little light coming in under the door, the only source of light is the torch.
Max’s wound needs stitching, so I get a needle and thread from my first aid kit, then give him a hug before I start. “It’s okay, Max. You’ll be okay.” I remove his blood-soaked bandage then sterilise the needle with my lighter. I pinch the skin on either side of the deep laceration together and thread the needle through his skin. He twitches, but after the first thread, he stands quietly until I’ve finished and put a fresh bandage on.
I’m grateful for the paramedic training my father gave me. I knew what needed to be done and managed without freaking out, but being hunted for so long is exhausting.
Max gingerly lies on the concrete floor and I stroke his forehead. “I’m sorry, Max.” I feel so horrible that I caused him so much pain. He must trust me though, and I’m sure he knows the score.
I search the room for anything useful, pulling draws and cupboards opens. My only finds are engineering tools and spare parts. Then I discover an office in the back. I rummage through a desk in there, shoving a small computer out of the way and opening more drawers. I find a black fabric case. Inside is a pair of binoculars in near brand-new condition. I look them over and notice small engraved text on them that says: “Property of the Union”. I smile as I put them back in their case and stuff them in my backpack.
I’m sitting on the ground with my back against the wall, watching Max sleep in the dimly lit room, when he lifts his head and pricks his ears. The sound is faint, but even I hear it and sit up to watch the light filtering in under the barricaded door. I turn my torch off, and as the room falls to near darkness, footsteps grow louder and louder. Cornered in the room with no windows and with only one way out, Max and I both sit there in absolute silence. The light under the door is interrupted by the shadow of two feet, and the door handle is jiggled. My heart races.
The shadows disappears.
A few seconds pass, and I let out a sigh. That was close.
I jump in fright at a sudden almighty bang on the door, then after a few seconds the footsteps fade away.
I’ve been awake for hours. Finally, the morning light peeks under the door. Max walks over to me with only a slight limp in his back leg. I give him a pat then get up to check the door, pressing my ear against it for several minutes before removing the barricade and opening it just enough to stick my head out and look around.
No sign of the striker scout.
We leave the safety of the room and explore the factory. There’s a lathe over ninety feet long that dwarfs all the other machines. The place has a strange smell to it, a mix of dust and machine oil. Enormous steel shafts, at least thirty feet long and rounder than tree trunks, sit on timber bearers that look like they weigh a couple of tonnes each. I would have loved to have seen this place back in the day.
A large first aid cabinet is bolted to the floor. I use a portable fire extinguisher to break the lock. Inside is a quarter-inch thick grey blanket called a Heat-sheet, the size of a large table cloth, rolled up and jammed inside the cabinet. “Score!” I remember my father bringing one home from one of his trips and showing me how to use it as part of my paramedic and survival training. I pull the heavy blanket out and partially unroll it. The inside is covered in instructions on how and when to use it. There’s a bright yellow tag dangling from one edge with big black text: “Pull to use”. I grab bandages and other first aid bits and pieces and stuff them in my backpack.
Max is standing in the middle of the room, looking up at the pigeons in the rafters, a comical look on his face. I smile. I’d love to know what goes on in his head. I call him over, throw the rolled Heat-sheet over his back and strap it down with two leather straps attached to the rear of his saddle.
Near the exit is a snack vending machine. I smash the glass. Most of the snacks are years past their expiry dates. I stuff just a few in my backpack for later. On a shelf near the vending machine, I notice a small electronic device. With everything covered in a thick layer of dust, its black shiny surface stands out, and I walk over to investigate. It appears to be some sort of video camera with a small lens. I drop it on the ground and stomp, smashing it to pieces. Time to go.
We’re far from the factory when I hear a Union jet in the direction from which we’ve just come. After a few seconds, I catch a glimpse as it passes between buildings far off in the distance. I nudge Max and we continue north.
After several days, there’s been no sign of the Union jet or the striker scout and it can mean only one of two things: either the striker scout has given up and flown back, or the jet has left and the striker scout is continuing on foot. Either way, uncertain as to whether or not we’re still being stalked, I keep Max trotting at a slow pace trying not to tear his stitches. The day is getting on, and I slow Max to a walk.
The area has given way to a mix of factories, office buildings and overgrown parks. Trees grow through cracks in the road. I’m inquisitive as there’s been little, if any, fighting in the area. The buildings are intact as though everyone just got up one day and left. With so much of the south littered with bodies from the pandemic and all the fighting, it’s a peculiar sight. Even the vehicles on the street are in pretty good condition with some of them loaded up as though people had planned on leaving but left without them. Whatever happened here, it must have been big and sudden.
Max and I are exhausted, barely managing to hold our heads up, when we spot a deer in the road just ninety feet ahead. It’s fully grown with large antlers. Hati is half set behind the buildings making it difficult to see the deer in the glare. The animal probably weighs five or six hundred pounds, but Max still towers over it as it just stands there looking at us, not moving a muscle. Max lowers his head as if he’s about to give chase. I pull on the reins and whisper, “Stay, Max. Stay.” The deer stands frozen for a few more seconds before turning and sprinting off down a side road. I smile and pat Max on the back.
Looking around for a place to stop for the night, I direct Max down a side road. The buildings lining the smaller side roads have grass growing out of the gutters, and a few even have vines hanging from their roofs, reaching all the way down to the footpath. As the buildings grow larger and the gaps between them widen, we come across a large park, roughly ten acres and completely overgrown.
Surrounded by factories and office buildings, I sit on Max’s back, looking out over waist-high dry grass as it sways in the breeze, obscuring once-used park benches and water fountains. The sound of hundreds of crickets fills the air in the last of the afternoon heat. Then something catches my eye. Looking out over the grass, I spot a deer hanging from a large tree. Its rear hoofs are bound by rope and lassoed over a low branch. Throat cut, it’s still bleeding out. Someone must be close by.
Max lifts his head and sniffs the breeze, looking in same direction. His ears point skywards and he listens intently. A girl stands up in the long grass near the deer. I whisper to Max, “Come on, mate. Let’s go. It’ll be safer if we just go around.” I gently pull on the reins and we head away from the park. At a distance, I pull on the reins and turn Max to look back up the road. Just the edge of the park visible.
Who is she? Is she’s alone?
I jump off Max, lead him back towards the park and peer around one of the office buildings. The deer and the girl are no longer visible. Where did they go? I jump back up on Max’s back to get a better view over the long grass and spot her intermittently standing up then crouching over, disappearing and reappearing.
We watch from a distance, until I nudge Max and we follow her for half an hour until she enters an office building five stories tall. I sit on Max’s back looking up, wondering who she is, when the fifth floor of the office building lights up. Stunned to see a building with electricity so far outside Paelagus, I look through my binoculars and watch the girl as she closes thick black blinds to
block out the light.
I find an adjacent office building where Max and I can spend the night. Leading Max up the tight staircase that bends back and forth on itself, Max groans in protest every time he has to twist around a corner. At the fifth floor, I pull out my binoculars and try to spot her but her heavy black blinds make it impossible to see anything. Max and I eat, then settle down on the floor. Occasionally, I look across at the adjacent building before falling asleep.
I wake early to find the girl has opened the blinds. I continue watching from a distance, pacing back and forth all day, unsure whether I should go talk to her. Late in the day, she emerges from the building. I grab my things and lead Max down to the street, but by the time we emerge from the building, she’s gone.
I’m unsure whether she’s gone back inside, so I walk Max in the twin front doors to the foyer of her building. There are several elevators. Do they work? It doesn’t matter; Max wouldn’t fit. I find an emergency stairwell and lead Max up the stairs to the top floor. Inside is an office with dozens of desks and computers, half a dozen book shelves with what looks like hundreds of books. “Hello.” I find a kitchen stocked with heaps of food and bottles of water but no sign of the girl. There’s dozens of batteries wired up and I follow the wire to the fridge and open it. To my surprise the fridge is working and filled with food. I spin around and walk over to the windows that run from floor to ceiling.
Looking out over the surrounding industrial area, I can see for hundreds of feet in all directions. The girl is down on the street, heading back. I grab Max’s reins, but with only one exit out of the building, it’s too late to make a run for it. I stand against the glass looking down as the girl enters the building.
She enters the office through the emergency stairwell. To my amazement she’s roughly my age. When she sees me and Max, she lets out a little scream, covering her mouth with her palm. I just stand there, not knowing what to do.