The Escape: A Slave Planet Prequel (The Slave Planet Book 4)

by Seven Steps

  Kennedy fell backward onto the cobblestone, and grabbed the side of his head. His lip was busted, and he felt his front tooth wobble.

  That guy packs a punch!

  By the time he stood up, the mob was upon him. He felt their heat like an open kitchen stove and gasped. He imagined his own death, and muttered another silent prayer.

  “I’m the police superintendent! You’d better back up, or else you’ll be sorry!” The circle around him tightened. “I’m warning you guys! Back up!”

  His reply came in the form of another shove.

  He whipped around to the culprit, but couldn’t specify who did it.

  Another shove.

  He turned toward it. Still, no one came forward.

  He felt the mob breathing on his neck, sending cold chills down his spine, one vertebrae at a time.

  “You don’t want to do this,” he said. His words came out almost as a plea.

  A punch in the back of his head sent him crashing to his knees. He momentarily blacked out, before slamming back into consciousness again.

  A kick in the side of his head rolled him over.

  Blows rained on him. From the back of his head to his lower back. Someone spit on him, dirtying his blue uniform.

  Oh God. I just want to see my wife one last time. Please, I swear that I’ll go to church with her every Sunday if you just let me see my wife one last time.

  He got on his knees, braving the kicks and blows, and began to crawl, sending the crowd into an uproariously laughter.

  “Look!” someone shouted. “We always knew he was a dog. Now he’s crawling like one!”

  The laughter echoed off the burning buildings and hit Kennedy’s ears. He cursed them as they opened up a path and let him crawl, following him and jeering.

  “Crawl, pig. Crawl!”

  “Somebody jump on his back! They’ll get a free piggy back ride!”

  Come on, boy. You wanna see the old girl, you’d better start running! he thought.

  He summoned all of his strength and rose. He saw an opening and took it, running with all of his might toward Forty Seventh Street.

  Thank you, God. I’m running!

  He made it to the corner of Forty-Seventh before he was stopped dead in his tracks. There, in the cross streets, was another mob. His stomach fell, and he choked back tears.

  Way to go, God. You close a door, open a window, and start a hailstorm.

  “Hello, Kennedy!” said a bald man with one, scraggily tooth in his mouth. “I’m ready for that piggy back ride now.”

  He was surrounded, and promptly lost his ability to breathe.

  I’m having a heart attack, he thought, as he felt his heart beat wildly in his chest. My wife will find me naked, and dead in the streets.

  “Get ‘em!” he heard.

  Before he knew it, he was back in the midst of the crowd, the blows beginning again.

  He felt a kick swing across his face, hitting his nose. He heard the crack of his nasal bone as it shattered, and hung limply across one side of his face. He screamed and grabbed his face, struggling to his feet again, blood splashing onto the cobblestone. Through his blurry vision, he saw a club swing at his head. He ducked and began to push through the crowd. Fist, clubs, and sticks banged on his back and tore at his clothing, but he refused to be knocked down again.

  Keep moving, John. Keep moving.

  He looked up and saw the sign for Lexington Avenue.

  Isn’t there a pond around here? he thought in horror. He looked forward and saw the sun’s golden rays shimmer upon the surface of the blue pond.

  It’s beautiful, he thought. If I’m going to die, at least it’ll be in a thing of beauty.

  “Drown him!” they screamed.

  There was no way out. He stood, but a blow to the side of the head sent him spiraling back to the ground. He felt himself being lifted by his legs. They were dragging him toward the pond. The cobblestone ripped at his shirt and skin, as he was drug face down for a block and a half. Someone grabbed his flailing and bloody arms.

  If there is a saint in heaven…

  Suddenly, he was levitated off the cobblestone. Then, he was airborne, flying like a bird through the air. Then, the pond.

  He hit the surface of the beautiful water with a stinging slap. He felt his lungs fill up with water, and struggled.

  Which way is up? Oh God. Which way is up?

  He finally broke through the surface and looked around. The water was red with his blood. His nose and body throbbed, and cried out in the afternoon heat. He found himself in the middle of the pond.

  The crowd screamed and threw rocks from the shore.

  He turned his head. I have to make it to the other side. He began to kick as fast as his aching legs would go.

  “Beat him to the other side!” he heard the crowd say.

  Life was now to be awarded to the winner of this race. Someone had to reach the shore first. After several minutes of swimming for his life, Kennedy finally felt earth beneath his fingers. He’d won. He looked up. He was back to Lexington.

  Keep going, John. You’ll be home by dinner! He thought as he began to run. Don’t look back. Whatever you do, don’t look back.

  He heard the crowd getting closer. He wanted to run faster. He prayed to go faster. He willed himself to go faster, but his lungs were burning, his body was aching, and his heart was pumping lava. He had to stop. He had to rest.

  You rest, you die! Keep running, John. Just keep running!

  Then, he saw it. Blonde hair. That hair, that body, that face. He’d seem him before.

  Think, John. Think. Where’d you see him?

  He suddenly remembered. It was the man who he saw in the boarding house.

  Yeah. He was with those girls. What was his name? God. I’m so bad with names. Jack? No, but it was short. Buck. Dick. Nic. Yes. That was it. Nic. Nic.

  “Nic!” he screamed. “Nic, help me! Hey!” His voice came out nasal and garbled as the air tried to push through his broken nose and watery lungs.

  Nic turned around and looked at the bloody and battered Kennedy without stopping. He turned toward his friends and conferred with them before looking back at him.

  “Hey, Nic!” Kennedy screamed again.

  Was he deaf?

  The blond and his friends moved toward him swiftly, keeping their eyes on the crowd behind them.

  “Kennedy?” Nic asked.

  “For the love of God, help me. They’re gonna kill me!” He collapsed onto the ground and began to pant.

  God. I must be having a heart attack. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out onto the sidewalk.

  “I’ll get a wagon,” said a dark haired man in the back of the group.

  Nic and another man with ink black hair helped Kennedy up, and they advanced down Lexington, the crowd growing ever closer.

  “Hey! Hey!” he heard the dark haired man shout.

  Kennedy turned his head.

  The man was talking to the driver of a feed wagon. They led Kennedy to it.

  “Sir, this is Aaron. He’s going to drive you back to headquarters. He’s going to help you, okay?”

  “Thank you,” Kennedy said, breaking down in tears. “Oh God. Thank you.”

  They helped him into the back of the truck, and laid him among the feed.

  “Thank you!” Kennedy was still shouting as they closed the door.

  Marshall banged on the door twice.

  “Go ahead, Aaron,” Marshall cried.

  “I’ll take him straight there.”

  “Thanks, buddy. And watch out for the crowds.”

  “You got it.”

  ~()~()~()~()~

  Aaron’s feed truck took off in the direction of the police precinct.

  “Hey!” they heard.

  The crowd was sprinting toward them, Patrick Butler at the helm.

  “Run!” Marshall cried.

  They took off in a desperate run toward the orphanage.

  Terra scooped De
anna up in her arms, and pounded her boots against the cobblestone. Nic was far ahead of them, Danny in hand. She gradually realized that she was slowing down.

  “Hey!” she cried out. “Hey. I can’t keep up!”

  The little girl was beginning to feel like a lead weight, and she was screaming in Terra’s ear. The heat was draining her energy, and her feet refused to keep up.

  The crowd spotted her.

  “First one to lynch a nigger wins a prize!” she heard.

  “Nic!” she screamed in horror.

  She saw him turn around and look at her, his eyes wide in concern. He handed Danny to Marshall and raced back to her.

  “Give me Deanna,” he said, snatching the little girl away from Terra. He then grabbed her hand, and they took off running again.

  Terra’s arms ached from the weight of the girl, and her legs were still screaming with pain.

  “I can’t keep going,” she gasped. “I can’t.”

  “Keep running, Terra. You have to keep running!” he said, running faster.

  She felt like she was being dragged down the street, and struggled to keep up. They reached the rest of the group, and kept pace with them.

  “The orphanage is just a little farther!” Marshall shouted between gasps for breath. “Just a few more blocks!”

  Then, a scream. Marshall looked back. Terra was on the floor, her ankle jutting at an angle inside of her white boots.

  “Grab the girl! We have to keep going!” Marshall cried.

  Roland circled back, grabbed Deanna, and started his run again. Nic picked Terra up and threw her over his shoulder, taking off at a neck breaking run toward the orphanage, while she howled in pain.

  “Oh. It hurts! Oh, Nic. It hurts so much!”

  “We’re almost there. We’ll fix it when we get there. We’re almost there,” he replied.

  The mob had split. The majority of them were still chasing the group, but a part of the mob had split off.

  When Patrick had shouted, “First one to lynch a nigger wins a prize!” an unfortunate fruit vendor happened to be selling his fruits on the corner of the street. Some of the mob surrounded him, and commenced beating him with clubs and fist. After the vendor was rendered unconscious by the mobs deadly blows, they tied a rope around his neck and strung up his body from a light pole.

  “We won!” they were screaming. “We won!”

  The orphanage was an imposing four stories building. It was surrounded by tall, thin trees that looked thirsty under the heat of the afternoon. The bricks were beginning to fall out haphazardly around the building, dating it several years. The shutters were scrubbed and painted a brilliant white that reflected the sunshine of the day. It appeared almost holy. They ran up the stairs and pounded on the door.

  “Willy! Hey, Willy. Open the door! Hey, Willy!”

  The door was snatched open and, before the thin man with white hair was able to say a hello, they had pushed past him and thrown themselves up against the door.

  “Get the kids.” Marshall panted, putting Danny down and sucking in the hot air of the orphanage. “Get the kids out now.”

  The man stood in front of them, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. He looked over the group before his eyes settled on Marshall.

  “In trouble again, Marshall?” he asked.

  “Willy, there’s a mob coming this way. I think they’re going to do something terrible.”

  “Mob? What mob?”

  “They’ve already burned down the draft office and half of New York. Now they’re going after the niggers. You’ve got to get your kids out of here now.”

  Willy’s eyes widened in shock, then settling his resolve, as he began to bark out orders to the three nurses who had come downstairs to investigate the commotion.

  “Get the children. Get them now,” he said.

  ~()~()~()~()~

  One of the nurses ran to the top floor, checking all the rooms. They were empty at that time of day, but she had to be certain.

  After checking the top two floors for children and staff, she raced to the main schoolroom. There were four rooms for schooling in the orphanage, each taught by a different teacher. In room number one, some of the older children were reciting their times tables.

  “We have to evacuate now!” she shouted.

  The schoolteacher nodded, and began to gather the children. They had been expecting this day to come. They had planned an evacuation route and rehearsed it monthly. Today was the day that their preparedness would pay off.

  She ran into the next three schoolrooms, repeating the order.

  “We have to evacuate the building right now! Get the children to the lobby.”

  Next, the woman ran to the nursery. Children as young as a year old were playing quietly under the watchful eye of a young man—Willy’s son, David.

  “David, we have to get the children out of here now!” she screamed.

  “What’s going on?” David asked.

  “No time for questions. Get the children to the lobby as fast as you can!”

  David gathered the children together quickly, instructing the older ones to take the younger ones’ hands. After everyone had found a partner, he began to lead them out of the room and down the hallway.

  The next stop on the woman’s route was the hospital rooms. There were two hospital rooms in the orphanage. She ran into the first one.

  “We have to leave right now,” she said, beginning to gather the sick children together. The other nurses followed suit.

  “What’s going on?” one of the nurses from the second room asked. “I heard a commotion.”

  “There’s a mob outside, and they’re about to burn down the orphanage,” she said, helping a coughing girl to her feet. “We have to get the children downstairs immediately.”

  “Oh, dear god.” The nurse placed a hand over her heart, and ran to the other room.

  Within minutes, all two hundred and thirty three children, and fifteen staff members, including nurses and teachers, were accounted for and making their way into the large lobby downstairs.

  “Hey, McAllen!”

  The mob was standing outside of the orphanage.

  “Come out come out wherever you are.”

  Patrick Butler was standing at the head of the crowd with a large club in his hand.

  “What are we going to do?” Joanna asked.

  She turned away from the window. Two nurses were setting Terra’s ankle, as she howled in pain.

  “Where’s my boot? I need my boot!” she was screaming.

  “Your boot is right here. We’re not going to take your boot.”

  “Hey, McAllen!” Patrick screamed.

  “I’ll go,” Roland said.

  “What?!” Joanna demanded.

  “I’ll go out, and bargain for the rest of you.”

  “Roland, don’t do this,” Joanna said.

  “I have to. It’s the only way for me to protect you.”

  She threw her arms around his shoulders. “Roland, please. There has to be another way. Please!”

  “I have to go,” he said.

  He kissed her deeply, placed her away from him, and stepped toward the door.

  “Roland!” Joanna screamed.

  Marshall held her back as she tried to run toward him.

  “Roland! Roland, no! Roland!”

  He walked to the door, turned the knob, and stepped outside.

  CHAPTER 26

  Roland looked at Patrick Butler from across the orphanage lawn. This young man was his complete opposite.

  He wanted freedom for some.

  Roland wanted freedom for all.

  This man wanted to kill those who were not like him.

  Roland embraced the differences of others.

  Is this what the future of the world looks like? People full of hate like Patrick Butler?

  He stood face to face with Patrick.

  “What do you want?” Roland asked.

  “I want to kill those niggers in there. T
hat’s what I want,” Patrick replied loudly.

  The crowd was silent, waiting for their next orders.

  “How about a deal? If you let them go, you can kill me.”

  There was a pause as Patrick thought about that.

  “Hmmmm,” Patrick said, placing a thoughtful finger on his chin. “I hate niggers. I hate nigger lovers. I really hate this nigger orphanage. But it seems to me, I hate you more.” Patrick smiled. “Fine. I’ll let those ‘coon kids go. And then McAllen, you’re mine.”

  Roland nodded, and looked back to the window where his friends were staring back at him.

  “Get everybody out of the building!” he shouted.

  The eyes disappeared from the window. He knew that they were complying. He turned back to Patrick, that smile ticking on his pale lips again.

  “Let the kids get out. Then torch it,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Hey. We agreed—”

  “We agreed on the niggers. Not their orphanage,” Patrick replied.

  Roland squeezed his lips together in frustration, and turned toward the building. He saw the children coming out the back door and walking across the street. He saw Joanna frantically running from the building. She began to round the corner toward him.

  “Roland! Roland!” Before Marshall wrestled her to the ground, and half carried/half drug her toward the rest of the group.

  The children and their new companions rounded a corner and disappeared in the direction of the precinct. Roland turned back toward Patrick.

  “Burn the house to the ground!” Patrick cried.

  The mob screamed its agreement and ran into the building, grabbing anything of value they could find. Some ran out with books, some with jewelry, and still others with beds, sheets, cribs, and medical equipment. The house seemed to move with the mob inside, scattering through its rooms like cockroaches scattering in the light.

  After the plundering was done, the destruction began. Black smoke bellowed from the top floor. The building was beyond hope now. It’d be gone in a matter of minutes.

  What will the children do now? Where will they go? What will they to do?

  He couldn’t look any more and turned away.

  “No, no, no, McAllen. Look. Look at it now.” Patrick grabbed his shoulder and turned him back toward the orphanage. “That’s their future. That’s a nigger’s future here. Smoke. That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. You’re fighting for a lost cause. For smoke.”