A Pawn's Betrayal

by Ernie Lindsey

  The downpour has all but extinguished the burning embers, and instead, the three of us stand in front of an opening that looks as if it’s been there a while. Iron bars poke out from between crushed and scattered rocks. Wooden beams lay about like firewood tinder, smoke drifting from their charred surfaces.

  And beyond, out in the wide field, there are lights of a curious, enslaving nation, waiting to meet their end. They’ve attached spotlights to the top of the tanks and they’re bright enough to light up the entire expanse of field that lies between us.

  A field that will see absolutely no PRV deaths and no chains wrapped around the arms and legs of my people. Not if I can help it.

  I’m so confident that I can feel the warm glow of victory coursing through my veins, hand in hand with the invincible blood that keeps my heart pumping.

  Chapter 18

  I hold my breath as we walk through the hole in the wall. No matter how confident you may be, it’s still hard to shake the nerves when you’re walking into the unknown. I’m just a simple scout from a village to the north. I climbed trees and played Chase the Rabbit. I had squirrel stew for dinner on the nights that my arrows struck true.

  I sneeze when I smell flowers blooming in the spring. My second toe is longer than my big toe on my left foot. I had a friend named Brandon. My grandmother wore dresses made of soft cotton. My grandfather died too soon.

  I was normal, and in some respects, I still feel normal.

  No matter how you look at it and from which direction, I’m simply a girl from miles away, and now they’re looking up to me as a leader. I know how it happened, but…how did this happen? How did I come so far in such a short amount of time?

  I’m about to lead my people into battle.

  How crazy is this?

  A couple of weeks ago, I had a splinter in my finger and I sat around the glowing light of a campfire, trying to gingerly dig it out with a pocketknife. My world was simple, easy, and uncomplicated. All I had to worry about was where the next meal would be found and if that noise far off in the woods was the sound of an approaching band of Republicons.

  Finn and I are shoulder to shoulder. We match each other step for step.

  Thinking about the strange sounds in the woods makes me think of James and the rest of his little group. Where did they go? How far away are they? Whatever the case, I hope they’re far enough away that they’re safe and happy that they chose to leave. I wish they were all here, James especially, because I know I could count on them. They’re smart, agile, and excellent fighters. They would’ve been good commanders on this field, regardless of how our society sees them as outlaws and thieves.

  Finn lifts his leg over a downed support beam rife with tendrils of smoke wafting into the rain-soaked night. I follow him.

  The rain. The stupid, never-ending rain. Why can’t the clouds disappear, if only for a little while? As if I weren’t sick of wearing sopping wet clothes, being covered in mud and sticky grass all the time, the drenched surface of the earth will make the battlefield slippery and difficult to navigate. It’s both a curse and a blessing, because what affects us will also affect the blackcoats, too.

  The spotlights attached to the tops of the tanks are tremendously bright and I have to squint against them to see what we’re up against. They don’t know we’re attacking, but it’ll be an advantage for them. The brightness, coupled with the driving rain, leaves spots in our vision and makes it hard to see what’s in front of us. Once our small army emerges, they’ll be blinded, unable to see the DAV troop movements. They’ll never see the men across the field lining up to put a bullet through their hearts.

  Stop it, Caroline, I think. None of that matters. As soon as you bend time and take out the tanks, none of that will matter. They’ll realize what they’re up against and they’ll run. Quit worrying yourself over nothing.

  I get Finn’s attention and mention that I’m going for the lights anyway, just to give our people a chance, should they need it and he agrees that it’s a good move.

  He pauses and glances over at me. He kisses my cheek and says, “Are you scared?”

  “No, are you?” I may be lying. I may not. I can’t even tell at this point.

  “A little,” he admits. “I’m fast, but you can almost stop time, Caroline. I’ve seen you catch bullets in your bare hands.”

  I see what he’s getting at. However much he’s trying to hide it, he’s legitimately terrified. I won’t make him admit it. Instead, I volunteer to take his bombs. “Let me have those,” I say, reaching for his pack. “I can do it and you’ll never even know I’m gone.”

  The relief on his face is genuine. “Thank you,” he says with a heavy breath, then adds, “I’m not a… I’m not a coward.” He looks at me expectantly, his shoulders slumped, lips turned down at the corners, waiting on me to tell him I understand.

  I give him a reassuring smile and say, “That’s not being a coward, Finn. That’s smart. If anything happens to me, it’s better that we only lose one Kinder.” The words came out before I could really grasp what I was saying. I’m confident. I’m fine. But I can tell that the message those words sent wasn’t the right thing to say to someone who cares about me.

  “Caroline, no,” he says, reaching for the pack. “I’m going.”

  “Stop.” I push his arm away. “Nothing will happen to me. I’ll be fine.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes. “Are you sure? If you get hurt, or if you die, I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “Wait for me,” I say. “That’s all you can do.” I step closer to him, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his chest on my face. I rest the side of my head against his breastbone.

  He kisses the top of my forehead. “I’ll be right here. Hurry back.”

  I assure him that I will, kiss him one last time, then back away with a smile and a quick wave. I tell him, “Wait until I’m fifty yards out, close your eyes, and then count to ten. By the time you open them, I’ll be standing beside you and we can watch those goons run for their lives.”

  Finn waves. He doesn’t say anything. His nod of approval is enough for me.

  I leave him behind. I’m okay, a bit shaky, but I’ve never felt so alone. Even when Grandfather died the day the DAV invaded and I thought my life was over, at least I had Finn right outside our door.

  Now, I am wholly, utterly, and entirely alone.

  I force one foot in front of the other.

  I tell myself it’ll be okay. I know it’ll be okay.

  Still…

  I’ve never carried a hundred pounds of bombs on my back, nor have I ever marched on an invading army by myself.

  Twenty yards away from the wall, I’m preparing to charge ahead, taking deep breath after deep breath when all but one of the spotlights on the tanks go dark. The remaining one grows smaller, more defined, as if it’s a sunbeam poking through a hole in the wall of a lightless room. It focuses directly on me, brightening the ground around my feet. The wall of rain flies through it.

  A deep, booming voice, as loud as thunder, as loud as an angel bellowing in pain comes from in front of me.

  “Citizen of the PRV,” it rumbles. “Stop right where you are.”

  Whoever it is, he must be using a microphone, or whatever that thing was that Hale had back in the warehouse. Something big enough to carry his voice clearly through the storm, across a quarter-mile of an empty field.

  I raise my hand to block the light, trying to see the person speaking to me. It’s no use. It’s too far away.

  “What are your intentions, citizen?”

  How am I supposed to answer if he can’t hear me from this distance?

  I lift my shoulders and let them fall. Maybe he has a pair of binoculars like the ancient, broken set we had in the encampment. Grandfather let me hold them one time. They were heavy.

  The voice echoes throughout the valley. “Raise your left hand if your intent is to deliver a message.”

  I give this a sec
ond’s thought before I realize, damn right, that’s exactly what I’m here to do. I raise my left hand. I turn it around so that my palm is facing me, and then I slowly close it into a fist, leaving only a single finger remaining upright, a single finger at attention.

  “Citizen of the PRV, do not…”

  He keeps talking, but I’m not hearing what he’s saying.

  I take a deep, relaxing breath.

  I grin at my prey.

  And then I run.

  I pump my arms and legs and the world around me turns into a blur. The bombs swing in my backpack and I worry that it’s not a good thing. I run, and run, getting closer, closing the distance, closing it as much as I possibly can because no matter how much time can mold the way I want it to, I’m not taking any chances.

  The spotlights, all of them, flash brightly and light up the entire field. The grass is green. Weeds bloom. A simple, lazy creek appears and vanishes underneath my feet in a flowing flash.

  How much further? A hundred feet? Two?

  The voice is booming for me to halt, to stay where I am.

  “Do not move!” it orders. “Stop or we will fire upon your city!”

  I chuckle. Whatever.

  Three…

  Two…

  One…

  I think about the hands of a clock, ticking, ticking, and then stopping. I concentrate on life slowing. I hear a gentle humming in the distance, somewhere out past the edge of my reality. My vision, or rather, everything in it, wobbles in the light, rippling and waving, and then—silence.

  I’m moving through a world under water. Everything, all of it, struggles, grinds, and strains to move. Raindrops teeter by.

  It’s not the slowest I’ve experienced, but I’m tired. I have a lot on my mind.

  This is war.

  It’s not an office where I’m daring someone to shoot me.

  It’s not a familiar forest where I’m trying to stop someone in my care from taking a bullet.

  This will have to do.

  The voice roars in creeping, garbled words that make no sense.

  I cut left and hear a small pop. A bullet drifts toward me. I smirk and slap it to the ground, heading for the tank on the western flank. I’ll start there, working my way down the line. I can hear muffled screams and the dim, dull sounds of machinery and commanders barking orders.

  It’s unnerving, but there’s no chance they’re moving fast enough to fire on the walls before I finish.

  My feet slip on the drenched hay and they squiggle and squirrel underneath me, but thankfully, I regain my balance before I fall and keep going.

  When I arrive at the first target, the tank operators are mumbling in slow motion, lifting fingers as if they’re struggling through molasses, pointing to the spot where I used to be.

  With the pack off my shoulders, I drop to the ground and hear the metallic clank of them knocking against each other inside the thick, green cloth. I wince and hold my breath.

  Good. No explosions.

  I remove the first Tunguska bomb. Hale let me hold one earlier in the warehouse while he gave me instructions on how to arm it and how to deploy the adhesive, sticky stuff on the back side so it would latch onto its intended location.

  I take a second to examine it—I could probably spare about thirty—and realize what a powerful weapon I’m holding in my palm. It’s pitch black like the night sky and about the size of the wild green apples that grew not too far from my encampment. On the top, a PRV army insignia and around the middle is a jagged, yellow line like a lightning bolt. The ball is attached to a flat base and on the back side of that is the layer of adhesive. I recall Hale telling me just how sticky it was back in the warehouse, and carefully peel the layer of covering away. If it gets anywhere near my skin or my clothes, I’ll have to lose a hand or a swatch of clothing to get it away from me.

  Overhead, the tank commander has yet to fully extend his finger as he tries to point where I once stood. It’s a good sign. I have plenty of time.

  The old me would’ve taken a moment to consider that this man has a family, probably a wife and kids, and he’s here on the orders of someone who ranks higher than he does. That chain of command goes all the way up to the presidential palaces. Both of them.

  The old me would’ve thought about that, but the new me has a war to win.

  I slap the Tunguska bomb against the side of the tank, wiggle it to make sure that it’s properly in place, and then smile with satisfaction.

  I pull the pin and ensure the latch has flipped properly into place.

  Easy enough, I think. One down, nine to go.

  I feel like the war is already won.

  Chapter 19

  My heart is pounding.

  Not from fear, but from excitement. I’ve attached the bombs to four of the ten tanks and still, the men around me have barely moved. I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it. These giant, metal beasts might not evaporate like fog from a lake during the detonation, but I’m totally fine with unusable hunks of metal that will serve as gravestones for the fallen.

  The thought gives me pause. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I’ve never been a violent person, but it’s a cruel world we live in. Now, with the advancement of the DAV army, it’s a cruel and different world. We, and I, must do what we can to ensure that our freedom remains.

  Will I cause many deaths?

  Yes.

  Do I care?

  Possibly.

  However, these men have enlisted to fight, and they should’ve considered their options before marching on my homeland.

  That makes me feel better.

  I move on to the fifth tank. I remove a Tunguska bomb, peel away the adhesive covering, slap it to the side of the tank, and then set the latch. This one is finicky and loose; it won’t stay upright like it’s supposed to, and I use a clump of earth, the size of my pinkie’s fingertip, to hold it in place.

  It’ll have to do. It won’t matter much, regardless, because Hale had set the internal timers on each to three minutes. By the time I reach the tenth tank, the first one will be exploding. They’re spaced far enough apart that the resulting detonation shouldn’t set off the others too early.

  Shouldn’t.

  I stand, grab Finn’s full backpack, and leave my empty one behind on the ground.

  Above, confusion reigns as the expressions on the tank commander’s face are slowly, ever so slowly, changing as they realize I’m not where I was a second ago. To me, it’s been a couple of minutes. To them, it’s only been about a second, if that, and it’s registering within their minds, “Hey, where’d she go?”

  I should hurry.

  I turn to my right, dash for the front of the tank, and then round it on the southern-facing side where the ten-foot-long barrel is aimed at my capital. Raindrops wobble limply along and when I move my head slightly to the left, a drop splatters against my eyeball, temporarily stinging and blurring my eyesight.

  Blinking quickly, I push the excess water away and when I open my eyes, I see movement off my right shoulder.

  Movement that’s happening so much faster than it should be.

  I’m alone inside this layer of time. How did…

  What the heck?

  Finn?!

  He’s charging toward me, head bent low, eyes focused directly on mine. Arms pumping, legs driving, as he’s forcing his way through the timeless world I’ve created.

  The sight of him makes me afraid. I’ve done something wrong and he’s coming to rescue me. He’s doing everything possible to come save me, to break through these walls I’ve built up around myself.

  It’s the bombs. It has to be the bombs. Why else would he be here?

  “Finn?” I whisper, bending it into a question.

  I’m terrified, wondering why he’s coming, wondering what kind of mistake I’ve made…

  But, God, I’m glad to see him. I can’t help myself—a smile spreads across my lips.

  How is he doing this? How’s he moving through my
stopped river of time? Did he find a new ability? Is he using his sheer strength to force himself through? Has he gained even more power?

  “Finn,” I say again, in excited, breathy anticipation.

  I move toward him, arms open wide, rushing to embrace the only one like me.

  And when he gets two yards away, I realize that he’s not slowing down. He’s not pulling up to stop and return my hug.

  The look in his eyes tells me he’s not here to save me from something either.

  “What are you—”

  It hurts like hell when his shoulder drives into my chest. All the air escapes me in a gale-like burst that would topple shacks in my old village. Blinding white light flashes across my vision, followed by sparkles flickering in my eyes, dancing with the hanging raindrops.

  The green cloth backpack, filled with the five remaining Tunguska bombs, flies from my hand and clatters against the tank beside us.

  We hang for an eternity. At least it seems that way.

  It’s long enough for me to feel the warmth of his body against mine, but now it’s not a sign of welcoming affection like it was back at the wall.

  Pain careens throughout my chest and I’m sure he’s broken a rib, maybe plenty of them.

  Confusion blurs my thoughts. Why is he doing this? Why?

  As we hover, floating, waiting for the earth to come up and meet us—I feel like he’s knocked us both into my stopped time-stream—the look in his eyes flashes in my mind again.

  This is intentional. This is malice.

  My heart rips open.

  Why?

  My back slams into the ground, hard, as if I’ve fallen from a great height. The impact forces the last bit of breath out of my lungs and as Finn rolls off of me, I gasp, sucking for air; my lips move like one of the trout we used to pull from the river near the encampment. Open, close, open…close. Finally, a tiny whisper of oxygen seeps in and I can feel my chest begin to expand.