Marked

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The man had lifted his bow, the arrow notched in the groove, the fletching just barely touching his bottom lip.

Releasing the arrow, it'd whistled through the air, making a wet sound as it pierced the animal.

Rachel remembered she'd made a noise of surprise, something between a gasp and a cry.

The man, Hector, had approached her. He'd knelt down beside her and gathered her supplies and said, "I'm sorry you had to see that. But we've got little kids to feed."

And then, he'd collected his kill, tied it to his belt beside two other birds and had gone on his way.

She hadn't known him then, but now that she did, she recognized the kindness of his acts.

He was a selfless man, of that, she was sure. And she wished so badly to return to that point in time, to a time in history where Hector was free, relatively safe and unmarked.

Rachel opened her eyes, blinking them rapidly to keep from crying.

After another half hour of traveling, the truck came to an abrupt stop.

Rachel flexed her jaw, trying to get her ears to pop. She had grown unaccustomed to the elevation during the time she'd spent living underground and now struggled to regain her sense of direction.

Up on the mountain, the air was thinner, the wind colder, the air fresher.

Familiar.

Michael hopped out of the driver's seat, his bandaged hands now covered with a long, black shirt.

He nodded to her and produced from his pocket a small, glowing stick. He waved it above his head, guiding the other trucks toward him.

Once the last of the trucks came to a halt, the people looked to him for direction. "We'll take two teams to bring the weapons out. No need for all of us to cram in there. The rest of you stay out here and keep watch. Pass the message along." He said to the people near him.

Murmurs travelled down the length of the crowd, skittering and echoing in the mountain wind.

Rachel turned to look at Juan. "How many bombs do you think we'll need for your plan to work?"

"A lot," He replied. "We need enough to drop into the city after the electricity has been shut off, enough that their numbers will be weakened. "

"That's a great plan, Juan. Good job." Yalina clapped him on the back. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Juan rolled his eyes. "Well, might as well put the aircraft into good use. Once we shut off the power they won't be able to see the aircraft coming so we don't have to worry about them shooting us out of the sky. It has to be timed just right and we gotta drop the bombs where it will hurt them the most. That's where you come in." He pointed to Yalina's chest.

"Let's get going." Michael urged. They followed after him, a group of about twenty, woman and men alike. They climbed over sharps rocks and bumpy terrain. It reminded Rachel of the compound, especially when the mouth of a cave became visible.

Unlike her home mountain, this one had a metal door in plain sight.

"You know the city inside and out. Where's a good place to dump those babies onto?" Juan asked.

"Well, the guard's stations for starters. That's where they train and hang out and they've got guard posts too." Yalina was huffing, much like the other bunker people, the strain of climbing the mountain taking its toll on them.

Rachel looked at Juan and they both shared a smile. It was so easy for them; they'd been doing this their whole lives after all, that the climb hardly fazed them.

Michael reached the door and pulled out a notepad with a bunch of numbers scrawled on it. Rachel strained to see what was on it but she could only make out scribbles. He proceeded to punch the code in furiously. The metal door remained closed but a green button erupted from the surface and flashed.

Michael pressed it and leaned forward to very careful enunciate a word into the speaker. "Freedom," He said and the heaviness of the word hung in the air like a weight. Rachel wondered if his father had kept this place a secret because he held on to the hope that someday freedom would be attainable again.

He just hadn't anticipate that his wife would thwart him at every step, even long after he was dead.

The door flung open revealing a long hallway ahead that lit up slowly, each overhead light bursting to life, buzzing with an inanimate yawn.

"Come on, the weapons are this way." Michael motioned for them to follow with his hand and they obliged, carefully trekking their way down the hall. Though it was unlikely anyone else was in there, the unfamiliar landscape made them cautious.

The mouth of the hall opened up into a room filled with massive screens all mounted on the wall. Chairs lay out before the screens and in front of the chairs were many dormant panels. Michael flipped on a switch to his left and the room flooded with light.

It was empty and quiet and the cold seeped into the soles of their feet from the heart of the mountain rock beneath them.

To the right lay a door where Michael punched in another code. It swung open and the group peered inside. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of weapons, all neatly catalogued and arranged against the walls. Ammo, grenades, hand bombs, everything was labeled and meticulously organized.

"Grab some bags and let's fill up."