Marked

Chapter Twenty-Nine

She was allowed to walk through the city freely.

Two poachers flanked her, one on each heel but for the most part they left her alone.

The city was as she remembered and without the fear of being killed this time, she was able to appreciate all of its technology.

Where there should have been sidewalks were moving runways with glass casings that reflected the now fully risen sun.

Sleek, oblong cars cruised through the streets with no tires to guide them.

This was new to Rachel. Every car she had ever seen had had tires and an engine to get it moving. These capital vehicles, however, seemed to float lazily a few feet from the air. They didn't even have steering wheels.

No one paid her much attention as she skirted around a café where poachers were gathered to eat. She stepped onto one of the moving sidewalks and contemplated them as she glided past the restaurant.

They were poachers. Cold, heartless, unfeeling poachers yet they went through the motions of life just like any other human she'd ever met.

Across the street from her, in front of what appeared to be a grocery store, a poacher woman exited the sliding glass doors with a toddler in tow.

The little boy dropped his toy. Rachel expected her to react violently but instead she bent over, grabbed the toy and handed it back to him with a pat on his head.

She supposed it made sense. There was no way to raise a new generation of soldiers if heartless mothers were killing their children left and right. Plus she knew that Nicolas, the puppet master, had a soft spot for children.

The grand steps leading to the white house were visible now between two buildings. She stepped off the moving runway and onto a street bustling with movement. Cars were stopped at a red light and she was propelled forward by a moving sea of people crossing the street.

She realized the poachers had lost her in the crowd. It didn't matter. The goal was to make it into the white house, not run from it.

Without waiting to see if her jailers were following, she made her way up the steps, each one bringing her closer to her goal.

At the top of the stairs stood a few poachers in their grey city uniforms guarding the entrance to the White House. They were so still that she wondered if they even breathed.

Someone wrapped their hand around her elbow. She jumped, turning to face the poacher and her heart plummeted all the way down to her feet at the sight of him.

A metallic taste filled her mouth.

Tears burned in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

She was reminded in that moment of Simone's funeral. The way despair had clawed at her with the realization that she'd never see someone she loved again. It felt that way now as she stared at a familiar pair of brown eyes that looked the same yet completely different altogether.

Juan stared back at her, but not Juan, not really.

"Come with me." He barked.

He wore a grey poacher uniform. His hair was freshly cut. His forehead newly marked.

Rachel swallowed hard.

No way, there was no way he'd been marked so quickly. It had only been a day since the ship was overtaken. This had to be a cruel joke. Maybe he'd escaped. Maybe some of the ship people had made it out and had come to join her in taking down Nicolas.

"Juan," She whispered. "Juan, are you pretending?"

He didn't even blink nor did he react to her words.