The Shearing

Thirteen

Once, Oakley and I have had a bet on to which is scarier. Is it to ride a roller coaster and find yourself stuck at the peak of a loop, or to step forth and brave a horror house alone? Of course, each of the two theme park features certainly has its own way of upbringing horror to its unlucky guests. The roller coaster would make you feel as though you'll plummet down from a bone-shattering height, while entering the horror house would make you feel like a helpless prey of whatever's lurking in the pitch black. But despite their different means of inducing screams, both intend to trigger a common thought to one's mind, and that is the possibility of death.

That's what's wracking me from within right now at this very instance. Funnier thing apart from losing the bet decades ago after choosing the horror house and literally crying at the roller coaster, I seem to feel both kinds of dread now as we take pace within the blackness of the tunnel, which is carved probably a mile away from the ground while we're confined within a claustrophobic train, groaning and screeching and hanging on a crude tether, which is matched with the ear-piercing blare of its metals scraping together. Frankly though, the train's mechanical whine is the only audible thing around. No one among us passengers has the capacity to speak even a mere word for the moment, just the heavy breaths and quiet weeps. Heat mingling with our pressed bodies in utter darkness. Here in the pitch black, I may feel like a helpless prey, but it seems I'm not the only one who's entering the horror house now. We all are. We are all helpless prey, and the predators are just right above us beyond layers and layers of rock and regoliths, stalking the cities; their feral features concealed beneath the embroidered silks of their tux and uniform, and is embellished with a golden plate that ironically echo their oath to justice, yet their fingers are the same fingers that have pulled countless triggers which have ended who knows how many bloodlines for a selfish cause. Dictator Ross Pavel suddenly creeps into my mind. His menacing grin, exposing a set of white teeth, and a pair of lush eyes.

For anyone overseas who doesn't know him, one may think of him as a mere reserved yet authoritative dictator; he's too young for his position, but Dictator Ross is more than just that, and he certainly has darker motives tucked well beneath his pristine skin, and a pocket-full of knives to banish even the innocent from the face of existence, and now the strings of death that he pulls are slowly coming to the Hollands—my family. I could almost catch a glimpse of the glinting edge of his knife hovering over each of our heads like a guillotine blade, threatening to impale with one wrong move.

This isn't just about surviving the infernal policy. I need to protect all the people close to me, I cannot just protect myself. Oliver has saved me a lot of times already despite being from a completely different family bloodline, and now the circumstances are tossing me into the pit where I'm left barely capable to save my own skin. At least Farhan's still with me, only I'm quite irked at her for not bringing Oliver with us, breaking the promise I thought she wouldn't. Well at least she didn't mean it. A part of me remains a bit guilty for failing to find Oliver on the way to the station, but any way, I couldn't put all the blame to myself either; all I've known is that Farhan's going to talk to him, and I totally have no idea that I'm supposed to meet him along the way.

Right now, we're currently cruising in darkness, unaware of the train's direction; its screeching metals engulfing the dead silence, muffling the whimpers from other passengers around us. I take it as a good distraction to temporarily banish the thought of Oliver left behind Site A's main station. Albeit I know that I need him and his adept intellect by my side once I set foot  again for a trek on the cities above. I can't just wait for him to catch up once we get to Carson City. The next train, according to what I've heard, would arrive next Monday, and I can't waste precious time waiting for him while still clueless of Oakley's whereabouts. Every minute counts for my sister's life, and I don't know how much time I have left to find her. My only true family left in this god forsaken world.