When All Else Fails (A Push of a Button Novella)

Chapter Eleven

He sat up and stared at the burbling stream a few feet away. "What should I be doing, anyway?"

The obvious answer presented itself quickly. Keep walking, step-by-step, with faith. The Father had been guiding his steps up until he decided throwing a temper tantrum was more important. He might be hungry, tired, and confused, but he could still walk. And as much as he wanted to get angry and pitch another fit about how unfair this was, that accomplished nothing. It got him nowhere, and it wasn't at all helpful to Viv.

So he pushed himself to his feet with a sigh. Something about this whole thing made him think this would be a long walk. But maybe his time out here wasn't done because the Father wasn't quite done teaching him what his purpose was. He still wasn't sure what teaching him that would entail, but if it was anything like this, it probably wouldn't be fun. But, hey, he had more insight into the situation than he did a few minutes ago. Maybe he should sit down and scream at the sky more often. Probably not, but the idea still brought a smile to his face. The upward tilt of his lips was unfamiliar. How long had it been since he'd smiled?

Just a week, but it felt like a decade. He let the smile grow wider just because he could. Smiling was far better than frowning. Tomorrow, maybe, things might seem dark and gloomy again, but a break from the storm was a break from the storm. He wasn't about to lose an opportunity to smile and feel a little joy in the midst of a bad situation.

Mr. H had been right about silence. The Father really did speak into it. Just a whisper, but that whisper had seemed louder than any shout could ever be. He'd felt it in the depths of his soul, and even if revenge still sounded appealing, it sounded a little less appealing than it had when he'd woken up. The knot in the pit of his stomach unraveled, and he continued trekking up and down the hills, changing directions when he couldn't go further on in one and continuing unless he was stopped. Life might not be good, but it was better.

HE CRESTED A hill to see a single farmhouse nestled in the hills. It didn't look like much, but it was more civilization than he'd seen in a long time. It also didn't belong out here. The old structure wasn't nice enough or big enough to be a holiday getaway for any rich person—at least not the usual kind—and the neatly tended vegetable garden out back said that whoever lived here was around regularly.

Well, whoever they were, if they were out here living like this, they were no friend of the Supremacy's, and they probably wouldn't mind helping a fellow fugitive. At least, that was the hope. He still hadn't eaten anything today, and his knees were beginning to knock together. He'd run across a few more clear, running streams though, so he wasn't too thirsty. He wouldn't die dehydrated, thank the Father. But he might pass out from hunger and die out here just a little ways from food and, if he was lucky, a warm bed.

He hurried down the hill as quickly as his legs would let him. The sooner he could talk to the owner of this house, the better.

He wasn't even in the yard when sirens began wailing from the house. He slapped his hands over his ears with a grimace. Was this another of the safe houses the Diexebels owned? So far from any civilization, it didn't seem very likely. And the alarms wouldn't be so loud, would they? But what did he know?

Something whizzed past his knuckles, scraping them and leaving behind a stinging pain. He pulled his hand away from his ear and stared. Blood welled from the injury that the projectile had left. Had he just been shot? Who even used guns these days? Blaster pistols or tazers were standard issue. How in the Skies had this person gotten their hands on regular bullets? Weren't those outlawed ages ago?

Then it hit. Someone was shooting at him. He threw his hands in the air. Should he get down on his knees too? No more volleys of deadly metal came flying toward him, so he stayed where he was. Why would they shoot on a stranger? Whoever was hiding out here was more paranoid than he was. And after everything he'd been through, he was pretty paranoid. Not paranoid enough, obviously, or he wouldn't be standing here with his hands in the air trying to avoid being shot full of bullets.

No more shots came, and a window in the upper story of the house slid up. It must've been cracked earlier if the shooter was up there. Unless the house had more than one occupant. A grizzled-looking man peered down at him. From his distance from the house, he couldn't make out anything more about the man, unfortunately.

"What are you doing out here, trespassing on my property?"

Despite his elderly appearance, he sounded strong and determined. Seb lowered his hands and cleared his throat to answer. "I'm just looking for a little help finding some place to shelter for the night and perhaps a map to locate the nearest city."

"And why are you out here in the first place?"

Suspicious bugger, wasn't he? Seb sighed. "I'm... I made some people higher up very angry. My button... Well, it brought me here. Not here, specifically, but into the middle of nowhere out here. I've been walking all morning, and I'm exhausted. Could we talk without six yards between us and the threat of a bullet in my skull?"

The man didn't respond immediately. He stroked his chin and stared out the window at Seb, probably assessing the likely threat he posed. "Fine. Come to the front door. But I won't promise not to put a bullet in you if you try to monkey around, you hear me?"

Seb nodded. At least he wouldn't be shot immediately. A chance was better than none at all. So he trudged the rest of the way across the manicured lawn, pausing to revel in the feeling of walking on trimmed grass instead of wadding through grass that was, at times, as high as his thighs. At the door, he stood and waited.

The scrape of a lock pulling back greeted his ears, and then the door swung open. The man who stood behind it held his shotgun in one hand and the edge of the door in the other as if he intended to slam it in his visitor's face if the conversation proved a disappointment. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "I'm Sebastian Auclaire, sir. I'm not looking for any trouble. Just a little food if you can spare it and a place to sleep for the night. Anything would do, even if you're willing to let me just sleep on the porch."

The man stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. "Sebastian Auclaire, was it?" His fingers flexed on the barrel of the gun. "You're a long way from home, boy."

His throat tightened, and his heart slammed against his rib-cage. How did this man know about him? Was the family name that well-known that a man living in the middle of nowhere would know it? Apparently. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, how do you know that?"

"Everyone in the Supremacy knows your family, kid." The house's owner sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "Well, you'd better get in here before one of those drones they send to check on me shows up."

Seb let the man usher him in, but the more the homeowner spoke, the less things made sense. Everyone in the Supremacy knew him? Then this man was with the Supremacy. But he was under strict watch and lived in the middle of nowhere. Something didn't add up. "If you're one of them, why help me?"

"I am not one of them." The man glowered at him and sprawled out in one of the rough-hewn kitchen chairs, his gun resting on his lap. "And don't you dare forget it."

"If you're not one of them..." Seb sat across from him with a frown. "Then who are you?"

"If you asked them? A traitor of the worst kind. One of their own who turned tail and ran."

"No one runs from the Supremacy."

"You have." The man drummed his fingers on the worn planks of the table. "And clearly, they've failed to conform or kill you, so what landed you out here? Never thought you'd do something bad enough to land yourself on the run. Figured maybe you'd end up dead eventually if you didn't learn to keep your head down." He stroked his chin. "But never thought you'd be smart enough to just run, kid."

"It's a long story."

"And I've got nothing but time. If you're going to stay here, you're going to tell me what I'm getting myself into."

That seemed fair. Anyway, what was the worst that could happen? The man could shoot him. That would be a reprieve after everything he'd suffered, so at this point, there was nothing to lose. He shrugged and launched into it. This stranger wanted his story? This stranger would have it.