I suck in a sharp breath as I gaze up to a scrawny figure clad in threadbare cloak in front of me. The silver pistol is clutched within his shaky fists with its barrel now pointed between my eyes. It would only take a slight twitch of his finger to click the trigger, and I'd be done just like that. But as I force to steady my erratic heartbeat , and my eyes fly up to meet his, I did not fail to see fear and doubt clouding his eyes. After all, it's the window to one's soul.
Judging the way he look, he's too thinly built and battered-looking for a murderer; the kind of thin that would probably snap up upon a jab. Nevertheless I refrain to move a muscle. I have yet to know his capability, and the fact that he's holding me at gunpoint already proves the danger he's posing. Soot sweaty locks curl up to veil a fraction of his bright green eyes, which is outlined with axle grease like that of a smudged makeup.
"Don't move," he warns in knitted teeth; his voice is low, hoarse, and threatening; his adam's apple bobs as he gulps down, and his eyes seethes in renewed ire.
If he could hear my screaming heartbeat, he'd know I have no plans of moving from my position. My lips are pressed in a hard line yet my mind's already bellowing for help. None from the crowd seems to notice what's happening here. My gaze remains upon his, hoping for a distraction, and once his eyes averts even just for a little, I'd probably have a split second to wham the gun off my face, and that is, if he's not more agile than I am, and if he is, then I'll have to deal with that kind of thought later. I need to do this first.
"What the hell do you want?" I speak up in clenched jaw, my voice raising for a fraction.
"You," he starts in knitted teeth, eyes locked on mine, "it's you whom they wanted, and I'm going to earn my prize tonight, lady," he adds as his lips edge up into a canine grin, and his eyes roam my face and slowly trail to my shoulder . . . the part where my mark lies covered.
"Morale." The word slips out from my lips before I could hold it back; my fingers twitch, and I start to slowly move my arms to halt the burning sensation that's engulfing my biceps from being raised up too long.
"Yes, and your leaders have just arrived," he mumbles in guttural tone.
How did he know I'm a Morale? The thought haunts me instantly. Sweat trickles down my cheeks as I bite my lip, but I dare not move my arm to wipe off a drip. In my periphery, the sea of people totters to and fro; it's almost as if we're invisible out here. It would only take one yelp of help for them to notice, but with a gun at my temple, I wouldn't do so much as a budge.
So far, there's not a single leather suit to be spotted among the ocean of threadbare clothes, but I know it won't be a matter of time before the thugs in the apartment march out in pursuit of more people with their mark. I need to get out of here. I will never join the revolt. The thought quickly lights up a plan in my head. Albeit unsure, I know I must try something out, so with a heavy breath and muted utterance of prayer, I start to part my lips.
"If you're going to shoot me right now, the army's going to lose one Morale that would've done something on the revolt for Pelnora; there'd be lives that would be spared by me that will rather end up dead if you click the trigger now. Would you let that happen?" I challenge him.
Staring up to meet his eyes, comes a quiver that falters his steady gaze and a fidget that kicks up upon his sturdy grip. Albeit for some reason, he's able to recover quickly from my words. Sweat drips from the locks that hang above his eyes down to the line that highlights his jaw. His grin fades then edges back into a smile.
"Appeal to pity, thought you'd get away with your fallacies eh?" He snorts. "Don't fret, ain't planning to shoot anybody, but you're coming with m-" before he could complete his last line, my hands jerked up to wham the gun just in time when his fingers hit the trigger and a deafening shot follows, echoing throughout the place.
The gun lands a few good meters away from us, smoke still billowing from the earlier gunfire. Flinching from the shot that has narrowly missed my head, I struggle to ignore the searing pain in my ears; never mind if it bleeds. I quickly kick my foot up, and it crashes into his crotch, causing him to bend down with a grunt, which gives me enough time to hit him square on the face with my patella.
With a loud angry grunt, the man thrashes in pain and topples backwards. That should buy me time. By the mention of appeal to pity and fallacy, I know he's a cognate-intel, which makes me stronger than he is. I sprint away and kick the gun farther, ignoring the questioning look the people shoot at me as I barrel down the street and sink into their ranks. The acrid smell of lubricant mixed with sweat and booze hangs thickly. Even as I struggle to breathe only through my mouth, my throat burns with the air I inhale.
As I dash deeper into the crowd and into the busy streets, I manage to slow myself down a bit. My heart screaming in frantic beats, and my face dappled with trails of sweat. I untie my ponytail and flip back a heft of my locks, then I continue to jog onwards, warily scanning the shacks and small buildings flanked at either sides, looking for an alley that would lead me to the eastern section.
As I pass by makeshift houses and tents, I get a clearer glimpse of the poverty that has wrapped into this realm. Scrawny children smeared with grease lie muted along the curb; people clad in threadbare carry tons of metalware be it rusting, blackened, or new, and I even see some of them dragging an engine-like thing, leaving a grease line on its wake along the littered road. I couldn't start thinking of their health considering the kind of atmosphere they have here; it's like having no choice but to spend the rest of their days on a torture chamber, just so they could spare themselves from the inhumane bloodshed that has reigned the cities above.
As adrenaline ceases, pain starts to erupt along my muscles; noise fills the air as I jog past the commoners and decide to stop by a lit lamppost to cope up with my racing breath. I have no idea how far I've ran. Glancing behind, the apartment is nowhere to be seen already, and that gives me the comforting thought that I've reached a good distance away from my harriers. I have no means of communication with Farhan, but whatever is she doing now, I know she'd be perfectly fine.
Oliver suddenly taps my mind, how would I talk to him about everything I have just found out earlier? I've been brimmed with a lot of questions, and I demand answers. My train of thoughts takes an abrupt halt as the screaming of a woman booms far atop me along the ropes that connect the walls. Another wanted. Then my hands quiver against the lamppost as reverberation crawls on its steel surface.
A sound reaches my ears. Somewhere from the western part of the place comes a piercing mechanical cry of what seems to sound like an engine; a loud crescendo that quickly sends everyone into a crouching position. Even with my hands clamped against my ears, the sound is clear and stark. Test Drive. Shortly as the sound fades, people begin to right themselves up and carry on with their agendas.
And just as I am about to jog back further north, the loud bickering coming far behind me catches my attention.
As I spin around, a woman is being dragged along the pavement by a couple of men clad in black leather suits; flavescent lines circled the end of their sleeves, and at the back of their suite is a circular symbol with its center composed of gold rectangles and squares forming the shape of letter "m". It takes no more than a split second for me to realize who these people are. The woman seems to be confused and frightened at the same time, but I dare not tarry for long, otherwise I'd surely be caught as well. The scrawny man from earlier flashes back in my mind; surely there's something that makes him think I'm a morale, and whatever it is, I've got no idea, and certainly whatever it is, these men would no doubt spot it with ease.
And so with adrenaline building up, I sprint away.
People ambling about nearly crash at me as I dash hastily and squirm my way through their ranks. Others tend to gaze up on me suspiciously, but I didn't care in spite of all the eyes I can feel darting into my direction. I just need to get out of here. Right ahead the road breaks into two way with one petering into alley as it twists to the right. Ignoring the pain in my nerves, I put an extra spurt of speed as I near the alley.
And that is when a hand darts out from the sea of commoners and clutches my arm, abruptly yanking me sideways that instantly knocks the air off my supposed to be shriek. I staggered and quickly lose my balance, but before I could make my nosedive with the bitumen. Two strong arms catches me so that I am hovering over the ground. With my arms unrestrained, I grab my captor's arm and attempt to throw myself backwards, using my knees for support, but it is no use.
I'm helpless.
My captor is quick and strong, turning me around with ease, and a hand quickly clamps my mouth shut, muffling my pleads.
"Hush it, you're drawing attention to yourself," says a male voice. "You're not the only one here who doesn't want to get caught by them," he adds in knitted teeth; his voice low.
The voice doesn't sound as though it comes from someone around Oliver's age, rather it seems to come from someone around my age. Upon realizing his words, relief showers me instantly. He's a morale being hunted as well. I clamp my palms upon his and tear his hands off my face. He quickly complies as I stop flailing my body.
I suck in a sharp breath and quickly swivel around to face him, both of us in a crouching position. A guy clad in dark green camouflage cardigan and a crewcut looks me up with dark eyes. I stumble backwards but is able to support myself with my arms. I then spring up and spare him one last look of mixed confusion and fright before I stride back into the pavement.
This realm is the safe haven of both criminals and innocents, talking to strangers halfcocked may as well be like walking before death's doorstep; there's no guarantee the man is not a criminal, but I won't take my chances nevertheless . Byrne, you can do this, you just need to get to the eastern section.
The sound of pounding footsteps behind me causes me to stride faster.
"Hey, wait up!" the crewcut guy calls out from behind, but I pretend to hear nothing and carry on with my strides.
I keep my eyes ahead as I turn right of the forking road towards the crowded alley. Then a hand grabs mine and forces me to turn around and face him.
"Stop it, leave me alone!" I spit as I yank off my arms forcefully and carry on.
"We both want to get to the suspension train," the man says, and this time, I halt from my tracks and turn to face him; he gazes up to me impassively.
"Look, stranger, I'm sure we can both get there by ourselves," I say as he starts to get into my nerves.
"Then I suggest going first into the right direction," he retorts, and as I spin around to face the crowd, the alley stops into a dead end with people ambling around towards a two-story building rigged up ahead, which seems to be a store of some sorts; its makeshift sign post reads, "Clement's Metalware," crudely written in red spray paint.
I suddenly run out of words to say, and my eyes dart from him and into to the crowd as though watching a tennis match.
"Fine," I mutter in patented annoyance as I stride back the way I came, my lips hardly part as I walk past him.
Before I could return back into the road earlier, he calls out and says, "Hey, the name's Rafe."
Of course his real name is not Rafe, who would risk to reveal their true identity in this hell where the word trust is not anymore known in anyone's vocabulary? Even I wouldn't dare tell anyone that my real name is Byrne Holland; Oliver is the only one I've entrusted to know it.
As I begin to get mixed back to the crowd of macaronic noise, I force myself to walk as slowly and casual as I could possibly manage, giving no hint of my intention of escaping anybody. As I dare spare a glance behind, there's not a leather-clad men to be sighted, nor Rafe for that matter. The road to the left stretches not far enough before it forks again. This time, I'm quite positive I'm in the right direction.
Striding past several lubricant shops makes me a bit prone to the humidly astringent atmosphere they have here in Site A, but not enough to make me stop scrunching my nose up. As I near the left side of the road, a thinly built woman with her bawling daughter walks past me, and I couldn't help but pity the poor family. If this cruel nostrum they call revolt that every wanted individuals intends to execute would claim success, then would innocent people living in this hellish confinement see daylight again? I couldn't bear the thought of being born underground without ever having the chance to know sunlight.
For a fleeting moment, I may have actually wavered upon my plan of escaping the revolt. Would I fight for the innocent people here? No, Byrne. Oakley is more important. She's your sister, the one who stood up to care for you even when your parents can't.
Right. I will find Oakley.
As I turn left, I see it. Far at the very end of the road probably a few kilometers away is a colossal marble staircase winding up high near Site A's ceiling; it has several other metal skyways connecting it to a building towering equally as high. People throng all throughout the place, and even at a very far distance, specifically here in my position, I could spot the sea of commoners struggling to board the monorail.
And I think it's my cue to hurry up.
With determination, I bolt into sprint. Never mind what the people think; it may not be long before the monorail gets brimmed, and I'd rather draw attention and board that monorail rather than pretend and wait for who knows how long 'till another one comes.
The squalid street is more humid than the previous road I've been to; booze hangs thickly, stinging my steady gaze and shortening every gasp I take. The crowd grows restless with every minute passing, rattling as they force their way forward through each other's ranks. Everything has fallen off kilter; parents abandoning their children to cry along the streets; thieves, thugs, and innocents bicker aimlessly, throwing metal scraps along the crowd and burning makeshift shelters. Yet it seems like majority of us have the same destination in mind, and everybody's hustling forward.
That is until a gunshot from ahead sends everyone into a muted crouch.
"Hold it everyone! Calm down! The train's all full! Next set of carriage comes Monday next week! Now ya'll better get back to work!" a man in navy blue police-like suite hollers ahead of the crowd, waving off a led light as he and his comrades usher the throng of commoners backwards; the crowd then erupted with shouts, grunts and whine. Some of them daring the officers as they throw rubbish and oil cans. "Now, people, quit fighting already!" another officer bellows.
Then shortly the daring few eventually grow into a throng, until the multitude altogether rallies their way off to the blocked path by throwing anything they can find lying upon the littered ground. Another gunfire goes off, but this time, it isn't powerful enough to send anyone into a crouch, rather it has only caused the crowd to grow even more restless, turning it into an angry mob. The noise goes louder than the officers' commands, a cacophony of howls, whines, and cries; a crescendo taking over the muffled reprimands. The officers are clearly outnumbered.
A couple more gunshots follow, then the blood spill has begun, causing more from the crowd to retaliate. With this chaos going on about, I wouldn't be able to get to the station on time, and I've got no other routes in mind. There's no time to explore.
"Hey!" a familiar voice calls out.
Before I could fully turn to recognize the source, a hand grasps my arm and hastily pulls me sidewards towards the rows of duplex houses.
"Rafe, what're you doing?!" I holler as we near the house and finally halt by the doorstep; Rafe, towering a couple of inches taller, gazes down on me impassively.
"We need to think of another way to get the hell past the people; I'd bet that crowd ain't lettin' us through," Rafe says as he stabs a finger at the restless commoners. "We'll never get there in time if we won't improvise," he adds.
"Improvise? I don't even know your plan!" I snap as I stomp backwards.
Rafe snaps his gaze into the crowd and back at me in palpable irritation before pointing into the rows of houses flanking the street at either sides and saying, "these houses leads directly to the station, officers have been blocking this street ever since, and nobody gets into the suspension train on time, well not unless-"
"Not unless we take the rooftops," I finish it for him.
A faint trail of smile edges on his lips.
"Yes, right. So follow me," he says then waves me onward as we bolt into the door.
Rafe barges the door open with his elbow in one forceful shove, causing the woman in shaggy dress within to shriek in fright, nevertheless Rafe seems to pay no heed. The interiors of the duplex houses here in Site A are pretty much similar to those I've been to up along the streets of Creed Holme. Rafe pulls me into a winding staircase adjacent the wall, and we hastily clamber up onto the second floor, where he barges another door. This time, unlike the other houses I've seen, there's a built in staircase, which leads to the rooftop.
And so we sprint for the stairs. The wooden door at the end of the built in staircase flings open at Rafe's blow of fist, and bright orange light from the outside showers us once more as we step right onto the rooftop. Metal bridges connects the house to the others, creating another way that'd quickly lead us to the station. Seeing the train still in the station showers me with relief. I can't bear to wait for another week knowing my sister could just be out there.
"Let's go!" Rafe says as we bolt for the first bridge.
Metals groan under our weight as we dash, keeping our eyes ahead where the station lies. The line of houses serpentines far out, and I sure am glad I'm a morale, otherwise we wouldn't probably make it with all the endurance this tiring run requires.
"You know Farhan?" Rafe shatters the silence, and I'm a bit startled to hear that he knows her.
Well of course, Farhan is one of Site A's leaders. Everyone probably knows her.
"Yes, I know her," I say impassively.
"I figured, I think you're the girl she's pertaining to yesterday," he says, bolting ahead of me.
Of course, yesterday is when I've arrived here. But it still intrigues me that Farhan has been talking about me even before I actually meet her personally. Did Oliver spill so many things about me? The thought gives me the creeps.
"What makes you say so?" I cry back, struggling to speak under my gasping breath.
"Well, Farhan's been training me since, and there's this Oliver guy whom I just met yesterday talking to Farhan, and they're pertaining about a newbie girl," Rafe calls out. "I figured it's you considering I've heard it's a blondie," Rafe adds.
Even at my breathlessly tiring situation, I manage to snort in response.
"So I'm the only blondie here," I flippantly mutter rather as a statement.
"Well, apparently the only decently dressed blondie, and so I think you're new here," Rafe reasons out.
I think I've just heard the dumbest reason of the century. Isn't there any resources here at all to provide people with basic necessities like clothes? Well I guess the answer's pretty clear with all the drab outfits I've witnessed since arriving here. Maybe he does have a point.
"In case you're wondering, only people of high ranks are lucky enough to have decent clothes here, other than them, the newbies also dress decently," Rafe hollers.
So that means Oliver has earned a high rank too.
"So you're a newbie?" I snap back.
"Last week. Another leader, Farhan's friend I assume, was kind enough to lend me some clothes during my training," Rafe responds.
If I hadn't known any better, I'd think Rafe has gone through a whole week and a half without changing. I stifle a giggle halfway before it could escape my lips. Rafe's still clad on his camouflage cardigan and a black sweatpants, all fit for running.
"There must be a lot of leaders to ma-"
"Watch out!" Rafe hollers as he skids into an abrupt stop by the metal bridge, causing me to stagger and crash at his back.
Before I could internalize what's happening, a deep authoritative voice ahead commands us to stop and freeze, but Rafe is fast. In a split second, Rafe's hand darts on his cardigan, and the faint sound of the safe automatically causes me to clamp my ears, just in time as a gun fires. I lean against the metal railings for support, knowing fully well that the recoil may jerk Rafe's arm. Ahead of us, the officer's lifeless body falls limply along the ground. Realization hits me like a lightning, and I quickly gape at Rafe eyes wide, shooting him a disapproving and bewildered look all together.
"You shot down a freaking officer!" I shriek at him as I slowly right myself up, my hands tightly fastened upon the cold metal railings.
"They're not really officers. They're just guards entrusted by the leaders. Nothing's illegal here, surely Farhan told you that," Rafe flatly mutters, his tone at ease as though he's just shot a mere stag from the woods.
Indeed Farhan has mentioned that nothing's illegal in Site A, but I didn't know it includes shooting down any person you meet along the road. This place has totally lost it. My gaze remains locked at Rafe, looking at him as though he just claimed chickens orbit the moon.
"Look, the last time I tried to get to the train, these thugs almost killed me," Rafe says exasperatedly. "We should go."
"But, he didn't-" before I could even complete a sentence, Rafe bolts off into a sprint, forcing me to fumble into a run behind.
The rest of the run remains muted. Rafe sprints ahead of me, his gaze shifts from left to right with his pistol clutched within his tight grip. We are nearing the end of the houses, and are now at a close proximity with the station. The staircase is perched several houses away, and we surely wouldn't make it if we've chosen to trek the streets strewed with the sea of commoners.
As we reach the last rooftop, a metal staircase from a fire exit leads down onto the streets; Rafe lets me go down first without saying a word. A part of me is curious about him, especially the fact that he has the capability to shoot someone else, what could've driven to do such cruel act? I dare not inquire him about it, for a bigger part of me harbors fright. If Rafe can do as such to someone he barely knows, what more to someone like me, which he just met? I pay no heed as I reach the ground and quickly bolt off to blend into the sea of commoners.
Farhan must be here somewhere. I hustle my way through the ranks of commoners. There are so many of them trying to get into the monorail that it almost seem impossible to squeeze my way through. Officers flank the stairs sorting the people whom are permitted to pass through. The others however, are denied and are forced back into the rallying crowd. The noise goes louder and the heat and humidity heightens further as I squeeze through near the area where there are more officers fending off the attacks by the irked people. I idly wonder if I'd suffocate here.
Luckily though, I get to slip off surreptitiously into the queue beside the wall while the men behind me are busily babbling at each other. An officer inspects each individual ahead, albeit I'm clueless to what they're trying to check; a woman withdraws a purse from her frock, and an officer nabs a card from it, then the woman is given access to the rigged up gate before the staircase. As the next woman steps forth, the officer looks her down coldly.
"Please, I just need to board the train. My children have been waiting for me in the next city, and they need me," the woman pleads in her shaky voice, obviously afraid of the officer.
"Ma'am, rules are constant. We can never let anyone pass without clear identification and permit from Nano Depth," the guard says in a husky tone as he starts to usher away the pleading woman.
"Please, I beg you. It's just one city away!" The woman adds as she breaks down to hysterics, nevertheless the officers hardly abate; they force her out of the queue and back to the rallying crowd.
What frightens me the most now is the fact that I don't have any of those requirements these thugs demand for access on the train. Farhan has never told me of any permit from Nano Depth, nor identification card for that matter. If those are included in the documents she requested to handle, then I better meet her now in this area.
The same procedures carry on as the line moves; rusty metal doors parting to pave way for those who have sufficed the requirements, and other backup guards dragging away those who've slunk in the queue without proper authorization. I curl my sweaty fingers into fist as my turn nears. What will I say? What if Farhan never show up in time? What if Farhan had only tricked me all this time? Unbidden thoughts bombard my panicked mind, and I could almost hear the echoes of my footsteps matching my heartbeat as I amble near the officer.
Trickles of sweat along my clammy cheeks turn cold as I step up for my turn; my eyes strained upon the parting metal gate. If I'd run right now, would I get shot? I gaze at the crowd, waiting for a small woman in black dress and long sleek hair to storm out with my documents.
"Your permit, ma'am," the officer's raised voice drags me back to reality, I snap my gaze up to look at the man in front of me, hands stretched out for my permit. His stone-cold gaze never falters as I try to glare back at him. As a few muted minutes pass, he turns around to gaze at his comrades before signaling them on towards me.
"Please, I need to get to the train, Farhan is going to meet me by the station." As the word "Farhan" flies off my lips, the officer's bright cobalt eyes widen in surprise.
"This is the station, and unless Miss Macklemore gives you the permit, you'll have to wait back in the crowd," the officer states firmly. "Boys!" He barks as he takes a couple of steps backwards, letting the other three officers march forth towards me.
But before the other three could seize and toss me back to the commoners, a figure steps in front of me clad in dark green camouflage cardigan with his back facing me.
"Pardon me for my tardiness, officer," Rafe says as he slinks his hand through his jacket pocket; a part of my mind quickly tells me he'll withdraw his pistol again, but instead of a gun, Rafe produces four parchments from his pocket, stiffly handing it out for the men to see. "These are our permits and identification," Rafe adds in a monotone, barely intimidated by the three muscular guards towering in front of him.
One of the three guards steps forward and takes the papers from Rafe's open palms, glaring at it before shifting his gaze behind to his other comrades and mutedly nodding. Then before anyone else could say anything, the metal gates screech as it parts to give us way in. And so we proceed warily with Rafe being the one ahead of me. As the gate clamps shut behind us in one piercing screech, silence threatens to swallow the both of us.
I decide to break the silence.
"So, uhm. H-how exactly did you get my permits?" I say, my words nearly tangling at each other.
"Farhan gave it to me; she's probably up at the end of this stair waiting," Rafe casually states as he halts to wait for me so we're climbing up together.
Well I shouldn't be surprised. After all, she's been training him. I take a moment to study Rafe. Sweat drips down along his brown cheeks. The bright industrial lights from above highlights his jaw. His hands jerk up to wipe off sweat, then his gaze snaps down to me.
"So, where do you plan to go?" Rafe asks as he quickly averts his gaze.
"Carson City, to find my sister," I say without mentioning anything that'd lead to my plans of escaping the revolt; I don't think I can fully trust Rafe yet.
"I see. So your name's Kiera Holland," Rafe mutters rather as a statement.
I look up to him; he've probably seen it from my permit earlier, and I'm relieved that it isn't my real name that's written on my permit.
"Yes. I assume you've seen it on my permit," I respond.
"Indeed. The name's Rafe Harthorne by the way, I never get to introduce myself properly earlier," Rafe says sheepishly without looking at me; a smile edges on his lips.
"It's okay. How abou-" before I could even begin to ask where's heading, the loud mechanical groan from above coming from the train blares all throughout the place, cutting me off in the process.
Both me and Rafe gaped at each other in horror before we both bolt up in speed that surprises me. We may have made it past the gates, but if we won't hurry climbing up the stairs to the main station, we'd never make it in time.
"Do you think we'll make it? I think the train's moving already!" I holler over the second blare of horn, my heart racing as fast as my footsteps, matching the blares with heavy thuds in my chest.
"We will!!" Rafe shouts back.
After minutes of sprinting, my legs feel like it contain acids within, but on the brighter side, we've managed to reach the crowded main station platform; circular red lights flash at each carriage's doors and the sea of people hustles desperately in attempts to board the crammed up carriages. There are so many of them out here and the other carriages begin closing their doors. The train is probably twenty carriages long, stretching throughout the whole opulent station, and the station is in level with the giant industrial lights rigged up here in Site A's ceiling.
As we search for Farhan through the crowd, I couldn't deny that my hope slowly runs thin with all the frantic chaos going on.
"Farhan!!" Rafe hollers, but his voice proves to be no match against the boisterous crowd.
Then as we bolt past the fifteenth carriage, a glimpse of black dress and long dark hair catches my periphery, and before I could even snap my gaze to its direction, Farhan calls out for us.
"Kiera! Over here!" Farhan cries standing before the carriage door, waving a cream folder in hand.
Without wasting any seconds, I lurch into a sprint, pulling Rafe by his sleeve as we dash along the crowd and into the fifteenth carriage. Bodies crash past us as we pass desperately through their ranks. Our eyes burn with determination, locked at the folder wedged at Farhan's clutches. The red light above the door glows bright, then follows a metallic screech as the door begins to slide shut; Farhan is perched in between, blocking the other desperate commoners.
The moment I get to grab Farhan's arms, she pulls the both of us within the carriage, causing us to crash against the other passengers who doesn't seem to mind at all. In spite of the suffocating atmosphere of mixed sweat and grease within the carriage, relief showers me down like never before.
"Alright, are we complete?" Farhan starts as she gasps for breath. "Okay, Kiera, Rafe, . . . , wait where's Oliver?" Farhan hollers in shock.
I gaze up to her both in fright and irritation.
"He's not with you?! You told me you're going to talk to him!" I snap rather accusingly.
"I did and he was supposed to meet you!!" Farhan cries back.
"Damn it, Farhan he didn't show up! You should've-"
"Kiera!" Oliver calls out from the outside, and I swivel around hastily and almost hit Rafe with my elbow.
Oliver dashes for the carriage, and none of us could find anything that'd stop the closing door nor anything at all that may slow it.
"Faster, Oliver!" I shout at the top of my breath.
Oliver's face contorts as he struggles to run faster.
Please, Oliver. Tell me you will make it.
Please.
But the door slides faster.
Oliver crashes against the door's glass as it finally slides shut.
"No, Kiera!" Oliver cries out in a muffled voice, banging his fist against the door, but it didn't do so much as a budge.
"Oliver!" Both Farhan and I holler in unison as we wham the door, but it's no use, and we all stagger sidewards as the train start to move forward.
"Anyone please, stop the damn train!" I say in a hoarse cry, hardly ceasing from my attempts to wedge the door open, nevertheless the passengers couldn't do anything else but stare at us with pity.
I couldn't do anything else.
Oliver stares at us from the outside as he run alongside with the train, his bright green eyes still burning with determination and fear, but his efforts would only be futile. No tears come out as I stare back at him. I could only gape in shock and horror.
Orange lights amplify his features; he mouths something with his lips that I couldn't even decipher. Is it a direction? A name? I don't know. The train lurches as it goes faster, zooming for the tunnel ahead where the main station ends.
I gaze at Oliver for the last time, staring down at his green eyes, hoping he could fathom how sorry I am that I never get to find him along the way.
And then our carriage finally enters the tunnel's recesses, and there's only weeping, and silence, and darkness.
Very sorry for the late update, college admissions are still going on, and so it might take me a while again before the next update. So how's Rafe? Any thoughts? I'd like to see them :)
P.s. I've stopped writing for quite some time to give space for school and college admissions and have only recently resumed, so pardon me for some mistakes. I am, however open for criticism! :)
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