chapter 19
the twenty-fifth of june, 2155
It takes a few seconds to believe what I just saw. My hand still clings onto one of the bars, and I blink repeatedly, the image of him appearing every time my lids close in on each other. He's nearly unrecognizable.
"Yes, it's me," he says as I catch my breath. Beneath the hoarseness, it's definitely his voice. He's here. He's alive.
I try to reach the barred window again, but only my eyelashes reach beyond the bottom frame. My eyes dart in every direction of the hallway, trying to find something I can stand on, but it's no use. I drop Alden's blazer to the ground to get a better grip of the bars and I halt when I see it unravel, the maroon color of my heels sneaking through the folds. I put them on within a second, and--yes! I'm tall enough.
"Amelia!" he shouts in a whisper, putting his hand--which has managed to stay warm--on mine. His fingernails are brittle and dirty, and his grip is weaker than what I remember. Appearance-wise, the only thing that looks the same as before is his tattoo and his eyes.
"W-what happened to you?"I fumble, pressing my face as close to him as I can so that his hand touches my cheek. "They told me you were shot!"
"In my-" he says before inhaling sharply through gritted teeth, visibly struggling to stand. "They shot me in my leg," he says, straightening his back. So he really was shot, Xander didn't lie about that, but why wasn't he in the medical center with Penn? Did they just leave him here without any help?
"What are those?" I whisper, noticing the thin red marks sneaking up his shoulders. He shakes his head, positioning himself so I can't see them.
"Nothing I can't handle," he grunts. "Amelia," he says sternly, his eyes held wide open. "Do you know where we are?"
"No! I mean, all I know is that we're in an abandoned prison in the middle of nowhere," I say, my throat so tight that it comes out a strangled yelp. His eyebrows raise and his dirty, wavy hair holds stiff by dried blood as he nods.
"Alright, alright. Do you know a way out?"
"Yes- They're taking me home any second now." I whisper, the walls closing in on me. The only reason I needed to return home was to see through my obligation to Alden. I had signed up for a life with him once his name left my lips, but now... He's here as a prisoner. From the looks of it, they haven't offered the luxuries they've offered me. Definitely not the option to leave.
His face scrunches, followed by an uncomfortable grunt. He looks down for a split second, leaning his forehead against the rusty frame. The marks are more visible now, and they remind me of something I saw depicted dozens of times in my history books. Oh my god... did they whip him?
"Go," he speaks, a bead of sweat collecting in his eyebrow.
"Without you? No, I can find a key, just wai-" I begin, but his clenches his hand--this time strong as ever--around my wrist. He sets his eyes at his initials on my wrist.
"You don't say no to me, you do as I say. Go home. You're not safe here."
"Neither are you! Just please let me try to save you." I plead. His lips tremble with disgust.
"I keep you safe. I've already failed once. Go home!"
I stumble, almost falling to the floor when the heel of my left shoe snaps. I whimper, putting all of my faith and weight on the remaining heel. Alden squeezes my hand, and we lock eyes.
"Keep an eye on the roads on the way back. Tell your Father everything you can remember," he instructs, with a demanding finger between us. "Now go."
He lets go of me and recludes back into the darkness to where I can't see him anymore, and I realize quickly further words are useless. So I back away, walking backwards to the stairs, my eyes dead set on the rusty door behind which he is rotting.
My quivering legs nearly fail me as I walk back up to the root, where I see Xander thankfully hasn't returned. I sit there for a few minutes, fiercely biting my fingernails to ease my adrenaline. Hundreds of different scenarios of coming events infiltrate my thoughts, and I bite off another piece with each one. I dread my father's reaction when I return, but even more so, I fear what he'll do. There's no way he'll just send someone to collect Alden and all will be forgiven.
I look around the dome, flashes of it bursted into flames hauling my sight. The screams of the children I just met in biology class thrash around in my ears like a wrecking ball, and my feet lift off the floor when I imagine it pooled with blood. It is an inevitability if I ever gave Father the location of this sanctuary.
It would be demolished. Bombed to the ground.
"Ready to go?" Xander appears. I glance up at him, and he immediately gets down to his knees.
"Whats wrong?" he asks, his eyebrows tensing. I try to speak, but quickly realize I shouldn't say anything. I do my best to relax my face, to pretend nothing is wrong and lift myself off of the bench.
"Nothing," I quiver, and he hesitates. Damn, not convincing enough. I clear my throat and try again.
"I'm ready to go," I say, this time my voice resolute.
Reagan stands by the gates, staring at me with displeased eyes. The keys to the car hangs off her belt, and she beckons us to hurry up, glancing over her shoulder. I stand with weak knees, hesitantly walking towards her.
The girl sitting at the end of one of the tables flips a page in her math book and adjusts her glasses, making me freeze. She peers at the book intently, just as I did a few hours earlier.
Flashes of the same images I saw before inhabit my mind. The rotunda bursted into flames, agonizing screams and loud blasts coming from every entrance. The girl, small-framed and meek, may be sitting in that exact spot, just reading her book when this place is infiltrated by loud guns and goons with no mercy. And I was doing the same just a few hours ago.
This place will become nothing more than a picture in the history books back home. A red herring to prevent any female to sit in the same spot she does, just reading a book.
I freeze.
Torn apart by what Alden told me to do, and the inevitable fate of every innocent person in here if I see it through, I realize. I can't do it. She doesn't deserve it. I don't deserve it.
We don't deserve it.
"Wait," I halt. Xander casts a look my way.
"I can't. I can't go," I decide, shaking my head. Xander comes in front of me in an instant, inhaling sharply.
"Really?"
He is about to grab my hands, but stops himself and instead puts them together. Intertwining his fingers, he presses them against his lips, hope brewing in his eyes.
"Yes. I need to stay," I nod, blinking fervously. Xander looks over his shoulder at Reagan, shaking his head. She smiles, nods once, and disappears. It's like they were anticipating me changing my mind at the last minute.
"You're making the right decision Amelia," he says, leaning his face downward, staring at me through his bushy brows.
"I- I think I am too."
He exhales, his body crunching forward in relief, his hand landing on my right shoulder.
"But Xander," I start, reminded of the weak man who just minutes ago also needed support just to stand.
"I know about Alden," I say, nudging my shoulder so his arm falls to his side again. His lips part, the look of relief washing away into complete shock.
"What did you do to him? He has bruises all over!" I yell, shocked by my own tone. Never in my life have I raised my voice at a man.
Xander just stares at me, completely frozen. His eyebrows slowly lower on his face, his jaw clenching.
"You shouldn't feel bad for him," he utters, his face completely absent of guilt.
"What are you talking about? He can barely stand!" I shout, gesturing toward the dungeons. "He's completely stripped, living in his own filth! He's bleeding from his untreated bullet wound and you've whipped him! What is the matter with you people?"
Xander purses his lips, the muscles of his jaw protruding as he clenches it even harder. He lowers his head, not in shame, but in disappointment, it seems.
"You still don't get it," he whispers. "What he's done is worse. We were trying to get information out of him."
"No one deserves to be treated like that Xander. Have you even given him any food?"
"Scraps," he says, and I can imagine it no better than them throwing leftovers through the bars for him to eat off the floor.
"Let him out," I say, achieving another first. I've never ordered a man to do anything. But my rage is too strong for me to stay silent.
"And what?" he yells, matching the volume of my voice. "Let him run right back to your father? This place would be a battleground within hours."
He shakes his head, and I stand silent. He's right. Alden would do that. Hell, he suggested for me to do it. A few moments pass, our eyes beaming at each other. I stutter a few times, slicking my hair back with my hand. I shrug, unsure of what to suggest.
"At least... Take care of his wounds," I say. "It'll get infected living down there, if it's not already. Take him to the tents. Please," I say, and Xander's stare waivers. He considers it for a moment before unfolding his arms.
"Fine."
"Amelia," Alden wheezes once Reagan unlocks the door. "What are you still doing here?"
I approach him, the stench of moldy food making me cringe. He sits in the corner, his feet completely blackened with dirt.
"I didn't want to leave you here," I say, my tone now soft and gentle. I place the stack of folded clothes on his lap, covering him up some. He glares at me and grabs my hand. I can't quite make out what kind of look he's giving me. Is he scared? Is he mad that I disobeyed him by not leaving? Is he thankful that I'm here, giving him clothes? All I really know is that his eyes are wide and ardent.
His glare lowers onto the clothes, and I take a step back and turn around to give him some privacy, but Reagan who stands rigidly at the door eyes him intently through it all. Alden grabs my hand and I see him dressed at my side, the clothes a tad too small. But I can tell, he's relieved.
"Where are we going?" he demands, his husky voice directed at Reagan. She doesn't answer him. She just glances at me with a furious look. She couldn't believe it when Xander told her that Alden was being let out.
"They're gonna take care of your wound," I say, and he gives me a confused look. I try to put his arm around my shoulder, but he scoffs, nudging it back to his side. He tries to take a few steps on his own, but an agonized shriek emits on the third one. He reluctantly accepts my shoulder to lean on, and we walk past an amused Reagan.
Most of the people here are settled in their cells, but a few groups have gathered at the root for a snack, and it becomes dead silent when we walk out of the security room. Every single set of eyes is locked at Alden, following him all the way to the gates and scattered whispers soon emerge once we leave the rotunda.
The tents are at just enough of a distance for Alden to become out of breath once we enter. I lead him to the closest bed, and he collapses on top of it. A woman in a lab coat approaches us and examines the wound which is located just above his knee.
"Lucky it didn't hit the femoral artery. Would have been dead within minutes," she mumbles as if it would make him feel better.
"I'll do my best patching this up. Off you go," she says, tying her bushy hair in a ponytail and reaching for a cart with an array of medical equipment. Alden, through his wheezy breath, reaches for my hand. He glances at the doctor.
"She stays," he says, squeezing my hand as hard as he can. Which isn't hard, but it still pulls at the corners of my lips.
"I don't think she'll enjoy this, but whatever," the doctor shrugs, soaking cotton buds in alcohol. I nod at Reagan, who is waiting for me at the entrance. She sighs, turning away and letting the fold of the tent fall back into place.
"You should have left," he says in between winces as the alcohol soaks his wound, and it soon foams with dying bacteria.
"Didn't expect you to be so difficult," he says, slightly amused scoffs escaping his tightly shut jaw.
"You would have armed forced here within hours, and it isn't right. There's innocent people here," I say, wanting him to understand. But he looks away, hitting the back of his head against the bed in frustration.
"Don't tell me they've indoctrinated you in just a few days. What a fragile little mind," he argues. He flinches, letting out a loud groan when the doctor scrubs his wound with added force. By the look of her face, it was on purpose.
"Talk to her like that again and I'll stitch you without sedation," she warns, putting a finger in his face. His lips part, and if his breath wasn't occupied in pained groans, I think he'd gasp.
"What the hell gives you the right to talk to me that way," he spits, using whats left of his strength to lift his head off the bed to look at her. He's in shock. Needless to say, never in his life has he been threatened by a woman.
"Her fragile little mind is why you're laying here. If it was up to me, you'd still be rotting in the dungeons," she says sternly, her eyes not wavering for even a second during their stare-off.
"So do yourself a favour. Shut your mouth, lay back and let me stitch you up," she says, and Alden forfeits, knocking his head back into place. He shakes his head lightly a few times as she passes the needle through his skin, in utter disbelief at her behavior. Oh Alden. Just wait until you meet Vee.
Once the doctor ties her final stitch, she dabs a cotton bud on it once more and gets up from her stool. She wraps a bandage over his thigh and then takes off her latex gloves. She doesn't say another word, instead she waves her hand as if to shoo us away.
Alden groans in pain when he gets back up, but it isn't as bad as it was when laying down. He takes my shoulder again, allowing me to help him get back to the root.
There, to my surprise, it is now completely empty except for three people, sitting at the table closest to the tree. Xander, Martin and Reagan.
Martin beckons us over, and the three exchange murmurs as we approach. What now?
Once Xander looks over his shoulder at us, Alden tightens his grip on my shoulder, and a low rumble from the depths of his chest fills the dome. And I piece it together right then and there. Xander is the one who tortured him.
"Come sit," Martin says, patting the empty bench space beside him. I hesitate, but to my surprise, Alden pushes us both forward towards them.
Alden eyes Xander intently as we sit.
"So Alden, I trust Elaine has taken good care of you," Martin says. Elaine must be the doctor.
"More or less," Alden mutters. I could tell he had doubts about a female doctor, but he can't deny it, she did a good job.
"So I guess it's back to the dungeons now, right?" Alden spits, his eyes still locked on Xander.
"Absolu-" Xander begins, but I cut him off. Another first.
"No. You can't let him stay down there. What, to keep sleeping on the floor? Eating the scraps your throw at him? He should get a cell, just like everyone else here," I argue.
"Amelia, respectfully, he can't live here unsupervised. We take our eyes off him for a second and he'll hijack a car and next thing you know this place is swarmed with tanks. He stays in the dungeons," Alden says determinedly. I glance at Alden, and I hesitate.
I don't think Alden places any value on the lives here. To him, they are nothing but traitors and unclaimed females. He wouldn't hesitate to bring this place down, and everyone in it. I take his arm off my shoulder, fourthly torn between my commitment to him, and the hundreds of innocent women here, just wanting to live freely.
"At least give him a bed," I compromise. When they don't shut it down immediately, I try to push further. "And he eats proper meals. With the rest of us," I say, trying to utilize my newly found determined tone. There are a couple seconds of silence before Reagan stands up abruptly.
"This is ridiculous," she slams her hands on the table. "To even think to eat alongside a brander is nauseating."
A brander. That's what they must call claimers. I peer at the initials on my wrist peeking out from the sleeves of my hoodie, making me pull it down. I look up, and I notice around the rotunda, behind every glass frame from the cells, are curious eyes. Everyone I thought had gone to sleep are spying on us. On closer inspection, all eyes are directed at Alden, a tinge of fear in all of them. After a few moments of silence, Martin speaks.
"I think that is fair," he smiles at me. "Alden will stay in the dungeon with constant supervision, we will get a mattress down there and he will be invited to breakfast, lunch and dinner," Martin agrees, much to my surprise. Judging from the hate I can feel beaming from every corner of the rotunda, I wouldn't think he would be allowed to eat with us. Hm. I must have more authority around here than I thought. But why?
"And to earn his place, he will work in the field."
"Earn my place? I don't even want to be here," Alden grunts, his hands tightening to fists on the table.
"I know that. Consider yourself a prisoner," Martin says with a chipper tone. He then holds his hands up, gesturing for Alden to look around.
"Seems fitting, right?"
a/n
hellooooo. I've always wanted to finish this story, so I'm going to try. Hope you'll read, although this story is very hard to write so I can't make any promises regarding update schedules.
This is my gem though. Definitely going to send these off to agencies once it's done.