《ELOHIM》
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At Dove's command, a stillness akin to death had swept across the hall. All eyes, except ours and the now encroaching guards, glowed that eerie shade of violet indicative of a Sunshine-induced trance.
We were trapped and I hadn't brought enough bullets to secure our freedom.
The guards move on us like predators, their footsteps void of sound though purposeful, just like Della's had been, guns poised for action if the need arose. Most of their sights rest on Sin - he's the largest of us, the biggest target, the one who poses the most threat. I've got three red dots dappling my shirt - Dove must have informed them about me — while Marava and Quint each have one trained at that sweet spot between their eyes.
"There's no where to run," one of the guards says, stepping out of formation and lowering his gun. "Do not resist."
Do not resist. Do as you're told. We'd been living by someone else's rules since birth. I look down at the people beside me, staring blankly at the screen, where Dove sits on his throne, hands clasped on his desk top. I resist the urge to flip him off, and scan the room. The closest exit was to our backs and the Militia had it covered. The windows were ten feet up, maybe more, thick-paned and shatter-proof. Even if one of us could lob a chair that high, the likelihood it would break was low. My eyes flit to the sea of chairs and hypnotized citizens. Maybe...
"Whatever it is you're thinking about doing," Dove's voice booms, "Don't, Ten. I wouldn't want you to be the reason the others get hurt." I gulp. What a bastard. Manipulating his words to convey his threat so masterfully. A true Councilman to the core.
I grit my teeth more determined than ever to keep us alive and out of his hands. Taking in a deep breath, my fingers uncurl and grab the hem of Sin's shirt. He looks at me but I shake my head, hoping that none of the guards have noticed, before casting a sideways glance at Quint and Marava. Quint shakes his head, thick wrinkles cutting across his forehead. He was never the cleverest of us. Thank god for Miss 100% though. As soon as I caught her attention and then motioned toward the floor, her eyes ignited in a fire of understanding.
I exhale and shove past the seated citizens, hand still clasped around Sin's shirt. Like dummies, they topple over, one after the other. All eyes fall on me. "Halt!" one of the guards' screams.
I look at the one who'd yelled. The smallest of the guards, with a thick middle and bow legs. I can't make out his eyes, but a trickle of sweat winds down his cheek. It was good to know that there was someone else present who was just as nervous. His gun shakes as he points it toward me.
I raise my hand, walk toward him slowly. My foot grazes the first empty chair, and without thinking, I kick it hard as I can toward the guard. It spirals out, chair legs ramming into him. As the guard tumbles backward, his gun slips out of his grip. It slams into the ground and goes off, sending a round into the ceiling. Dust rains down on the other guards who cast wary glances at each other. It's only a second, but that's all I need.
I knew I couldn't kill them, but they'd come here with guns, better ones than mine and with far more ammo. All I needed to do was get my hands on one. In the background, I hear Dove shouting orders, raging at his subordinates to capture us quickly and humanely. The last part calmed by nerves a bit. At the very least Dove didn't want us dead...yet.
Something comes over me then. Whether it's nineteen years of rage or pent up frustration or Tujo-like stupidity, I find myself turning to face that voice. Concealed by falling debris, my gaze locking onto Dove, I do what I should have done all along and give him the finger. He gapes, his gaze furious. Snarling, he snaps out of his chair and slams both fists on his desk. Tujo would be proud.
"Down, now!" I yell, whirling back around and yanking Sin to the floor. He topples over more chairs, people spilling from them like spilled garbage. Through the tangle of limbs of metal parts, I double-check to make sure Quint and Marava have done the same. They're hunkered down between the rows, cramped against peoples' legs and the backs of chairs.
I glance back at Sin. "Start kicking!" With all my might, I shove another emptied chair onto the floor. It flies out smacking one of the guards' shins. Sin kicks two chairs at once. I free my gun from my waistband, point it at the guards while they focus on the chairs, raise the barrel at the nearest one, and fire. The bullet misses.
"They've got weapons," a guard yells. He waves at the group to widen around us. "Switch to shock," he says, pressing the dot. His visor shifts from blue to green. The black baton waving at his hip matching that same shade of green, electricity zigzagging along their tips.
"You trying to get one of those guns free?" Sin asks. I nod.
Sin smiles and starts slamming more chairs into the opposition. While the Militia deal with the onslaught of chairs, I take my time aiming the gun again, my hands steady as I hold it up. When I have the guard in my sight, I fire. The bullet slices through the air, and he falls back, screaming. The bullet lodged in his shoulder. His gun falls to the side. Sin bolts upright and barrels toward it. I hold my breath.
The tip of a shock stick rams into Sin's side. His eyes bulge as electricity dances across his skin, his body convulsing. His face is a sheet of wetness, tears mixed with drool. His mouth flops open as though he's going to scream yet no sound comes out. Within seconds, he's crumpled on the ground, knocked unconscious, a dark spot blossoming around his crotch.
Marava squeezes Quint into her.
I don't have time to waste. I plunge forward, hands clawing at the ground as I go for the gun. I fire my own, two shots into the ceiling. More debris falls around us. I hope it'll be enough. My fingers graze the handle of the gun. Almost there. Almost—
A shadow falls over me. I look up. A man stands over me, his face twisted with angry, his hand clamped tight over his shoulder, blood oozing between his fingers. With an upturned mouth, he slams his foot onto my wrist. I yowl in pain. He digs his boot in further relishing in the way I squirm. There's a snap of bone and I shudder, my vision threatening to blink out. My teeth chatter out of sheer pain.
Slowly, the man reaches down and plucks up the gun. He closes his visor so his brown eyes bore into mine. "Stupid bitch." He tosses the weapon into the air before catching it, a cruel smile widening on his face. "What a pain in the ass."
His gaze flicks back to his wound before the gun barrel comes down hard on my cheek. My head slams against the floor. Black spots dance across my vision. My brain screams. Blood fills my mouth as the man grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet. I teeter, try not to fall and blink back the tears I feel forming. Across from me, Sin's being dragged by two men whose faces both seem tense as they threaten to break under Sin's weight.
Marava and Quint stand up, hands raised high. Three guards step toward them, motioning with their guns for them to turn and head toward the exit. Quint glances at me and shakes his head. Marava shrugs slightly, her lips moving to mouth the word, 'sorry.'
Dove's face shines on the stage, his hands held in front of him, knuckles bloody and broken open. Dots of crimson stain his desk top. "I told you," he says, triumphant, as a guard escorts me toward the door. "You already lost. You shouldn't have fought."
The guard digs his nails into my arm, making me wince. It'd been a good thing he confiscated my gun or else I would have blown his brains out the back of his head, without hesitation, and without the onset of guilt afterward.
My head slumps forward, blood trickling down my chin and dotting the floor. I snicker. "If I'd done as you'd said, I wouldn't have been able to see you lose your shit." Dove's gaze hardens as he rubs his hands together. "How're the knuckles? Bet they hurt like hell."
Dove sits back into his chair, fastening his arms behind his head. I smile. "If you ask me, it was worth it." Dove flashes an icy smile. "After all," I say. "Isn't it always the truth?"
Dove's gaze narrows. "What is?"
"That in conflict," I straighten up despite the pain rippling between my shoulders and down my back. "One side always bleeds."
His lips pull into tight lines and he says nothing more. Guess he couldn't dispute his own words.
More blood coats my tongue, and feeling that my conversation with Dove is over, I turn away from the vid-screen and spit, hitting the toe of the Militia's shoes with a wad of bloody, foamy spit.
He stops, his mouth agape. "What the—"
He raises his hand, makes to hit me again, but Dove clears his throat. "Now, Masters, you may be one of my best, but I won't have that temper of yours damaging FUA property—" his eyes dart to my limp wrist I'n cradling with my good hand — "more so than what you've already done."
Masters bristles, his shoulders stiffen. "But, Sir, what I did was out of defense."
This elicits a shriek of joy from Dove. By the way his stomach jiggled with laughter, you'd think Masters had just spewed some comedic gem. "You needed to defend yourself against a little girl?" Masters hand tightens around my arm.
I scowl. "I was armed," I say. "And I'd shot him." Masters shots me a glare. "I'm definitely not some helpless little girl, Councilor. After all, if I was, I wouldn't have survived this long."
Dove's feet thump to the floor. He leans toward the camera, eyes like sharpened steel. "No, you certainly wouldn't have."
"And that's why I was to be your replacement."
He smirks. "We shall see." With that, the vid feed clicks off and the screen goes black. Masters jerks me forward.
"Didn't make such a great impression on your boss, did you?"
Masters fingers twitch as they graze the strap of his gun, but he doesn't say anything more as he leads me out of the Community Hall. Outside, a black van adorned with the white dove of the Birds of Prey awaits us. Two men stand huddle beside it, strapped to the nines in heavy artillery and flak jackets. They have enough m grenades dangling off them they resemble goddamned Christmas trees.
Overhead, police drones circle the building, flood lights illuminating everything on the block. Rain fell, warm droplets pelting my head and causing my curls to go limp. I stomp through puddles, water splashing inside my shoes.
When the van doors open, two other Birds emerge and storm into the rain, DECs and blackhole bags clutched in their talons. As we make our way over, another van rolls toward us, painted white and outfitted with the inverted red dove of a medical vehicle.
Once it stops, a man in white steps out, his red plastic rain boots splashing water up the front of his trousers. He grimaces, places his hands over his head in a feeble attempt to stave off the rain and runs toward a spot near the Hall, where a tarp had been laid over the road. Birds stand watch on either side, cigarettes crammed in between their lips, smoke coiling plateward.
When what I can only assume is a doctor makes his way over, one of the soldiers bends down and peels the tarp back.
My breath empties out of me. I lurch forward, the world suddenly on its head. Masters pulls me, but I don't move. I can't.
The black of Keran's duster sprawls out over the concrete like wings. Rainwater ferries blood into the nearest grate. Four bullet holes ooze with what was left of Keran's life force.
The doctor mouths something which prompts the soldiers to turn over Keran's body. A single, precise hole sits between her eyes. Her wide, horror-stricken eyes. I fall over. Masters yells something but his voice is distant. I feel him grab the top of my head, pull me up by the hair, but it doesn't register.
This couldn't be real. Them carting Keran's body to put in the back of the medical van. The fact she'd died alone and without a pile of corpses she'd made right beforehand going out in fire of glory, like any soldier would want. Leaving Della behind while things had still sucked between them.
"Come on," Masters says, his voice muffled by the sound of the rain.
Somehow, I was standing, though I hadn't remembered getting to my feet. He grabs my shoulders and spins me away from where Keran had spent her last moments alive. Killed by the Birds. Killed because of us, because of me.
The last thing I see, before I'm marched away, is Keran's gun, left behind in the spot she'd died, lying in a sea of her own blood as it passes under her and toward the grates, where it would become one with the city's sewage.
That was it. Her death hadn't been gallant, hadn't been a sacrifice for some greater good. She'd died in a pool of her own blood, and now the only trace she'd ever been alive was going to join up with a river of shit.
Masters gives me a push and I stumble toward the mouth of the van. A fellow soldier hands him a blackhole bag and a DEC.
I hold my hands out, wrists pressed together, just like I'd done in the Facility. Masters' eyes widen at my sudden, unwarranted obedience, but he slips the metal bracelets over me, and turns on the current.
My head is pressed forward as I'm led into the back of the van. I'm strapped in, large metallic chains cutting across my chest and into my legs, before the blackhole bag is pulled over my eyes. I hear the doors click close. Footsteps fading into the distance. Muffled voices and the quick roar of the engine come to life. I slouch, cupping my head in my hands, the buzz of the DEC floating to my ears.
"Keran," I whisper. Alone in the dark, I don't withhold the tears begging to be shed. They fall, one after another, as I mourn for a trigger that Della would never be able to pull again.