The logo of our country, the emboldened Dove, clenching in both its talons a promise to never spare the rod, catches my eye first, as the intruders come into view. There are hundreds of them, dressed in white military fatigues
Their vests studded with blood splatters. Their shirtsleeves are pulled apart, They wear breathing masks, and the apparatus that wrings the air of unwanted toxins buzzes, Mini grenade pins stick out of vest pockets.
I shiver. These folks, whoever they were, came ready for war.
"Drop the gun," one of them wheezes. He nods to Sam and trains his gun on the tender spot of flesh between the eyes. I get the feeling none of them would need a program like accuracy to assist to help them make the shot.
I watch on with bated breath. A pool of liquid blossoms across Sam's crotch as he lets the gun fall from his hands. it clatters on the ground. It doesn't go off, which means Sam's had the safety on the entire time. Guess it was a nice thing, given the current circumstance.
The man who's put his sight on David, motions for him to step forward. I grab David's forearm and shake my head. "Don't go."
break of my strength, my grasp does little to convince David to stay. He shakes off my hand and steps forward.
"just trust me," he mouths, as he walks toward the group of Militia imposters.
The man put his gun down at David's approach and motions to someone on his left. "This the Chemist?"
The other man nods.
unexpectedly, the soldier's shoulders slump as he sighs in relief, causing his breathing apparatus to wheeze. he reached up and peels off the mask.
hair falls in front of his face. He flicks his head back, lets his hair fall over his ears and around his chin. No, excuse me. Not his chin. Her chin. her hairstyle could be for either a female or male, there's no mistaking her gender.
After the mask come off, she starts to take on a different shape. Her shoulders seem more slender than the others, and her waist more cinched.
she looked at David "We're here to set you free," she says, motioning to her crew. "Praise Dove."
David nods but stays silent.
The woman hands him a plastic bottle. Bluish liquid sloshes against the insides. "Take it," she says. "It'll stop the explosives in your blood."
"What explosives?" Jonathan shouts in my ear. "Have we been walking bombs the entire time?"
This news, shouldn't come as much of a surprise. The Law built us a school within a prison, why not weaponize our blood? It would keep us in line and stomp out any pesky notions before they manifested into something bigger, something dangerous.
David takes it and sips. He never breaks eye contact with her. After his second gulp, he runs the sleeve of his uniform across his mouth and gives a refreshing sigh.
The woman stamps her foot. "Can we leave already? I'd like to get a few hundred klicks away from here before the Law sends in the Birds."
David shakes his head and the woman smacks the barrel of her weapon into her gloved palm. "What is it?"
"What about them?" David says, motioning toward us.
We're still hunkered on the ground, Rima clutching Sam, Jonathan holding Marava, me clutching for air as I fail to remember how to breathe. Sin's got his fingers sprawled out on the floor, inching through a pool of blood to try and reach the gun Sam dropped.
The woman shakes her head. "No way. The deal was for you, not the others. I'm already risking by rescuing you. "
She grimaces before grabbing David's arm. He doesn't budge. Though he's thin David's packing serious strength in that lean musculature of his.
The woman hurls a weighted curse at him. "For fuck's sake, we need to go. If the fires don't get us, the guards will."
David stands resolute and the woman lets go. It won't do her any good to use more of her energy
"You're right," David says, and the woman's eyes scan him for any sign of bluffing, in spite of this, David continues as though he's having a little chat about the weather with a casual acquaintance. If I'd been this woman, I'd have already shoved the hole of my gun into David's fleshy little cheek, but I knew David, knew his bullshit.
I guess if she'd come for the Chemist and he refused to obey, she had no other choice than to swallow down his shit. Poor woman.
After another second of silence between them, which has the woman's forefinger itching to pull the trigger she's rested it on, David finally speaks. "The original compact was just for me, so let's make a new one."
The woman said wrathfully "And what could you have to offer me that would make me take on the other six ?"
David smiles. "I'll cut production time in half on your next three batches."
The woman's eyes go wide. "Is that even possible?"
David's brow furrows as he strokes his chin. "I'd need an extra pair of hands, but I'd manage."
She leans to look at us, unobstructed, before returning her attention to David. "You want any particular one or the whole cowering lot?"
"All of them."
The woman snorts. "Snitch never mentioned you were such an ass hole."
David chuckles. "He likes to keep that to himself."
"A good thing too. I'd have never agreed to save you had I known." She stands up straighter and points her gun at us. "You pledge you'll have the batches ready in one week, same amount? Same quality?"
David nods and outstretches his hand. "You'll have people paying double for what I supply."
She arcs a brow. "Really now?" A smile plays coyly at the edges of her thin lips.
"Figured out how to make the trip longer, the comedown smoother. You'll have customers on their knees, begging you to see the fields."
She takes his hand, unconvinced by David's assurances. "You there," she raises her gun, signaling us to get up. "Let's get a move on."
She faces back David, her voice a volume only David can hear. she told him something then she turns back towards us and frowns. We haven't moved from our place, hunkered behind broken bodies.
"Drink what the Chemist gives you. Don't, and that first step you take outside will set off the explosives in your chip, blow you to bits. it's your choice now. Die or not,"
When she turns away, she brings her mask down over her face David turns to face us, offers up the remaining liquid in the bottle. He shrugs at me.
'Trust him,' he says. I get to my feet, step over the guard's corpse, tiptoe around a pool of blood, walking towards David. Here goes nothing.
...
We share the water bottle, it tastes vile and it's thick enough to coat the tongue. It reminds me of cough medicine, but if I didn't drink it, parts of me would decorate the lawn outside the Facility.
"Yuck," Sam says, his face souring with disgust. He sticks his tongue out "It's awful."
Leaning over, he wipes his mouth with the bottom of his shirt and I notice the myriad of bruises he's sporting, all in different phases of healing. Sam always had been the scrappiest of us, finding the end of a cattle prod more times than I could count on both hands.
When he'd get sent to the hospital, Rima wouldn't be far behind. She'd sit at his bedside, help the nurse clean his injuries.
Similar to those times, Rima's there now, giving his hand a good squeeze. "You did good," she says,
He looks down, crunching the bottle in his hand. "Guess I did." Sam stands a little straighter, his chest puffed like a strutting peacock.
As we've been drinking the liquid from the bottle, we've been walking, goaded forward by the woman and her companions. They've led us down lit hallways, past abandoned laboratories, and the Projector Room.
On Thursdays, we'd all be herded thereafter morning studies, to read. Places like the Projector Room were known as libraries and contained real bound and paper books.
When the Law had declared a State of Emergency due to climate change, began the process of moving the population inside the newly built Aviaries, all the books had been rounded up, collected, histories reshaped to paint the Law's exploits in a less gory light.
Now, all our history was on the Network, available to those given authorization. Since we were to be the new Council, we had high-level authorization and could access the trade agreements with China or the Humanitarian Act of 2055, which established peace accords between the FUA and Founder's Britain.
Jonathan sidles up to me, in spite of the bubbling rage glinting in Marava's gaze. Her eyes are like sharpened daggers ready to lob at my face."They're leading us west," he says, looking around nervously as the group turns left, toward the section of the Facility off-limits to us.
It's for personnel only. On-site staffers' suites, break rooms, testing grounds, laundry, and dining accommodations.
We stop as the door separating the main Facility from the sequestered Staffing Wing, is closed, the green light over the recessed key code panel, which means the lock is still intact.
One of the guards walk toward it, I think this might be the woman though it's hard to tell with her face hidden, and two others break ranks and move forward. The shorter of the pair has a grey dot, no larger than a bullet, lying in his outstretched palm.
His companion takes it, puts it in the control panel. We're asked to step back, so we do. The little dot glows red and the screen of the panel begins to fritz. Sparks shoot out from the numeric pad. There's a noise as the metal begins to melt and oozes down the concrete wall. The light flickers red and with a click, the door peels back.
As we back up, the guards, followed closely by David, enter the hallway. Sam and Rima are next, though you can see in their eyes that it feels wrong crossing into forbidden territory.
Sin shows his worry in his steps and the way he pauses mid-gait, slippered foot stuttering in the space between the two hallways
I walk beside Jonathan, with Marava stalking behind. She's got some kind of fabric clenched between her fingers. When she rolls it, I imagine she's thinking of me
We're the last to walk through the door.