Defiance Rising (2 page)

With him in my sights, I approach slowly, waiting for a sound of ambush.
 
I don’t want to fire off a shot for fear of drawing attention to myself, but surely this guy isn’t alone.
 
“Who are you?”

“The name’s Bastien.”

“You got a last name, Bastien?”
 
I creep closer.
 
My pulse tap-dances in my ears as I pause less than ten feet from him.
 
I clench my fingers around the gun as I try to ignore the sweat gathering along my neck.
 
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, making me alert.
 

I take several deep breaths as I plot out my next move, as if this is a hunt and I’m staring down my dinner.
 
What does he want?
 
Is he a scavenger or one of the human traitors who collects women to sell to the Caldonians?
  

“Adair.
 
It’s Scottish.”
 
He cocks his head to the side.
 
“Guess that little tidbit doesn’t really matter when you’ve got a gun aimed at your head.”

“Your heart, actually.”
 
My finger hovers over the trigger as I scan the guy standing before me.
 

Shoulder length raven-black hair tosses about in the wind, thrashing against his angular face.
 
His chest and shoulders are broad, tapering down to a well-defined abdomen, although the exact contour is hard to determine hidden beneath a woolen sweater.

His raised hands are encased in threadbare gloves.
 
Some of the wool fingers are missing, with frayed bits of yarn poking out.
 
His jeans are stained and faded, patched with poorly stitched bits of random cloth.
 
Light stubble clings to his chin and jawline, enhancing his rugged good looks with annoying perfection.
 

I notice all of this with a simple glance before meeting his curious gaze.
 
Vivid blue eyes with pupils ringed in gold betray intelligence and, if I’m not mistaken, a hint of humor too.

“Something funny?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Well, that depends.”
 
A ghost of a smile stretches across his face.

“On?”
 
I adjust the gun in my hand.
 
Although he doesn’t move or show any signs of hostility, I find myself deeply unsettled by him.
 

“On whether you think your little toy pistol can beat my shotgun.”
 
He slides his arm down from the trunk of the silver car, revealing a sawed off shotgun.
 
I silently berate myself for letting him get the better of me, although his concealed weapon doesn’t come as a huge surprise.
 
More of an annoyance.
 
I don’t like losing the upper hand.

“A bit old school, don’t you think?” I smirk, not letting my gun drop a millimeter.
 
“Now what do we do?”

Bastien’s gaze rises to the sky.
 
The final wisps of pastel blue and lavender begin to fade into black.
 
“I’m going to invite you back to my place.
 
I know it’s a bit forward, but I’d rather carry on this delightful chat inside.”

I drop my gaze to his hands, noting the sure steadiness of them.
 
My mind screams for me to take my chances but my gut tells me that he’s more than willing to pull that trigger.
 
This won’t end well for me.

“Fine.” I dip my head in agreement, knowing that time is running short.
 
Already I can hear the whirl of the Sky Ship’s engines as it takes off.
 
“Drop yours first.”

The rising winds whip Bastien’s hair about his face, obscuring his features, but his eyes remain locked on me.
 
“You’re insane!
 
You really want to do this now?”

I twist my head just enough to hear the hum of an engine approaching from down the street.
 
I chew on my lip, knowing I have two choices: trust this complete stranger or take on a Sky Ship with just a handful of bullets.
 
It’s not a hard choice.

“Lead the way.”
 
I lower my weapon but my finger remains on the trigger as he cocks the shotgun over his shoulder.
 
Without another word, he turns and dashes across the street, weaving in and out of the abandoned cars.
 

I try to keep up with his fast pace, reminding myself to breathe as the winds funnel harder down the street.
 
The Sky Ship is nearly on top of us.

“How far?”
 
I glance back over my shoulder to find the tip of a black wing appearing over the edge of a building two blocks away.
 
A hand grasps my forearm and pulls me through a dark opening in the wall.
 
I stumble forward out of Bastien’s grasp, fighting to remain upright as I falter down a steep set of stairs.
 

Metal clanging overhead alerts me to his location.
 
I wait, gasping for breath as the walls rumble around me.
 
The Sky Ship must be directly above us now.
 
I press back against the wall, clutching my gun to my chest as I lift prayers for safety heavenward.
 

I jerk my pistol up to eye level as a light flares in the dark.
 
Bastien shields his eyes with his arm and rears back.
 
“Don’t go shooting that thing in here!
 
It’ll kill us both!”

I drop the gun, squinting up into the light.
 
It doesn’t flicker like a fire.
 
Its core is pure white instead of vivid blue or orange.
 
Metal encases the cylindrical object, scratched and worn but showing little sign of rust.
 
“What is that thing?”

“A flashlight.”

I roll the word around on my tongue.
 
“Never heard of it.”

He shoots me a scathing look.
 
“I wouldn’t expect a tree hugger like you would have.”

My brow furrows and I’m sure he’s just insulted me in some way.
 
Bastien slowly steps down the narrow staircase.
 
As the light broadens around me, I begin to notice the dingy cement walls, lined with posters and advertisements.
 
“Where are we?”

“It used to be a subway.”
 
He pauses beside me, waiting for some sign of recognition.
 
This time I nod in understanding.

“My mother told me about these.
 
Long, winding tunnels underground that would shuttle people from one end of the City to the next.”

“That’s the basic idea of it, yeah.”
 
Bastien waits for me before descending the final steps.
 
“This is the safest place to be during a raid.
 
I found this entrance a couple months back and haven’t been bothered once.”
 
His arm brushes against mine as he squeezes past through the narrow doorway.
 
I follow his lead deeper underground, passing silently by aged wooden benches and an empty enclosed booth with the picture of the subway on the side.
 
The further we go, the quieter the hum of the Sky Ship becomes.

I stay close as we leap down onto the track and wind through the deserted tunnel.
 
The air is thick down here, different from the caves.
 
It feels weighty, filthy.
 

“This way.”
 
He flashes his light onto the track ahead and I see a glint of white and red.
 

“What is that thing?” I ask, as we approach the large metal object filling the tunnel.

“It’s an old subway car.”
 
Bastien reaches up and cranks the metal handle on the door.
 
I hesitate as he offers me a hand up.
 
His smirk widens.
 
“It’s rude to refuse the aid of a gentleman, you know.”

“Who said you were a gentleman?”

He stares pointedly at his hand, wiggling his fingers.
 
“Don’t leave me hanging here.”

I swallow my trepidation and place my hand in his.
 
The scratchy feel of his wool glove lingers long after he releases my hand.
 

Two

He passes me the flashlight once I’m through and hoists himself inside, latching the door behind him.
 

“Afraid someone might break in?”

“Nah.
 
Just force of habit.”
 
He moves between the rows of seats toward the back of the car.
 
If I thought the air in the tunnel was thick, it’s far worse within this small, confined space.
 
With no windows to open and both doors sealed, the scent of sweat and stale air permeates everything.

As I approach the middle of the car, I notice obvious signs of long-term habitation.
 
Small burlap sacks, lumpy with concealed supplies, line the space beneath the cracked plastic seats.
 
Larger bags fill an open-air compartment near the ceiling.
 
A blanket and stained pillow run parallel between the final rows of seats.
 

Bastien reaches down and lights a lantern to replace the flashlight before plopping down onto a bench.
 
I stand awkwardly in the aisle, glancing all around.
 
“The Hover Wings will be up there for a while.”
 
He leans into the bench, resting his arms along the seat back.
 
“There’s no rush.”

“You call them Hover Wings?”

He shrugs.
 
“Sure, that is what they do.
 
Why?”

I slowly sink onto the bench opposite him.
 
It feels hard, cold and unwelcoming against my backside.
 
I lean into it, trying to think of what it might be like to jostle along the dark track.
 
I don’t think I would’ve liked it one bit.

“We call them Sky Ships.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.”
 
He thinks it over.
 
“I’m sure the only ships you’ve seen are the transports flying over the mountains, but the Caldonians have many metal contraptions.”

“Are you ok?”
 
Bastien leans toward me, concern pinching his brow.
 
“You look really pale.”

I blink, surprised by the question.
 
“Why do you care?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be nice, ok?”
 
He raises his hands in mock surrender.

I sigh and slump down on the bench, my gun still held tight in my palm, but pointed down at the floor.
 
“Sorry,” I mutter, shoving my hair back out of my eyes.
 
“I’m not real comfortable in tight spaces.”

Bastien grins.
 
“It’s a heck of a lot cozier than in one of those Hover Wings!”

“Good point.”
 
I drop my gaze as I feel my lips curling into a hint of a smile.
 
“So this is where you live?”

“Yep.
 
Welcome to Chez Bastien.”
 
He spreads his arms wide to encompass the tight space.

“Huh?”

“It’s French.”
 
He rolls his eyes when I stare blankly back.
 
“I’m guessing you never learned that.”

I look around the space for any signs of books.
 
I’m surprised when I don’t find a single one.
 
“How do you know so much?”

Bastien takes a deep breath and looks past me, staring at the darkness beyond.
 
“My mom was a teacher before the invasion, history mostly, but she loved all forms of learning.
 
She used to tell me about this grand library near the center of town, with wall to ceiling bookshelves stuffed full of knowledge.
 
When I was younger, she would sneak out and bring a couple books back for me, but then the Settlers moved in and she couldn’t go any more.”

“Settlers?”

“It’s what I call the aliens who live here.
 
Some are transient, coming and going from city to city, but the ones that stay behind are the Settlers.”

“Do you have any other names for them?” I ask, intrigued by his insight into our enemy.
 

“Sure, you’ve got the Grounders, who work on the outskirts of town, the Squaddies, who patrol the streets on foot, the Droners, who man the spider machines and the Gentry, the snooty what’s its who run this place.”

“You seem to have a good lay of the land here,” I muse, tucking my feet under my legs.
 

“Yeah, well I was born and raised here.
 
You sort of get a feel for the place.”

My brow furrows.
 
“How did you and your family manage to survive so long?”

“They didn’t.”
 
He rubs his hands on his thighs and falls into an uncomfortable silence.
 

“I lost my parents, too.”
 
I don’t like to speak about them.
 
A part of me worries that I might be treading on their memories if I do.
 
My father took a red laser to the chest when I was fourteen.
 
Mom went down after being shot in the back.
 
I found her lying face down in the woods the next day, left to rot out in the open.
 

Bastien clears his throat and rises from his seat.
 
He paces halfway down the subway car and then returns with determined steps.
 
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone willingly come here.”
 

“And?”

He stops pacing to stare at me.
 
“It’s not safe.
 
You should go back to the forest and stay there.”

“I’m not leaving.”
 
I cross my arms over my chest and glare back at him.
 
Does he really think I don’t know the risk?
 

I’m the first of my generation to step foot here.
 
Part of me is proud of this fact, but it won't matter if I can’t make it back in one piece.

“Are you always this stubborn?”
 
Raising his arms overhead, he grasps the metal rack railing and slowly swings back and forth.
 

“My friends would say so.”

“There are more of you?”
 
His eyebrows arch so high I’m sure they’ll disappear into his hair line.

I flinch as I realize my slip.
 
“There are always more.”

The skin around Bastien’s eyes creases as he drops his gaze to focus on the floor.
 
“Not always.”

A faraway look slips over his face and I squirm.
 
This guy may have saved me from the Sky Ship but he’s too melancholy for my liking.
 
I guess he has every right to be, but I’m not comfortable with emotions, or strangers, or bonding on any level.
 

He expels a weighted sigh and looks up at me.
 
“You look thirsty.
 
Want something to drink?”

“That depends,” I hedge.
 
What I really want is to wait for dark and get the heck out of here, but it’s impossible to judge how much time has passed since I entered this underground prison.
 

“On what?”
 

“Why am I here?”
 
I sit forward, resting my gun on my knee, present and unforgotten.
 

Bastien casts a hesitant glance down at it before he shrugs.
 
“You’re the first human I’ve seen in months.
 
I thought we could chat.”

“Chat?” I scoff, watching as he dips low to search through one of the burlap sacks under his seat.
 
Although his back is angled away, he darts several cautious glances back at me.

“Yeah.
 
You know, talk, shoot the breeze, cut loose.
 
That sort of thing.”

“I know what chat means,” I grind out, watching his every movement carefully.
 
If he pulls a gun on me, I’m aiming straight for his heart.

My finger flinches over the trigger as he rises.
 
Two red metal cans rest in his hands.
 
I squint to read the letters in the dim light, sounding them out slowly.
 
“Coke?”

“Never had one of these before, huh?
 
Oh, you’re in for a real treat.”
 
Bastien holds out a can toward me.
 
“Try it.
 
Don’t mind the expiration date.
 
I’ve been ignoring those for a while now.”

Hesitantly, I take it from him and watch as he tugs on a metal tab on top of the can.
 
My eyes widen with surprise as a brown foam bubbles out over the top and onto his fingers.
 
He quickly dips his head to slurp up the mess.
 
“Delicious.
 
Go on, give it a pull.”

I stare down at the can in my hand.
 
It is cool to the touch, smooth and completely foreign to me.
 
Deciding it’s obviously not poisoned, I tug on the tab and frown as the foam spills over my hand and onto the floor.
 

I guess that explains why my boots feel like they’re permanently stuck to the floor,
I muse.

Keeping Bastien in sight, I slowly raise the can to my lips and take a small sip.
 
“Yuck!”
 
I spit out a sugary spray all over the floor.
 

He laughs out loud as he sinks back onto his bench.
 
His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks deeply from the can.
 
A small stream of liquid spills around his lips and drips onto his sweater, but he swipes it away with little thought.

“This stuff is disgusting.”
 
I rub my tongue on my sleeve, trying to get the sugary aftertaste out of my mouth.
 
“What is this?”

“It’s soda, the most popular drink of all time.
 
People used to drink it by the gallon.”

“It’s revolting.”
 
I pinch my nose with disgust as I hand the can back to him.
 

“Well sure, if your diet only consists of berries, rainwater and squirrel.”
 
He blasts me before chugging the rest of my can too.

“We eat more than just squirrel,” I retort.
 
I know I should hang my head in shame for that lame comeback, but the sting of his jab takes me by surprise.
 
Why am I letting this guy get to me so easily?

“The point is that you tree huggers don’t know how to appreciate real food.”

I cross my arms over my chest, tucking my handgun into my side as I roll my eyes.
 
“At least we don’t hide in filthy subway cars.”

“You got a problem with my house?”

His tone implies sarcasm, but I’m not sure if I’ve just insulted him.
 
“I’m just saying you can’t compare the two together.
 
Living here, in the City, isn’t like surviving in the woods.”

He sets the soda cans aside as the skin around his eyes pinches ever so slightly, his gaze hardening.
 
He leans forward, capturing my full attention.
 
“You’re right.
 
It’s not.”

I stand up and tuck my gun into the back of my pants, right between my knives.
 
The pressure of the cool steel against my skin is reassuring.
 
“Look, I’m grateful for letting me hide out here for a bit but I think I should be going.”

“Wait!”
 
He leaps to his feet and pulls me back as I head for the exit.

“Don’t touch me,” I growl, yanking my arm from his grasp.
 
I reach back for my knife, knowing I can slice through his abdomen before he can even turn for his shotgun.

“Sorry.”
 
He holds his hands up in surrender, backing away.
 
“I just can’t let you go out there.”

“Why not?”

“Although you may
think
you know what it’s like here, you’d be wrong, Princess.
 
Those Hover Wings don’t just come for a fly by and go on their merry way like they do when they pass over the forest.
 
They’re dropping off soldiers.”