Defiance Rising (9 page)

“Watch me.”
 
I shoot off one final round, severing the wire that holds the ceiling fan aloft and sprint for the hall.

I peer into the pre-dawn light, searching for any sign of movement.
 
Fresh streaks of charred stone line the battered industrial street, evidence of the battle I fled only a few short hours ago.
 
Has it really only been one night since I entered the City?
 
It feels like a lifetime.

The street is void of life, but still I hesitate.
 
Commander Drakon most likely posted a guard at the factory, just in case I’m foolish enough to return.

Nothing like being predictable.
 

To be fair, predictability has nothing to do with why I’m posted two blocks away from the factory.
 
It has everything to do with desperation.
 
After leaving Kyan to untangle himself from the ceiling fan, I ran as far and as hard as I could straight back toward the City lights.
 
Even though my instincts screamed at me that I was heading straight into danger, I knew I had to go back to find Bastien.

I have to know if he’s still alive.

Inching my head out around the corner, my gaze flits over the abandoned factory, searching each window for any sign of movement.
 
Dawn is rapidly approaching.
 

The sky is painted with lavender and the stars and moon have receded, hiding until the night beckons them forth again.

“It’s now or never,” I mutter, bracing myself to run.

Deciding my nerves need a good three count, I lean into my stance, rise onto the balls of my feet and sprint the instant I hit one.
 
I don’t look around as I barrel straight for the rusted subway door, refusing to look anywhere but my goal.
 

The two block sprint is harder than I imagined.
 
I begin to wind down half a block from the door.
 
A stitch needles at my side, but I push through the pain.
 
My limbs feel heavy with sleep deprivation, and I can’t even remember the last time I ate anything.
 
I know my body’s energy reserves are dangerously low right now.

I yank open the door and spill into complete darkness.
 
I made it.
 

Gasping for breath, I lean over, my hands on my knees and head hanging low.
 
The stale air is a salve to my enflamed lungs.
 
Rising up, I clutch my chest but wince at the raw flesh around my heart.
 
I rub the tender skin, wishing there were enough light to examine it.
 
I don’t remember getting burned there.

I let my hand drop to cradle the stich in my side until the cramp fades.
 
Once I’ve got my breathing under control, I press my ear against the cold metal door and listen.
 
I can’t hear any shouts or pounding footsteps following after me.
 
Instead, an eerie silence greets me and I can’t stop the shiver that races down my spine.
 

Maybe they’ve already found Bastien’s camp.
 
Maybe they’re waiting for me in the tunnel below.

Leaning back against the grimy subway wall, I whisper a prayer for protection into the darkness.
 
I don’t really know who I’m speaking to or even if there is anyone out there still left to listen.
 
My mother used to tell me that there were many religions before the Caldonians came.
 
Some believed in one God, others believed in many.
 
I don’t really know what to think.
 
My mother never shared her belief on the matter, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she only believed in one so that’s the one I’m going with.

The black void presses in around me and my thoughts turn toward finding the flashlight.
 
I search close to the door, my fingers fluttering over the chipped tile floor.
 
I hiss as something sharp slices through my finger and grit my teeth against the foul curses begging to inch past my lips, as my fingers curl around the cold barrel of the light.

Blinking into the bright beam, I’m dazed by its brilliance. I lower the light and begin a rapid descent down the flight of stairs that lead to the track line below.
 

My light picks up the dull sheen of the winding track and I feel my heart tap out an excited staccato.
 
I’m getting closer.

A second thought brings me to a dead halt.
 
If Bastien is alive, why didn’t he use the flashlight for himself?

The metal light feels weighty and cold in the palm of my hand.
 
I try to shake off morbid thoughts but it’s hard to find hope down here, surrounded by the deepest shadows I have ever seen.
 
I stumble ahead for several minutes.
 
At first I try counting the track junctions, thinking that will help me to find my way, but I quickly realize they all look the same.
 
The last time I was down here, I wasn’t paying close attention.
 
I was too annoyed with Bastien to focus on the route.

Seconds drag out into endless minutes and I can’t help but wonder if I chose the wrong tunnel.
 
Maybe I should’ve turned back by the rat’s nest or at the third junction where a sludgy pool of water stood high enough to seep into my boots.
 
I don’t remember hitting that puddle before.

I’m about to sink down to the floor to wallow in self-pity when I catch a glimpse of white in the flickering beam of the flashlight.
 
I whip the light up and rake my gaze over the distant color.
 
“That must be it!”

I don’t let myself consider how many other abandoned subways cars there must be along these tracks as I dash down the line, careful not to tumble over the curve of the metal rail.
 
The instant my fingers curl around the door handle, I know I’ve found Bastien’s home.
 

Tossing the light through the open doorway, I hike my leg up onto the door and shimmy myself inside.
 
I cry out as the torn flesh along my side oozes fresh blood.
 

I snatch the light off the floor and whip around, searching for any sign of Bastien.
 
Several of the bags are missing from the overhead space, and the underside of the benches has been cleared out as well.
 
My heart sinks and I drop onto the plastic bench along the wall.
 
Judging by the fallen bits of wrappers and cans kicked aside, it looks like someone rummaged through this half of the car with great urgency.

“Every man for himself, I see.”

Wiping my hands on my grimy pants, I rise and head toward the front of the car.
 
I struggle to understand why his abandonment feels so personal.
 
It’s not like I even really know the guy.

With my fingers wrapped around the door handle, I catch sight of a bag sitting to my right.
 
I turn and shine the light over a burlap sack bulging with supplies.
 
A shred of paper lies on top.
 
I reach for it and hold it under the light.

If you find this note, that means you’re alive.
 
Obviously, I am too.
 

I want you to get your crap and head for the woods.
 
Don’t come back here again.

~ B

I turn the paper over in my hands, sure that there must be something more to the note, but there isn’t.
 
Each scribbled word is tiny enough just to fit on the small space.
 
There’s no room for anything more eloquent, even if that were Bastien’s style.

I release a bitter laugh and sink down onto the bench.
 
“What did I expect?
 
A personal escort back to the woods?”

My words spurn an intense yearning for home.
 
I gather the neck of the burlap sack and toss the bag over my shoulder.
 
It would’ve been heavy on the best of days, and today has by far been my worst.

I leap down from the subway car and carefully shove the latch back into place.
 
I don’t know why I do it, but maybe it’s because some part of me wants to show respect for the home of the boy who saved my life.

Seven

I sense the blade at my throat before I actually feel the pressure of it against my flesh.
 
“Halt!”

A smile crosses my face a split second before I shove my elbow back into the hard abdomen of the guy behind me.
 
He grunts and drops his blade.
 
“Holy crap, Illyria. What’d you do that for?”

I spin and shove Eamon back onto the ground, laughing as he clutches his bruised stomach.
 
“You started it.”

He rolls onto his side, his threadbare jacket soaking up the thin layer of snow that fell on the mountain overnight.
 
“You knew it was me?”

“Of course I did.”
 
Offering my hand to help him up, I wince as he pulls against my arm.
 
I feel fresh blood spread along my side and work to keep the pain from my face.
 
If Eamon discovers that I’m injured, he will tear down the entire City looking for the guy who hurt me.
 

Eamon brushes himself off before stepping back, his frown already deeply set in place.
 
I drop my gaze.
 
“I’d ask where you went but I’d be a fool not to know.”

I peek up at him through locks of grimy hair.
 
I stumbled a few times on my way up the mountain, adding a couple clumps of mud and decaying leaves to the gnarled mess.
 
Normally I can hold my own against our leader, Toren, on the steep slopes, and that’s saying a lot considering he’s the fastest runner I know, but I’m bone weary today.
 
“I was right.”

Eamon’s lips settle into a deep frown.
 
“What do you mean?”

“I mean those tremors were being caused by the Caldonians.
 
I found the source.”

He jerks his head toward the City in the distance, nestled in the valley about a three hour hike below.
 
“I assume by the looks of you that you had something to do with that light show last night.”

I wince as his gaze falls over the shredded remains of my shirt.
 
I can only imagine what he must be thinking right now.
 
“Maybe.”

A growl rises from his throat as he snatches my arm and pulls me against his chest in a bone-crushing hug.
 
“Do you have any idea how worried I was?
 
Toren ordered me to be restrained so I didn’t go after you.”

I’m used to Eamon’s admonishments.
 
He’s always felt like he had to protect me, from other guys, from predators in the woods and from myself.
 
“I had to know if I was right.”

His breathing is heavy, weighted with an anger that amplifies his unique eyes.
 
Eamon’s eyes have always fascinated me.
 
Although everyone considers his eye color to be hazel, it looks like splashes of gold to me. Sometimes, on a warm summer’s night, I almost think I can see light reflected in them, but today I can’t bear to see the hurt I know lies within.

“You should have told me.
 
I would’ve gone with you, protected you.”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger,” I whisper, struggling to look at him.
 
Of course Eamon would’ve wanted to go with me but I don’t regret my decision.
 
One person sneaking into the City was hard enough.
 
Two would have been dangerous.
 

His strong hands grip around my arms.
 
“You know I would have been there for you.”

He pulls my face to his chest, cradling me as if I were a child.
 
I close my eyes and cling to him, indebted to him for his sacrificial love.
 
It is a constant, something I can rely on, even when it’s infuriatingly restrictive.
 

His lips press against the crown of my head.
 
“I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”
 
I step back out of his grasp.
 
With the noonday light streaming down through his thick mop of curls, he almost looks like an angel, minus the allergen inducing feathered wings and golden halo.
 

A rebellious smirk tugs at my lips.
 
“I’ve got something for you.”

He holds his frown for a second longer before he succumbs to my charm.
 
“Fine, change the subject, but I’m not letting this slide, missy.”

“Yes, sir!” I offer a mock salute that dissolves his anger entirely.
 
I crouch down and rifle through the sack Bastien left for me.
 

Upon earlier examination, I was confused by the various shaped boxes and canisters within the sack, but I quickly realized that Bastien shared his supplies with me.
 
Inside are various medicines and bandages that we desperately need, two boxes of ammo that I’m sure will fit one of the sniper rifles Toren has hidden away, and food.
 
Lots of food.
 
Most of the food I can’t pronounce but I can tell by the pictures that it’s edible.
 

“What’s that you have?” Eamon’s brow rises with interest as I hold out a dull red can with a flip top.
 

“Just pull that tab and take a swig.”
 
I grin and lean back against a tree as Eamon fumbles with the tab.
 

“Oh bugger,” he grumbles as the thin mental snaps off completely and brown foam spills over his hand.
 
His eyes narrow at me as he searches for any obvious signs of mischief on my part, which are, of course written plainly on my face.
 

“Just drink it.”

He shakes off the foam and downs a big gulp.
 
He comes up spluttering, red in the face, as he gags on the bubbles.
 
I laugh until my sides ache and I’m forced to taper off into a chuckle.
 

“Urgh,” he groans, tossing the can out into the woods.
 
“What is that stuff?”

“It’s called soda.
 
I’ve been told it’s very good.”

Eamon’s gaze sharpens.
 
“Who says?”

I wince and clamp down on my tongue.
 

“Illyria?” He steps toward me, his voice low and dangerous.
 
I know this voice.
 
It’s the one he uses every time we’re on a hunt and I get too close to a mountain lion or wolf.
 
“What aren’t you telling me?”

I sidestep him and gather the bag over my shoulder, but Eamon motions for me to hand it over.
 
I agree although normally I would protest, insisting that I’m just as strong as he is.
 
His eyes narrow as I easily consent to his help, but he remains silent.

“I’ll explain everything when we speak with Toren.
 
Is he here?”

“Yeah.
 
He’s waiting for you.”
 
Every muscle in his body tenses as he stares out toward the City.
 
It looks so innocent from this distance, a lifeless husk buried within a mass of broken glass and twisted metal, but I now know how deceiving this view can be.
 
I know what lies within the depths of that place now.
 
“Were you followed?”

“No,” I shake my head, knowing I did everything I could to keep my exit from the city a secret.
 
I doubled back three times just to make sure no one was on my trail, but I never sensed anyone, or heard evidence that I was followed.
 
I was alone when I left.
 
“But the Caldonians are coming.
 
Soon.”

I skim my fingers along the familiar damp stone of the cave entrance as I duck under Eamon’s arm.
 
Once I’m inside, he replaces the blackberry bush over the tunnel.
 
Shafts of daylight filter through its numerous tangled branches, lighting the narrow space.
 
During the summer, it offers better protective cover from peering eyes but, for now, it’s the best we can manage with winter knocking at our back door.
 

There are miles of tunnels within this mountain.
 
Most of them have been left to darkness due to lack of use or supplies for torches.
 
We only light the tunnels that we use daily.
 
The others we must learn by feel; this tunnel is one of those.
 

Although I know this trail well, Eamon leads the way.
 
It weaves through the earth, carving a path past countless off shoots and dead ends.
 
One wrong turn and we would be lost for hours, but Eamon and I push ahead with complete confidence.

Our destination is the Temple.
 
Aminah thought it a fitting title because of the odd altar-like stone in the center of the cavernous room we use for daily activities.
 
Although she was only four when she named the space, the term has stuck ever since.
 
I think the adults relented to the change to allow us to make the cave our own.
 
As odd as it sounds, I’m glad they let the title stand.

The Temple is our gathering place for meals, songs and lessons.
 
Once you hit your teen years, you get the pleasure of joining into the courting session.
 
I find them to be both awkward and unbearable, especially when done around so many nosy kids.
 

My friends, Aminah and Toren, were always so natural at courting, probably because they never had eyes for anyone else.
 
I envy them for it.
 
They never had to bumble through first kiss attempts that ended with a black eye for the guy and me sent to my bed without dinner.
 

But the Temple holds fond memories as well.
 
It is where I learned to wield a knife and think like a predator.
 
To be honest, I’m surprised any guy had the nerve to try to touch my backside after seeing me train from hours on end with my daggers.

The domed space has four exits, located pretty much even with the cardinal points on a map.
 
Each leads to a series of smaller rooms: cave closets, as Zahra likes to call them.
 
For a girl whose only goal in life is to capture the heart of a future mate, I can see why this would be her first thought.
 
Although we maintain a small stock of clothing, somehow Zahra manages to look stunning even in the rattiest of clothes.
 

Another wing I avoid is the children’s area.
 
I have no desire to attend to small children, whose noses always run and stomachs are always empty.
 
I don’t have the patience for whining.
 

My mother was probably right when she said I will be a terrible mom someday.

I refuse to enter one other place: the compost collector.
 
Some people may prefer to do
everything
within the safety of the cave, but there are some things I prefer leaving behind in the woods.

Makeshift torches are propped against the wall, leading us the final fifty feet into the Temple.
 
My legs are weary and my side wounds sting.
 
All I want is to veer off toward the Cascades for a refreshing bath and then head straight to bed, but Eamon reaches back for my hand and tugs me forward.
 

How does he always know when I want to run away?
 
I grumble silently.

 
“We’re home!” Eamon shouts as he steps into the well-lit room.
 
I groan at his attempt to make the little kids smile but can’t help love him even more for it.
 
Although I have a serious aversion to small children, Eamon dotes on each of them as if they were his own.
 
Someday he will be a wonderful father…if he lives that long.