Falling Sky (7 page)

The car stopped across the street from Ian's home. He opened the door, stepped out and nodded at Wasley. Prophet had decided to stay behind with Katsuni and let Wasley take the car.

“We'll be in contact,” Wasley said, and then drove off.

Ian wore a dark blue, pullover sweater Prophet had let him borrow, with the hood drawn up over his head. He didn't want to look like himself in case Ellis happened to be nearby, but didn't know how well the sweater worked in that aspect.
I sure don't feel like myself,
he thought. He patted the pockets of his jeans and remembered he still didn't have the keys.

He crossed the street and stepped in between a group of people to reach his doorstep. Usually, the thought of being this close to other people would make his skin break out in gooseflesh, but he walked in a hazy, numbing fog and hardly noticed the masses. When he reached the door, he paused to look at the golden knob and instead of knocking he reached out and turned it. A sharp click issued from the door and it swung open. Ian furrowed his brow and studied the darkness beyond. Cool air rushed from the open portal and licked his face. Quickly, he stole glances to his sides and then entered. The pit of his stomach tightened and a light numbness lingered at the tips of his fingers.
Something's wrong with the auto lock,
Ian thought.

Sensing his presence, the house's lights flickered on to shed subdued light on a living room in complete disarray. The sofa had been turned over onto its back, and the coffee table had been splintered into three pieces. Spider web cracks spread out from a hole in the television screen. Ian walked over a floor strewn with crumpled papers and over turned drawers that had been pulled from the desk, and then tossed haphazardly to the ground. When he entered the kitchen, his feet crunched over cereal and almost slipped on a fork. The table had been completely turned over so its legs jutted into the air.

Ian kicked the small obstacles out of his way, firmly grasped one of the legs and pulled the table upright. As he slid the hood off of his head, his vision became blurred. Tears created thin trails of heat down his face. The house's chill cut through his clothes and his entire body; it washed away the world around him and the table for a moment. His reflection, distorted by the falling tears, looked up at him.

“Why?” Ian mumbled at first, and then cleared his throat. “What happened? All I did was have a nightmare, why is this happening?” Ian screamed at the top of his lungs. He didn't remember if he'd closed front door or not, but didn't care if anyone on the sidewalk heard him.

Sometimes,
his reflection replied,
things are forced on us. They throw our lives out of order, and the lives of the people close to us. But we have the power to set things right.

Ian slammed his hands down on the table shouting, “How do you know? Who are you? How do I even know you're real?” His voice trembled as an uncomfortable warmth rushed up from his stomach and poured into his entire body. He wiped tears mixed with sweat away from his eyes; his tongue tasted like salt. “This entire city isn't real. I don't know what to do.”

I'm Ian,
his reflection replied,
and I'm just telling you things you already know.

“I'm Ian,” he repeated, “and I know what's real.” The ransacked kitchen returned and Ian wiped the tears from the table. The reflection became obscured by the salty liquid. The boy straightened up and pulled his hood back over his head. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know that you talk to yourself.” Wasley stood at the kitchen's doorway with his hands in his pockets.

“Where did they take my mom and dad?”

“Your dad might still be at work, but I'm guessing Ellis has your mom.”

“Why?” Ian shoved his hands into the pocket of the sweater. His eyes burned and his throat ached.

“To see if you'll turn us in. Ellis can't really capture all of us unless he knows what we're up to and where we're based.”

“I don't even know where your little hideout is,” Ian replied.

“He doesn't know that. If you decided to turn us in, I won't blame you.” Wasley stepped forward. “Or you can work with us to free the entire city.”

Ian nodded slowly. “I know what I want to do.” He walked passed Wasley into the living room and turned back. “Let's free the city.”

Over the next couple of days, the group made calls to members of the movement based in other cities, poured over blueprints and journals, and logged things into tablets as Ian became a resident of the hideout. They all slept in the same room: Ian on one side and Katsuni on the other. Prophet preferred to sleep sitting up against the wall next to the door. Wasley slept in the center, although Ian noticed he'd frequently wake up during the night and walk out. The nightmares continued with increased clarity. Once, he'd witnessed up Katsuni tossing and turning in her sleeping bag across the room.

The night before the operation, Wasley didn't come into the room and Prophet fell asleep in a chair with a book in his hand. Katsuni slept outside her sleeping bag and Ian sat up against the wall, looking at a tablet. The screen showed a brief history of Lamore Industries, but his eyes couldn't focus on the actual words. He tossed it to the side, got up and found Wasley sitting at the round table in the next room.

“Wasley?”

The man cleared his throat. “Yeah, Ian. What's up?”

“Why weren't you surprised or worried that Ellis kidnapped my mom? You said it like it was bound to happen or something. I would have asked earlier, but I felt so caught up in this movement. Things looked so hopeless and out of our hands, but now it feels like we have some control of things.”

“I didn't mean to sound that way.” Wasley's words sounded like they had trouble getting past his lips. “But if I fall apart and lose my head, everyone might do the same. That's why I lose so much sleep. I'm very sorry, Ian. I didn't mean for things to end up this way, but you're right, control seems to be returning to us at the moment.”

Ian pulled up a chair next to Wasley and patted the man on the back. “I understand, but don't worry. I know I need to be here now. If we save the city, we'll save my mom as well. ”

“How do you know that?” Wasley asked weakly.

“Everyone around me seems to be satisfied with the city, but I spent a lot of my time trying to find the flaws to remind me that we still live underground: the breaks in the sky; the symmetrical trees.” Ian ran a hand through his hair. “When they broke in and took my mom, I bet no one questioned them, just like it was easy for us to escape into that same crowd. I can't explain it but I know that she'd feel the same way and do the same thing.” He thought of the last time he saw his mother and how she didn't say good bye to his father before he left. The more he turned the event over in his head, the more he began to realize that she had always worn a flat expression on her face, as if it had been permanently etched there through years of living in the city, under her home's florescent lights. A cold pang of guilt jabbed into his guts and reverberated throughout his intestines. Guilt for not noticing the signs, for being wrapped up into his own personal anxiety.

Wasley rubbed the stubble on his check. The noise sounded raspy, sharp and loud in the small room. “We've all noticed these things too.”

“I know that I don't fit in with this world. I have this disorder that was supposed to have disappeared years ago.”

“Because of the device.”

Ian nodded. “It didn't work with me for some reason, but I rather be different than-” Ian paused as his mind searched for the right phrase, “-a mindless member of this city. I've finally realized what my dad meant when he said being different wasn't a bad thing at all.”

“Wise man,” Wasley remarked quietly.

“I don't know if the city will be destroyed or not, but I know the nightmares are trying to tell me something is not right about the way we're living.”

“Well, hopefully our plan works and we'll be able to rebuild again.”

“We both need to get some rest,” Ian said and rose from the chair. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Okay, Ian.” As the boy walked into the bed room, Wasley looked back. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Wasley.”

The car stopped at the bottom of a long slope. Ian and the others ascended the hill under the cover of artificial night.

“Once we enter the ventilation system, we'll be on the surface under a protective dome,” Wasley announced.

“Will we be able to see the sky?”

“No, The Dust combined with years of contact with the sun has darkened the material. It'll be like standing in a dark glass ball,” Prophet put in as he re-shouldered a back pack containing a small computer and other equipment.

“I see.” Ian pulled a black beanie and his sweater's hood over his head.

“When we get to the top, I'll open the entry way. The hall will take us straight into the system. We'll make contact with the other cities then.”

The group nodded. Ian felt the surface of his pocket where he kept the explosive charge Wasley had given him. Each member had one on their person. “It'll only take one to do the job
,
” Wasley had said, “but in case the plan doesn't go the way we want, we all need to be prepared to set the charge on the main power generator
.
” They walked to the sound of their own footsteps. The entire city always slept under a veil of silence. On the surface, Ian imagined he' be able to hear the songs of insects and other nocturnal creatures which had been described in the books Wasley had given him over the years; the more he read them, the more he desired to live on the surface. Recently, the silence had become too loud and sterile for Ian.

As they reached the top, the ground became uneven and their steps crunched loudly over loose rocks and gravel. A tall set of iron doors stood at the top and as they neared it, Wasley stopped behind a large rock that angrily jutted from the ground. He hunched down. “There are going to be two guards protecting the entrance.”

Prophet crouched next to Wasley, set his back pack on the ground, and opened it. The two exchanged a glance and Prophet produced a pair of binoculars from the pack. He lay flat on his stomach and put them to his eyes. “I see them. They're armed.”

Prophet passed the binoculars to Katsuni.

“Got it, I'll take care of them.” She handed the binoculars back to Prophet, pulled her scarf up to cover the bottom part of her face, sprang up and sprinted toward the iron doors.

“What is she going to do?” Ian moved up next to Prophet and grabbed the binoculars from him. A pair of spotlights protruded from the walls above the doors and cast a double circle of bright light around the immediate area.

* * * *

Katsuni stuck to the shadows as she ran over rocky ground, and her feet barely made any noise. The bulky guards kept their stiff, upright vigil on either side of the door, armed with black, two-foot-long, metal sticks. They each wore a full face mask that, Ian guessed, helped their vision cut through the landscape blanketed by shadows. The group should be safe as long as they remained behind the rock and the guards didn't seem to notice Katsuni as she rushed toward them. In one smooth motion she jumped almost four feet in the air, spun and planted an outstretched foot in the first guard's neck. They both hit the ground at the same time: Katsuni in a crouch and the guard in an unconscious stupor. The remaining guard's attention snapped to the intruder and he raised his weapon. Katsuni quickly rolled to the side and avoided the oncoming blow from the solid, blunt instrument. In mid-roll, she swept the man's legs from under him and he landed hard on his back with a sickening crunch against the small rocks. In a second, she regained her ground and smashed a fist into his face. The mask and the delicate electronics inside exploded into small bits of plastic and wires.

“Let's go,” Wasley ordered, and lead the group in a run to the doors.

“How did you learn how to do that?” Ian asked Katsuni when they reached the clearing.

“I've been training for this day for a while.” She pulled the scarf away from her face and smiled thinly. “Plus, when I was young, my parents wanted me to join an after school activity and I chose martial arts.”

“Cool.” Ian said flatly. Prophet had the equipment and knew how to use it, Wasley knew the layout and devised plans, Katsuni could take down men almost twice her size and Ian was dead weight. He walked toward Wasley, who busied himself at an electronic panel built into the wall next to the door. Wasley produced a key card similar to the one he had used to rescue Ian. “Mr. Wasley?” he whispered when he neared the man.

“What?” He slid the card into a thin, almost invisible, opening above a small screen.

“Why am I here? I don't feel like I can contribute.”

Wasley keyed in a sequence on a numbered key pad in the center of the panel. “You're here and you believe in the cause. That's enough. If there's anything for you to do, I'm sure you'll do it. For now, just stick with us and be ready.”

Ian took a deep breath and attempted to steady his heart. He glanced back at the dark road they'd traveled from. On the far side of the darkness, the car sat at the side of the road and if everything went according to plan they would be back in it heading to the nearest evacuation point soon. There were several points along the outskirts of the city at the ends of wide roads designed for large amounts of traffic.

“That should do it.” A loud, mechanical click stabbed through the silence and caused Ian to flinch. The doors slowly slid open and light poured out from the widening slit.

“What happens after we leave the city?” Ian asked, eyes wide as he stared into the long, metal hallway beyond the doors. They all looked toward him. A brief smile touched Prophet's face before he headed inside. Katsuni followed.

“We'll all be terrorists,” Prophet called back.

Wasley approached Ian and put his arm over his shoulders. “When we leave this city, we'll find a way to rebuild again. Let's go.”

“Okay,” Ian said as they both stepped into the tunnel.