Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  Bile clogs my throat, and I cover my mouth in a desperate attempt to keep from vomiting as I hurry through the charred skeletons, doing my best to not trip over the broken pavement as death and sulfur seize my nostrils, invading them with their repugnant odor. I cannot stay here. I must get out, get away from Arel’s resolve to ensure that its citizens follow its structured way of life, and away from this reminder that I am sworn to obey it despite the costs. Not caring if I make noise, I run away, as far away from this open tomb as I can get, heading straight for the sewer and the grate that imprisons a citizen of Arel, whose only crime was getting pregnant.

  The grate looms before me, and I drop to my knees in front of it, reaching between the bars and grabbing hold of it as I lift with all my strength, my already fatigued arms not wanting to obey my command, but I force them to. Metal against concrete fills the atmosphere around me with its low rumble as I slide it to the side, revealing the darkened tunnels beneath. I hope the woman is still there.

  “PSSSST!” I whisper, cringing as it echoes beneath me, bouncing off the concrete walls, threatening to warn all of Arel of my unwarranted presence here.

  A face appears in the darkness and relief floods over me. Too much times has been wasted, and I must get her out of here. I unwrap the rope from around my torso and lower it into the sewer, not needing to tell the woman what to do as she grabs hold of the line, and I haul her up from the underbelly of Arel and into the open air. My arms feel as though they are on fire as I heave the woman out of the sewers and help her onto the pavement, my breaths in short gasps from the exertion.

  “Come on,” I say to her in a hushed voice, after scooting the grate back into position, and hurrying away from the exposed area.

  I jog back through the hellish remains of the riot, slowing my pace when I notice that the woman struggles to keep up, and I grab hold of her, dragging her after me, knowing what will happen if we are caught. She gasps when she spots the child, but I yank her forward, forcing her to look away before she can give us away. The familiar whine of a drone reaches my ears, and I shove the woman into a doorway, putting my finger over my lips as my nerves threaten to paralyze me from the fear of being caught and only release me from their hold when the drone hovers past, unaware of our presence. We need to reach the wall, and we need to reach it now.

  Searching my memories, I envision the schematics of the city which I had to learn as part of passing my written exams, while remembering what I know of the eastern sector’s layout. Most of the buildings are close together, some just wide enough for a person to squeeze through if they walk sideways.

  “This way,” I tell the woman, hauling her behind me as I hurry down the walk and turn down an alley, before darting around a corner and charging into a side street.

  My eyes roam around me as we run, checking for arbiters, while making certain that the woman has not fallen behind. Sweat streams down her cheeks as they puff in and out from her labored breathing, causing me to worry about the baby, and whether I am putting any strain on it by forcing the mother to run, but the moment concern threatens to overcome me, logic quells it, pushing it aside while reminding me of our situation. If I fail, the crematoriums will have two new victims to claim. The woman trips over a dip in the broken pavement, and I stoop down to catch her, heaving her upright before she hits the ground, and she breathes a thank you.

  We come to a gap between two residential structures, and I urge the woman to follow as I squeeze between them, shuffling sideways as the brick building towers over me, threatening to suffocate me, but I force myself to remain calm. The woman refuses at first, but the whistling of an arbiter on patrol springs her into actions, and she shoves her way into the space. Seconds drag as we ease our way through with her protruding belly touching the walls. Just a little further, I keep telling myself, over and over while remaining alert, afraid that at any moment we will be caught.

  A gap appears ahead, and I stop the moment we reach it, peeking around the corner, looking left and right, my ears straining to hear any drones that might be about. Nothing. Urging the woman onward, we rush across the street and to the wall, its impenetrable constructions warning us to turn back. I run my fingers along the bumpy surface of the wall, feeling for anything unusual, while my heart slams against my ribcage as I stay concealed in the darkness, hoping that those on the wall will not see us, glad that they watch the wildlands beyond more than the city, and thankful that the latest riot had forced the commanding officers to pull arbiters from the wall and place them elsewhere. My fingers catch on something. Pausing, I run my hands up and down the wall, feeling a tiny gap and know that I have found it: a door.

  I open my pack and pull out the four pieces of meat I have in there, unwrapping them while making certain that no one is above us on the inner wall and toss them over. No barking. Using my prybar, I manage to pop the lock and force the door open just enough for a person to walk through and look inside, finding one dog scarfing the meat. I yank out my knife and creep up behind it, poised and ready to strike, like I had to while a recruit. In my fifteenth year, each recruit had to sneak up behind an aggressive dog while it was distracted by food. Those who failed had their throats ripped out by the canine’s teeth. I had the misfortune of kicking a pebble, an innocuous thing on most occasions, but on this one, it alerted the dog to my presence, and it jumped at me, forcing me to land on my back. Only my quick action with a knife saved me that day, but not before sharp teeth latched themselves onto my arm.

  I still my breathing as I stalk up behind the dog, listening for any others, while it devours the meat. Only one piece to go. Knowing I am running out of time, I leap at it and plunge my blade into its skull. It drops to the ground in a pool of its own blood without making a sound. Glancing around, I listen for others, wondering why there only seems to be the one wild dog. Perhaps it killed the others in this section; since they are kept in a starved state, such a thing is not unheard of. Footsteps above me startle me and I hug the wall, craning my neck to watch as a lone arbiter strolls past while stiffing a yawn, meaning he has been here a while. Once he has gone, I rush back to the doorway and motion for the woman to come through before jumping to the door on the outer wall and undoing its lock. I peek outside, not finding any sign of life.

  “Here,” I say, handing the woman my pouch with its meager supplies. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do. “Stay low in the grass and let it cover you. Crawl if you have to, but go slow. If you move too fast, you might be seen.”

  The woman takes the pouch and straps it around herself. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “You can…” I never get the chance to finish my sentence as she steps through the door.

  Stillness wafts over me as I watch her crouch low in the grass, feeling her way through, determined to take her chances beyond the wall, even when all sense warns that it is a death sentence, but her fate if she remained would be just as final. Hollowness fills the empty caverns of my stomach as she disappears in the vegetation, but before I can shut the door, the night bursts into day, just for an instant, as an explosion thrusts me backward and rocks the earth. Landmines! Nowhere in my studies did we learn about them being anywhere outside of the wall.

  After I regain my senses and the ringing in my ears dissipates, I bolt upright, thinking only of the woman, and I rush through the door into the field, not caring if I step on a mine. Swishing sounds accompany me as I run through the tall grass, shrouded by the night, fearing what I will find. A bloodied hand stops me. Pausing, I pick it up, cradling it as though it is a priceless treasure, and I know what awaits me if I go any further. The hand thumps as I drop it in the dirt and take five more steps forward, crushing the tall stalks of grass beneath me, ignoring the shouts that echo behind me along the wall. A mangled body, or what is left of one, lays on the ground, soaked in blood, it’s red color visible in the night as it reflects the sliver of the moon above us. I drop to my knees and turn the woman over, cradling her as tears ease their way down my
cheeks, something that has not happened in a long time. Her glazed eyes stare at me for a moment before rolling to the side, and her head drops and hangs to the side, reminding me of a dangling cord as it flops. Unable to grasp what has happened as despondency rears its ugly head and chastises me for my ineptitude, I lay the woman on the ground and close her eyes as it seems to be the right thing to do.

  I have failed, again.

  The terrified face of the girl I had killed to prove my loyalty to Arel fills my mind. My ears hear the distant screams of the wailing infant from the factory. Chase’s sympathetic face upon seeing the scars on my back fills the void before me, and his lips move, mouthing the words he spoke to me not long ago: promise me that you will do what you need to, to survive.

  Shelia and Gwen fill my mind.

  “I will,” I whisper to the darkness as angry shouts and unceasing barking reign over the once quiet atmosphere, threatening to overcome me.

  I jump to my feet and sprint to the door, following the broken stalks of grass that mark the path I had tread moments before, until I reach the door and close it, knowing that the broken lock will be discovered at some point, but perhaps it won’t be right away. Once through the door on the inner wall, I shut it and dart across the street to the crumbling buildings of the eastern sector.

  “Over there!” shouts an arbiter

  I quicken my pace, refusing to turn around to see how many pursue me. A rectangular hole in the sidewalk is not far ahead, and there is no grate covering it. I charge for it, my feet pounding the pavement as I run, my lungs burning for air as I force them to inhale and exhale in tune to my speed, before dropping to the ground and sliding across it, before rolling into the hole where I drop into the sewer below. I gulp air and hold it as I wait for the sounds of those chasing me to pass. Once clear, I lift myself up and peek out, finding no sign of arbiters or drones. An inward struggle takes hold as my mind grapples with remaining in the sewer or risking everything to get back to the manor. I have to take the chance. Soon, the alarm will go off, and if I am discovered missing…

  Jumping up, I heave myself out of the sewer and crouch low as I glance around for any sign of danger, but when I find none, I take off, darting down another alley while confusion reigns behind me.

  Chapter 7

  Sneaking In

  Lights blare from the manor, illuminating the building as I crouch behind a thorny bush, observing the people darting about in response to the landmine going off, and I watch as each room glows from the single lamps within them turning on. Bedroom check. The knowledge of what will happen to me once my room is discovered empty floods my mind, jerking my heart into action, forcing it to race as my options appear one by one, each as dismal as the previous. I need to get to my room, or somewhere within the manor before my presence is discovered here in these bushes, hiding like a common criminal, letting all of Arel see that I have something to hide. I start to sprint to the building when a slender hand seizes my wrist, its gentle pressure forcing me to stop and dive back into the bushes as tiny thorns tear into my shirt and scratch my hand.

  Sheila stares at me with wide, fearful eyes, placing her finger over her mouth, signaling for me to keep quiet. My mouth opens to ask her why she is here, what she is doing, but I clamp it shut, driving the incessant questions from my mind as this is not the time. She must have snuck into my room and noticed that I was missing; sometimes she dropped off a pressed shirt or an extra set of towels that she had smuggled out of the laundry, showing me an extra bit of kindness and putting my feeble efforts at keeping her safe to shame. Before I can do anything else, she holds out my wristband to me, looking out for my well-being once again, when it should be me protecting her. Commander Vye’s irate voice thunders over the green, screaming my name, and I know that my absence has been detected. I remove the coiled wires from around my wrist and take my wristband from Sheila’s thin and smudged fingers and slip it on before jumping up and hurrying to the green, while clutching the makeshift bracelet in my sweaty palm, desperate for an excuse, anything that will sound plausible; in the back of my mind, I know that my punishment will be swift and severe as I have pushed Commander Vye’s good graces to the limits.

  “Noni!”

  “Commander?” I say, trying to keep my voice from sounding too jittery, by it catches regardless of my attempts, revealing my fears.

  “Why didn’t you respond when I first called you?” she demands, her cheeks red with anger, giving color to her dark features, and I remember how when I first met her, I had wanted to be just like her: strong, iron-willed, and powerful.

  “No excuse, ma’am,” I reply, and anger radiates from her eyes, squashing what courage I have left, letting me know that I have more than failed her—I have disappointed her.

  “Why are you not in bed?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, ma’am.” It’s a flimsy excuse and she sees right through it.

  “And, so, you thought that you would just come out here to the gymnasium and work some of that energy off.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Movement catches my eye, and I shift my gaze to the side to try and see the figure standing in a doorway, outlined by the light, but shrouded enough so that I cannot make out any details. Worry shackles my mind, but I must remain calm and hope that no one is aware of my exploits in the city.

  Commander Vye stalks in front of me, the wheels within her mind turning, calculating, formulating a suitable punishment for my infraction as a warning to the others and as a testament to her authority. “See that bar over there?”

  I nod.

  “Go to it.”

  Here it comes, my punishment. My feet squish the dew-topped blades of grass as I walk over to the bar hanging seven feet off the ground and jump for it, grasping hold of the cool iron rod, allowing myself to dangle in the air.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?” Commander Vye’s voice echoes off the lawn as more arbiters gather around me like they did the day I received a flogging for my negligence; now they can watch me be chastised again.

  I heave myself up until my chin is over the bar before lowering myself down in a controlled motion so that I do not drop to the ground.

  “Again.” Commander Vye’s chilled tone tears through me and the hollowed pit of my stomach expands.

  Once more, I haul myself up, my already tired arms from hanging on the bars underneath the moving causeway screaming at me to stop, to give in to their demands for rest, but if I do, if I allow them to have their way, I will appear weak, and weakness means death. As I ease myself downward, my arms shaking from the exertion, I stare into my commander’s brown and hardened eyes, daring her to look away, but she smiles instead.

  “I did not tell you to stop,” she says.

  I pull myself up again, my feet hanging limp, unsure of what they should do as my biceps and pectoral muscles burn (What number am I on?), warning me that they cannot keep this up for much longer, but this is a not about physical strength; it is a battle of wills, and I must defeat my commander’s. Shelia’s face pokes out from between two arbiters, worried and concerned that I will fail. I try to reassure her, but I cannot allow the others to see me looking at her, or they might use her against me. Arbiters are not supposed to have personal feelings or attachments, but mine have always crept through, even in the minutest of forms. As I look away from Sheila, gray eyes stop me, holding my attention for a second, their tear-filled nature reminding me of a promise I had made: I had vowed to protect Chase’s sister, and I cannot do that if I fail here and now. Three more pull-ups go by with my muscles begging me to stop, but I tighten my grip on the bar, digging my stubby nails into the heels of my hands, until drops of crimson blood trickles down my wrists, past the coiled wires stuffed under my sleeve. The blood’s redness thrusts me back outside the wall and to the minefield I had not known was there, where the woman met death, and the weight of her mangled body cradled in my arms presses against my skin once more. She died because of my poor planning, and now I c
annot ask her for her forgiveness. Forgiveness, a word I have never thought about until now. Arbiters do not seek redemption. We deal out Arel’s punishment and are to be obeyed, just like we are to obey Arel, yet the nagging need for forgiveness continues to build within me, simmering the way a covered pot does before the lid is chucked aside from its contents boiling over.

  “You may have won a commendation,”—Commander Vye steps around me, circling her prey, yanking me from my internal lashing—“but that does not give you the right to be out of bed after lights out, nor does it give you the right to do as you please. You are not above the law.”

  Our eyes meet as I lower myself down from another pull up, and I hope that my gaze is just as unforgiving as hers, as I have no desire to allow her the satisfaction of knowing that she has beaten me.

  “You may let go.”

  I relax my hands. A moist film coats my shirt and pants as I land on my side, grunting from the impact, but I refuse to show any pain, even though my hip stings, telling me that I will have a purple bruise there in the morning.

  Commander Vye’s black boots tread in the grass, circling me, leaving their imprint in the murky, white light. “We have rules for a reason. Anyone who disobeys them will be met with swift punishment. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” responds a chorus of voices as those gathered around us stand at attention. “Dismissed.”

  “Just a moment.”

  My blood freezes within my veins as I remain on the ground in a fetal position, only daring to lift my head just enough to peer at the person who has spoken, afraid of confirming what I don’t want to be true. Molers steps out of the light, allowing himself to be seen, to be more than just a shadowy observer. His time at the munitions factory must have come to an end, much to my dismay.