Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 9

  I stop.

  For the first time, I notice it: the small roundedness of her abdomen, the distinct sign of a pregnancy, and an unregistered one at that, meaning that, once again, the sterilization techniques of Arel have failed. Craning her neck, the woman does her best to look up at me with her pleading eyes, but my helmet prevents her from seeing my face, but I see the raised scar of a mark burned into her left cheek for all to see as a reminder and a warning. Either she, or someone she knew who had been executed while she had been left alive, had tried to help a plebeian escape punishment, and this was her reward: to spend her life as an outcast, warning others of what happens if you do not conform to Arel’s demands. Her hunched shoulders with a small pack strapped to them and jittery hands tell me that she is not part of this rebellion, but had decided to use it to escape: an offence met with death.

  I release her.

  “Go home,” I tell her, but she shakes her head. I seize her shirt and haul her to her feet, shoving her away when a metallic clink clacks against the street. Looking down, I discover that it’s a small two-way radio, contraband and punishable by a sentence of five years in the fields or the mines. This is more than just a target of opportunity for her, but something she has been planning on doing for a while.

  “Please…” she begs.

  “What do you know of all this?” I demand, gripping the collar of her shirt.

  “Nothing!” she wails. “I cannot stay here anymore.” She looks at her bulging belly and I know what she means. Now that she is starting to show, it will be almost impossible for her to conceal her pregnancy, and she does not strike me as someone who has many friends willing to help her.

  I stare at her, my heart torn between what I am trained to do and know I should do for the safety and security of Arel, though it means sentencing her and her unborn child to death, or helping her. Fear resides in her eyes as her mind races with the possibilities of my choices and what I might do, the same fear within he plebeian girl’s eyes when I rescued her from the fire, and when she pleaded with me to end her suffering: both desperate to escape their torment.

  Pounding boots rushing toward me makes my decision for me. I release the woman, whipping around and bringing my weapon up, ramming it into chest of an arbiter who had seen me with her and chose to do his duty for Arel. He staggers back but remains on his feet. Before I finish him, he lunges, catching me around the middle and forcing me off my feet. I crash into the pavement, and the force of the impact forces me to gasp. Refusing to give up, I seize his arm and wrench it across his chest, forcing him to lose his balance, just as I roll, flinging him to the side. Twisting, I keep my grip firm as I bring my legs up, wrapping them around my opponent’s torso and yank, pleased when I feel his shoulder pop out of its socket. Before I can get up, a low whistle echoes above us, and I roll on my side, covering my head with my hands just as an explosive device the size of a tube of toothpaste strikes the ground and detonates, scooting me across the ground and showering me with bits of debris that pelt my armor and helmet. Once the dust settles, I force myself to my feet and turn toward the arbiter that had charged the woman, but he remains on the ground with a metal rod poking out of his chest.

  The woman!

  Running to where I had left her, I find a bundle of lose clothing with a pack strapped around it. My gloved hands fly over the bits of asphalt and miniscule rocks that cover the small mound, clearing them away until the woman’s head is revealed. I lift her up. She moans while clinging to my arm as I drag her away from the chaos, trying to think of what to do next as the wall is too far away, but perhaps…

  Another small device detonates and the screams of those caught in its wrath fade as I cart the woman away from the square, using the shifting walls of black smoke to my advantage, allowing them to conceal us as I lead her to a place of temporary safety. A man rushes for us with a Molotov cocktail in his hand. Pushing the woman aside, but being careful to not hurt her, I reach for my weapon only to remember that I have dropped it. The man draws closer. Whipping out my baton, I revel in the snapping sound that cracks the air as I extend it to its full length. He swings at me, hoping to strike me with his explosive cocktail, but I drop to one knee and whip him in the stomach with my baton before swinging it again and jabbing him in the face. With my other hand, I grab his Molotov cocktail and ram it on his head, allowing the flammable liquid to spread down his face. While he runs away in agony, I hurry back to the pregnant woman and haul her back to her feet, but as I do, another rioter rushes for me, and I turn around, extending my leg, tripping my attacker, and as he falls forward, I twist again and ram my elbow into the back of his neck.

  Engines alert me to a change in the chaos. Looking at the topmost level of Arel, I notice that the doors to the hangar are open and Arel’s aircraft head straight for us. They are about to bomb their own people! A whistle sounds the signal for any arbiter in the area to seek shelter, and we do not have much time. I strengthen my grip on the woman’s arm, dragging her away from the melee and to a sewer, knowing that it is our best bet for survival. Her feet stumble as she tries to keep up with my unforgiving pace, but I refuse to let her go, and drag her across the ground, until she regains her feet and jogs after me. Only 60 seconds until they reach us.

  We reach the sewer. Dropping to my knees, I grip the grate, straining as I lift the solid iron bars away from the hole in the ground and slide it across the pavement, creating a grating noise that drowns the sound of the engines approaching from above. My muscles tired, I look at the black hole before me, unsure of how far the drop will be and hope that it is less than I fear.

  “In!” I yell at the woman, but she backs away, knowing what I want her to do and afraid to go through with it.

  Frustrated, and having no time to waste, I leap to my feet, seize the woman, and shove her through the hole and into the sewer, jumping in after her just as the aircraft rush by overhead, dropping their explosives. A drumbeat of multiple explosions radiate above us, broken by the woman’s screams, shaking the ground as it ripples through the solid earth, echoing around us and creating a cage of deafening gloom that penetrates our hearts and vibrates our chests, broken only by the bits of fire that rain down upon us, squeezing through the hole above, while I cover her, shielding her from its fury and wincing as a piece of scalding metal burns through my sleeve, leaving what will be a permanent mark on my skin.

  Once again, time seems to stand still as we wait for the Arelian aircraft to finish dropping their weapons, but little by little, the thundering roars fade, replaced by shrieking silence, making me wish for the explosions as the ominous silence cuts through me. I release the woman who shivers in the sewer water, afraid to look up. I try placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shakes me off, not wanting anything to do with me. Knowing what I must look like to her, dressed in body armor and with a helmet to conceal my face, I reach up and lift it off, allowing the woman to see me for the first time.

  “You must stay here,” I tell her, keeping my voice low and gentle so as not to startle her.

  She glances at me, her red eyes filled with tears that spill from the outer corners, leaving streaks of amber on her face that barrel their way through the soot covering it. “For now, at least.”

  “I need to get out,” she says, her broken voice echoing around us, mixed with the constant trickling of murky, green water in the still sewers.

  “Security is going to be tight after this,” I say, pointing at the hole above and indicating what Arel’s response will be to this chain of events.

  “Just let me go,” she pleads. “I have a friend outside the wall.”

  “You can’t!” My voice stops her and we both glare at one another, each unwilling to yield. “Look,” I say again as she lowers her face in dismay, and I remember the two-way radio she has, concluding that it must have been how she had communicated with her friend, “I’ll do what I can to help you, but for now, you need to stay here. Your baby’s life depends on it.”


  She nods her head, accepting my orders.

  “Do you have any food?” I ask.

  “Enough for a few days,” replies the woman.

  “Don’t come out, until I come for you.”

  I put my helmet back on and lift my arms up, leaping at the manhole above us and gripping its edge, ignoring the way it digs into my palms, despite the gloves I wear for protection.

  “Why are you helping me?” asks the woman.

  Unsure of how to respond, and not knowing why I am helping her either, I remain silent and lift myself through the manhole and into the world above where impenetrable barriers of smoke open before me, revealing an emptiness, filled with charred bodies and crumbling sides of what had once been livable residences, while hushed weeping reaches my ears. I glance back at the hole, searching for the grate, and when I find it, I drag it across the ground, stirring up embers that spring into the air and float around me, angered at being disturbed, until the iron bars thump in place, sealing the woman inside. As I meander through the remains of what had been a place for people to gather together, a single thought consumes my tortured mind: how am I going to help the woman?

  Chapter 6

  Smuggling

  Lights out. The chimes that single that it is time for all arbiters to be in their quarters and in bed, unless they are assigned to night patrol, rings throughout the manor, its soft ambience unfitting for such a place of rigorous exercise and unshakable rules. I turn off my lamp and wait, listening to the feet stomping in the hallway as arbiters hurry from the bathroom to their quarters, not wanting to be caught out of bed when the final chime sounds, an act met with swift punishment. Once the final door slides close and silence falls around me, I crouch next to my bed, feeling underneath it and the mesh wires that hold the thin mattress, until I find what my fingers search for, a slack wire. Scraping it with my index finger, I grasp it and tug on it, cursing at its refusal to come loose, until it pops free and jiggles the bed a little. Afraid that someone might have heard that, I stay still for a moment, counting the seconds as my heart thuds in my ears, causing them to ache, until it settles down, reassuring me that no one heard my infraction. Reaching back under the bed, I find another loose wire and yank it out. Holding the wires in the faint light spilling into my room from the quarter moon, I stare at the copper strings, wondering if my ruse will work, but I must risk it. I wrap the two wires together, twisting them in a way so that they form a bracelet. Once done, I hold it next to my wristband; it’s not even close to being a match, but from a distance, it might fool someone, as long as they do not take a closer look. I wrap the copper wires around my wrist and place my wristband underneath my pillow, tugging the long sleeve of my shirt: dark like me, like my uniform, like the night, like my world.

  I coil the rope I had stolen earlier from the garden shed after returning to the manor around me, draping it across my left shoulder so that it crosses in front of me at an angle like a fibrous sash before strapping a pouch around my waist, containing four pieces of meat that I had stolen from the kitchen, and head for my window, knowing that I cannot risk going out through the plebeian quarters like the time Chase and I had snuck out. With care, and always alert in case someone hears me, I slide my window open just wide enough for me to slip through, and climb upon the desk, hoping that it does not rock beneath my weight, and slip outside, feet first until they dangle in the air. Hanging onto the ledge outside, I close my window, leaving it open a finger’s width so that I can get back in, and take one last look at the pair of pears sitting on the desk, a treat for Sheila and Gwen, but Sheila never came, a thought that shrouds me with a thin veil of despondency, and I hope that she gets them.

  Thrusting the thoughts aside, I look at the steel drain pipe on my left that is bolted into the side of the building, unsure if it will support my weight. There is only one way to find out. I plant my feet against the side of the building and twist as best I can so that I face the pipe and let go. My heat skips a beat as I fall and slam into the pipe. For a second, I fear that I will fall as my fingers slip against the metal, creating a screeching sound that pierces the still night, until I stop. My arms and legs pulsate in tune with my heart beat as blood rushes through them, stirred by the fear of death, and I hang there for a second, convinced that someone heard me, but as the night remains undisturbed, confidence washes over me, and I slide down the drainpipe to the dewy ground below, lading with squishy plop. Taking a quick look around, I race across the green area to the part of the the fence with the loose boards that Chase had shown me at a time that seems so long ago.

  Once through the fence, I crouch and wait. No arbiters. I sprint through the street, keeping to the shadows so that the few lights within the city will not reach me, darting down alleyways and side streets as I make my way to the square where the riot took place earlier, doing my best to stay silent, and avoiding the normal patrols. A faint whine catches my ears and I duck behind some garbage, staying as still as I can as a single drone hovers past, coming out once it disappears. Too close. I dash down a side street before veering down another alley, cursing at how long it takes me to navigate my way to the square.

  The hum of a moving walkway catches my attention and, I an idea forms in my mind. Some of them have bars underneath for workmen to attach themselves to with a harness. I dart up a stairwell, sticking to the edges so as to avoid the range of the cameras, in case any of them still work, and pause at the railing that sits just below the first walkway, but before I go any farther, I rub my hands against the ground, scooping up what dirt I can and brush them over my palms to soak up the sweat that has formed on them. Hoisting myself up, I balance on the railing, knowing that one false move will force me to plummet to my death, and bend my knees as I focus on the first bar attached to the underside of the causeway. I jump. My hands seize the bar and I tighten my grip, squeezing with such force that my fingers go numb as my feet dangle in the air, swinging back and forth from my momentum. I look down at the walk below me, wrapped in the murky light of the streetlamps as moths flitter about in confusion. As I reach for the next bar in front of me, I am reminded of my exercises at the training facility involving the monkey bars and how the instructors would force recruits to cross them over and over, until we could hold onto them no longer, and any who fell met a swift punishment.

  One bar at a time, I ease my way across, my feet swinging back and forth in tune to each of my movements as sweat drips from my chin, while the hum of the walkway surrounds me, enveloping me in its mocking tune, daring me to let go. I grab another bar, willing myself to hang on, refusing to let go as I remind myself of the woman’s fate should I fail to retrieve her from the sewer, repeating to myself that this is just another test of my endurance, another gauntlet. Halfway there. I reach for the next bar, but my hand slips and my stomach lurches into my chest as the fear of falling grips me, but I cling to the bar I dangle from as I stretch out again, wrapping my fingers around the other one before letting go of the previous. Time stands still as I go from bar to bar, until I reach the last one.

  Voices stop me.

  Just above me are two arbiters who have decided to pause for a short conversation. I cannot make out the words, but I wish they would hurry up and leave. My arms strain from my weight as I hang in the air, waiting for them to end their conversation and move off, screaming at me to let go, while my mind reminds me of the consequences should I fail. Burning fatigue stretches from my wrists to my shoulders and through my chest, choking me with its viselike grip as it forms a cage around me, threatening to force me to release my hold on the bar as my arms shake from the strain. I cannot hold on for much longer. Quivering even more, my muscles start to relax against my commands, and I readjust my grip in an effort to keep from falling.

  The two arbiters move off.

  Relieved, I propel myself to the platform in front of me and land on it with a soft thump. As my arms thank me for letting them rest, I glance around, making certain no one heard me, before charging down the st
airs and sprinting into the shadows, staying clear of the streetlamps as I run to the plaza. My breathing quickens when I reach the place of the latest riot, and I pause, taken aback by the remains of Arel’s victory. At first, the lack of arbiters guarding the area surprises me, but as I meander through charred remains, spotting an upturned hand that resembles a charcoal claw more than an appendage, while covering my nose from the stench of cooked flesh left to spoil in the sun, I realize why no one is here. Who would be? The side of my boot brushes a tablet, scooting it across the ground with an eerie scrape. I pick it up, forgetting where I am as I turn the thing around, the chipped and scorched sides scratching my fingers while a cracked screen looks back at me, and I become lost in my own somber face staring back at me with blackened shadows creeping behind me, taunting me. Taken aback, I step backward and stop the moment something cracks beneath my heel. A part of me does not wish to see what I have stepped on, but another part, the curious side, wins, and I turn my head, finding a ghoulish face staring at me with lifeless eyes bulging from the face as the skin around it has melted away, stripping away all its humanlike features, leaving a sunken cave where there should have been a nose. Judging by its small size, I surmise that the face used to be a child’s, perhaps the very one whose tablet I have found.