The Fallen of Faleholt
The Fallen Of Faleholt
Chapter One
The sun was scorching the ground, the fine sand ablaze, casting long, black shadows of the five men which stood ahead of me, guns blazing. The air was dry, and I took deep breaths as it felt as if there was no air. I drew my shot gun from its holder, hoping for backup to arrive soon. If you die here, your shadow stays forever, as if leaving a warning to others to stay away. The low hum of an engine arrived behind me before I could think of what do to with five guns pointing at me. Slowly, I took a few steps back, one eye on the armed men, another on the car. The men looked no older than about eighteen, and looked petrified, thinking that their masks hid their expressions. Eventually my hand rested on the car door's handle.
"Get in," he shouted from within the car, "Unless you want to die!"
I dove into the car as they shot at me, their bullets narrowly missing my legs, head and heart pounding. The fire continued as I pulled at the door to slam it shut, but all I could think was thank goodness we spent a week bullet-proofing the car. He started the ignition and we started moving - slowly.
"Step on it, oaf! We haven't got all day; they've got guns in case you weren't aware!"
"Look, do you want to drive?"
"Not particularly, no. For Christ's sake go!"
The masked men in the mirror dropped like flies, one by one, as his foot pressed the pedal, and soon all you could see was a huge cloud of grit and dust, choking anything which dared move. Not even the most high-tech mask would protect you from the fallout dust once it started flying around you. I removed my cloth mask and breathed a sigh of relief; our scientists are good for something then.
"What were they after?" I asked Zedd, "I didn't recognise their faces or their uniform."
I was blanked as he concentrated on the dirt track - road if you will- in front of him, as if he knew something was going to attack us. Even when manically waving my arms in front of his face I received no reply. Sometimes I want to put my hands around his neck and shake him violently, other times I don't know what I'd do without him.
"Fine then," I muttered, "ignorant."
There was no conversation to be held, so reached in my pocket for my iPod before untangling my headphones and turning up the music really loud. I closed my eyes and let my head roll onto the headrest as the music poured into my mind. As cracked and old as my iPod was, it played music; all it needed to do. I wouldn't really expect it to do much more than that, considering I couldn't even read the screen as it's that broken. There's not really many 'luxuries' you can have out here, without being tracked down.
The sunlight began to infiltrate my eyes as we rolled up to HQ, the place we call home. A rather large metallic and black brick building purpose built to withstand a lot of difficulties – it maybe the ugliest building in existence but it does the job. It wasn't long until there was an almighty crash which woke me up properly.
"What on Earth?" Zedd wondered, falling out the car, "Darryl? What the hell are you doing? You should be inside, or do you not recall the rules?"
I climbed out the car and observed the body on the car bonnet. He looked as if he had literally jumped and landed face first onto the car, and as we inspected him he slowly lifted his head off the car with a clipboard imprinted on his face.
"Have I missed something?"
"No, but I really need to show the pair of you something!" Darryl exhaled, beckoning for us to follow him to his laboratory.
Zedd and I rolled our eyes and trudged along behind him. Whatever did we do to deserve this kid as our co-worker? All the other duos have someone experienced and organised and we have this - how can I put this politely - man-child who is more useless than a plant pot with no base. He's barely been out of school for a year and with no previous experience he's never going to get us any leads to an assignment; he doesn't have any qualifications either, he's just clever. He's three years older than me and, quite frankly, nowhere near as mature.
I think it's about time I introduced myself - I'm Octavia, from Faleholt, although according to others that's a lie. When people disappear, that's where they go - the floating metropolis in the sky. In truth I don't like talking about my past, I think it is best it remains secret, but you aren't right to think my parents ran away there. A lot happened to me, and I probably know more than I should about the operation of the place (and its corruption), but how I ended up at this agency is a complete and utter mystery to me. Short and sweet introduction to me, so I'll tell you about the area our headquarters is in - to be exact, the Nevada Desert. During the 1980's (the exact year I don't know) the government were testing weapons 'in case' of a nuclear war – but this one time, it didn't go well. Instead of staying underground, it flew above ground and exploded, killing a lot of civilians straight away, and others died a few weeks later. Ever since then, this area has been deemed unsafe and the police won't come here, which is the reason for all the fighting and such. The 'accident' made this a safe haven for criminals, and for anyone wishing to do something against the law.
Disinfectant filled the air as we entered the clinically clean, white laboratories behind scuffling Darryl, until we reached the end of the corridor. There was a hand scanner on the wall, scanned his palm and the door sighed before he pushed it and beckoned us inside.
"About what I want to show you," Darryl began, "it may shock you a bit. It's just over here, in this sealed area."
There were a lot of sealed areas in just one laboratory, but I don't want to find out why they are sealed; anything could be confined behind them.
He unsealed the door in the same manner before reaching down to a huge and rather unsafe-looking electrical socket with at least ten devices plugged in.
"Is that safe?" Zedd must have thought the same.
"It's perfectly safe," Darryl chirped awkwardly, "now I'll show you my masterpiece."
He flicked the all the switches and small lights flickered, whilst a low whir started to emerge from the glorified fridge-freezer, highlighted by a fair few spotlights. I glanced across at Zedd and he made a subtle eye roll – we both thought the exact same about Darryl; his numerous 'inventions' had failed to previously impress even the freshest of recruits here.
"Octavia," stifling a giggle, "if you'd like to remove the cover."
I reached over and gently tugged on the translucent material, causing it to slip off and reveal the words 'TIME MACHINE' in huge bold letters. At this point, I wasn't really sure if Darryl was joking, and I wished he was, yet on the other hand I hoped that this was a fully functioning time machine. This could be the answer to our problems once and for all, as well as uncovering our mysterious past lives. Thoughts raced around inside my skull, colliding, combining and creating dreams; thousands of 'what ifs' whirring constantly.
"Are you-"
"In all seriousness, I'm not joking," Darryl interrupted Zedd, "I am aware that I'm the laughing stock of this facility, what with my many failed projects, but did you really believe I would be employed here if I was such a terrible failure?"
He had a point there - to be allowed to stay here, we have to be gifted or talented in some way, including the staff – believe me when I say that the most unskilful workers here are still higher ranked than most CIA agents, which should put things into perspective.
I allowed my mind to wander back to its burning question: does it work? And, if so, what does this mean for me? I had hopelessly dreamed of uncovering and understanding the truth about my past, and this 'time machine' could allow me to do so. Although, I wondered if Darryl had permission to create such a piece of technology; I didn't need unnecessary trouble by using illegal technology.
After a few minutes of holding my tongue, "Are we going to use this, then?" escaped from my lips.
Darryl's face changed, an expression I had never seen began to ooze from him; this once apparent man-child now appeared to be a young man, a sudden yet slowly emerging smile of satisfaction crept across his face, and his eyes began to gleam with scheming pride. He didn't appear to be ginger and freckly, but fiery and mischievous, and his innocent baby black eyes seemed knowledgeable, trustworthy, and strangely confident - everything I never expected to see in him, and his typical lanky, awkward self had disappeared, and he began to look quite... Unfortunately so, attractive. This clouded my mind momentarily, before I composed myself; after all I hadn't eaten for a few hours so a moment of hysteria is understandable.
Zedd decided it was time for a logical course of action:
"Shouldn't we tell our boss? That is, if we want to use it, of course."
Silently and motionlessly we unanimously agreed. As much as it was exciting, even more so as a secret, we decided that it was beneficial for ourselves to make someone of higher authority aware, especially in case of a disastrous malfunction. We had decisions to make, and a deliberation session was highly in order, to ensure that we did nothing to cause any trouble.
A worried expression flitted across my face, and a reassuring arm appeared around my shoulders, which then pulled me into a hug. Normally, I'd pull away scowling, but in this instance, I didn't mind - this could be the window to my past, the window to my family - which was overwhelming to comprehend that I might have this opportunity. Maybe Darryl isn't that bad after all.
"I am not going in there first," I muttered. These two boys are cowards when it comes to speaking to those of higher authority. The smell of vinyl echoed through the corridor, and the taste of metal swirled around my mouth as I bit my lip. Once again, 'what ifs' whirled around my brain, palms became clammy, and I began to regret making decisions. Our boss was not the happiest chap in the building, or the most forgiving. One time, when I was very young, I forgot my formal shoes for a gathering and wore trainers, and since he paid me that disgusted look, it's always been present when he looks at me. Franco was my least favourite man in the building, and he knew it. A prematurely balding man has a right to be angry, but not outwardly towards others, and the fact that he wasn't as slim and trim as he thought himself to be did not help his case, nor did his stinking attitude. Sometimes, he did have good advice, but that was rare. Nobody had any insight into what caused him to be like this - apparently he never used to be, until ten years ago - one rumour said that his wife left him and it permanently affected him, yet most think he's never had a wife, causing the problem.
The 'what ifs' drowned out the sound of the others quietly squabbling, and to solve the problem I walked between them and simply knocked on the door, and waited. Realistically, it was short, but tension seemed to build so quickly to make it seem like an hour's wait. I studied the door in front of me; considerably taller than expected, and one of the oldest things in the building, due to the fact it was made from oak, and the majority of everything else were alloys - to suit their purpose of course. My hand traced the dents and carving; meaningless words and names, imprints of previous mishaps and disasters, which if it were a journal, would make an interesting autobiography. It's sad to think that sometimes, when people have left the place, or even world, that they leave no imprints behind, almost untraceable, as their battle scars are either physically or mentally visible, but only to those close few - to the rest, they were simply another mere mortal being No matter how much I try to avert my mind from thinking about my parents, a thick, black fog envelops whatever figures I happen to have invented, and the overall result of this subject is death. I also have those moments where I wonder if it would be best for me to leave this desert, and to start fresh, somewhere new and unknown, where I could be whoever I wanted to be. It wouldn't be too difficult, what with my experience - soon after thinking this, my common sense and decency kicks in and reminds me of the people I have around me right now. Although we do have our disagreements and don't always harmonise, there are strong bonds beneath the surface; we're not just friends, we're family, and the saying 'blood is thicker than water' - they didn't say there had to be a common blood type. I have many regrets about blocking off people, who when I look back, were only trying to do what was best for me, but being the young and defiant girl of yesterday would not help me today. I have changed, and changed for the better. I don't wish for things to happen - I make them happen and nobody can stop me when determination is rippling like a wave, pushing me on with little drawback.
My trail of thought was interrupted was Franco beckoned us to enter with a loud boom, as if he was plugged into a Tannoy speaker. I threw my friends a supporting smile whilst waiting for the lock to click open, cautiously pushing the door forward and taking a few nervous steps into the office, tipping my head down to avoid eye contact with its inhabitants.
"Yes?" Franco barked, "If it's not important, you can leave and - oh, Zedd! What a pleasant surprise indeed, and your scientist friend - Derek, was it? Sit down, sit down!"
Before Darryl could interject, Franco's assistant, Rhea, forced a chair into his knees causing him to abruptly crash onto the armchair beneath him, and Zedd realised he was next and seized the chair first. There were only two chairs.
"It will be adequate if you stand."
I gave a slight nod of the head and proceeded to stand behind the two boys, hoping to usher them to speak since they were preferred.
Zedd cleared his throat, "Sir, we have to tell you something, no lies, and in all seriousness," Franco signalled for him to continue. "Darryl invented a time machine, and we need to test it to ensure its safety and effectiveness."
The most conflicted look ever known to man slid across Franco's face; could his best underling be lying to him? Or was the scientist he employed here under false-pretences - he was not supposed to be talented. He cleared his face of traces of any expressions before falsely exclaiming "Fantastic!" with poorly hidden sarcasm.
He must have gestured to Rhea, as she suddenly held her earpiece and exclaimed that this was an important call.
"Well gentlemen, this meeting has been very brief but thank you for informing me. I will decide on the next course of action and hope to speak to you again. Have a nice day boys," Franco chirped, and just as we were leaving, "and you too, girl. Your name escapes me."
Simply smiling, I left the room, amused by his ignorance. I don't have time for people who dislike me.