Nighttime.
For some reason Ian had not fallen asleep yet. He knew it was possibly bad, if the next day was going to be as straining as this one had been – heavy weapons training, including the M60 machine gun, and some form of portable minigun only the strongest trainees were able to wield.
Suddenly there was the sound of automatic gunfire outside. Was it an exercise too? To test the readiness of the trainees?
Ian looked out of the barracks' window and saw the unmistakable yellow glow of fire. The camp was ablaze!
Fuck. This would be an extreme form of exercise. Ian rather hazarded that it wasn't. That the camp was being attacked for real instead.
By whom? The Agents? In any case, it could provide a possibility to escape.
At this point Ian thought that it was thanks to Lucas that he had been able to retain some of his willpower and sanity and initiative. But then – he saw several of the other trainees already running out. They had possessed no such benefit.
Was the dissociative training a failure then? It did not cultivate lasting loyalty at all?
To be honest, Ian did not give a shit. But he would be extremely glad to leave this place behind, if he just did not get killed in the process. He had to assume that the snipers in the towers were still going to fire at him.
He had no gear to speak of – for security reasons the trainees would only be armed in each exercise, and the weapons taken away afterward. So he just tied his boots and was ready to head out into the moonlit winter night.
He peered out cautiously from the doorway. There were two sniper towers between him and the entrance gate. The gate was naturally closed, and it had barbed wire on top if it, so he would need to get clever.
Suddenly the gate was obliterated in an explosion. Possibly a rocket-propelled grenade.
Now there was no doubt of the attack. Ian squinted his eyes to see if there was anyone left in the towers. Just at the moment they both looked empty. Still the snipers could only be momentarily ducked into cover.
Ian thought of Lucas one more time. No sight of him for a while. But it was kind of late to ponder if he was going to join the escape or not.
The final threshold. Out or not?
Out, Ian decided. He launched into a crouched run, going into the cover of a parked truck. So far, so good. No sniper shot ringing out.
Then, it was back to running. The gate was not that far.
Ian's mind raced with paranoia. To be shot within a few feet of freedom? It would be a cruel failure.
Past the mangled gate now.
Freedom! Ian could not believe it.
...
The feeling of joy began to sink rapidly, as Ian understood there seemed to be just an endless forest ahead of him, the weather was chilly, and he had no food or equipment.
Well, still he needed to get as far away from this Sectarian Chosen Elite as he could. No going back to that particular form of Hell. Even if he froze to death.
He kept running.
...
It was a rare night when it seemed Jo could not get sleep at all. Her thoughts kept circling, and finally she got dressed and headed outside, to take a look at the orange Datsun that had been sitting unused behind the studio building for years. The one she had learned to "drive" in. A cold wind swept snow over it now, and it was a rather depressive sight in total.
She had thought of taking a hike already, right in the middle of winter. But something held her back. At least she would want to finish school first. To have a backup plan if joining or forming the most extreme thrash band would not exactly pan out.
She thought she could tolerate the situation until then. The first step would be to search for potential bands a little further away.
One thing she was now perfectly sure of. The world of conspiracies she had imagined, was just that, imagination. There was no need to be able to kick ass, except to defend against a burglar or a robber or a rapist. But no programmed high-tech killers or aliens roaming this side of reality.
So she could just concentrate on music.
That at least was good.
...
Ian tripped and fell against the undergrowth. He took a moment to take his bearings. Still, just forest all around.
Or ... wait?
Was there like a glow of a flare ahead of him? Was it a Sectarian Elite search team looking for the escaped trainees, or what?
He probably just needed to take the chance, as he was already feeling desperately cold. He began to head toward the light.
He almost tripped over the second time as he understood there were figures in long leather coats coming to meet him. Ian could not discern their features in the darkness.
"You're one of the trainees?" a male voice asked. "We're the Agents. Come with us."
For a moment Ian froze in place. Could he trust them at all? According to the recitation, the Agents were the Sectarian Elite's sworn enemy. How could he know whether he was going to get a bullet through his head right after, if he agreed?
He had to raise his voice to question.
"Is this some kind of rescue? Or are you going to kill me later? If it's a rescue, it's a damn poorly planned one! I could have frozen solid out here!"