Another chapter! And it's longer, this time, too! :) Oh, and yea, guys. It was Spring Break, so I could update faster. However, next week, school starts again, so updates will resum every other or third week.
Happy reading!
•Chapter 36•
The woman drops onto her knees amidst the chaos, and with one hand protecting her neck, and the other reaching for a gun, she pushes away the body of her former co-worker. She sees the little girl—Sherri—slump to the ground, and, with rocks everywhere, tumbling all around the woman, she hurries to the young child, a few feet away, and, sliding the gun back to its holster, picks the girl up. The side of her head is slick with blood. Trying to dodge all the large rocks, the ones that can cause major harm, she sprints to the door … only to find two men blocking the entrance. "Well, well, what have we here?" asks the taller one, a heavy accent prominent on each of his words.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way," the woman snarls.
"My, my," says the other, faking shock. "A female guard? That's a first."
"And oh! a child?" says the first one. "What's her name?" Stepping closer, he fingers her natural black ringlets. "Pretty curls," he comments. Scrutinizing the woman's brown locks, he adds, "I guess she got them from her father?"
The shorter one laughs … if a snort can count as a laugh, that is. "Ha! Good observation, Falke," he says. "What's your daughter's name?"
"Shut it. She isn't my child," she hisses. "And get out of the way."
"Just because you order us to doesn't mean that we will, pretty lady," says the one the woman calls 'Shorty'. "We'll move when we feel like it."
"Move. Now." Adjusting the girl's position in her arms, the woman pulls out her gun, cradling Sherri with the other. "Don't make me shoot you," she warns.
"Oh, you won't," scoffs the one called Falke. "Women are much too soft to hurt anyone, much less kill someone. Besides—"
He is stopped, mid-sentence, with the fire of a gun. The bullet buries itself into his chest. Shorty's eyes widen, coming to the realization that this woman means business. He turns to run, but fire explodes in his chest, and he drops to his knees. The woman slides the gun back to its proper place, and runs to the stairs, her back to the jail cell. She needs to escape. She needs to help the girl. The girl has to live. The guard leaps up the stairs, taking two at a time. She reaches the top, and without pausing, she turns to the right and tries to run into the forest. Suddenly, people in uniform surround her. Not palace guards, however. Not her comrades.
People from the Axis Powers. She already recognizes their symbol, having seen it on the note, and Short and Falke's uniforms. A circle, with six lines sticking out from the centre.
They immediately seize the girl from her arms, and shoot her twice in the leg before she can react—or try to wrestle the girl back. Pain explodes from the spot as blood pours out.
The Axis Powers, as quickly as they came, melt back into the shadows, this time, with Sherri in their possession. She tries to run after them, but with no avail. Pain shoots up her leg regularly. She remembers, back in her days of training, her teacher, Officer Aspen Leger, would remind her endlessly, that sometimes, it would be best to sit down, and think of a plan, rather than acting without a plan. She drags herself out of the building, one painful step at a time, and, sitting behind a bush, concealing her entirely, she rips a piece of cloth in an attempt to stop the blood from gushing out. It works, but the woman wonders how long it will be before the cloth is soaked through.
"I'm sorry," she whispers to the sky. "I'm so sorry, Sherri." She never got to tell the girl the truth about her mother's whereabouts. That the woman the girl talked to, once a week, late at night … it wasn't her mother. Her mother had been freed a few weeks back. Or escaped, somehow. Sherri never knew. She thought that whoever the voice was, was her mother. Not an imposter.
And she might never know now.
In desperation, Maxon and America, holding their breaths in an attempt to avoid inhaling the fumes, grab nearby chairs, and slam it against the glass on the balcony doors, with its white frames and glass on the inside, and a gold trim lining the edge of the frame, between the wood and the glass. Over and over, until a crack appears. They hit it many more times. The glass finally breaks with a terrible shattering sound, and America winces involuntarily. Being perfect pitch doesn't really help, either. Most of the glass flies out, onto the balcony, but some of it bounces back, sinking into their flesh.
The smoke is visibly thickening now, and America finds herself having trouble breathing, her breaths coming out in short gasps, despite her trying to take in as much oxygen as possible. Her eyelids are beginning to droop, and her body is longing to just lay down, and have a rest. America, fully knowing that those symptoms are a sign of smoke inhalation, fights the urge to rest—and probably die.
No. She has to live.
Picking up her chair one more, she slams it on a weaker part of the glass. It breaks, and finally, the hole that they made is large enough for one person to go through. America says, "Maxon, You go out first," and breaks into a coughing fit. Her husband shakes his head, and in one swift motion, grabs her by the waist, and hauls her to the hole, half-pushing her in. His momentum is too great, and America finds herself tumbling through the hole, and onto the other side. The glass shards cut into her skin, but she barely registers it.
He follows suit, and they breathe in the fresh air—air they haven't breathed in what felt like years. America says, breathless, "Maxon. We have to get down. We're climbing down." Without another word, America deftly rips away a large chunk of her nightgown and throws away her robe, leaving her in only two layers, rather than the five to begin with. She jumps to the outer edge of the balcony, and finding a large pipe with corks and screws large enough to be footholds, begins to climb down. She glances up to assure herself that Maxon is following her.
When she nears around six feet above the ground, she lets go and jumps to the ground, stumbling slightly.
Without waiting for Maxon, she runs to a nearby corpse, dressed in a Guard's uniform, purposely avoiding to look at the corpse's face—she knows that she might know him or her, and might break down upon seeing his or her face. She can't risk that happening. She finds the buckle of their belt, removes it from the corpse, and straps it on herself. It has some bandages, tweezers, gauze, and cotton balls, flashlight, emergency food and water, a gun, cartridges, a small hunting knife and dagger. Beside the person, laying in a pool of red, lies a rifle. She picks it up, and sweeps her eyes for another corpse with a full (or close to full) belt. She finds another one, and removes its belt, turning it upside down, to quickly take some of the supplies. She takes some more emergency food, cartridges, bandages of all different sizes, and another hunting knife. She bites her lip, contemplating whether or not she should take the gun, and as a last minute decision, takes the gun and hides it underneath her dress, fitting it underneath her bra strap, after checking to see if the safety is on.
She looks up to see Maxon dressed the same way as her, except his gun is hidden underneath his lightweight jacket, in an inside pocket. They simultaneously break into a run, each gripping their rifles, and shoots every rebel in sight. Her aim is pretty accurate, although she knows that sometimes, she had missed, and that the rebel had been altered that someone was nearby. She aims her rifle at a nearby Axis soldier, but her aim is slightly off. The bullet embeds itself into the tree nearby. He whips his rifle to the general area of where it was shot, but he is too late. By the time a bullet whizzes into their area, the King and Queen of Illéa are already long gone.
They trek through the forests until the sun is high up in the sky. Shalom grumbles, "Are we there yet?", possibly for the thousandth time.
Hazel turns around, her brisk step never faltering. "Patience, Prince Shalom. We will be there when we are. Keep walking, comprende?" she slips into French. Noting her language change, she says in English, "Understand?"
He nods.
Suddenly, a shout comes from behind the group. "Axis!" The voice yells. Hazel's eyes widen. "Guys," she says urgently. "Run."
Without another word, she breaks off into a run. The other follow suit. "Faster!" she yells. "They're onto us!"
They sprint, full force, running through bushes, getting scratched by tree limbs, tripping over rocks, splashing into mud. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. They need to survive.
Finally, finally, one by one, they begin to tire out. Hazel finally stops running, and comes to a halt. "We're near the palace," she announces, her voice ragged. Spencer and Char stop and rest on their knees, panting, drops of sweat glistening on their faces. Glancing behind her, she adds,"I don't think they're close, but let's keep walking."
They arrive at the clearing, near the garden. The Schreave kids, with a sudden burst of energy, run into the garden. Spencer stops in his tracks, seeing his parents armed with guns. "Mom? Dad?" he questions the King and Queen of Illéa. "What's going on?"
"It's not safe!" cries she. "You can't go!"
"Of course it's not safe!" another voice yells. "It's a war!"
"I know that!" exclaims the first one, irritated. "I'm well trained! I can protect myself. But you …!" her tone softens. "You haven't been here, as a Caste Rebel, as long as I have, Kamber! I don't want you to get hurt!"
Kamber answers, "But Ivy … my kids are in the Palace. I want to see them, make sure that they aren't hurt. I haven't seen them in what feels like forever." She pauses, shaking her head. "I'm not so sure that you understand, Ivy. You've never been a mother before. I have. And believe me, sister … Your kids are your number one priority. You love them to death. And you'll do anything, just to make sure that they are safe, and secure."
"But—" Ivy begins.
Kamber holds up her hand. "No buts," she cuts in. "I'm going. I've been training every single day for around three weeks already. I think I will be able to hold my own. And," she continues before her little sister can object, "you know me. I won't do anything rash."
Ivy sighs. "But what if you get hurt? If you fall in battle? Who will care for your kids? Speaking of which, who is taking care of them right now?"
"America and Maxon. Char made them promise to take care of them." Kamber replies. As an afterthought, she says, "And I know, for one, that America is responsible, and will live up to her word … unless she changed drastically over the years. Then I can't say." Turning back to their previous topic, Kamber pleads, "Please, Ivy … let me go."
"Kam—"
A sharp whistle suddenly pierces the air. "Okay, everyone, listen up!" The leader of the Compound yells. People stop in their tracks to listen. Kamber and Ivy temporarily halt their argument. "I recieved a message from Commander Vincent. He says that the enemy's numbers are far greater than he imagined, and far more dangerous. He needs all the help he can get. So, everyone, let's go! Grab your weapons and gear, and meet me in the back. We'll travel through the forest. That way, we have a greater chance of protection." People start to leave the large, cool room to retrieve their gear and weapons, but the leader stops them. "Wait. I'm not done. He also says to send in around fifty troops to go around the rest of Illéa—Carolina, White, Yukon; areas like that. He says that most of the war will be happening in Angeles, but of course, the Axis Powers will have their soldiers situated in the other parts, too." He pauses, looking at the piece of paper. "Oh, and some of the German and French troops have landed here." He adds. "So, the fifty that will go to other parts of the country will meet up with some of the other people from other compounds, and a third of the soldiers from New Asia, Swenday, Oceania, Soviet Russia, and the rest of New Europe will also join you. Understand?" he asks.
"Understand!" the crowd replies.
Ivy sighs. "I guess I can't say no, then. Since Commander Vincent asked for everyone to go."
"Alright," he says, as the crowd begins to disperse. "Good luck, and we'll see you again, whether it is after the war, or decades later, when we go to an eternal sleep."
"Thanks for pretending to be that little girl's mother," says Commander Mitchell, to a hooded figure standing before him.
"Oh, it was nothing," the figure dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "However it was really cramped in there, and smelly and … Ugh!" she shudders. "I sure don't want to go back there again!"
He chuckles. "My, my. For a Southern Rebel, you sure are picky."
She snorts. "Good job observing, Mr. Obvious."
"Excuse me, my last name is not 'Obvious', Miss L." He feigns a complaint. "I—" Suddenly, footsteps echo down the hallway, and the door to Commander Mitchell's office is flung open. The Commander immediately smothers his casual side, and becomes the uptight, strict, and respectable—or feared?—Commander everyone is accustomed to. "Yes?" he asks the visitor coolly. "What is it?"
"Commander," he says breathlessly. "We need more forces. Some of the United Powers' troops have arrived." Settling his eyes on the hooded woman, he adds, "and sir, I think having some women dressed as Sixes—or Sevens—will help. They can carry their knives and guns underneath their clothes. Miss," he says, turning to the figure, "I think you'll help greatly. You are an exceptional fighter."
She nods in acknowledgement to his praise.
"You may go now," he tells the messenger. To his guest, he says to her, all traces of casualness gone, "Get your weapons and the clothes that a Six or Seven would wear." He laughs suddenly. "And I hope you won't be afraid of killing your family if you need to."
The hooded figure cracks a smile. "No, sir. I won't."
Yea, so that happened. Who do you think is the mysterious hooded figure? Tell me in the reviews!
RQOTD: So, One Direction's Zayn left the group. What was your reaction when you found out?
Answer to RQOTD (Chapter 35): I love love LOVE Green Tea/Matcha. My friends think I'm weird. Oh well
Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry today. I'll answer them in the next update! I promise!
Thanks for reading!
-K