07

Stella didn't know what was worse; knowing Andrew was going to have his arm frozen and knocked off…or being forced to watch it.

She'd seen it enough times, different ways that the tail sections had been tortured because some of them dared to fight back. But they'd never been tortured like that. She'd seen starvation. She'd seen slowly being driven insane. She'd even seen waterboarding—why the front passengers were willing to give up their water to do that, she never knew. But they'd never been exposed to the elements like that.

It was ironic, she realized. The first time they were able to experience anything of life on the outside, even such as a cold breeze, and it was used to amputate an otherwise healthy person's arm. Stella didn't watch Andrew as it happened, instead, she watched Mason. Blocked out Andrew's initial screams and worried whimpers and focused on the…person in front of her.

Neither man or woman, as far as Stella was concerned, because Mason was a monster. Minister Mason, whom the didn't see except for a few times total over the last seventeen years. And yet, everyone knew who Mason was. Mason was utterly devoted to Wilford and ensured the tail sectioners knew it. Any time there was a new regulation made, Mason made sure for them to know it was in their "best interest" and Wilford "only had their best interest at heart."

"Fuck you," Kimberly murmured under her breath from Stella's side. She sat crammed between her and Edgar, with Curtis on Edgar's other side. Stella glanced at Kimberly when she made the comment, Kimberly lifted her chin defiantly, glaring back at her.

Edgar nodded in agreement, wringing his hands together, arms looped around his knees. "Too right."

Stella shifted her gaze toward Curtis, who continued to stare at Mason. Eyes never blinking. As if he couldn't risk doing so. If he blinked, he would miss precious seconds of…something. Stella's eyebrows came together, watching the tiniest of muscle twitches along Curtis's jaw. He couldn't seriously be thinking…

"Seven minutes allotted for your speech, sir."

Stella turned her attention back to Mason, who had picked up Andrew's shoe as if it were a trophy. "This is so disappointing." She paused, hearing the officers around her repeating her words in other languages. Mason's lips pressed together for a moment before she snapped her head to the side and said forcefully, "No, no, we don't need all that, I've only got seven minutes."

Silence.

But only for a few seconds.

Mason licked her lips, steadied herself, took a few steps forward. Starting barking into the microphone she carried. "Passengers!" She waved the shoe around as if it were a disgusting object. "This is not a shoe. This is disorder. This is…" she brought it close to her face, studying the bottom to guess the size. Sniffed it. "Size-10 chaos!" She declared after a second.

Kimberly snickered at the disgusted look that briefly flashed across Mason's face as the scent of the shoe that had been thrown. Stella turned a narrow-eyed glance toward her and Kimberly shrugged, bowed her head before her shaking shoulders gave her away. She was still laughing. Stella turned back to Mason, pressed her lips together sensing a laugh that was coming to burst from her.

It was funny, in a way, a sense of real emotion in their otherwise bleak life. Funny yet strange. She couldn't quite remember the last time they laughed like that. Where she laughed like that. Other than the time Edgar and Kimberly had been a little brazen, a little too…romantic in another tail sectioner's bed and they simply kept going as he stood over them, red in the face and yelling.

Mason continued to wiggle the shoe back and forth in her hand. "This, see this? This is death! In this locomotive we call home, there's one thing that between our warm hearts and the bitter cold. Clothing? Shields? No. Order!" Stella rolled her eyes. "Order is the barrier that holds back the frozen death."

Where was all that order when we were racing for the train? Stella thought. When we were running for our lives, trying to get to safety while people like Mason were sitting pretty in the front of the train. An image of her parents came to mind, of their icy statues being broken apart by the wave of frantic people running around them. Her body shuddered, her left eye closed then her right.

Another tick.

They were getting worse as the days passed.

"We must all of us, on this train of life, remain in our lotted station. We must each of us occupy our preordained particular position." Without looking away from the tail sections, Mason gently placed the shoe on top of Andrew's head. Andrew didn't move, simply stared at the tail sectioners, his screams had died out ages before. "Would you wear a shoe on your head? Of course not. It doesn't belong on your head! A shoe belongs on your foot. A heat belongs on your head. I'm a hat….you are a shoe."

Stella's upper lip curled.

"I belong on a head. You belong on the foot. Yes? So it is. In the beginning order was prescribed by your ticket. First class, economy, and freeloaders like you." Mason's upper lip curled in disdain as she continued to spoke. Stella gave the same look back to her but knew it wouldn't change anything. Mason didn't see her as an individual person, simply saw her as another number. Her face was the same as everyone's around her, a sea of nothings… "Eternal order is prescribed by the Sacred Engine. All things flow from the Sacred Engine. All things in their place...all passengers in their section. All water flowing, all heat rising pays homage to the Sacred Engine. In its own particular preordained position. So it is." She lowered the microphone, took a short, sharp breath, and started speaking once more. "Now, as in the beginning, I belong to the front. You belong to the tail."

"I belong to the front, you belong to the tail," Kimberly mimicked quietly in a high-pitched tone, perfectly getting Mason's…interesting accent. Edgar snorted, which sent Kimberly into another burst of giggles. Curtis slowly turned his head and glared at them, making the two immediately fall silent. Just like children.

"When the foot seeks the place of the head, a sacred line is crossed. Know your place. Keep your place. Be a shoe."

Mason paused. Waited. She glanced at the clock that hung up beside her. She pressed her lips together, faced the crowd once more, shrugged. "Well, we have 42 seconds left, so we can…go to a comment of Mr. Wilford, the divine Keeper of the Sacerd Engine. Sir?" She looked at the radio speaker that hung on the wall. One of her officers turned on the feed, static immediately blaring out. "Mr. Wilford?"

Radio static continued to pour out of the speaker.

"Are you there? Are you there, sir?" Mason continued to prompt, voice warbling.

The static continued.

"Oh, it's breaking up." She shrugged, turning away as the officer turned off the radio. "Oh well. Mr. Wilford's a very busy man. So it is." Mason turned as Andrew was released from his prison. His arm stuck out at his side, frozen solid.

"Are we just going to watch?" Edgar whispered to Curtis.

"Not now," Curtis whispered back.

Edgar bristled. "I'm not just going to fucking sit here."

Ting ting, ting ting.

Andrew's arm was fully solid.

A sledgehammer was lifted.

Swung down.

Glass shattering.

A howling scream.

Andrew's arm was knocked clean off. He fell onto his side, screaming in agony while the officers moved to clean up their mess.

Tap…tap…tap…

"Nah, I'm all right."

Stella turned at the sound of Gilliam's voice. Watched as he came closer. Watched as a gun was pointed toward him. Curtis barely moved, simply watched as his eldest friend and mentor slowly made his way through the tail sectioners, towards Andrew.

"Put that useless gun down. Put it away!" Mason waved off the officer with a big eyeroll of annoyance. "Long time no see Mr. Gilliam. It's a pleasure!" Gilliam didn't respond, simply continued to move forward at his slow, steady pace. "You look healthy." She waved a hand toward the officer who tried to help Gilliam. "He's fine!"

All was quiet as Gilliam looked over Andrew. He knelt over the wailing man, pressing his hand that wasn't holding his cane, gently to the side of the Andrew's head and face, comforting him. Finally, after a brief moment of silence, Gilliam got back to his feet and faced Mason. He stepped toward her, getting real close, while she stepped back.

"Minister Mason, please deliver a message to Mr. Wilford," Gilliam growled, glaring directly into her eyes. "Tell him, he and I need to talk." He started back the way he came, shuffling all the way.

"Well," Mason pushed her glasses up her nose. She turned and watched Gilliam walk away. "You can talk to me! Mr. Wilford has no reason to visit here."

"Not here," Curtis murmured so only Stella could hear. "At the front."

Rolling wheels, metal on metal. And Edgar was right in the middle of it. He practically skipped as he went to the other tail sections who they were taking metal pieces from and thanked them for their contribution to what was going to happen. Kimberly went along with him, the two holding hands, skipping, practically singing at the top of their lungs, excited for what was to come. Sometimes stopping briefly to give each other long kisses, only moving out of the way—before things got out of hang—when others started to mumble their displeasure.

Goofed off a little, surfing on top of some of the metal wheels they rolled about. Kimberly giggled, watching her boyfriend's antics. She knew it would probably be the last time any of them ever had a chance to laugh. So she stuck close to Edgar's side the whole time they worked.

Just as Stella did with Curtis. That was the point. She was always by his side. Always would be. She thought, hoped her presence was a calming force for him. He always seemed to think clearer. It worked for her at least. So, when the time came…she was glued to Curtis's side along with Gilliam, waiting.

There was another count.

They waited for it to end.

"There are no bullets in their guns." Curtis's words made Stella blink over to him, surprised. At his words and what they meant. No bullets…the guns were useless? What were they waiting for then? If there were no guns…

Gilliam's face, on the other hand, hadn't changed. Still he asked, "What do you say that?"

"You remember what Mason said?" Curtis didn't wait for a response. "She said 'put down that useless gun'."

"She meant she wouldn't give the order to shoot me."

"No. No, I think the guns are literally useless. They used up all their bullets four years ago in the last revolt. Bullets are extinct."

Stella took in a deep breath, could feel herself starting to quiver at the mere thought of what would happen if… "If you're wrong," she said slowly, tried not to tremble further when Curtis turned his blue eyes onto her. "We could be finished before we even start. Maybe we should be patient?"

Curtis looked away from her.

Stella knew Curtis wouldn't wait.

He had the patience of a saint, but when things got into his head, it was stuck there. The Revolution was going to happen. And it came sooner than they thought. As the days went on, the coutnings continued, they prepared, got things in place. Stella had her own preparations, had her own job that she did flawlessly. Ensured that the rations and provisions—whatever else would keep them going forward—was handed to those that were going to going out in the revolt. Made sure there were any messages that wanted to be sent forward were collected.

People looking for loved ones, searching for any way to find those that had moved ahead. Friends that were separated. Soon, they were ready.

Alarms blared.

They were doing another count.

Too early.

They weren't prepared.

Why were they doing a head count so soon?

"Line up." The clicker came out. "All right, sit down. One." Click. "Two." Click. "Three." Click.

The count went on and on.

"What the fuck do we do?" Edgar asked pressed tightly in all sides from the tail sectioners lumped together. Curtis moved ever so slightly, grabbed the handle of a barrel behind him. One of the battering rams they'd created out of scrap metal. Curtis looked up and locked eyes with Stella, who nodded back, flashing him a warm smile.

He nodded back, the sides of his mouth briefly turning up in the corners.

There was no going back then.

Edgar noticed the nod, the smile, and started to shout. "I've had enough of this protein block bullshit!"

"Yeah, this is bullshit!" Kimberly added, grinning like a madwoman. She bounced on the balls of her feet, ready to get going. Ready for anything to come their way.

"We're not going to sit down for this shit!" Edgar continued to shout. And the shouts kept coming, rising higher, faster, louder, as the seconds passed. The shouting filled the car. The officers struggled to get the tail sectioners in order, but they were drowned out by the sound of the energized tail sectioners.

"Still going for it, are we?" Gilliam murmured from Curtis's side.

"Come on," Edgar whispered. He, like Kimberly, was bouncing from foot to foot, ready to go. "Let's go. Let's do it."

Curtis stayed silent.

The officers started to raise their weapons.

"Rifles…" Gilliam whispered.

"No!" Edgar hissed; face twisted up in a mask of anxiety. "We can overwhelm them. We easily outnumber their bullets."

"This is it," Gilliam said. Watched the rifles rise even higher.

And then Curtis was moving. With a few, long strides, he strode over to the officers, grabbed the barrel of the one closest to him. Started to lift it. Stella held her breath, her heart hammering against her chest. She bit her lower lip as hard as she could, resisting the urge to scream out Curtis's name. To keep from bringing attention to her. But she needed to make a sound, needed to drown things out in case…in case…

Click.

Curtis pressed his finger against the trigger of the rifle, the gun clicked, nothing came out.

Alive.

He was still alive.

"No bullets! They've got no bullets!" Edgar and Kimberly shouted. "They've got no bullets!"

It all happened at once, mayhem, pandemonium. All the tail sections runners forward to start their plan. Stella leapt atop of the rolling cart they provided to help carry the metal wheels forward, crouching low behind Curtis as he jumped on ahead of her. She stayed on as the cart continued to move through the open gates, Curtis leapt off the cart and grabbed the head of an officer who worked to close the gates. Grabbed his head and slammed it forward, skin and bone splintered, the body slumped to the ground.

Facing forward once more, Stella leapt off the crate and onto the back of the officer in front of her, knocking him to the ground quick enough that she was able to grab her weapon, a metal ladder rung she stole, and knocked the officer in the head.

Blood spurted in all directions.

Then Edgar, Curtis, and Kimberly were around her. They froze, ensuring they weren't going to be struck by the large officer in front of them, swinging a large metal case in front of them. Curtis flung out his arm, holding Stella, Edgar, and Kimberly behind him so that they wouldn't get caught in the way of the swing.

Then there was another clamoring. An excitement that swelled from the counting section forward. It took Stella a second to realize that Grey, one of the younger men in the tail section, one of Gilliam's devoted followers, was racing along the metal tubes lined up toward the officer in front of them.

He picked up speed as he went, ducked under a swing of the arm, leapt atop the officer's shoulders, stabbed him in the chest. Blood stained the front of his dress shirt, dripped onto his keys as Grey tore it off him. Then they were through, through to the next car. The prison car. Sella held her breath, surprised at the stillness of the calm and quiet around her.

The other tail sectioners moved just as quietly, not used to the stillness. They had so many years of cramped quarters that even the sound of a tiny sigh could grate on the nerves as easily as it could be comforting. But there was nothing comforting about the stillness of a prison where, older tail sectioners had been placed.

Curtis studied the fronts of the drawers until he tapped his fingertips against the correct one. He read the nameplate, shaking his head. "Fuck. Namgoong Minsou. Kronole addict, that explains a lot doesn't it?" He started to flip through the keys, working to unlock and open the drawer.

"Hurry up, Edgar," Curtis mumbled, pinching his nose.

"Hurry up?" Edgar looked at Curtis incredulously, holding up the ring of many keys. "So sorry for keeping you all waiting. Obviously, I work here or something." Kimberly rolled her eyes, shoved him out of the way and grabbed the keys from his hand. She flipped to a key, stuck it in the lock and beamed at Edgar as the key clicked in the lock and she pulled the drawer open. "I loosened it for you," Edgar murmured.

A few chuckles moved through the crowd.

The drawer slid open, revealing an emaciated looking Korean man curled up in the fetal position on the metal slab. Kimberly reached out and poked him on the shoulder. Once. Twice. Rolled him onto his back. Edgar reached out and snapped in front of his face then slapped him on the cheek.

Nothing.

The man stayed still.

Curtis pulled some Kronole out of his pocket, rolled it in his palm. Tanya reached over and grabbed it. She ran her fingers over the blueish green drug in her hand. "So this is Kornole. I hear it's pretty big in the front section."

"Careful," Curtis snapped, taking it back. "That's how these guys hallucinate."

"it's industrial waste," Gilliam practically snarled. "And it's highly flammable."

Curtis waved it under Namgoong's nose until the man shot up, nearly striking his forehead on the face of the metal drawer above him. Nam slowly turned to look at all the faces around him. "Are you Namgoong Minsou?" Curtis continued. "Security specialist?"

Stella reached up a hand and knelt toward him. "Did you design all the door locks and the security systems on the train?" She asked in a gentler tone. She twitched, another tick. Nam simply looked at her, blinking slowly. But something, something she wasn't quite sure, eased around him. He relaxed.

Edgar, on the other hand, wasn't as patient. "Look at 'im man, he's gone. Look at his eyes. He's fried his brain with that fucking shite!"

Kimberly planted her hands on her hips. "Are you Nam or what?"

Almost lazily, Nam pointed toward the wall behind Edgar, where a row of what looked like canteens were resting. Edgar picked it up and handed it to Nam. Nam sighed, gestured toward Curtis. Curtis pressed a button on the side and asked, "Nam are you listening?" into it, where it repeated the question in what Stella had to guess was Korean.

Nam sighed once more, brought his own translator his mouth, and spoke in rapid Korean in response. "Yes, I'm listening. Fuck."

Curtis nodded. "We need your help."

A/N: Long time no see, glad to be getting back to this!

Cheers,

-Riles