To Be Free Page 11

  I nod. It's a simple request, one I'm not against following through with – the logic is rather sound, when you think about it, too.

  “In the meantime, let's focus on surviving,” I agree, and he looks genuinely relieved, as if he wasn't expecting me to agree. “So, we've got a deal?”

  “Seems that way,” he says, lowering our hands from his chest. Seb's eyes are flickering back and forth across my face, and he's smiling a small, happy smile. “In the meantime, while we make tracks, I'll show you how to use your gift. I think I've got it figured out – how you'll be able to use it, I mean, although we'll see it when we try.”

  Soon afterwards we break camp, packing up and erasing all evidence of our presence. After suiting up again and pulling the cowls of our cloaks over our heads again, I shoulder our one pack and we step out into the forest, ready to face the world and run from its murderers.

  If We Had the Courage to Admit Our Sins

  SEBASTIAN

  The world beyond that little sanctuary is the mixture of forgotten haven and city outskirts. The immediate area surrounding the tree we hid beneath for an indeterminable amount of time is mountains, trees and rivers we bypass in the dead of night, the distant sounds of traffic accompanying us. As we walk I recall my general knowledge of California's geography and the path stretching through the state like fingers beneath its surface, out of sight and forgotten by time, I have a general idea of where we are.

  It takes me a little longer to recall where Catchford is in this state, and where the facility lies as well – on the outskirts of Sacramento and Redding, respectively – and make a mental map of our journey thus far. Quinn contents himself with carrying the pack for a while, allowing me my quiet musings and only enquiring as to why I look so thoughtful. When I answer by telling him I'm trying to figure out where in the world we are, he nods and leaves me to it.

  The path we stumbled on, according to the ghosts who whispered at me throughout our journey this morning through its labyrinth, would today be somewhere to the east of Burney, and we sort-of went north-northwest. So, given all that, we should be somewhere near...

  “Huh,” Quinn comments quietly, arching an eyebrow as he pauses in his steps and peers through the trees to a long stretch of road that sees very little activity this late at night. Or ever, really. I clasp my hands together and press them against the back of my head, leaning back on my right heel and pressing the toes of my left foot on the dry ground at our feet. “I haven't been to Yreka in a long time.”

  He looks at our surroundings a moment longer, making a face.

  “It hasn't changed much.”

  I laugh dryly, not as well-versed with the landscape of California beyond Catchford itself, and the modernized city is nothing to gawk at either. It's just... lots of glass and metal and shining technology.

  Yreka looks forgotten more than anything, one of this county's last cities that have survived the N.O. and their wrath on anything having to do with this country's old affiliates. As we walk into the city, the word graveyard comes to mind.

  Everyone moved to other cities with the Purge not long after the church began its reign in 2020, the Vigils evicting everyone and confining us to other cities that developed with the dawn of new technology, becoming more reliant on the machinery. The other cities, this one included, saw their downfall on the day of the Purge.

  It was the darkest day of mankind. The darkest years, I should say, as the Vigils stormed every house, every place known to contain a Carrier, and dragged them out even though they did nothing wrong. Tossed them into vans, piling them in by the dozens and beat up those who tried to fight back, their half-dead corpse complying to their instructions as they were manhandled, bloody, bruised and broken, into those vans.

  Then they were taken to the slaughterhouses scattered across the country, the facilities that dissected them and discovered their secrets. Their military-grade technology is a result of the tests they performed on people like Quinn and I, certain gifts they managed to harvest being put to use in their weapons and radars, outfits and vehicles.

  The concept of Runners was born from that time, as people Paired off and got hitched at insanely young ages, just like back in time. Society has taken a step back through time instead of forward, and we're falling back into our past mistakes instead of learning from them.

  It needs to stop.

  The houses we pass are old and crumbling, made of wood and stone and bricks, and the signs that used to display what its ancient buildings contained have fallen or have been weathered away, leaving no indication of what once was. The asphalt we walk across into the forgotten town is mangled with greenery, trees and plants crawling over it and entire houses fallen or taken over by nature. Cars sit in their driveways and on the streets, rusting away with every passing day.

  It's a very lonely atmosphere, children's toys scattered on lawns and streets. Wooden crosses stuck into the ground by the road; no doubt the result of people returning at some point to mark the place a loved one has died. By one of these stands a stuffed toy, darkened with time as it stays by the side of the cross that is more black than white.

  I stop when I see that, the wind picking up slightly and making the stuffed bear move gently with it as it remains stapled to the wood. I can't even make out the colour it once was, but still I kneel by the marker and bow my head, offering my respects.

  Quinn notices my actions, and he leaves the pack on the ground a moment so he can do the same. I look along the road we kneel by, and my eyes find cross after cross, some gouged with the name of the deceased, others not. There are at least two hundred lined up along both sides of this nameless road, what I'm assuming was the main road of this town.

  Tears come to my eyes as I look at the forgotten memorials, some displaying a bouquet of fake flowers that are barely holding on to life, to remain a testament of their love longer than real ones would've; others have a box of memories; some, like this one, a stuffed animal or something that was of importance to the deceased... the list goes on and on.

  I press my fingers to my lips, the tears coursing down my cheeks. I don't stop them; the truth of the horrors of what the N.O. has done for the sake of their own beliefs, forcing them onto us and denying us our freedom even though it's a human right, was never really evident to me. Sure, I knew of the numbers like everyone else who wasn't born in this country, but to see the impact it had, how people risked their lives to leave behind the proof that this person existed, this person mattered, and this person died for something they should not have been blamed for.

  Quinn places a hand against my shoulder, squeezing gently, and I find myself speaking in my native tongue for the first time in a long time, my mind so completely scattered and shocked that English is lost to me.

  “Ruhe in Frieden; ich werde eure Seelen rächen, das verspreche ich Ihnen diese.”

  I'm shaking as I wipe my eyes, getting up to my feet and taking in a deep, broken breath. Quinn's watching me from where he's still kneeling, and I press my hand to my chest, fisting it as I salute the fallen.

  My companion has a curious look on his face, obviously curious, but there's also a hint of understanding in that expression as well. He knows what I said – or the basic gist of it, at least – without having to even ask.

  Rest in peace; I will avenge your souls, I promise you this.

  Without another word we head out along the road, the sun cresting the horizon and painting the world orange.

  We're in the heart of the city when the sounds of the helicopters reach our ears. The decrepit remains of convenience stores and small buildings are all around us, most blown to bits with raging storms and weakened by time. Quinn and I both stop walking, looking to the sky to see the metal bird sailing through the air and heading right for this town.

  Neither of us pauses to think; we run for the nearest building, a huge chunk of brick that has barely survived, with an entire wall missing and a portion of the roof caved in. The windows that used to be the do
ors are blown to bits, and we run through the opening into the store as the sound becomes deafening, multiplying.

  My only thought is that they've found us.

  The second set of doors is somewhat more intact, so Quinn uses his elbow to smash through it, then kicking the shards away with his foot so we can run at a crouch through the broken shards.

  The farthest corner of the store is gone, caved in and allowing minimal light to filter through the broken remains as we press our backs to the wall, the pack forgotten at our feet as we do our absolute best to stop our laboured breathing. My eyes are clamped shut in the dusty atmosphere, the building creaking dangerously as I swear softly under my breath.

  I don't want to have to use that.

  The helicopters seem to land somewhere nearby, their spinning rotors deafening us. I get as close to Quinn as I can and speak in his ear, as loudly as I dare.

  “I need you to try to use your gift; we're in for a fight!” I shout over the howl of the machines, swallowing thickly. He nods, but the man looks petrified.

  I don't blame him.

  “From what I've gathered, it works with your fear and self-hatred,” I continue, one hand gripping his shoulder tightly. “Your emotions trigger your gift – that's the first step!”

  Then there's complete silence, though we're far from alone. I lower my voice to a hiss.

  “Imagine what you want to have happen, and see it happen. Believe it's happening with everything you've got; that's the most I can help.”

  Eleven nods again, looking slightly overwhelmed, and I smile at the man, hugging him briefly.

  “I'll buy you some time,” I inform him, and he's about ready to interject when I cut him off. “The best thing you can do for me right now is try to control your gift. Just calm down and find what's going to help you control it the most effectively. Alright?”

  Nodding again, he sighs and leans his head against mine, looking away from me.

  “Be careful, Seb,” he whispers, and I kiss him quickly on his lips, pulling back slowly.

  “We know you're in there, experiments Nine and Eleven! Come on out quietly and without a fight, or we will use force!”

  “I love you,” I smile, pulling away from his touch completely. Letting my cloak slip to the floor so that all I'm wearing on my person is the suit, I leave the man behind and hold my hands up after I walk through the first door in a crouch, the second standing as straight and proud as I am.

  Despite what's happened in my life, I'm a proud man. Proud of who I am and what I've become despite the hell I've lived through. They can take away my name, my rights and my freedom, but they will never take away my pride.

  Because I'm proud to be something they fear.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” I call with a smirk, casting my eyes around. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, although I do prefer going by the name Sebastian than Nine. It sounds so formal.”

  Recon One stands around the entrance in a semi-circle, at least two dozens of the dark suits shimmering in the light and tricking the eye. Each man and woman has a gun a type I'm unfamiliar with levelled to my chest, the laser sights dancing around the area and lit up remarkably on my black suit.

  “Where's Eleven?” a female voice asks, front and centre of the gaggle of officials. I shrug a shoulder, and she primes her rifle – it hums faintly, the blue lights dancing along the sides running even more quickly and promising pain. “Don't lie to me; we saw him enter with you.”

  There are about five helicopters idling along the streets, almost invisible to the eye.

  “He's busy,” I reply with another shrug, hands still aloft in the air by my head. Her lips form a tight line and her fingers tighten on the gun in her hands.

  “Do not resist arrest,” she commands, and nudges her partner beside her to strap me. I don't hold a fight, turning my back to them and gladly placing my hands behind my back for the man to grab by the wrists, pulling a pair of chips from his pocket. I'm grinning as I lean forward slightly, flexing my fingers.

  “You might want to duck,” I remark idly, and the man makes a confused noise at the back of his throat. Without warning I twist around, kicking his legs from beneath him and disappearing from sight just as their guns open fire where I once stood.

  It's an interesting thing, my ability. While in this world of timeless essence, real time is slowed to almost a halt, the bullets sailing through the air at barely an inch a second. The world around me is in shades of red, white and black particles floating in the air and condensed at the places I have already trod on.

  There's also my paradox clones walking around, jumping along time's lifetime or trekking through the real world. Some of them are running with Quinn by their side, others not.

  Then there's the ghosts of the past, the men and women who used to live here and who've come to pay their respects. The Vigils who slaughtered the people, and the people who've been left to decay on the streets.

  You understand it's a very busy setting. The past's ghosts are fainter, though, than the ones of the present or from a different time line, when decisions were made differently.

  In this manner I can walk freely through the world, and with a laugh I begin the slaughter of the same variety they've inflicted on the free.

  Stepping out of time's flow I come up behind the woman who was ordering me around, the red, black and white mist clinging to my skin a moment longer as I grab her neck and twist it to the side, her spine snapping. The men beside her are turning to face me, and I kick the first man in the gut and hit the pressure point on his wrist, forcing him to drop the gun.

  I pick it up and turn it to the other man, firing at his skull while the other operatives open fire on me. I drop the gun once he's dead, already imagining my next move and sweeping my hand out in an arc in their direction, the sky overhead darkening as the wind picks up dangerously. The bullets that come into contact with the red haze that forms in front of me come to a halt, moving through the air an inch a second.

  Then, grinning at the men and women who've stopped firing, staring at me in confusion and utter surprise, the bullets fall to the ground and I run through time's flow again to the nearest operative, my hand glowing with the mist that's the trademark of my gift as I press it to his chest with a good shove, stilling his lungs and asphyxiating him without much difficulty. I leave the man to choke to death, turning to the next operative and doing the same.

  The air smells thickly of ozone just as a bolt of lightning strikes down where one of the helicopters are, forcing it to blow up and blowing the nearest operatives to bits. The searing heat makes me break into a sweat as I shove the next man into the one behind him, both of them affected with the affliction I've forced upon the first man. Hitting a woman in the solar plexus and making her crumple to the ground lifelessly, I see stars a moment when the man to my right lands a lucky hit at the back of my head, making me fall forward. As I stumble I see him.

  The air around Quinn's alive with energy – so much energy it's visible to the naked eye, a bright blue that hurts the eye to watch. The source of the smell of ozone is clear as day – and he stands in the centre of a handful of operatives, but he doesn't look scared. The wind is shifting irregularly around him, the arms of his suit charred off as the electricity dances along them, burning his skin.

  As they level their weapons at him he grins, tensing his body just before he takes a step forward and disappears into the wind, a burst of the gale forcing the men and women to stagger back, hands shielding their faces as best they can. Then, a moment beyond that, he reappears behind the first man and does what I did at first; grabs his head and snaps his neck, the electricity dancing along his arms running on his victims and killing him before he even does so.

  At least I don't seem to have to worry about him.

  I turn back to my kind hosts, and we fight.

  Once Quinn dispatches the handful of operatives that had him surrounded, he joins the fray by my side, eliminating our enemies with a touch that
electrifies them. The ones I touch die a slower death, knowing the agony of asphyxiation as they succumb to death, the one truth in our world.

  At one point Quinn and I are back-to-back, and we shoot each-other a brief grin before dispatching the remaining soldiers around us.

  Charred bodies are our legacy, smoking faintly and clearly marking the difference between my victims and his. Our hands aren't clean, that's for sure, but they weren't to begin with so I'm not really upset at this realization.

  I find the woman, their commander, and pull the helmet from her face, her short blonde hair falling into place as I pull the cracked helmet on my face. Quinn doesn't comment; instead, swaying, he sits down on the pavement littered with the corpses of our enemies and rests his head on his knees, trying to realign the world.

  The communications is still active, a man's voice buzzing from the speakers over my ears and demanding a status report. Grinning, I press my hand to the side and offer my greeting.

  “Guten tag, my friend. I'm afraid your commander has resigned, though she was quite the mindless soldier, I assure you,” I remark, and the voice quiets with remarkable speed. The visor is full of static and interference, but it comes to life and shows me the fractured image of a man in his late thirties glaring venomous hate at me.

  His hair is greying already, his skin pale and his eyes a light blue hue. I grin in response, knowing that he can see me clearly.

  “I presume you're Sebastian,” he hisses, and I tilt my head curiously, sitting by Quinn's side and rubbing his back soothingly.

  “Have we met?” I question, frowning slightly. He does look a bit familiar, I'll admit. A moment later, it hits me. “You're... no. No way.”

  “Your demons catching up to you at last, Jaeger?” he asks with a mocking lilt, the accented English making my blood chill in my veins. “Mark my words; I will not rest until you're lying six feet under.”