Out of Exodia (5 page)

Yell adios.
Lose Lydia
.

I stop in my tracks.

* * *

Lydia braced herself as well as she
could for the ride of her life. The hard edges of a well-worn
saddle bit into her stomach as she struggled to balance. The scout
had pulled her up and thrust her across the saddle, face down,
warning her with gunshot and words. She was too smart to resist.
She kept one hand against the horse’s neck and with the other she
pushed her fingers under a strap that cinched the saddle to the
beast’s back. If this Bluezool was going to race off with her as
his prize then she wanted to be ready. The rider kept her left leg
trapped beneath his right thigh. Her other leg hung free, but she
could neither kick the man nor the horse. His heavy hand pressed
the cold weapon against her back.

The horse backed up a few feet and her
view of the ground changed. A heavy cloud of dust and dirt fell
over them. Bram’s legs came into view, his open hands imploring,
but his voice silent.

“
Yell adios to your lady,”
her captor yelled. His thigh tightened against hers and the horse
moved past Bram and joined the hundreds of others. She heard the
first part of the leader’s threat, followed by a question that was
cut off by the sharp, coughing fire of nano-guns. She grunted as
the pain of bouncing on her rib cage nearly knocked the breath out
of her. She tensed her muscles and twisted her head expecting to
see a fallen Bram in a puddle of blood, but instead her sideways
view revealed her Red neighbors pouring out of the various exits.
They all had weapons that were trained on the Bluezools. The burst
of exploding nano bullets had come from them and they had surprised
the bandits, killing the leader and forcing the small army to
retreat.

If the Bluezools had come to steal they
had indeed stolen something that would give them the ultimate
bargaining power.

* * *

I fall flat to the ground when I see
Malcolm, Harmon, Eugene, and a surge of other Reds stream out from
the mall, guns ready. I’d always heard that Reds had squirreled
away enough weaponry to take over Exodia if only they could produce
the ammunition. I hope, in this instant, that they are willing to
use every precious bullet to save Lydia.

An eruption of nano fire punctuates the
curse that spits from Eugene’s lips. I expect a deafening battle to
ensue, but the bandits’ response is surprising. They retreat in a
hoof-pounding fury. It’s safe to jump to my feet. I chase after
Lydia’s abductor even though I know it’s useless. I don’t have
Barrett’s speed or endurance. I repeat Eugene’s curse as I slow
down, spitting dust and wiping globs of dirt from my
face.

Lose Lydia.

It’s futile to fight against this fate.
Or is it? Already I have a plan. I’ll need Eugene’s help, Malcolm’s
machine, and Harmon’s rod. And maybe my sister will be willing to
use her special gift as a distraction. I rush back toward the mall
where now dozens if not hundreds are milling about, some strutting
like heroes, others whispering concerns. The tang of nano-fire
dissipates in the air.

“
We’re going to follow
them,” I begin. I shout directives, pick a crew, and take command
as if I was born to lead.

* * *

It’s my intuitive idea to
have the four hundred volunteers spread out in two lines abroad. By
cutting a wide swath we won’t fail to spot where our attackers
turned off. Our candles and oil lamps will make us look like a huge
descending army when we close in on them. But that’s not why I
think the idea is inspired.
I was born to
lead
seems a self-important motto, but the
letters slip apart and reform as soon as I think them.
Two lines abroad
.

I’m in the middle. To my right and left
and in the second line behind me march Lydia’s neighbors, Teague’s
most trusted fighters, and the Reds that accepted me on Barrett’s
account months ago. The outer wings are comprised of the Mourners,
a group of older men, and a surprising number of well-armed teens.
Mira has come with six specially chosen young women, ready to dance
an exotic distraction to our advantage. The young man who helped
her with her sled, I’ve learned his name is Josh, follows her with
a contingent of equally muscular companions. Harmon’s rod is in my
left hand, but Harmon has stayed behind with the mothers, children,
and hundreds of Red men who would have accompanied us, but who
would better serve our purposes by defending the twelve
springs.

We follow the smell of horse and sweat
and freshly mauled earth as well as the signs of broken limbs and
hoof prints. We hear nothing for the first hour, but as it gets
darker I finally detect the curiously faint clues that tell me
we’re close. I poke the rod out to my left, lightly touching two
men, and hold my other arm against the chest of the man at my right
side. In a fan-like choreography the next person on either side
does the same, stops, and holds his fellow marcher back from going
more than one step further. Our lights wave onward to the last men
on the outsides. The second line is just as curved as the front
line. If our prey is half a mile ahead as I suspect then we’ve
already begun to surround them.

“
They’re hidden up ahead,”
I say. “Maybe ten minutes more.” If they knew of Barrett’s unique
ability perhaps they’ll trust that I can hear what they cannot.
Whispers pass my message down both sides. The lights waver in the
hands of each one as lips move, heads nod, anxious fighters prepare
their weapons. I take a deeper breath and let it out my nose. I’m
afraid that if these angry people charge they’ll endanger Lydia.
They’re spoiling for a fight. A few days ago they ran in fear of
Truslow’s army, but now they believe themselves equal to any other
group like Bluezools or resistance fighters or secret towns of the
non-tattooed.

“
I’m going in alone,” I
say. I pass my light to the man behind me and step forward,
swinging the rod up and out in front of me. Those closest to me
hear and stay rooted to the ground. I’m more than a little
surprised at their obedience. There’s movement down the lines, but
though they couldn’t hear my command they guess my intention and no
one follows.

I count my steps to keep an idea of how
far behind me my help is. The yards mount up and I stop at a
thousand. A quick glance back reveals a stunning sight. The Reds
are holding their lights high, as if they are mounted on horseback.
The clouds part and moonbeams whitewash the rocks between us.
Shadows dart, visible but ghostly beneath the flickering lamps,
their edges blurred.

* * *

Lydia was dumped at the entrance to an
underground city. Bruised and in minor pain, she lay against the
concrete barriers and watched as her captors released their horses
into a strange corral. The fencing was hidden neatly behind closely
planted trees and was covered in vines. It looked more like a dense
forest than a shelter for animals.

In the fading light she scanned the
faces of the men who had exchanged their threatening attack for a
panicked retreat the instant their leader was slain. Their clothing
was tattered and they wore their beards longer than did the men of
Exodia. They spoke in clipped words and there were whole phrases
that held not a single word of English. She understood enough,
though. Two men, the one who had carried her off and the other
scout, parked themselves beside the barriers and made it clear that
she was not to run away. She didn’t think she could anyway. In
addition to the physical pain, her fear of what these strangers
could do to her had her in a frozen panic. She’d grown up in the
Red slum, a slave to the cultural caste system, and even though
she’d run freedom missions with Barrett and secretly spied for
Teague she was now experiencing a crushing loss of
control.

She pulled her legs in and pushed her
body higher against the concrete until her head reached the bottom
of a copper plaque with raised numbers: 2049. She couldn’t lose her
nerve and go to pieces. She forced herself to concentrate on the
date. Think, think, she told herself, calm down. An elderly
neighbor had once told her about a weather phenomenon that spooked
a faction of the mid-century populace to move beneath the surface.
2049 – almost five decades ago. Weren’t the cave dwellings
abandoned after the Suppression? She twisted her neck and read the
entire plaque. It couldn’t hurt to know as much as possible in her
current circumstance. She slowed her breathing and fought for more
control.

When all the horses were put away and
most of the men had disappeared down the stairwell another group of
men and women came up from below. They wore similar orange vests,
trimmed in black.

“
And what have we here,
Amal?” A silver-haired man spoke with slow clarity.

The scout who had carried Lydia
answered, “It was like I reported yesterday, Director. Large group
of refugees. Thousands. But they already reached the stores and
somehow broke in.” He paused, spoke a garbled phrase, then
continued, eyes down. “Only a few were outside. I grabbed her on
impulse. Then Hasser’s men rode up, but, but, there must have been
sharpshooters waiting in ambush. They killed Hasser, Director.” He
lifted his eyes to meet the piercing stare of the silver-haired
man. “Without a commander we just …” His voice trailed
off.

“
You just turned and ran
like scared bunnies.” The Director clicked his fingers and waved
both scouts to the side. “Show me your elbow,” he ordered
Lydia.

She struggled to her feet and pulled
back her sleeve. She wanted to stare right back with the defiance
that was coursing through her veins like snake venom, but she kept
her eyes down and waited.

“
Stupid Red.” He spit on
the ground. “Are you anybody? Will they pay for your return?” When
Lydia meekly shook her head no, he turned to his entourage and
spoke a few words in another language. The others agreed with
single nods. “All right. You, take her down. And you, you get two
lookouts and post them to the middle field. I’m replacing Hesser
with Koji. He’ll annihilate these wandering Reds. If they don’t
come to us by morning, we’ll burn them out of their hiding
place.”

Lydia stumbled down the steps behind
the first scout. The other one, Amal, kept a hand on her back, his
weapon ready at his side. He was surprised to learn that she was a
Red. He thought the Blues kept them farther south than this. Blues,
Reds, Gemfries, Americans, Northerners, it didn’t matter which
group she belonged to she wasn’t one of Amal’s people. She’d blend
in, though, with that chocolate complexion and shiny black hair.
Maybe he could claim her. He’d enjoyed the spoils of raids before,
but with only one captive stolen on this campaign he’d be too far
down the ladder for rewards. Still, he began to think of ways to
change her destiny. She was beautiful. It’d be a waste to sacrifice
her.

Chapter 4 The Secret in the Hidden
Cave

From the ninth page of the
first Ledger:

The peoples of the old
desert, driven east by cloud and famine, hide themselves in caves
and cities dug under barren forests. They bring their rituals,
sins, and sacrifices, but believe not in any God.

LYDIA FOUGHT FOR composure with each
step down, doubling her determination. These people were neither
Bluezools nor ordinary Blues. She hadn’t noticed a tattoo on the
man she followed down the steps and Amal’s arms were free of
markings. For a brief instant she hoped they were some of Ronel’s
people, or a misguided group of resistance fighters, or even
pre-Suppression activists. But no, there were no tattooed elbows
here. No sympathy for Reds. No sympathy for her.