I’m combatting the early onset of “creepy-old-guy syndrome.” I can admit it. For thirteen years, I worked as a campus pastor at a couple different universities. When I first started, I was 22—basically one of the gang. By the time I set it down to take up full time writing, I was 35. Borderline at best. A thirty-five-year-old dude roaming around campus and hanging with students is either a very late bloomer…or something else entirely.
It’s been a decade since I left that line of work.
At this age, when I walk around town (I rarely drive if the place I’m headed to is less than a couple miles away, and I live in an area where most everything I need is within that radius) I see the way people look at me. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I frequently talk to myself (or at least sub-vocalize) on walks, and my clothing style…has been labeled “homeless chic” by a handful of friends and sympathetic well-wishers.
It’s not uncommon that people either shift to the opposite sidewalk or suddenly realize they were walking in the totally wrong direction. I don’t know, maybe they just realized they forgot their office keys…or laptop at home. (Not that I have any personal experience with that.)
What’s more likely is that I’m experiencing early onset COG syndrome. Hey, it happens. Some of us men age safely into our 60’s before our nose and ear hair needs to be braided or trimmed with hedge clippers. Some of us are not so lucky. (And my “hair pants*” can get a little unruly in the summer.) [*ie. shorts]
Last year I found one sure-fire solution to COG syndrome completely by accident. My coworker and friend is a young woman who, when we are in public together, looks much more likely to be my daughter than my wife, you know, because I look like a crazy old guy. Well, to make a long story a little shorter, my friend suffered a downturn in her health which led to the eventual diagnosis of a rare neuromuscular disorder that landed her in a wheelchair. She’s not able to self-propel very far, so I naturally offered to push her around. Pushing people around is, in general, something I’m okay with.
After a few weeks of escorting her to the local coffee shop, I realized people I regularly encountered on the street and in public places were looking at me differently. They were smiling, nodding, and in general happy to see me. I noticed this, because it struck me as quite odd. One afternoon while pushing my friend in her wheelchair I received this odd friendly behavior. Up to that point, I had assumed all friendliness to be directed at my friend. After all, she is immensely more kind and friendly and outgoing than I am. You could easily categorize her as “bubbly.” Where as my most common descriptor is “crotchety beyond your years.”
But I began to notice that people were intentionally smiling at me. It occurred to me that these people might simply be uncomfortable addressing a disabled person in a wheelchair. I mean, the menacing contraption is like a little chariot of death capable of mashing toes and ramming into the back of knees. But in those cases, wouldn’t they avoid eye contact with both of us? Instead they were smiling at both of us. Strange indeed.
Finally, I put the pieces together. The fact that I was frequently facilitating the caffeinating of a disabled person, possibly my daughter, had the magic effect of curing my COG syndrome in the eyes of onlookers! Clearly no middle-aged white dude willing to frequently associate with a disabled person in a wheelchair could be creepy, right? Suddenly I was selfless and kind and warm. Not creepy at all.
Since then, I have eagerly continued to offer my assistance to my friend, and not at all because she’s a highly intelligent, giving person from which I continue to learn much about how to navigate life. No. I offer to escort her and her wheelchair around town because the act of doing so ensures my COG syndrome will never return.
At the Desk This Week
Over 4,000 words written this week! I’ve managed to clear a few things off of my schedule and am settling into a new normal that allows me to write on most days. My writing muscles should strengthen until I’m able to crank out 8,000 words a week. For now, I’m enjoying researching modern hobos and freight hopping for my current episode. (Now I know which train cars can be safely boarded while moving.) Next, I’ll be orchestrating a TK assault inside an underground bunker. Good times!
Boundaries: Ep.3, Scene 4 — Scene 8
[Click here to start at the beginning.]
During my time with the sled, Yetic has to bale me out twice. The first time, I lose my footing while scrambling down a large boulder and end up lodging the sled between two trees. The second time, I let the sled glide ten meters down the side of the mountain before Yetic catches it.
I’m grateful it’s just the seven of us. Even Tenoch has been around long enough to know not to draw attention to my weaknesses. Still, it’s embarrassing to lack such a basic skill.
An hour and a half later, Gronk seems surprised we have reached the logging camp with the sled before he and Chechen could catch up. All smiles, he congratulates us on our grand achievement. His show of enthusiasm rings a tad hollow, and I find myself liking him less.
Again they ask us to remain outside the camp. This time they don’t bother creating any busy work to distract us as they conduct whatever business they have with the loggers. Nothing better to do, we break out rations for lunch and watch the two Ometeotl Guardsmen from our perch above the camp.
“What do you think they’re actually doing?” Neca asks with his mouth full of dried fruit and nuts.
Cera, the only one without food currently in her mouth, says, “You don’t think they’re checking on the logger’s well being?”
“All of the workers just came from Worker City this morning after the ID burn, right? What sort of trouble could they have gotten into already?” Neca pops more nuts in his mouth.
“The camp could have been raided over night,” I offer.
“They could have seen something on their hike out here,” Yetic ads.
Olin joins in, “Doesn’t the regime have probes for surveillance? Wouldn’t they know if advance enemy units were crawling about? There’s no reason to put boots on the ground if all you’re doing is gathering flawed intelligence from loggers and miners.”
“There’s always the benefit of the human touch,” Cera says.
“The question is,” Olin continues, “what benefit are they looking for? Because my money is on intimidation.”
“Xoxochueyi.” I chuck a pinion cone at his head and miss. “No more of your conspiracy theories.”
“They’re only theories until they’re proven or disproven,” Neca winks.
I feel as if I might gag on my bean paste.
“Seriously, let’s think this through.” Neca stops eating long enough to pretend he has the ability to be serious. “Your parents were farmers for a while, right? You had to have spent time outside the dome.”
Olin nods. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember much. It seemed like our parents sent us away to play most of the time. Calli would remember more.”
Everyone looks at me. “I was seven when my parents were assigned garbage duty inside the city. I remember playing and exploring mostly, like Olin said. Certainly no shake downs from menacing ometeotls.” It’s not an outright lie. Honestly, it all happened so long ago, I can’t be sure of my memory. But there had been once when I returned to the fields to get help after Olin sprained an ankle.
A member of the Guard had been arguing with our father. Soon after that, we’d been transferred to garbage. It could have been a dispute over anything. Maybe they hadn’t been meeting their quota of crops, or maybe some equipment had gone missing and our parents had been blamed.
“Well, whatever it is those two are up to, it isn’t gathering intelligence on the movement of enemy forces.” Olin tears a piece of jerky between his teeth.
Everyone else seems content giving him the final word on the matter.
Bottom line, it doesn’t matter. This day is a temporary vacation from our life in the academy. None of us, except possibly Olin, want to ruin it by getting into a tiff with our guides who also happen to be elite telekinetic warriors. However the S&P detail goes about their business isn’t any of my business. Not yet anyway.
Sometime later, I wake to the sound of approaching footsteps and quickly realize I must have fallen asleep after lunch. I jump to my feet in time to confront Gronk’s overly toothy grin. Now that I know it’s there, I can see it clearly through his face shield.
“Taking a little siesta, huh? No worries, but we’ve got two more stops before pitching camp, so up and at ‘em.”
Olin must have gone for a short walk rather than nap with the rest of us. He approaches as we prepare to set out. “Any trouble at the logging camp? Any reports of enemy movement or anything?” His tone is upbeat and slightly mocking. Probably only I recognize the fact.
Gronk starts to respond, but Chechen cuts him off. “All operations nominal. Nothing outstanding to report.” He sounds as if he’s speaking for the mission recorder.
“Right, you heard the man. Nothing to see here.” Gronk punches Olin playfully in the arm. “It might seem a titch boring, but honestly, we like it this way. The alternative can get a bit hairy. But I’m sure you’ll see plenty of action in your day, being a brother and sister team and all.”
Chechen clears his throat loudly and pushes Gronk toward the hover sled. Gronk quickly lifts the sled with his thoughts and waves his arm forward. He raises his voice, “Move out troops. We got another hour or so to hike. We’ll be getting a bit closer to the PNR, so keep your eyes open.”
I fall in beside Yetic. In seconds we’re hiking at a steady clip down a gradual decline. Instead of focusing on the trail or the plant life surrounding us, I’m thinking about what Gronk had said.
This time his propensity to flap his trap has revealed something genuinely interesting. He isn’t the first to mention the significance of Olin and I being siblings. The only question asked in the interview booth had been in regards to Olin being my brother, and the matter had come up in the conversation between Centavo and Citlali in the Shadows.
Yetic leans across to me. “What’s the PNR?”
“Huh?”
“Gronk mentioned we’d be getting closer to the PNR.”
“Oh,” I shake my head. “I guess I don’t know.”
“Point of no return,” Neca offers the answer over his shoulder.
“And how would you know that?” Yetic can’t hide the injury to his pride over the fact Neca knows something he doesn’t.
“Just heard it mentioned in the underground. Twelve hours march from the city. You know, go past that and it’s too far to return within twenty-four hours.”
While the idea of a second perimeter around New Teo referred to as a point of no return is intriguing, I’m much more interested in what Gronk had meant by Olin and me seeing plenty of action. It must be true that the regime prizes sibling pairs. It makes sense that Olin and I wouldn’t be the only ones with the ability to connect with each other.
Our sibling connection could be the reason Toltec has taken interest in us. If that’s true, it means he probably doesn’t know anything about our past or our connections with Centavo. That would be happy news indeed.
The afternoon follows the pattern established in the morning. By the time we pitch camp at sunset, we’ve hiked nearly twenty kilometers. Hot and drenched in sweat, I’m anticipating the cooler presence of the moon. A moon seen from outside the shield dome is a special treat.
“That’s it for the day’s official duties.” Gronk lies on a bed of pine needles and props his head on his helmet. “I suppose you’re free to enjoy the rest of the evening in what ever manner you see fit, as long as you don’t go anywhere or make too much noise.” He laughs to himself, then ads, “You kids still play toggle at the academy?”
“Yes, sir,” Cera responds. She seems the most enamored with our talkative host.
I realize I haven’t seen Chechen since we cracked out rations thirty minutes earlier. Standing up to stretch, I locate the surly ometeotl thirty meters through the forest. He’s striding toward us and still in full armor.
I watch him approach without directly staring. The sun has sunk beneath the treetops, but as Chechen passes beneath a gap in the canopy, the fading orange light creates a glare on his face shield. As a result he appears more like a walking suit of armor than a man.
For the dozenth time since seeing the suits that morning, I wish I could try one on. The material looks like a hybrid between plasteel and foamed alloy. Whatever they’re made from, they wear like cloth and look like rubber. But I bet they’re mostly air. In a telekinetic attack they must filter a large portion of the EM spectrum.
“Oh, and make sure you don’t leave any crumbs about,” Gronk continues his chatter. “I’d rather not be visited by any Jaguars or coyotes or the like. You know, if we can avoid it.”
Chechen arrives at the small clearing where the rest of us have reclined. “I’m afraid I’ve spotted evidence of more than just wild animals in the area.”
“Really?” Gronk bolts upright, his helmet in his hands. “How many?”
“Two or three. It’s been so dry and still lately, it’s hard to tell whether the tracks were left today or a few days ago.”
“I can take a look at them,” Cera offers. “My parents are hunters. I grew up tracking things.”
Gronk stands and dons his helmet. “Sweet of you to offer, Cera. But our instructions are to keep you guys out of harm’s way if at all possible. I doubt our superiors would think—”
Chechen slams his arm into Gronk’s stomach, cutting him off. Everyone falls perfectly still. “Listen,” Chechen whispers.
Before Gronk has time to acknowledge that he has heard it too, a probe streaks overhead. It alters course suddenly. We all know what’s coming next, but there’s no time to counter it.
The sky splits as an EM pulse strikes the center of our camp. Flipped over backwards by the wash, I land on hands and knees, ready to dash for the shelter of the forest. But I’m not sure of which direction to run.
“Go!” Neca half collides with me and half scoops me up.
Together we scramble for fifty meters through the thickest part of the forest before dropping flat on our stomachs and straining our ears.
It takes several seconds for me to control my breathing enough to hear anything other than myself. “Did you see the others?”
Neca listens quietly for several more seconds before responding, “The initial pulse didn’t hit anyone directly. After that, I don’t know.”
In the distance another EM pulse sizzles through the forest canopy. “Come on,” I grab for his hand, “we’ve gotta find a way to disable it before its controllers get here.” I try to pull him up, but he resists.
“That’s the thing. I’m not so sure the controllers aren’t here already.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Come on.” Another pulse collides with a tree near the campsite. I hear the trunk splinter and crack seconds later. “Someone could get killed.” I tug on him more urgently.
He yanks me down beside him. I’m about to argue further when I hear a second probe buzz past, several meters above the forest canopy. I tilt my head in time to see its blinking red eye zip out of site toward our campsite. “Now can we go?” I ask.
Neca relents, “Okay, we’ll check on the others.” We rise together and move as quickly and silently as possible. “But I don’t like it. Something doesn’t feel right. Did you notice Chechen stop at the sled before he left?”
“So?” I’m irritated Neca finds this significant enough to discuss in the midst of our current situation.
“I think he took something out of it.”
“You mean they brought equipment they planned to use? Shocker.” I slash at him with an angry hand. “Now shut up, before you get us killed.”
“Fine,” Neca huffs. “Do you have a plan, or should we just jump out and scare the probes?”
I swing a leg over a fallen tree trunk and spin into a creeping run. Neca matches me stride for stride, our feet falling at the same time to create the least possible noise. I say, “How about we charge the closest probe as soon as it targets something in the opposite direction, and then we stun it?”
“Not the brilliant master plan I expected, but it works for me.”
I make a mental note to slap him later. “You flank it on the right. I’ll aim left. That way, one of us should hit it.” The small clearing where our camp had been is now three times the size and scarred with EM burns. We crouch several meters shy of it and watch. I’m so busy looking up, I fail to notice Cera and Yetic across the way.
Neca points them out, “There, see them?”
I follow his finger and nod. “Where’s Olin?”
“Shouldn’t you be asking him that?”
“Oh, right.” I make a mental note to slap myself after I slap Neca. Before I get the chance to connect with my brother, a blue flare shoots skyward at our nine o’clock, thirty meters from the clearing. It’s got to be Olin.
Finally, I hail him. Lead the probe across the campsite and keep running.
And share the fun? He responds immediately.
Quit joking and do it.
Fine. I wondered where you guys went.
As his blue pulses grow closer, I can tell he’s throwing them up blind while choosing his footing through the forest. Luckily, or possibly by design, Olin has chosen a dense enough route that the probe is struggling to gain a clear line of site.
Instead it slashes bolts of energy through the tree limbs as blindly as Olin fires back. Neither come within meters of a kill shot. Almost there. I reassure him, or maybe I’m reassuring myself. Just don’t stop. We’ll ambush the thing as it passes overhead.
Sure thing, sis.
I wave my hands to get Yetic and Cera’s attention. There’s still enough light for them to see me, and Yetic waves in response. I point in Olin’s direction. Neca and I creep that way while remaining tucked beneath the forest canopy.
Ready or not, here I come! Olin bounds into the open. Turning and throwing up both hands, he launches a final blinding beam of EM before sprinting full bore for the opposite side of the clearing.
“Now!” I shout the command and pounce into the open.
Neca follows right beside me. Yetic and Cera do the same across the way.
Responding to my voice, the probe spins its eye in my direction first.
Neca and I pound the sky with two bright EM flares.
The probe dodges, only to fly directly into a storm unleashed by Yetic. In a dazzling display of sparks, the probe spins erratically into the top of a nearby tree and pinballs its way to the forest floor with a thud.
A second later a branch cracks at my nine o’clock. I jerk toward it and kindle a green glow in the palm of my hand.
“Nice shooting!” Gronk emerges into the clearing while spinning the second probe on a finger.
Chechen is right beside him. Their suits render them nearly invisible in the twilight.
Gronk tosses his probe to Chechen before jogging into the forest to fetch the second one. He returns at the same time as my brother. “You guys are solid for sure. Olin had the totoltetls to draw off the second probe while Chech and I were hammering the first.”
Gronk removes his helmet. I’m sure he’s smiling, but it’s too dark to tell. “Lucky for us, it looks like these buggers were operating at long range. Whoever the operators were, and we’ll have to take the probes back to command to be sure, I don’t think we need to worry about running into—”
Gronk stops in mid-sentence. His head tilts slightly to the side. For a long second nothing else happens.
I sniff the air and a familiar smell sends ripples up and down my spine. Chechen’s suit pitches forward and strikes Gronk in the back. The jostling unravels the final allusion of life as the silhouette of Gronk’s head dissipates in the breeze.
Without warning, without the slightest flicker of light or crackle of EM energy, both of the ometeotls are gone—nothing left but empty suits of armor.
Panic blooms in my chest. “Run!” All I can think to do is get away—put as much distance between myself and the disintegrated remains of the Guardsmen as possible.
Before I’ve gone a single step, the hairs on my arms and neck rise. I drive my bare foot into the bracken of the forest floor and pump my arms. The air sparks. Crackle births into the clearing and expands outward to encompass all of us. It tastes like sour yogurt coating the inside of my mouth and nose.
My second stride leaves the earth behind. Blown upward and outward by the massive EM storm, I focus my attention on the tree branches whizzing past me. A large trunk blurs into vision, and I toss up my hands in desperation. Releasing a pulse on impact, I splinter the tree with both the force of the EM energy and my flying body.
Dripping with phloem and pulp, I careen sideways and crash into the underbrush. I try to cry out in pain, but the crackle swells my throat shut. All I manage is a croak. The wash presses my face into the ground. For a few seconds I consider not getting up. I could let the pain consume me. If I quit there would be no more fear. No more future to worry about. No more responsibility. No.
Nerves in my legs and arms twitch. I push upward and scramble to my feet. Impossibly, I’m still on the edge of the clearing. Then I realize the clearing has grown to encompass ten times the space. Ash settles around me like snow.
Olin, where are you? I hail my brother but hear nothing in response. I stride forward, dragging my left leg behind. The image of Chechen’s empty suit of amor pitching forward into Gronk—their ash now mingled with the rest of the forest—replays in my mind.
I drag myself forward another stride. Who could possibly wage such a powerful attack? The ometeotls’ armor did nothing to protect them. There is nowhere to hide. With effort I manage to swallow enough to loosen my tongue. “Olin. Neca.”
I reach the edge of the crater in the center of the clearing. On the other side of it, I spot movement. “Yetic?”
“It’s me.”
“Neca.” I limp around the rim of the crater until I reach the dark-skinned masazin. Simply knowing I’m not alone strengthens me.
“The sled. Have you seen the sled?” Neca’s voice is as raspy as my own.
I shake my head before glancing around. “There.”
Neca stumbles toward the overturned hover sled.
“Why?” I follow on his heels. “We need to find the others.”
He kneels beside the crate and smacks the red panic button with his palm. “We need to prepare for a fight.”
Something about the way he says ‘fight’ triggers an animalistic response in me. Finally, my mind switches gears. It shames me that it has taken so long. After a delay, the crate cracks open but then jams.
“Help me roll it over,” Neca croaks.
I scramble to his side. Together, we heave the box upright. As soon as it settles, the top flies open. Two probes launch a meter into the air and hover.
“There’s only two.” I bend over the open crate to confirm harnesses for four.
“Chechen released the other two in a staged attack,” Neca explains while rummaging in the crate.
“But why?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Ensure we had a good time?”
“But if the probe attack was phony—”
“Then who disintegrated our escort?” Neca stands, having found what he was looking for. “You know how to operate a probe?” He offers me a small headset.
“No,” I step back.
“Let me try,” Olin’s voice comes from nearby.
I turn to see my brother stumbling toward us through the dark. “Olintl, thank the gods.”
“T’zan and Cera landed near me. I think they’re okay, but I couldn’t rouse them.” He pauses to breathe. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Neca hands Olin the headset. “But I’m guessing we don’t have long to prepare for the second wave.”
Olin shakes his head and hands the headset back. “Let me try it without first.” He lowers his head. A second later one of the probes jumps.
I gasp. “How are you—”
“I’ve never come across one unpaired.” There is genuine awe in Olin’s voice. “It’s incredible.” The probe rises to the top of the trees and spins. “It’s like an extra pair of eyes, but more complex. I can only control one at a time.”
I turn toward Neca. “What about the rest—”
“Wait,” Olin cuts me off in a hushed tone, “we’ve got company.” He points toward the western side of the clearing.
It takes a few seconds before I spot a shadow creeping into the open. The moment I do, the stranger’s voice breaks the silence, “We’ve got some still awake!”
The second probe, still a meter above the crate, spins to life. I jump back as it scans me with its red eye. “Olin?”
“It’s not me!” he lunges in my direction.
I hear a high pitched whine as the probe powers up. Olin has come between me and the probe by the time my mind makes all the necessary connections. From that moment forward, there’s no hesitation.
My hands, arms, and chest burst into liquid fire. The green flames creep low across my skin as I wrap my brother in an embrace. More quickly than the probe can respond, I spin my brother to the ground and shelter him with my body. By the time the probe releases a torrent of EM energy, I’ve already thrown up a shield.
A blanket of swirling light and sparks flows harmlessly around us. I breathe. Olin.
On it. He responds in the same breath.
Each of us knows what the other is thinking. A split second later my brother’s probe disables the hostile one.
Not wanting to give my anger time to cool, I leave Olin were he lies and spring across the crater in three strides. While leaping up the other side, I funnel the rage into my fingers and watch it take luminescent form. Lashing my arms outward, I cast bolt after bolt of energy at every shifting shadow I find.
But the release can’t come fast enough. I feel it building—the anger, the bloodlust, the frustration of being manipulated and lied to. Screeching at the top of my lungs, I drop to my knees and slam my fists into the ground.
A rift opens beneath me. Crawling with veins of dark green light, the crack blasts outward in every direction. In a swirling maelstrom, my braid whips in front of my face. A cloud of dust and humus explodes outward. Branches snap and trees creak as they tug at their roots.
Then all falls silent except the heaving of my chest. In the settling dust and ash, I realize I’m hovering over a second crater—one of my own making. Without knowing why, I jerk my head up and focus on a patch of featureless dark several meters distant.
After seconds of silence, a voice forms from the blackness, “Ms. Bluehair.”
My mind blocks the memory of the person behind the voice. My hands leap up, and I focus the last of my angry heat into a blinding EM pulse. It never reaches its target. A burning human outline flares in the night and bends my anger back on me. Pain and falling are the last things I remember.
It was dark when I had fallen unconscious. It is still dark when I’m roused by a faint sound I can’t be sure of. I tug open my raspy eye lids and attempt to focus, but the darkness engulfing me is deeper than before.
I realize I’m underground. The closeness of the earth, combined with my muffled breathing, indicate it’s a small space—manmade. I hear what sounds like an echo and hold my breath. When the sound of breathing continues, I realize I’m not alone.
Someone coughs from less than a meter away. I tense but don’t move. My mind scurries for options. There isn’t enough information. I could be anywhere, held captive by anyone.
In every scenario I can fathom, the person sharing my prison is either a dim-witted captor or another prisoner. Either way, my continued silence seems counterproductive. The thought of the person being a friend tips the scales. I shift slightly and clear my throat.
“Calli, is that you?”
“Neca?”
He sighs. “Yes, it’s me.”
I crawl closer to Neca’s voice. I find him with his back propped against the wall—his uniform torn open and muddied. He winces at my touch. “You’re hurt.”
“Not badly.” He sighs again. “It’s more my hope that’s been bloodied than my body.”
“It can’t be all that bad.” I shiver and scoot myself in close to his side. The temperature has dropped several degrees, and my uniform is damp from what I hope is merely dew. “Whoever they are, they’ve taken us alive.”
I lay my head on Neca’s shoulder. All at once, the barrier I’ve constructed to protect me from him, to numb my feelings for him, is completely undone.
Neca flinches before breathing deeply. “I’ve long had a theory about the people outside New Teo, a theory I had hoped with all my strength to be true.” He sags, exhaling unevenly. “Now I’m not so sure.”
His lack of resolve pains me. I don’t want to believe I’ve contributed to weakening him, but the reality is unavoidable. If it weren’t for me, he’d be living happily as a chadzitzin. Despite it being pitch black, I close my eyes. “Tell me. Tell me about your theory.” Carefully, I navigate the wound on his chest until I find a safe place to rest my arm.
He trembles slightly at the touch. “Earlier, the reason I knew about the point of no return—I didn’t overhear people talking about it. I’ve crossed it.”
“Really?” There’s so much I don’t know about Neca, so many questions I’ve never thought to ask.
“Centavo used to send me there with supplies.”
“I don’t understand,” I respond gently, not wanting to discourage him from sharing further. “What kind of supplies? For who?”
“That was the thing. He never would say. Just that the supplies had to be dropped off at a certain spot far enough away from New Teo.”
I wait for him to continue.
He shifts and draws up a leg. “I wanted to know. Don’t get me wrong, I trust Centavo like a father. But I was hungry for anything about the outside world. I’ve always found it hard to believe everyone on the planet exists like we do in New Teo.”
“So what did you do?”
“After I learned the ability of flight, it was easy to reach the PNR with time to spare. Knowing Centavo dealt with everything dangerous and illegal, I didn’t dare open the crates or disturb their contents. Instead, I decided one day to double back and find a safe spot to lie in wait. At the very least, I’d see who the supplies were going to. I’d see someone who lived outside the dome.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I realize I’ve been holding it for several seconds. Since early childhood, I’ve been taught that the only people outside New Teo are enemies and twitchers. “What happened?”
“I saw them. I saw them, and it changed everything.” He shifts an arm around my back and secures me to his side. “There were nearly a dozen of them, including women and children. They weren’t warriors—certainly not soldiers. They weren’t twitchers. They were just people. I laid there and watched as they divided the supplies and left in two different directions.”
“What kind of supplies?” I ask.
“From where I had hidden it looked like medicine and tools, basic things that even people in Worker City take for granted.”
“So who do you think they were?”
“Up till now, I had always thought they were exiles, or they were people who had escaped.”
“You mean, from Worker City?” I furrow my brows.
“Yes,” Neca’s voice strengthens. “I felt it in my gut. Somehow I knew it to be true. They had used to be us, but now they were free.”
I sense where he is going and why he’s so grieved. “Then they attacked us.”
“I saw the outline of the man who stepped into the clearing. He was dressed like the ones I delivered supplies to. He didn’t look like a soldier.”
“But their abilities? The organized assault? It seemed planned,” I say.
“Maybe they were only after the supplies.”
“Neca, they killed—”
“But they took us alive,” Neca says. “They only disintegrated the Guardsmen. They could have done the same thing to us, but they didn’t.”
I sit up and sigh, my heart heavy with grief and fear. “How do we know that?” I shudder. “Where are the others? Did you see them?”
Neca says, “The others could be in cells like this one, or maybe they got away.”
I steady my breathing. Neca is right, and besides, it’s not going to help to panic. “Wait, how do we know we’re even in a cell?”
“I, I don’t—”
“Have you checked for an opening?”
“I only woke a minute before you. The last thing I remember was being blind-sided with an EM pulse.”
I crawl around the perimeter of the small carved out cave. Sections of the wall consist more of dirt and loose rocks than solid stone. We can’t be deep underground. “Here,” I jerk my hand back after finding a recess in one section of the wall. “There might be an opening, but there’s no way of knowing what’s on the other side.”
“I’m pretty tapped,” Neca exhales. “Do you think you have a little light left in you?”
I nod, then realize Neca can’t see the gesture. “Yes. First, let me see if I can hail my brother.” I focus on Olin, but all I find in the depth of my mind is empty silence. “Nothing.”
“I wouldn’t expect your connection to work underground. Even if he was ten meters away, you probably wouldn’t know it.” Neca rises onto his knees and shuffles toward me.
“You’re right, I know. I just thought—” I chew the inside of me cheek. “Let’s shed some light on the situation, shall we?” I do my best to sound hopeful. With a slight flick of the wrist, I conjure a green glow beneath the skin of my hand and hold it in front of me.
It’s clear we’re in a hastily dug bunker rather than a cave. The room is more or less round and only a few meters across. Directly in front of me there is a small opening, wide enough to belly crawl through. On either side of it, wooden supports have been buried in the wall.
A good sharp kick would collapse the entrance and cut the room off from whatever lay on the other side. I hesitate to explore further. “If we were meant to be prisoner’s, wouldn’t they have collapsed the entrance and trapped us inside?”
“Maybe there’s someone guarding it,” Neca whispers.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” I turn toward Neca. “You up for this?” Now that I look at him closer, I realize he’s been cut by a branch. An oozing gash across his chest appears to be surrounded by a smattering of smaller cuts and scrapes.
“I’m good.”
“You don’t look so good.”
He shrugs then winces. “The dirt’ll probably help stop the bleeding. Besides, you don’t look so hot yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” I hold my glowing hand out and visually scan as much of my front and arms as I can. “Oh my.” My uniform is speckled with blood and the left shoulder of the outfit is torn away. I press my right hand against the shoulder and realize its heavily bruised. Nothing feels broken. “I guess we’re both going to have to file a uniform acquisition slip when we get back.”
“I guess so,” Neca smiles and winks, the gesture barely visible in the dim, green glow.
“Here goes.” I inch forward and inspect the opening. It continues for more than a meter. My light is too weak to illuminate the other end. “If I kick my legs, pull me back out.”
“Will do, captain.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, so now you’ll take an order.” Before he can smart off again, I plunge headfirst into the tiny opening with my arms in front of me. The space is cramped, but the softness of the dirt makes the process almost comfortable.
Bit by bit, I inch my way forward by expanding and contracting my body. After a couple minutes, my left shoulder is screaming with pain and I’ve only gone a couple meters. Just as I begin to panic, my hands grasp a solid lip—the opening.
The moment I’m able to use my elbows to pull my head into the larger space, I spark my hand to life. The dim glow reveals that the room ahead is bigger than the one behind, and there’s no guard in sight. Good enough.
I slough from the opening and roll into the larger cave. With my entire left side already stiffening from injury, it takes several seconds to stand. I turn up the light until my hand crawls with flame. The increased effort causes my eyes to flicker and my head to swim. I brace myself against the wall.
Eventually, I’m able to focus on my surroundings. The cave is several meters across. While the ceiling isn’t any higher than it was in the cell, the floor has been dug twice as deep. I stagger forward as far as I dare by myself and find nothing but wooden crates.
Too dizzy to maintain the effort, I extinguish the light and retrace my steps in the dark. I poke my head into the cell opening and call out, “Neca, the coast is clear.”
“No need to yell,” he responds from right in front of me.
“Oh, sorry.” I grab his hands and help him wiggle the rest of the way out. “I don’t understand. Why would someone go through the trouble of dragging us underground just to leave us here?”
Holding my hand, Neca gropes toward the center of the cave until he locates the nearest crate. “Maybe they’re not hostiles after all.”
I hear hope creeping into his words, and I say, “Or maybe they locked the entrance to the entire bunker.”
“Maybe.” Neca scoots further along the stack of crates. “What all is in here?”
“I got too dizzy to look any further. The immediate area is full of these crates. They’re stacked along the middle, two or three deep.”
“You haven’t looked inside any of them?” Neca asks.
“No, not yet.”
“We need to find a source of light.”
I hear the top of a crate creak open, followed by the sound of Neca rustling around inside it. I ask, “How do you propose we do so?” A sharp crack resonates from inside the crate, causing me to jump. Before I can ask Neca what he has done, a steady blue light rises from the box.
“Like that,” Neca holds a chemical stick up to his smiling face.
“That reminds me.” I slap him lightly across the cheek.
“What was that for?” He feigns injury.
I slap myself a little harder. “Just a mental note I made earlier.”
“Oh?” Neca laughs. “And I only had one slap coming?”
“There’s probably others I’ve forgotten about. That was the most recent.”
“Fair enough. And the slap to yourself?”
I change the subject. “How did you know there would be a chemical stick in there?”
Neca shuffles away and removes the lid to another crate without answering my question.
I follow behind him, inspecting the contents. The first crate looks to contain mostly dried food, a definite bonus if we end up being trapped down here. I snag a piece of what looks like tapir jerky and hold it up to my nose for a sniff. “You think this stuff is safe to eat?”
“I doubt they’ve stored away a bunch of poisoned food.” Neca moves on to a third crate.
“It could have gone bad. Who knows how long it’s been down here.”
“Three months,” he says without hesitation.
“And how would you—”
“It’s branded on the boxes.”
I stoop to confirm his claim. Sure enough, a date from three months ago is burned into the side of the crate. “Now you’re just showing off.”
Neca straightens and sighs before handing me an unlit chemical stick. “I wish that were the case.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “I’m still trying to figure it out. The one thing I do know, I’ve seen these crates before.”
“Wait. These crates? I thought you said they were packed three months ago?”
“Not these exact crates.” He lowers one to the floor of the cave and sits on it before inviting me to do the same.
I part of me wants to resist him. Something deep inside screams that I should keep him at a distance, but it’s only the two of us down here. No academy, no administration, no Toltec sifting my thoughts in search of ways to hurt the ones I love. So I accept.
As I sit and scoot next to him, he continues, “Most of these were packed by Centavo.”
“What?”
“The one thing he told me he puts in every crate of supplies is a chemical stick. That’s how I knew it would be there. Every single one, he always packs a chemical stick. He said it was so that if you were ever caught in the dark, no matter which crate you opened, a source of light would always be at hand.”
“But Centavo left New Teo eight months ago. He couldn’t have packed these,” I say.
“Like I said, I’m still trying to figure it out. Maybe someone else packed them for him. Or maybe he packed these from outside of Worker City. For all we know, he might have gone back.”
“Or maybe somebody else is smart enough to put a source of light in each box. Maybe it’s a standard procedure in the Guard.”
“The Guard,” Neca scoffs. “You really think the Guard has been stashing supplies in hastily dug bunkers outside the shield dome?”
I get defensive. “There could be a reason.”
“I suppose, but I think there’s a much more likely explanation to all of this.” He turns to face me, our eyes so close I can barely focus on him.
My initial instinct is to say something smart, an insult, but I swallow it. The last several months of treating Neca poorly have damaged me more than I want to admit. I simply don’t have the stomach for hurting him anymore. And without any threat to protect him from, I drop the act. “Tell me.”
“You’re not going to like it,” he warns.
“I want to hear it. No,” I correct myself, “I need to hear it.”
“Okay.” Neca swallows, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “The people who live outside the PNR, the people who Centavo had me deliver supplies to, the very same people who attacked us tonight—they’re not just exiles. They’re an organized resistance.”
Thanks so much for taking the time to read these scenes of Boundaries, Season 2 of The Green Ones. I’ll be publishing FREE daily scenes from The Green Ones until…I die…or something terrible happens. Seriously, I’ve got over 100 scenes written so far, and I’ll be writing more until the story reaches its natural ending. You are totally welcome to read the entire story for FREE! If at any point you decide you would rather finish the story in ebook or print format, just click the buttons below and you can do that as well. If you enjoy reading the serial releases, BUT you would also like to support me as a writer (my kids need wine!) please subscribe to my premium content for bonus scenes, exclusives, and insider access to my process. And of course, I’d be grateful if you would share this post with any of your reader friends who you think would enjoy The Green Ones. Happy reading!