Rising by Patrick Sean Lee (first color ebook reader .txt) 📕

ship. Let’s go.”

 

                                        ***

 

Sant has taken the lead, navigating easily beneath the trees that must seem laughable in size to him. Mondra follows effortlessly, matching every swift turn he makes. Both of them—Sant certainly—must have compasses in their brains. We go southeast, although the path he chooses is awkwardly zig-zaggy. I hope those behind us can follow our trail.

It is a bright morning. Cloudless. An almost serene atmosphere abounds despite everything. The occasional songs of birds remind me of the magic of these woods. The once-magic, anyway. It’s eerie, though, whenever I think of it. Why haven’t we seen any ground troops, or spotted even a lone gunship floating by overhead? Where are they?

Twenty minutes of hard running pass, Sant stopping every so often, raising a hand. We duck. He glances around, and then after a few seconds elapse, we’re off once again.

I must lag behind at intervals, backtracking to make certain that my family, Gerstam, and Faerborn have not gotten lost. In the quiet, Faerborn’s heavy footfalls are unmistakable and comforting. Whether Gerstam with his gimpy leg, and Mother towing Father, are able to keep pace with my giant, I don’t know, but he at least is unerringly following the trail we blaze. Gerstam, even if he has abandoned my parents, will do everything in his power to follow us to the road…and the wounded Helicere.

I am close behind Mondra once more. Ten more minutes have slipped by when Sant stops suddenly, turns abruptly, and then points. There it is. The road. The three of us huddle just a yard or so this side of it until Sant creeps forward beside a thickly-leaved bush, peering up and down the length of it, listening, almost invisible in his cat-like movements.

“Which way?” Mondra whispers to me.

“Look for broken limbs,” I answer, then leave her to join Sant.

“What do you think?” I ask him.

“No one that I can see.” I see his eyes darting left, right, and up into the line of blue high above us. He moves forward on hands and knees, clearing the bush and gazes to his left.

“That way,” he says in a low, guarded tone. I am beside him in a heartbeat. Mondra almost as quickly is at my side. Fifty or sixty feet down the road I see the beginning of our mad descent yesterday. Tons of leaves at first, and then sheared branches growing thicker by the foot! I hear again the first swish when the bottom of the Helicere met the tops of the trees, and then the banging that quickly followed. Somewhere down there lies the Helicere, and thankfully I don’t see the swirling lights ripping upward like thousands of fat white arrows. Someone either turned the guns off, or else the power in the ship finally pooped.

Sant looks beyond me to Mondra. “Can you go back and find the others? Alana and I will follow the road through the bushes until we find the ship. Don’t let any of them, especially Faerborn, step onto the road. Make your way with them through the safety of the growth. I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here.”

Mondra nods, and then she’s off like a bolt of lightning to gather up the stragglers. Sant takes my hand, and we ease back a short distance until we find a spot through which we can head west, toward the waiting ship. Somewhere beyond it stretches the wall with its gaping hole. How far I have no idea. How many made it out of Black, I wonder? And where have they scattered to? It’s crazy quiet, and the thought occurs that while Gerstam took us on his merry romp through the skies, the hundreds of ships we finally saw had already cut my people down with Polit efficiency. But, why not Gerstam and me when they had the opportunity?

Five long minutes of dodging through tangles of brush, and we catch our first glimpse of the Helicere, lying silent and dead. The ramp is still down, crinkled badly on this side. A bird sits atop the ship near the cabin windows, fluffing the feathers of its wings. The nose of the craft is buried in a mound of dirt and twisted, broken branches. It’s a miracle Gerstam and I survived. I thank the gods. Mad Gerstam will never in his wildest dreams get it out of here.

After scanning it, and every inch of space on both sides of the road, Sant leads me through the last few bushes toward it.

“Give me your knife,” he whispers.

“I don’t have it,” I answer.

He twists his head sharply at my reply. The look on his face is somewhere between anger and annoyance at the idea that I could actually lose our only close-in weapon. He lets loose of my hand.

“Raise your palms, then. Let’s go see if anyone is lurking inside.”

TWELVE

If we do meet someone, or someones, little good that will do us. At close quarters I’d wind up blowing all of us to pieces I’m afraid.

“It’s abandoned,” I offer not-so-confidently.

Sant turns and glances forward again, focusing on the darkened hole inside the ship. He steps out onto the road, and I follow, hands stretched out. Right at his back.

It is empty, small bits of rubble here and there on the deck. Everything is exactly the way it was when Gerstam and I rushed out yesterday. Sant stops when we enter the cabin. All the lights on the console are out. Outside the window a large branch lays at an angle, covering most of the cockpit view of the road ahead. After a few minutes I swirl the co-pilots seat ninety degrees and plop into it. Sant has been staring at the dead console, and finally he stretches his fingers toward it.

“Don’t even think about it,” I snap at him. He gives me a look, and then slowly withdraws his hand.

“Do you think this thing just died, or did someone shut it down?” he asks.

“I have no idea. It doesn’t matter anyway. I hope it conked after a few hours, that way Gerstam won’t be tempted to try to get it running again. Or won’t be able to.”

“What exactly is our plan now? I mean as far as getting to wherever you want to go inside Polit? It’ll be crawling with troops I’m betting,” he says. “Do you plan to just walk in and start blasting everyone and everything in sight?”

Good question. I guess I’ll dispatch the troops we encounter first, then…then…start on the buildings? There are hundreds of them, many as tall as the trees back on Folly. How will they fall, though? Back on us, crushing us like two stupid ants? And what about the innocent people inside some of them? I’ve seen children with their mothers going in and coming out. I mean, the little ones, at least, have no idea what their leaders are all about. Go in then, and room by room, floor by floor, kill all the evil…that would take a century. And who are the bad guys?

The sprawling prison and government buildings. That’s where we start. If we can get that far into the city before being ambushed.

I wonder if their leaders and the military plan invasions with as much precision as the one I’m-not-planning very well? Maybe they just swarm in numbers like they’ve done over the years in Black.

Probably not.

The sound of bushes moving and the familiar clunk of Faerborn’s feet save me from having to answer Sant’s question. Mondra rushes into the belly of this thing first. She stops ten feet in, and her jaw drops.

“Whoooaaa!”

Yes, it’s pretty impressive, Mondra. Think about getting shoved out of that side door blindfolded at ten thousand feet.

Faerborn follows with certain trepidation. Up the ramp he walks, bending his head to clear the top of the ship. Jeren is trying to keep his balance atop Faerborn’s shoulders. My giant cradles Tereka in his right arm. Father dangles like a wet rag from his left. Mother and Gerstam are the last in. When they are all settled somewhat, I move out of the cabin and speak.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but the ship will probably be as good a place as any for you to hide. If any Polit troops come…Faerborn, try to get my family and Gerstam to safety somewhere else. If you can’t, then surrender. I’ll come back for you.”

Not very assuring.

I turn to Sant. “Ready?”

“I wish I had my bow,” he answers dejectedly.

“Your eyes and speed will have to be your bow,” I say. I kiss each member of my family, smile at Gerstam as I pass by him, and lastly jump onto Faerborn’s quivering legs.

“Goodbye for now, dear one. Protect my family. I’ll be back, I promise.” His head droops, and he offers no reply.

Sant and Mondra and I leave on what I hope is not a suicide mission of revenge. I take the lead, and we circle south through the forest until we reach the southernmost part of the wall encircling Black. From here we will head north again, hopefully finding the storm drain that dumps into the sea on our right. Not a pleasant thought, but at least we’ll be able to enter the city undetected. I hope.

An hour passes. Twice Sant pulls Mondra and me to the ground at the base of the wall when Polit ships glide by over the ghetto almost without a warning sound. I can hear the faraway hum of their engines long before I catch sight of them—little gnats or dots or constellations so high above us—and my hope is that they’re heading in to patrol the city on the other side of the wall. Not many Blacks would have fled through the holes I made here, I’m thinking. I mean, where would they have gone to? The swamp? The sea without boats? Certainly not north toward the Polit ports and sure death.

“Stop!” Mondra says suddenly. I turn and see her crouch close to the rough stones of the wall. She motions for Sant and me to come closer to her.

“What?” I ask.

“How many ships have we seen so far? How many chased you and Gerstam yesterday?”

“I don’t know. Hundreds yesterday. Not that many today…maybe twenty or thirty. Why?”

“It’s just…I don’t know, Alana, maybe trying to get to the prison through the sewer isn’t the smartest idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you ever been in the sewer tunnel?”

I don’t have to think long about that disgusting thought. “No, but…”

“I want to find the bastards that raped and tortured me and Tereka. I want to see them all go up in flames. I want to see their buildings fall as well. But we’ll never even make it to the entrance to the drain! Not with the sky filled with gunships. And if we do make it, we have no idea where the labyrinth of pipes go.”

As she is speaking, four more Heliceres glide along slowly, drift suddenly downward, crossing east to west like metallic birds of prey. I can actually see the gun ports. It would be so easy for me to simply hone in on them and blast them into eternity before they realized they missed us, but what good would that do? My sister is