He dashes forward. I hear his feet on the steps and the sound of the door open and shut. I follow as quickly as I can.
No one is visible by the time I open the door. Identical buildings sit side by side as far as the eye can see. No one walks the streets, no vehicles roll by.
Of course not. It isn’t time yet.
I close the door.
Mad, I’m going mad…
The sound of tires abusing asphalt streets becomes distinctly audible. I know the sound like I know the sound of my voice.
They’re coming for you.
I want to run, to escape. The need pulls at me, fuels my veins with fire, with the singular desire to flee. But I’ve seen what happens to runners. There is no haven, no place to go for escape. There is only the dread of anticipation, the cold sweat that trickles down my face.
I do nothing but wait as the wheels squeal to a halt outside my building. The heavy tread of large bodies draws nearer.
I can’t take it. Not the ominous thump that rattles the hinges. Not the door crashing inward from the weight of their kicks. Not her screams ringing in my ears…
My hand moves of its own accord once again. It turns the handle and opens the door before they reach it. The Dogmen hesitate for just a second. Up close they are so large…
The moment passes. Something in my midsection explodes when the lead Dogman punches me in the stomach. His rumbling growl vibrates in my ear; his rank breath radiates and paints my face with its stench.
His other gloved hand seizes me by my throat and easily lifts me from the floor. My feet dangle as I gurgle helplessly. His fingers are steel pinchers, cutting off my oxygen with humiliating ease.
“Easy, Butcher. We don’t want any permanent damage.”
The voice is feminine, so human that I crane my neck to look despite my precarious situation. My view is disturbed when Butcher releases his grip and hurls me across the floor. The drywall finally stops my flight with a crunch like breaking bones.
The Dogmen enter, all slaver and snarls. I have nothing in the way of possessions, but they break what they can anyway as they pass. I try to recapture my ability to breathe as the room distorts with my vision.
When I can finally see, the view is of a pair of gleaming onyx heels that stab the floor like daggers. A black velvet skirt swallows the well-toned calves. The ebony coat is military cut, but it’s the face that fixates my attention. It is pale as cream, hard as steel and cold as a winter storm. The raven hair which frames it is closely cropped as if to deny her femininity. An officer’s hat perches on top with the Dog of War emblazoned in silver.
“Can you get up? Or do I need Butcher to assist you?” Her voice is clipped and businesslike. It is the voice of someone used to giving orders. I don’t have to possess all my senses to recognize the threat behind the words. Her hand rests on the handle of a holstered pistol. The very fact that she is armed would mark her as an officer even without the uniform.
I manage to pick myself off the floor.
“That’s better. Now state your name.”
“Franklin. Franklin Gamble.”
I immediately wince at the transgression. I wish I could blame it on the dizziness, but I’m really not sure why my mouth would behave so disloyally. Butcher takes a threatening step toward me, but the woman stops him with a sharp gesture.
“Franklin Gamble, is it?” She takes a look at a sheet of paper in her gloved hand and regretfully shakes her head. “You disappoint me, CZN 4891. That is your registered label, is it not?”
Of course it is.
But for some obscene reason my mouth continues to refuse compliance by offering the required response. My throat constricts, smothering the words to death in the humid prison of my throat.
The other Dogmen trample the stairs to splinters as they descend, rescuing me from my mute display. One of them carries my death sentence in hand. His growl has a distinctly satisfied tone.
“The fool had this in plain sight.”
The crimson letters practically scream my treason. The woman in black barely glances at the placard before returning her attention to me. Her eyes are pools of ink that betray no emotion.
“We’re too late, then. Take him.”
Something strikes the back of my head, and I sink into the darkness of her unblinking gaze.
Chapter 3
The door splinters inward and I see their twisted, inhuman faces. The suited figures snarl, delighting in her screams. She pulls her son away from the table, disrupting the tablecloth. A mug of coffee slides across and falls to the floor.
The pottery shatters. Warm liquid pools across the tiles. I see my reflection upon its surface: the fear on my face, my mouth open in a scream of pain and rage and hate. I stretch out my hand, but cannot touch them, cannot come to their aid. The Dogmen that have me pinned to the ground are too heavy, their blows rain upon my head with relentless insistence for my submission.
I feel no pain, only terror as she and the child are pulled away from me, lost in a sea of flailing limbs and snarling faces. Our screams mingle in chorus as they are snatched through the door while I lie helpless, my face shoved against floorboards slick with my own blood…
WA
KE
UP
“Easy, now. Easy. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
The voice is disturbingly familiar. My eyes open to blindness. Nothing exists except glaring light.
“They scanned you. Checked your brain for implants. They’re afraid you’ve been tampered with. Inserted with mental suggestions.” He chuckles. “The oppressor always accuses the other party of the tactics they themselves are guilty of.”
Jack pulls the lens light back, allowing my vision to adjust. He is dressed in medical scrubs with a surgeon mask over his face. But his eyes smile all the same as he continues to disorient me with his words.
“They refuse to acknowledge we are as technologically savvy as they are. That arrogance is what allows us to infiltrate their system right under their nose.”
I sit up shakily, trying to take in my surroundings. Jack removes his mask and takes a seat directly across from me in the claustrophobic cabin. He appears as calm and bemused as ever as he regards me quietly.
Laser lights zip by outside the darkened narrow window. Glimmering bullets streak across long metallic rails at speeds so fast that the only thing visible is the glimmering blur. I am traveling, it seems, although the movement is so smooth I cannot feel the momentum. Which could only mean…
“We are on a train, Franklin. Do you remember cars? When individuals could go where they wished without being monitored? Those days are long past, of course. With the transit system, you can only go where you are directed.”
His gesture takes in the entire cabin. “This is an exception, of course. One of the Sovereign’s private transports. You are in the heart of enemy territory.”
I blink slowly. “Enemy? Why…why are you here? What do you want from me?”
“The better question is: what do you want from yourself?” He looks at me patiently.
I frown as the thought slowly stumbles across my mind. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
His eyes pierce, seeing past my lies. “What do you see when the lights are out and all you have are your thoughts to keep you company?”
The woman with autumn hair and laughing eyes along with the child who shares her features…
I immediately turn away to dismiss the intruding vision. “I think of nothing. You should leave. It is better to be silent. We need only know what we need to know.”