The Sun Dwellers (41 page)

Anna clings to this faint and distant torch of hope as she hops the wall, sprints across a back patio, and ducks behind the next wall. Using this method, the women erase one block from the distance between them and the church. One block to go.

Voices shout through the thick and dusty air, but she’s unable to ascertain their direction or distance. When they fade and don’t return, she leads Maia across the next block, sticking to the shadows and narrow side and rear laneways. Every once and a while she stops to listen for the enemy, tilting her ears in each direction like an animal.

In this manner, they reach the church unseen. Ducking behind a boulder the size of a truck, she surveys the destruction zone.

“Which entrance should we try?” Maia asks.

Given the entire topside of the church collapsed on the primary entrance, the amount of heavy rock and cement is an impenetrable fortress, one made dangerous by shifting rubble and unexpected pockets of empty air. It could take days to dig them out that way.

“Secondary entrance. We’ll be more exposed, but there’s much less blockage.”

Maia nods. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“I’ll go out first,” Anna says. “Just in case someone’s watching the area.” She starts to move out, but Maia puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“We’re doing this together.”

Anna sighs, half-concerned, half-relieved. “I thought you might say that.”

Chapter Thirteen

T
he women steal out into the open, their eyes flicking rapidly in every direction. They reach the entrance to the bunker, where the original chunk of stone that blocked their return to the base has been joined by two dozen other smaller hunks of stone shrapnel. Through small gaps in the blocks, Anna determines that half the tunnel has caved in beyond the exterior blockage. Through the muddle of brown and gray rocks, a muffled sound arises:
thunk, thunk, thunk.

“They’re there,” she says excitedly. “They’re trying to break through.” A rush of hope flows into her, giving her just the spark of energy she needs. “C’mon, let’s do our part from this side. Start with the small pieces, work our way up to the big ones.”

For a half hour they struggle and strain against the weight of the “small pieces,” which are anywhere from twenty to eighty pounds, some so heavy it takes both of them just to roll them off the pile. Every second Anna expects to hear the chatter of sun dweller gunfire, but it never comes. Removing the next to last of the small stones, she wipes a dirty hand across her dirty forehead, trying to keep the sweat out of her eyes. Maia’s face is equally filthy. “There,” she says, prying off the final manageable chunk and watching it crash from the pile.

Breathing heavily, Anna says, “Now for the big ones. We’ll need to find something to use as a lever.”

Together they search for something—anything—that might give them a chance at success. Anna leads them onto the pile that was once a church, moving slowly to avoid alerting any spying eyes to their presence. Atop the pile, Anna scans the surrounding area, immediately spotting three sets of red uniforms blotted against the drab landscape. The arrogance and stupidity of the sun dwellers as evidenced by their uniforms, she thinks.

“Stay down,” she warns Maia. Together they flatten themselves against the pile until each of the groups move out of sight.

They take turns searching for a lever while the other one keeps watch. Anna’s taking her second turn searching when she sees it. A long, metal pole, decorated with an exquisite brass handle at one end, with beautiful ornamental designs of the Sun, Moon, and Star Realm insignias painted on the side. At the other end is a cap with a bronze cross. The pole was likely used for some ancient ritual involving the salvation of those attending the church. Now it will be used for a similar purpose, she thinks, only this time it will involve the salvation of all of us.

She pulls it from under a boulder, cringing as the steel shrieks along the sharp edge of the stone. “Take this,” she says, feeding the handled end to Maia.

“This is perfect,” Maia says, taking it. With Anna holding the cross-end and Maia the handle, they climb down the pile, returning to the secondary bunker entrance.

They test out the lever on several medium-sized rocks, jamming the cross-end beneath them and using their collective strength to force the loads up and off the pile. With each small victory, Anna’s energy wanes and the steel rod bends more and more. After the sixth rock is removed, she says, “We need to try to remove that big one before us or the pole breaks.”

In agreement, Maia shoves the cross under the largest block of all, the one that originally trapped them on the outside. Taking their positions, Anna on the outside, Maia on the inside, they lean on the steel cylinder, trying to force their entire weight down on the end of the lever.

Nothing.

Gritting her teeth, Anna continues pushing, determined not to let a hunk of rock get the better of her. Finally, it starts to give way, but then—

CRACK!
She cries out as the rod gives way beneath her, catapulting her headfirst. She crashes on her shoulder and neck, pain lancing through her back and into her legs. Something falls on her, and she gasps as the air leaves her chest.

“Oomf!” Maia grunts, coming to rest on top of her. “General! Are you okay?” she asks, rolling to the side.

For a minute Anna can’t breathe as she bites at the air, fruitlessly trying to capture it. Then finally: whoosh! She gets a full breath down her throat and her lungs inflate. Panting, she says, “I’m okay, you just knocked the wind out of me, and—”

She cringes as she tries to stand, feeling pain roar through her body.

“General, let me help you,” Maia says, grabbing her under the arms. “What hurts?”

Anna thinks for a second, blinking away stars and tears. “Everything at the moment,” she says, wishing it was a joke.

“Okay. You rest, I’ll try again.”

“Forget about it. I might be older than you, but I’m just as tough. Give me a sec. I’ll help.”

While Anna prepares herself for a whole new world of pain, Maia retrieves the pole. “The cross snapped off, that’s what caused the problem,” Maia explains, showing Anna the mangled end of the rod.

“Good. Then it shouldn’t happen again.” That’s when she hears it: a shudder of the earth, a slight tremor caused by something below the surface.

“It’s them!” Maia says elatedly. “They’re trying to blast their way out.”

Anna cranes her neck and hears voices now, still muffled but closer than the sound of the pickaxes she heard earlier. “Let’s help them out,” she says, arching her sore back to stretch it out, feeling her muscles groan in protest.

Maia plunges the naked tip of the rod back under the massive tombstone block, and then reassumes her position on the inside of the lever. Anna joins her, says, “One, two, three,” and then they jump up, using gravity and body weight and raw strength to shove the metal downwards. Plumes of pain roll up through her back and neck, causing a spontaneous headache that throbs in the back of her skull. Her arms ache from the last hour of exertion and stress and killing. But still she presses on. As before, nothing happens at first. Thirty seconds pass and she feels her veins popping out as she holds her breath, trying to push a little harder.

It happens.

The block starts to move, and this time it’s not in preparation to snap the end of the rod off; rather, it moves up under the pressure driven from the back end of the lever all the way to the front. It’s just a slight bob upward, but the movement is enough to allow Maia to shove the pole further under, giving them even greater leverage. Anna keeps pushing, pushing, pushing, harder than she ever has except maybe during childbirth.

An inch of movement turns into half a foot and then a foot—and then the block is teetering on its edge, pushed from behind by the lever and pulled from the front by gravity. With a final shove, Anna and Maia break the tie, sending the block tumbling from the entrance, down a small incline, where it lands with a satisfying and dangerous
Thud!

Anna’s smile is reflected on Maia’s face, neither of them needing words to express their shared sense of accomplishment and hope.

As they stare down at their fallen foe, there’s a rush of feet as dozens of sun dweller soldiers pour from behind houses and buildings, a flooding river of red.

Anna closes her eyes and prepares to draw her weapon; she won’t be taken alive.

Her last regret: that Maia will probably die along with her.

Chapter Fourteen

F
rom behind the stone block, they fire their weapons again and again, dropping a dozen sun dwellers before the
click click click
of their weapons informs them that they’re out of ammo, out of luck, and out of time.

Looking at Maia, Anna says, “You’ve done good, kid. I’m proud of you.”

Maia looks back at her, her eyes filled with tears of sadness and maybe a hint of pride. She says, “It was an honor to serve with you, general.”

Anna nods and then does the only thing that might keep them alive. She tosses her gun out, yells, “We surrender!”

Slowly, she raises her hands above her head, expecting her fingers to be blown off at any second. No one shoots, so she stands up, seeing only red and black. At least thirty red-uniformed soldiers move in on her, their black guns trained on her head and chest. “There’s one other with me,” Anna says, so as to not surprise them when they see Maia.

Maia rises up slowly, follows Anna out into the open, leaving her spent gun behind the rock.

Surrounded, Anna gazes at the faces around her. Angry, bloodthirsty, scowling. Not friends. A man steps forward, his uniform decorated with several ribbons and silver medals. An important man. The leader of these men. He says, “By order of President Nailin of the Tri-Realms, we are authorized to put you to death for resisting the laws and statutes of the government. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Anna’s not listening anymore. She’s remembering her daughters on a day long ago, their identical jet-black hair swirling around their backs as they run through the house, full of energy and imagination as they play some made up game that she never really understood. Their expressions of pure childish delight on their faces mask the truth of their situation. They have no money. They have no food. They’ll be lucky to last the year. And yet Adele and Elsey find joy in each other.

One foot in the past and one in the middle of a war, Anna smiles, content with the life she’s lived, sad that she’ll never see her daughters again, but proud of who they are, what they’ve accomplished. She hopes Adele will forgive her for implanting the microchip, that she’ll understand why she did it, that she’ll realize what she was hoping to accomplish. She closes her eyes and her husband’s face appears as she prepares to meet him on the other side.

“Nothing to say? Good. That makes things quicker. Shoot them,” the man says.

Feet scuffle nearby as her executioners step into position. She waits for the
bang!
and the burn of hot metal in her body, but instead there’s a crackle of static and then a voice.

“Ceasefire!” the voice says. “Under order of President Nailin, ceasefire!”

Anna opens her eyes.

THE END

~*~

BOOK
1
OF THE
COUNTRY
SAGA

Available anywhere e-books are sold
March 1, 2013
!

Chapter
One

W
hen I’m sixteen and reach the midpoint of my life I will have my first child. Not because I want to, or because I made a silly decision with a strapping young boy after sneaking a few sips of my father’s fire juice, but because I must. It is the law of my people; a law that has kept us alive and thriving for many years. A law I fear.

I learned all about the ways of the world when I turned seven: the bleeding time, what I would have to do with a man when I turned sixteen, and how the baby—my baby—would grow inside me for nine months. Even though it all seemed like a hundred years distant at the time, I cried for two days. Now that it’s less than a year away, I’m too scared to cry.

Veeva told me all about the pain. She’s seventeen, and her baby’s five months old and “uglier than one of the hairy ol’ warts on the Medicine Man’s feet.” Or at least that’s how she describes Polk. Me, I think he’s sort of cute, in a scrunched up, fat-cheeked kind of way. Well, anyway, she said to me, “Siena, you never felt pain so
burnin’
fierce. I screamed and screamed…and then screamed some more. And then this ugly
tug
of a baby comes out all red-faced and oozy. And now I’m stuck with it.” I didn’t remind her Polk’s a
him
not an
it.

I already knew about her screaming. Everyone in the village knew about Veeva’s screaming. She sounded like a three ton tug stuck in a bog hole. Veeva’s always cursing, too, throwing around words like
burnin’
and
searin’
and
blaze
—words that would draw my father’s hand across my face like lightning if I ever let them slip out of my mouth—like they’re nothing more than common language.