Ethereal

Capture

Loud voices shook me out of my sleep, early morning light peeking through the cracks of the truck door. From the absence of the motor’s hum and the stillness of the truck bed I knew we had stopped. Had I already arrived at the Sacramento Providence? I racked my brain trying to think of how many days had passed since I had smuggled myself into the truck – I had slept through two nights and about a day and a half’s journey. Surely, we couldn’t be there already? Maybe the Citadel officials had stopped for gas. These huge trucks still needed gas to run, right?

The voices from outside the truck got louder as they closed in on the back of the truck, and even though I tried I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The walls around me were too thick or the stranger’s words were too rushed; either way I knew if I didn’t act quickly my trip would come to a very sudden halt.

I looked around wildly and threw myself into the back in the tight corner where I had found the jug of water. I pressed myself between a crate and the wall, keeping my breaths small to keep my ribs from jutting angrily against the metal and wood.

The voices turned into footsteps and bright flashlight beams that scanned around the cabin. I peered around my crate, my fingers digging into my bag as I saw two dark outlines move around the bed of the truck.

“Did you check the corners?” said one of the officials, his voice sounded as though he had just gotten over a bad cough.

“Not yet,” said the other official, a woman. I waited as I heard her footsteps echo closer to where I was hidden. I sucked in one deep breath and then held it, not daring to move so much as an inch.

Her flashlight glazed over the top of my crate, the shadows arching high over my head and against the wall. There was a small grunt as the woman tried and failed to fit herself into the tight space, and then a huff as she gave up. I slowly let out the breath I had been holding as I listened to her footsteps recede.

“It’s clear. Tell the driver he can enter through the city’s gates.” Said the woman official. Her voice sounded clipped and irritated. Not being able to fit into the corner must have really upset her.

My heart was still pumping erratically in my chest, so loud I thought for sure the officials would hear it until they slammed the truck door shut and locked it. I waited for a moment before pushing myself out of my hiding spot and crawling back to my old wall where I slept. Letting my bag fall from my hands I leaned my head against the wall and counted my heartbeats until I felt the familiar jerk of the truck as it began to move.

The officials must have set up checkpoint guards for the Sacramento Providence. They were checking the cabin for any stowaways before it entered the city. I thanked my lucky stars that the official hadn’t been able to see all the way into my corner – if she had I don’t know what would’ve happened.

Gravel crunched against the tires as small bits of rock were flung up against the metal of the truck, creating what sounded like little pecking noises as we entered the Providence. The sunlight grew in intensity as we continued deeper into the Citadel, making me turn away from the back of the truck to ease the pain in my eyes.

Not long after the truck stopped again, only this time instead of hiding I had a plan.

I would hide near the opening of the truck, and once the back door opened, I would make a break for it. It wasn’t the best plan ever, but I couldn’t exactly hide in a crate and hope someone would carry me out undetected. For one thing, there was no way for me to lock myself in, and if a guard noticed one of the latches open, they might get suspicious.

If I just make a break for it there was a greater possibility I could hide under the truck and avoid detection until nobody was around. Then I would make my move, and I could venture into the Citadel undetected.

I pulled my bag over my shoulders and made my way to the truck’s back door, hanging onto nearby crates incase the truck hit a bump and I would go flying again. I crouched down by stayed on my knees, my blood pumping with adrenaline as I psyched myself up for what I was about to do. I could only hope and pray that these officials were only carrying long sticks like the officials back at the township and didn’t have any guns.

The minutes that ticked by felt like hours as I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet. The adrenaline that used to lace my blood with electricity was now giving me a dull headache that throbbed intently.

Just as I began to wonder if the truck was ever going to stop, the screeching of the brakes jolted me forward. I would have crashed into the metal door had I not been gripping the neighboring crates for support. My nails ached as the truck came to a full stop and I let go of the wood, but I didn’t dare look away from the door. The gate would open at any moment, and I needed to focus.

With the truck’s engine now silent I could hear the voices of multiple people surrounding the truck, their loud voices and hurried footsteps only adding to my anxiety.

The gate suddenly flung open and the harsh morning sunlight flooded the truck bed, blinding me. My hands shot up to cover my eyes and I crouched even lower to the ground to avoid being seen. Spending several days in a dark transport truck had left me sensitive to the sunlight – something I should have considered while thinking of my escape. My original plan of bolting right as the door opened was now moot.

As I waited for my eyes to adjust, I listened for approaching officials. The heat from the outside rolled into the truck bed in large waves, making my clothes feel scratchy and far too tight. While the voices I heard earlier were now louder, none of them came near the truck’s opening. They were probably under orders to unpack it later, giving me a window of opportunity to escape undetected.

I rubbed my eyes so hard I thought I felt them rubbing against the back of my skull. The sunlight was still too bright for me, but it was becoming more bearable by the minute. I pulled myself up from my hiding spot and moved closer to the opening, straining to hear for any footsteps headed in my direction.

I peered through the gate and stole a quick glance around me, and my heart sank. The truck had been parked out in the middle of the official’s compound, a desert-like place with only make-shift tents for cover that I wouldn’t dare hide myself in. The sun beat down intently, making the red soil glow below me. There was no other choice – I either had to stay and wait to be seen or make a run for it.

With one hand shielding the sun out of my eyes and the other gripping the wall, I slipped out of the truck and landed softly onto the coarse sand beneath me. The sunlight was less painful for my eyes as they began to adjust to the world around me, and I already felt the first buds of sweat form behind my neck. Once I was out of sight, I would have to change into something lighter.

I looked wildly around me, craning my neck trying to see anything beyond the towering tents around me. Which way was the citizen sector? I had no idea. Time was against me, my luck already wearing thin. I needed to move, now.

My eyes settled to a spot of two closely tied tents with a small space between them that was covered in a dark shadow. Maybe I could -

“Not another move.” said a voice.

I froze, my fingers gripping the sides of the truck so tightly I knew that if I looked down at them they would be bone white. A rough hand grabbed me by my hair, flinging my head backwards so I was looking up at the sky. They kicked my knees inward and I fell to the ground and my grip on the truck was ripped away, nearly taking my arm with it. I tried not to grimace as I fell into a patch of muddy red clay.

The static of a radio buzzed behind me, and the man, who must an official, spoke gruffly into the receiver so lowly that I couldn’t make out any of his words. I knew that whatever he was saying couldn’t be anything good.

Without warning I was whisked upwards into the air before landing on two shaky feet, the official forcing me forward into an awkward trot as he steered me into the closest tent.

The tent was small, being only the size of a quaint apartment living room. Through the dirty tendrils of my hair I could make out a narrow neatly made cot, a desk that held no sign of ever being touched by a living person, and a one-person table that stood pathetically on the far side of the tent, where I assumed to be where this official eats. Either no one has ever occupied this tent, or whoever does is the biggest neat freak known to man.

The official stopped me in the middle of the room, and with one hand holding me by the hair, he uses the other to grab the metal chair next to the desk and pulled it over. The metal scraped over bare dirt and stone, making scratching noises similar to nails on a chalkboard. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end as an uncomfortable tingling sensation crawled up my back, making me grind my teeth.

One swift yank on my hair and I was suddenly sitting in a chair with my back still turned away from the official. I couldn’t help but feel embittered from the fact that this man might have just cost me the one opportunity of freedom and reunion to my family. I was going to die here, in this ugly compound, among strangers.

I felt the sharp burn of cords wrapping themselves around my wrists and ankles. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out as I felt my bones shift from under the pressure, my muscles already beginning to cramp up as he secured my arms behind my back. I sure hoped someone was going to offer me some lotion for those rope burns.

The official grabbed the back of my chair and spun me so I no longer faced the entryway, but the back of the tent. With no wall décor, I was left to stare at a blank white wall. Surely death would be better than this?

“I don’t suppose you have any reading material while I wait?” I said. Silence answered me, and for a moment I wondered if the guard had left the tent until I felt his hands back on the rope, making sure his knots were tight enough.

“Not much of a talker, I see.” I said, filling the silence. The one thing that I hated more than having my master plan foiled was to sit in a room with only my thoughts screaming at each other inside my head. “Not to worry, I can talk for the both of us. So, I suppose I should start with my name. You can call me Mistress of the Nigh – “

The next moment I was on the floor, pain shooting down my spine as a groan vibrated from my throat.

I blinked haphazardly, seeing double of everything as my vision came in and out of focus. What the hell happened? A deep ache radiated from the side of my head, nearly making me vomit up the already dismal contents of my stomach. The bastard must have hit me. The audacity.

Several small pebbles had found their way into my mouth and were free floating in the back of my throat as I coughed from a dirt cloud that swirled in front of my face. Luckily, I didn’t feel any blood dripping down my neck, or else I’d be dealing with an infection on top of everything else that was currently on happening.

I closed my eyes and prayed for the pain echoing inside my head to subside and that my vision would return to normal and that my stomach would settle. I let my head rest into the dirt below me. My fingers held tight to the knots that bound them as I took a deep breath, letting the muscles in my body relax.

Just as I felt the pain ebb on the edges of my massive headache, the world spun all over again as the official pulled my chair upright. My neck flopped straight, and I thought I felt my spine crack all the way down my back.

I spit out the dirt and rocks that had found haven under my tongue. Half of the wad landed a few inches from my feet, and the other half on my lap. Though I was barely conscious, embarrassment flooded my cheeks. If I wasn’t concussed, I’d probably try to muster up another loogie to prove to this official I could shoot spit wads better than that, to prove to him that I really was one of the guys.

“You know, it’s okay if you’re too shy to talk right now.” I said, pressing my luck. For all I knew, this asshole was going to punch me in the head again. But pride hurts more than pain, and if I was going down today, then I’ll be damned if I don’t say the last word. It’s the least I can do for him after he ruined my vacation plans.

“Shut up,” he says, his voice like tires grinding over gravel.

“It’s a miracle – the mute can speak.” I say sarcastically. He ignored me, and I heard the soft sound of his footsteps as he retreated out of the tent. Most likely he’s going to inform his superior of my presence in their compound, and if I was lucky, they would kill me on site.

If not… they would send me to the Camp.

The Camp may seem like a merciful sentence, but any knowledgeable and logical person knew that the Camp itself was a death sentence. A slow, prolonged, painful death sentence. For anyone who was strong enough to hold a plow, they were sent to the fields that grew most of Sacramento’s food supply a few miles away from Camp walls. For those who couldn’t work – they waited until they starved to death if disease didn’t take them first.

A part of me tried to fight, to try just one more time, to stay alive and escape. But the rest of me was so tired. I felt it in the base of my feet, making me feel as though I was sinking into the earth, chair and all. It had buried itself deep into my muscles with an aching pinch every time I moved. It had crawled into my bones, burrowing like vermin and hibernating there for the winter. Though every cell of my body screamed at me to fight, I remained still.

Keep going, I told myself. You have to keep going. You’ve come so far.

A deep, shuddering breath rattled out of my lungs. I shut my eyes and let my head fall back. My neck rolled so my chin rested on my shoulder, and I lazily opened my eyes. What I saw immediately made me sit up straight.

Left by the official on top of the desk that had never been touched by a living, breathing soul, was my salvation.

An extra piece of rope.

I moved my arms so they were directly behind me and shuffled them underneath me until they reached my knees. From there I pulled up my legs and lifted my arms out from under them. The official, for some reason unbeknownst to me, didn’t attach my ropes to the chair.

Only as I stood up and tried to hobble to the desk did I realize the answer – I never would have made it far with my hands and feet tied together. I would have to army crawl through the thick mud in a compound crawling with officials in order to escape – he probably didn’t think it was worth his time.

With three hops and several instances of almost falling flat on my face, I held the extra piece of rope in my hands. I shuffled back to the chair and sat down. I looped the small rope around the outside of the knots of the rope tying my feet and grabbed each end of my rope with both hands. I then began to move the rope back and forth in a saw-like motion, ignore the burning in my shoulders and wrists as the knots slowly began to tear apart.

Sweat dripped down the length of my spine but I continued to work. With every passing moment I thought the official was going to walk back into the tent with a gun or another official and catch me trying to escape, and with that I would be shot on the spot. The thought of it made me saw at the ropes faster.

At long last I felt it – a knot give way. I dropped the piece of rope and fingered the rope tying my feet, pulling at a few last strands that remained. The strand of rope fell away, and I quickly unwrapped the remaining rope from my ankles.

I stood up, my feet now free, and looked down at my bound hands. There was no way I could use the rope to cut those off too. I went back to the desk and searched through the drawers, searching for anything sharp that might get me out of this.

Each drawer turned up either empty or filled with blank sheets of paper. Endless paper – you’d think the person who lived in this tent ran a professional printing business on the side with how much damn printing paper this guy had.

A shuffling next to the opening of the tent made me whip my head back around. They were coming, and my time was running out. My hands would have to wait.

I strode to the edge of the tent and dove at the ground, clawing through the dirt and the red clay and the rocks as I made a hole. My fingers barely made more than a few inches of depth before I heard footsteps and voices growing closer to the tent. I gave up and dived at the gap between the tent wall and the dirt.

I felt my scalp drag against the bottom of the tent as I slid under it. Had it not rained the night before, there would have been no way I could have fit. Thankfully my body sank into the clay, and the slickness of it allowed me to slide right on through.

My hands anchored themselves into the earth as I heaved myself up onto my feet, my hair flying in one muddy heap over my shoulders as the bright blue sky filled my eyes. That, and the bright black gleam of the official’s chest plate that stood in front of me.

I looked at my reflection through the official’s black mask, seeing my dirtied faced with smudges of red clinging to my cheeks staring back at me. I could really use a shower.

“You’re determined, I’ll give you that.” He said. Through the haze of my adrenaline, I thought I heard a note of admiration in his voice. Just as he reached for me, I saw his hand twitch at an awkward angle, as though he had an uncontrollable tick.

Then for a moment, just a moment, I thought I saw the edges of his figure faze out in a strange unreal way, and then my vision turned to darkness. I floated away into a dreamless sleep.