Controllers
Book 1
By Lynnie Purcell
Edited by: Benjamin Locke
Illustrated by: Tatiana Vila
All rights reserved 2014 Lynnie Purcell
Copyright 2014 Lynnie Purcell
Chapter 1
“Would you hurry up, Bree?” Max, my brother, demands impatiently.
I ignore him and stare at the flowers growing on the edge of a large boulder. The velvet petals look vivid and soft against the backdrop of mossy stone. Dew from the previous day’s rain still clings to the petals. A light breeze pushes the flowers back and forth lazily. The breeze is warm and smells of fresh water and pine needles. It smells of the forest I call home. The flowers have my attention far more than Max's irritable expression.
“Devlin told me about these,” I say. “They’re eatable.”
“So are deer and birds,” Max points out.
“But we don’t have to hunt for these,” I point out. “And they’re rare. He said it's hard to find them just anywhere. Just...Be quiet. I’m going to collect them whether you’re talking or not, so you might as well save your voice.”
"I'm not worried about my voice. I'm worried about returning to camp empty-handed because you want to stare at a flower for half the day," he replies.
"I'd be done already if you'd shut up," I snap at him.
"Fine. Collect your stupid flower,” Max replies grumpily.
"I will," I say primly.
I pull a handkerchief out of my bag and gently wrap two of the flowers in the fabric. I stick the handkerchief back in my bag and zip it up. I put the bag over my shoulder and turn back to Max, who is wearing the simple brown and black of our handmade clothes and staring at me irritably.
“See? Your complaining made that twice as long as it had to be,” I point out.
“I wasn’t complaining,” Max says. “I just don’t want the trail to go cold.”
“Five minutes ago you were talking about how easy this hunt will be,” I say.
“That was five minutes ago. A lot has changed since then.”
I know he's teasing me. His warm, brown eyes are sparkling with repressed laughter. I roll my eyes at him. “You’re impossible,” I decide.
“Proudly,” he replies with a crooked grin.
It's a grin many of the girls at camp find attractive. I've heard them talking about him often enough, though it's difficult for me to think of Max as anything but the brother who has always looked out for me. Even putting his name in the same sentence as attractive feels wrong.
We have the same black hair, heart-shaped face, and long nose, but my common features are made delicate on his face. He's the tallest eighteen-year-old in camp, and our days spent either hunting or learning to fight with Devlin has filled him out in ways the other boys at camp often speak of with jealousy. There are very few people in camp who can face Max in a fight and win. I like to think of myself as one of them, but I know I wouldn't last long if he really wanted to take me down, not that I would ever fight with Max. He's the only family I have. We look out for each other in ways others do not. And we definitely don't fight.
A dull thap-thap-thap surrounds the woods as he turns to smile at me. We both know the sound. Devlin has trained us to listen for it. We don't hear it often, as we are far enough away from the city not to be subjected to regular sweeps, but once is enough.
It's a drone, and it's heading our way.
Max’s reaction is quicker than mine. He closes the distance between us and pulls me to the ground and back so that the rock shields us from the sky. We both know that the rocks distort our heat signature, particularly on such a sunny, warm day. With any luck, the drone will think our heat is a result of an animal or a faulty reader.
The idea of a drone nearby worries me. I can't understand what one is doing so far from the city. The government doesn't often like to risk drones in the forest. They get lost and shot down by the rebels. Not many come back. It's pointless to send them out because they can't police the woods like they can the city. It doesn't make any sense.
I hold my breath. It won’t keep the drone from sensing us, but I do it all the same. My heart races out of control and my mind goes through all the possible outcomes of the drone seeing us. We could be killed. We could be taken. We could potentially bring trouble to camp and get a lot of innocent people hurt. There is no good option.
Max’s face has lost all of its teasing and fun. He's serious and tense as he stares up at the bit of sky we can see. My arm has gone numb from how hard he's squeezing it, but I don’t complain. I'm too focused on the drone to care.
The thap-thap-thap moves closer, then I hear the brutal sound of rapid gunfire from deeper in the woods. It sounds like it's coming from two different kinds of automatic weapons. One side is using the older, gun powdered weapons; the other side is using the electric powered weapons the government issues. There's a fight nearby. It's the first time I've heard fighting in the woods around my home. None of the rebels - remnants of fighters who refuse to admit they lost the war nine years ago - are brave enough to get so close to the city. It's one reason our leader, Angela, chose to put camp so close to the city. She's smart enough to use the city’s reputation to our benefit.
Max and I know the woods very well. We know the gunfire is coming from the west, the same direction the drone is headed. The closest cover from our current position is to the east and is a quarter mile away.
“The caves,” Max whispers as the gunfire moves closer. "We can run for it."
“The drone will see us,” I whisper back.
“It’s focused on the fighting...And the fight is coming this way. We need to move. Now!”
His mind is made up. Our stubbornness is a shared trait. Once either of us make a decision, there is no convincing us of another point of view. He pulls me away from the rock with a firm tug to make me stop arguing. I run with him, my mind entirely focused on where we are headed instead of on the sounds of fighting. Escape is more important than understanding the violence.
My head pounds with every hit of my foot on the ground and my breathing turns heavy. I keep picturing a blast of light from above and Max and me falling to the forest floor dead. It's happened to other refugees. We've all heard the stories. The government does not take kindly to camps, particularly ones run by ex-rebels looking for a bit of peace.
Despite my fear of the situation, my body knows what it's doing. Instinct has taken over. It focuses on the survival training and lessons Devlin has put me through. It knows what to do without thought. For the first time in my life, I am glad for his rough lessons and his persistence.
We cover the quarter mile far faster than the fighters do. Max stops running when we see the wall of rock to our left. He ducks under the lip of the largest rock and then painfully wiggles his body through a smaller opening. If the rock peeling away his skin hurts, he doesn't show it. I throw him my bag and squeeze through the hole after him. I do not have to struggle nearly as much. I'm lanky, with long arms and legs, but I am not as big as him. We press our faces against the wet stone and listen quietly for the drones, the fighting, anything that can tell us what's going on. We stand pressed against the stone for what feels like an eon. The sounds are moving towards us. They rattle the earth and bend the air.
I picture the path the fighters are taking through the woods. I know where they're headed. If they keep moving east, they will eventually reach the city. The people fighting the government soldiers will never survive should the fight go that far. It's a suicide mission. I worry about camp. The shield keeps us hidden, but it is not as strong as it once was. The power supply needs to be changed. It can't protect the people against a direct attack. I don't want the fighters to get in a lucky sh
ot and discover my home.
Max pulls me deeper into the recess of the tiny cave as the fighting draws closer. A minute later, they're directly outside. The screaming and gunfire pounds electric through my chest. It's like someone has shocked me. The cave echoes with people shouting in rage and pain. They're dying; their screams are full of inhuman loss. I can't bear it. I put my hands over my ears and wait for the sounds to stop.
Max puts his hand on my shoulder in an attempt to calm me. It just makes me realize how scared he is. His hand is trembling. In his other hand, he holds his rifle. His arm is tense and coiled as he waits to see if we will be discovered. He will fight if he has to. I will too. I know that fighting is the worst option. It means death.
The government always wins. We both know it. It's a lesson the others at camp have drilled into us for as long as I can remember.
A dusting of dirt sprinkles our heads as we wait breathlessly for the fighting to pass. Someone is tossing grenades. It's shaking the entire forest. I don’t know if the cave can survive the detonations. It's trembling almost as much as Max’s hand.
Max jumps slightly as a hard thump on the other side of the narrow passage rattles the ground. He pulls me out of his way with a quiet grunt, more of his skin getting peeled away by the rock at the movement, and raises his rifle, but he knows better than to shoot. The sound will deafen us. He needs space.
He steps forward and cautiously peers through the opening. I look over his shoulder. He takes another step and then another. He keeps his rifle pointed up and his hands steady. He lowers his weapon finally and puts his fingers to his lips to keep me from asking questions. I nod and he leans against the wall again to listen to the fighting.
I can’t see as much as he can, but the light from outside is enough to see a solid shape and warm color. It's a person’s hand. Someone has been shot and has fallen into our cave. I don’t know if the person is dead. There's no way to tell from where I'm standing. The lack of noise coming from the person is deafening.
The fighting continues for another five minutes. It doesn't fade away. And unlike the sound of the fighting moving from one direction to another, the shooting simply stops. One of the sides has lost the battle. The silence is as alarming as the screams that preceded it. It means the survivors now have time to explore their surroundings. They will find us. I don’t think either side of the fight will be particularly cordial to strangers.
The rebels are as bad as the government.
The thap-thap-thap has disappeared as well. I don’t know if it means the drone has left the fight or if someone has shot it down. I don’t want to go outside to find out. Max has another opinion. He puts his finger to his lips again, not that I need to be told to keep quiet, and moves to the opening. He can’t see anything beyond the larger opening of the cave. He has to get closer to find out what's going on. He has to take the risk. He takes another step forward, then another. I don’t try to stop him, though my heart is beating wildly at the possibilities of what awaits us.
I follow him closely. There is no way I'm going to let him leave my sight. If there's a fight, we have to protect each other. Max reaches the larger opening and crouches down low. I do the same, and we move to the closest cover outside the cave, a large, round rock. Together, we peer over the top.
The fighting is over. Both sides are dead. There is proof all around me that several of the fighters had continued fighting with multiple gunshot wounds. They had kept fighting until they bled out. It was startlingly surreal to see so many dead people lying on a green bed of ferns, the light streaming in with majestic peacefulness and the trees swaying slightly in the warm breeze. Goosebumps erupt along my arms. I turn back and see the person who had fallen in the cave is dead. It's a man, and his eyes are wide and staring. He's looking right at me.
The tops of the trees above us have been cut and broken in a straight, long line. Burning bits of black metal are fifty feet in front of us. The drone has fallen. Someone actually managed to shoot it down; someone was brave enough not to care about the consequences.
I take in the differences between the fighters last. It's difficult to see them as different when they are all so similar in death. Half of the fighters are wearing the white of the government's RFA soldiers. They are dressed for combat, with large helmets that cover most of their faces and thick, white vests that conform to their bodies. The other half of the fighters are wearing armor that looks like it has been looted from the dead. Nothing about the outfits is uniform, save for the blue patches with a yellow sun that most of them wear on their right arms. The rebels are wearing the same type of brown and black home-spun clothing that Max and I wear. An equal number of men and women are on the ground.
“We need to go,” Max decides, grabbing my hand. “We don’t know if there are more of them.”
“Wouldn’t they be here already?” I ask. “They wouldn’t have just let their friends die...”
“We don’t know if the drone relayed the fight back to the city. It could have sent for reinforcements.”
His words resonate. I know they're the truth. Someone in the capital knows about the fight. Reinforcements are coming, and we don't have long before we're caught up in a situation we both want to avoid.
Before I can reply to Max, to agree with him, a man steps out of the woods to our right. He's covered in blood and mud. He looks younger than most of the fighters - he's maybe Max's age - but it's impossible to be sure around the grime covering his face. He's wearing the piecemeal gear of the rebels. He holds up an RFA issue pistol and pulls the trigger. Max pulls me to the ground and raises his rifle defensively. His finger is on the trigger. He's a second away from shooting the man. The man's pistol clicks alarmingly. It's out of charge.
I poke my head over the rock at the sound, wondering what to do. Max can’t shoot him. He has never killed a person before. We're not killers. And we didn't want the government to come looking for us next. The man blinks blearily at us several times, then his knees buckle. He hits the ground next to a large tree and doesn’t get up again.
“I guess there were more of them after all...” I whisper to Max.
“Great observation,” he replies tartly. He tugs on my arm once. “Let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t we check on them?” I ask. “Some of them could be alive.”
“That’s not our business,” Max says harshly. “People get hurt for sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
“We'll let Angela decide,” I say.
It's better to put the responsibility on her shoulders. We don't know enough about the situation or the fighting to make a sound decision. We'll make a mistake.
“If we run fast, we can get back to the camp in thirty minutes,” Max replies.
“Then let’s run,” I reply.
Max shoulders his rifle, goes back to the cave to retrieve my bag, and then looks at me sternly. “Run fast.”
I don't need to be told. I'm eager to run as hard and as fast as possible. I'm eager to get away from the violence and the cold decay of the bodies. My feet fly across the bed of ferns, over the bodies and away from the fight that has changed everything.
Chapter 2