Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852) (28 page)

Winston was trapped by more than the handcuffs. He was trapped by hopelessness. Sleep was impossible.

The trees were thick and close around him, and made creaking, groaning sounds as the wind rubbed branches against branches, tree against tree. Guy had crawled under a large pine and the branches covered him like a tent.

Steven was snoring, and in spite of his standard order that his men
sleep with their backs against a tree, he had slipped sideways. He lay sprawled on the ground with his head resting on his arms. His trouser pocket had gaped open and beside him the motion sensor and the key to the handcuffs laid on the ground, glittering in the moonlight.

Seeing them, Winston thought that maybe, just maybe, he had a chance. He began to make a back-and-forth sawing movement with his hands, rubbing the handcuff chain against the trunk. By leaning forward, he pulled the chain tight against the tree, applying greater pressure.

Back and forth. Back and forth. The pain in his shoulders and wrists was almost unbearable, but the faint sound of bits of bark falling to the ground motivated him. Back and forth went the chain, faster and faster. Sweat rolled down his face. His mouth pulled back in a grimace. He kept working.

Through a small clearing in the branches above him, he could see the moon. It crossed his mind that the stars, the moon, and the sun—indeed, all things in the sky—remained steady, dependable, and predictable over the centuries, even as the mercurial societies below so easily changed.

His hands felt warm and wet. The back of his wrists must be bleeding. He kept working.

He felt a sudden lessening of resistance from the tree trunk that caused him to lurch forward a little. It felt like he had broken through hard wood to a softer center. The tree must have a rotten core. He rested for a short moment. Steven shifted his position on the ground and Winston held his breath, waiting and watching the sleeping man. Steven resumed his snoring and his breathing caused the leaves near his face to flutter slightly.

Winston started the sawing motion again, working to cut through the last part of the trunk nearest him. His shoulders were no longer pulled back as tightly and he could feel the vibration of the chain against the wood in his spine. He didn't know what he would do when
he actually broke through and the trunk was severed. It would crash down, and surely that would wake Steven and Guy, but he didn't care. He would do whatever he could, until he could do more.

He looked at the moon again. Winston wished he could measure time by that dependable shift in the heavens. The best he could do was guess. He thought he had been working at this for about four hours. He gave one last push-pull on the cuffs and the chain broke through the last of the trunk.

When a tree falls in the forest . . .

But the tree didn't fall. Its branches were tangled with those of surrounding trees and it hung suspended, swaying above Winston like a pendulum.

He slid closer to Steven, leaned over, and with his hands behind his back, picked up the motion sensor and handcuff key. He knew he couldn't get the heavy gun from Steven's holster without waking him. Clutching them in his wet, sticky hands, he stood slowly. His legs and back were cramped and stiff, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he could walk away from here, back toward the bus, to save Julia and Joan, and hopefully redeem himself as a man capable of doing the right thing in a world where everything seemed wrong.

S
teven was momentarily confused when he woke. The first thing he saw was a tree with a severed trunk, suspended in the air and swaying gently. What the hell? He shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. He got up and walked closer to it and looked up. Yes, it was a tree. Yes, it was hanging there, its branches tangled with branches of other trees.

In fact, it was the tree he had cuffed Winston to. That was when he realized Winston was gone. What the hell? Gone? How did he get away? Steven turned in a full circle, scanning the area. Nothing, no one. He reached in his pocket for the heat detector. Empty. He pulled the pocket inside out. No detector, no handcuff key. Just like that—gone. He was lucky he still had his gun.

The euphoria he felt the evening before faded, replaced briefly with insecurity. He squirmed in discomfort. How had Winston escaped? Maybe the escapees freed him. But that made no sense. Escapees wouldn't come near an Earth Protector. But who, then? And how?

He examined the part of the tree trunk still in the ground. The core of the tree was visibly rotten, as though the heart of it had died. The rim
was jagged and torn as if a crude saw had been used. Could the handcuff chain have done that? And how long would it have taken? All this had been accomplished while he lay nearby, asleep. So much for his sleep lightly, wake easily rule. But, after all, they had covered a lot of ground yesterday, walking way past dark. Any man, no matter how fit, would have slept soundly. The fact that Winston had walked just as far as he had and yet managed to stay awake and slice through the tree trunk didn't enter Steven's rationalization of his failure, and he quickly dismissed any personal responsibility for Winston's escape. Instead, he began to think of what options he had in continuing his assigned mission.

His anger at Winston was now greater than his anger at those who had escaped the Compound. If he made his decision about whom to pursue based on anger, he would go after Winston . . . No, wait.
Focus. Focus. Focus
.

Guy slid out from under the pine tree's shade and sat openmouthed. He stared at the broken tree trunk and then at Steven, but Steven ignored him.

Steven squatted on his heels and reached into his pack for a nourishment cube. Winston's pack was still on the ground, near the lifeless tree trunk. Good. More nourishment cubes for Steven, none for Winston. A small thing, really, but it gave Steven pleasure.

Winston had been so concerned about leaving Julia behind the first time and then about leaving both women on the bus with Nigel. What was it he had said?
You can't just go and leave them
. Stupid words at best, and at worst, a treasonous statement.

Steven figured Winston would head back toward the bus like some ridiculous white knight gallant to rescue the women. But Winston was misguided and foolish. Individuals weren't important. What was important was the larger mission of the Earth Protection Agency. That's what the Authorities valued. Steven would do what the Authorities valued.

He would find the escapees first. He knew he was catching up to
them. They couldn't be very far away, and they were his original assignment. If he didn't catch them, he would lose his chance at a position at the mansion, and that was unacceptable.

After he had found the adults and captured the children, he'd head back to the bus. If Winston had made it there, Nigel would have him under guard. Then Steven would get revenge on Winston, and it wouldn't be pretty.

His plan was perfect.

Before setting off with Guy, he reached into Winston's pack and ate one of his cubes, savoring every bite.

J
ulia and Joan were driven by emotion.

“What's important to you?” Julia asked once, breathlessly, as they jogged.

“John, my son, and his family,” Joan answered, the words firm. “And you?”

“My soul,” Julia answered. “But I want to kill Steven, too.” Joan didn't question her, because she didn't see the juxtaposition of
soul
and
killing
as a contradiction. Not in this world, anyway.

The sun was slipping below the horizon, the last tendrils of light briefly remaining like fingertips hanging on to the edge of the world.

“I can't go on. I need a break. My ankle is acting up,” Julia said, leaning forward with her hands on her knees. Her forehead was shiny with sweat.

“Best then to stop now and rest. It's getting late, anyhow. Not much daylight left,” Joan said. They sat side by side. “Were you raised in the Village?” she asked Julia.

“Yes. And I hated it. But I didn't start out there. When I was very small I was allowed to live in a house with my parents. Then, one day
when I was eight, a man in a black uniform came into our space and took me. That was the last time I saw my mother. I can still hear what she said to him.”

“What?”

“ ‘Here is her change of clothes.' Then she handed him a bag of my clothes and told me to go with the Enforcer. ‘He is going to take you to the Children's Village. They will take good care of you there.' ”

“Did they?”

“No. It was hard enough that I had to go in the first place. Most children over the age of four didn't. I still don't understand why. Once I got there, the rules were endless: what you could and couldn't do, when you had to go to bed, when you had to get up—on and on and on. They taught me things that made no sense, like pledging allegiance to animals.”

“You don't act like someone raised in the Village.”

“I learned to repeat what they wanted me to repeat, but the words were hollow and meaningless. I pretended to be enthusiastic with the pledges and the circle sign like the other children. But I knew I was different.”

“Different how?”

“I was an independent thinker, I guess. But I couldn't let anybody know that.”

“I'm glad you are who you are,” Joan said. “We better sleep now.”

“Sleep well, my friend,” Julia murmured, stretching out on the hard ground.

The word
friend
was never heard back in the Compound. But here, in this place and under these circumstances, it had great importance.

Friends. People with common values, common goals, and a commitment to each other
.

They slept under a blanket of stars, lulled to sleep by the nocturnal chorus of crickets.

They slept so deeply that neither of them saw the blinking red light that became a steady red beacon.

*  *  *

Winston felt the heat detector vibrating against his fingertips. He stopped walking and carefully scanned the area. He made out the forms of two people sleeping, but he couldn't be sure who they were at this distance. He approached cautiously, staying close to the shelter of large trees, and hoping with every step that they were not dangerous. He wondered if he should slip past these people and continue on to the bus where Julia and Joan had been left under Nigel's guard.

Dawn rippled along the horizon, pushing through the clouds and streaking their edges with rosy light. Birds began their early-morning carefree chorus of chirps and tweets. The sleeping forms were becoming easier to see. One of them sat up and stretched, then pushed back her long dark hair. In the faint early light, her face was visible.

Julia.

Winston was momentarily confused. If that was Julia, was Nigel also here? Why weren't they still on the bus? Hadn't Steven given the order for them to remain on the bus?

Julia reached out and touched the shoulder of the other person. Winston watched as the second person stood up.

Joan.

Winston looked around the area, trying to figure out where Nigel was. But he saw no one. He stepped away from the shelter of the tree and stood exposed in an open area with the morning sun on his face. They stared at him as if at an apparition.

Julia spoke first. “Winston?” she murmured. He nodded.

She looked past him with a fearful look.

“I'm alone,” he said, stepping closer.

They were silent for a moment, then Julia smiled. “You're not alone,” she said softly. “You're with us.”

A sense of relief swept over Winston so powerful that he sank to his knees with his head bowed. The detector and handcuff key fell from his hands.

They gathered around him and knelt with him. That's when they saw his handcuffed wrists and the heat detector.

“How will we get those things off your wrists?” Joan asked. “Who put them on?”

“Steven put them on. I couldn't see the keyhole to free myself, but here's a key. I just dropped it.”

Joan began searching in the grass for the key and finally held it up with a triumphant gesture. Quickly she unlocked the cuffs; they fell away with a clang. Winston sighed with relief and ran his fingers over his broken skin. Julia grabbed a water bottle and poured it over the bloody abrasions. Joan offered him water to drink and he swallowed it all in three great gulps.

Then the questions began.

“What is that metal thing?”

“A heat detector.”

“Have you found any of the people we're all looking for?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Where is Nigel?”

“I shot him.”

“You shot him? You have a gun?”

“Yes. So does Julia. Have you seen John? I'm looking for John.”

Winston didn't look at Joan as he spoke. “Steven pushed him into the river.”

“He can swim,” Joan said, her jaw squared in determination.

Hope dies a lingering death.

“Where is Guy?”

“He's with Steven and he is scared to death. He'll do whatever Steven tells him to do.”

More questions asked and answered. More grim stories told.

They all fell silent before Joan rose and headed toward the river bank. She was still convinced that her husband could be alive. Desperately, she walked up and down the bank, returning to the area around
the bus. Julia watched her, increasingly hopeless. Long minutes passed before her friend returned.

Finally, Julia found words. “Steven no longer has a team. But we do,” she said softly.

This new team had to decide together what they would do now, what direction they would go, and what dangers they would face.

“Steven seemed convinced he was closing in on the escapees,” Winston said. “He was practically frothing at the mouth with excitement. He was acting like a madman.”