I

Jonathan Juarez hated the work. It was tedious and the hours were long. And it did not help that the rest of Hope was itching to have his job. The citizens looked at him with envious eyes whenever he ventured to the lower floors. He practically ran the city. Every man-hour and production quota. Every stockpile and trade contract. He had it all in his head. Juarez had a talent for numbers, and that’s why they had appointed him. That and a few greased palms.

So what if he didn’t have a fancy title, like General or chairman? Or that he was not one of the original Ten. Juarez knew why he got the job; because he was the best. Under his management, crop yields had gone up a staggering 24%—A number he was darn proud of. Crime in Shikishima had been sliced in half. And he was already on top of the housing crisis. Jonathan Juarez was the uncrowned savior of Hope. That’s what he called the city. When things got rough, people forgot its true name. The Human Resistance was only uttered in historic terms, or whispered as a joke. For all intents and purposes, they lived in H-City, but for Juarez, it would always be Hope.

“When will you be back?” His wife asked, folding his clothes on the bed.

It was a plain grey suit, no tie. She had picked it up at the local tailor in exchange for some dried meat. His predecessor had attempted to introduce currency as an easier solution to the inefficient bartering. But times were always volatile, so it did not take. Food was the preferred payment now. The suit had been a bit small for him, so his wife had sown out the sides. Now the fabrics didn’t quite match.

“Shouldn’t be long, my dear,” he replied. “Unless that madman shows up again.”

“Do try to stay away from him.” She said. “I’ll have dinner ready by six. Yurie will take the kids to practise today.”

They had two sons, Casper and Connor. both of whom were old enough to be out with their nanny. There was a time when children needed to be locked away, hidden from hungry souls. Grim times. Times they barely got through. But they had worked together, cried together. And in these last thirteen years, life had been promising. The trading had brought them prosperity. The restoration of the domes was finished, and the people were accepting a life without the sun. Juarez praised himself lucky that his boys were born in this gentler era.

“Have a wonderful day.” She kissed him on the chin and handed him the briefcase. “And be careful.”

He cranked the chain lever, pushed the metal door open, and stepped out into the underground metropolis.

“Mornin’, sir,” Basil said politely. He was a large brick of a man. Sitting comfortably in his chair outside, reading another book.

“Good morning, Basil.” Juarez replied. “How’s the wife?”

“Oh, she’s so-so.” Basil said. “Her back ain’t what it used to be, but she ain’t complaining.”

“Ah, it’s acting up again?” Juarez asked. “Are you all set to go?”

“Yes, sir.”

The city was waking up. He leaned over the railings at the upper floors, overseeing it all. The cityscape was claustrophobic, chaotic, and crammed together with compartments and close corridors. Twisting lines of pathways bustling with life. The sound of haggling and the smell of fried street food. Good luck finding a spot to squeeze in another small shop or a living quarter down there.

Up here, however, at Lincoln, where it all had started. Here, the ceilings were high and the view wide. Most of the important people lived here: councilmen, doctors, judges. The layout had been structured in such a way that top-ranking officials could venture directly from home to work and back. But it was not barred off. No, this was the city, the very center of it all. Where most folks would visit whenever they needed one of many things. The general hospital was here, the House of Justice, and the Council Hall—where they were now headed.

The structure lay somewhat secluded from the rest. It was carved straight into the bedrock; serving as an assembly hall, as well as a fortress. Two armed soldiers guarded the entrance. They both recognized Basil and Juarez and nodded as they arrived.

“Good to see you, Mr. Juarez.”

Juarez returned the courtesy before turning to Basil.

“I will see you later.” He declared. “Tomorrow we will have Yurie take your wife to the hospital.”

“Thank you, sir,” Basil replied. “That’s very kind, sir.”

The doors opened, and Juarez entered.

The Council Hall was designed to represent the best of Hope. The floors were cleaned every day, fresh food brought to the cafeteria, and the interior furnished by the most talented craftsmen Menkaure could produce. It was built to remind men that the sun was not worth your soul.

For Juarez’s own home, many compromises had been met—as was the case with most of the upper-class. But never here. No, The Hall, hospital, and House of Justice were priorities. At the top of the system. A system he himself supervised.

Inside the Hall they had erected large arching pillars. Commissioned back on the day half of the colony left with the skull gods, but construction did not begin after several years. After the terrible famine.

He scribbled his signature on a few reports at the front desk. Paper had been rare, and so they invented an economical process to recycle the light trash into sheets. It was manufactured in a big pot outside of Charle’s Rake. It was uneven, jagged, and brown, but it did the job.

Laura Xiang popped her head out from behind the door. She was the Minister of Diplomacy and Trade. A youthful and enthusiastic woman, despite her age. She was the reason they weren’t all isolated from the Outskirters. She did not only balance the prices, but also encouraged communication and goodwill between the two societies.

“All set for battle?” she joked.

“Darnit,” Juarez replied, careful not to be overheard. “Is he banging the war drum again?”

“Oh, when is he not?”

The old paintings of leaders looked down on them as they walked together to the chamber-room.

“I swear, that man is running on stubbornness solely.” He said. “He’ll have us all killed.”

“True.” she replied. “But people will gladly let things kill them if it’s slow enough.”

The chamber doors opened, and they were greeted by the council. Most of its members were already in attendance: Dr. Maximilian from Research—Juarez did not like him, as he never questioned the military. A stern, solemn man from Justice by the name of Alex Nash. He was one of the last living Men of Ten and widely considered a legend. And then there was the dark-haired cloud from Labour. Her name was Elizabeth Morgen. The chairman and most respected woman in all of Hope. She listened to her advisors and spoke with purpose. She loved her blue suits and raised her chair a little higher than everyone else’s. The woman had built quite the reputation of being a no-nonsense leader, and he followed her dutifully.

They acknowledged each other and took their seats. The council chamber was round, and painted in the middle was the emblem of H-City: a black arrow crossing 4 red bars. It had once been the symbol of the Human Resistance, and this had been their command center. Surrounding it was a curved desk spanning the room with six chairs. Each had their own title: Logistic, Research, Diplomacy and Trade, Justice, Labour, and... Defence.

The door swung open and two men entered: an armed soldier, and Field Marshal Daniel Price.

Morgen sighed.

“You know there are no weapons allowed in the council chamber.”

Price dismissed the soldier, who then swiftly left the room.

“We are gathered here today.” Morgen announced. “To address the current state of the Defence Department, and the ongoing campaign against the...”

“Cut the shit, Elizabeth.” Price replied. His coarse voice like gravel through a grinder. He was an older man, sporting a white buzz-cut and a matching mustache. His face was as rocky as the moon and his personality even rougher. “What’s the issue?” he asked and bit down on his cigarette.

Morgen signaled to Juarez, who quickly pulled up the briefcase. It was impossible to pry open, especially with his nervous fingers fumbling about. With too much pressure, the lock flung up, and the papers spilled onto the desk. Price was visibly bored.

Juarez grabbed a piece of paper and begun stuttering. “Uhm, it… it says here that you are calling for an… an additional 500 recruits.”

“Jesus, Elizabeth,” Price replied. “Not this shit again. We’ve gone through this before.”

“Not this!” Morgen thundered. “An additional 500? Have you lost your mind? You already have too much of the workforce committed to your military. You know what this’ll do to the food prices alone?”

Juarez gathered his papers and kept on reading. “You have 12 488 standing troops as of now, not to mention the supporting personnel. They’ll require 64% of our supplies. That’s almost half of our entire GDP.”

Price grunted in response. “Do you pencil pushing sonovabitch even know what a GDP is?”

“Sir,” Juarez continued. “You… You have resources and manpower directed to maintaining two military grade helicopters.” He sighed. “Sir… We live underground.”

“Field Marshal…” Morgen said calmly. “We appreciate what you’ve done. But times are changing. Miss Xiang is doing fine managing a working relationship with the Skulls, we..”

“The enemy.” Price began pacing around the emblem.

“Your enemy, Daniel. Not ours,” Morgen replied. “The Ghedes are our ally now. It’s that old die-hard way of thinking that will be the end of us.” She eased back in her chair and closed the book on her desk in dramatic fashion. “I see no other choice, but to...”

“I will have my 500 recruits by next week.” Price said, not callous nor petty. “We lost twenty men in the last five days. The bugs are looking for something.” He whistled for the soldier to return. “I’m also taking over the Research Department...”

Morgen laughed in disbelief. “Is this mutiny, Daniel?”

“No mutiny, Ma’am. The Skulls’ supply line has been compromised. Scouts are reporting heavy enemy movement in those areas. The gargoyles have multiplied during the last month, and now the West Entrance is in jeopardy.”

Alex Nash, the least talkative amongst them, sat up, suddenly concerned. “Daniel.” He said. “We will aid you in whatever way we can.”

Morgen was speechless.

“Thank you, Alex.” Price replied. “You’ll get your council back soon enough, Elizabeth. But I’ll take it from here.”

The Field Marshal marched out with his soldier close behind. Elizabeth Morgen sat there fuming with a look of contempt on her face. She made no effort to conceal it.

“What the hell just happened?” Laura whispered to Juarez.

“I’m not sure, but it looks like we’re going to war.”

II

The beach was teaming with life. Local tourists arriving from the big cities nearby. Shelby didn’t mind the seasonal crowd, though. He was busy playing around in the water. Just in the shallow part, as Noel was still five, and if they went further out, he would have to carry him. Right now, that was no fun. Right now, it was running-and-splashing time. Noel stomped around, watching for Shelby’s reaction, then laughed when he realized he could cause as much ruckus as he wanted.

The beachgoers sunbathed or ate ice-cream, and so the sea was practically theirs.

Shelby mimicked the juking of a football player. ‘Will he go left? Will he go right?’ Noel howled as he ran around, trying to stay out of his grips.

Far in the distance, clouds gathered.

“We should go in soon.” Shelby said. “Your mom’s probably wondering where we are.” His voice was softer than he remembered it.

“Aw, Dad.” Noel said. “You know Mom’s dead.”

Shelby glanced over at the beach; it was empty. He heard a splash, and by the time he looked back, Noel was gone.

“No, no, no!”

He searched around. The shore had disappeared. A flat landscape of grit and large puddles in its place. Nothing else for miles. Not a single soul as far as the eye could see. His heart was pounding. He’d lost Noel. Bianca was going to die of heartache.

By instinct, or share desperation, Shelby ran over to the puddle he had seen his kid jumping in. It seemed shallow, but he took a deep breath and dove into it.

Are you the sum of your choices? Are you only your doubts and desires? Is there nothing more hidden behind those cold, tired eyes?

The water was murky, and the visibility near zero. Shelby continued swimming down all the way to the gravel bottom. A small rusty drainage pipe was sticking out of the ground. He grabbed hold. Every nerve in his body was shot, every fear had materialised. He slid his hands down the pipe—as it was too narrow for him to swim through. As he pushed his shoulder into the opening, his hand popped out on the other side. There, he could feel only mud sliding through his fingers.

Please, God.

The thought of losing his son. Losing his everything. He was his responsibility. Shelby was supposed to protect him. How could he have let this happen?

Suddenly, a small hand rubbed against his in the muddy water. By sheer instinct, he grabbed a hold of it. Noel was there! On the other side of the pipe! Shelby’s heart was pounding hard against his chest. He pulled Noel towards him, but the kid was too big to fit. Shelby pulled again, harder, but to no avail. His lungs were burning. He fought against the spasms to open his mouth and draw in the water, and he kept on pulling. He refused to go back and tell Bianca he had lost their child. Refused to fail. He would die at the bottom of the sea, or he would drag his boy in by tooth and nail.

Why do you fight, Shelby? When there is nothing left to fight for. Why do you refuse to acknowledge the inevitable? Is it shame? Is it guilt?

Shelby clutched the small hand for one last try. He coiled his feet against the murky ground and with all his might, attempted to push the earth out of its orbit.

Not by the strongest forces, nor the god I fear.

They both hit the surface, gasping for air. Shelby pushed him out of the puddle, dizzy and shaking. Noel coughed and coughed and coughed before he sat down and began sobbing. Shelby stumbled to his feet, embraced his son, and cried his heart out.

Then he awoke in the desert night,

with tears in his eyes.

Next Chapter: Chapter 9 - Through Vermillion Plains