Free Refuge by Robert Stanek

 
     
     
Chapter 1
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    Luke says it’s wrong to slip from present to past or past to present, but I do. The present is—and Luke and I are in it. The past was—and sometimes I can see what was.
       Luke talks quietly with Matthew while Sierra stares into the golden radiance of the rising sun. Hundreds of feet below us, I see the trees in Central Park.
       The gentle rattle and hum of the train lulls us as it glides away on tracks of air and belies how precious little time we have to do what must be done. It seems an eternity since I’ve closed my eyes. Life was simpler when I didn’t know, when I didn’t understand. I wanted to know what we were to the machines; now that I do all I want is to go back to when I didn’t. It was all so much better, so much easier, when I didn’t carry in me what Luke carries in him.
       One thing I don’t want to give back are words. Beautiful words. I don’t know how I ever survived without my voice and my words. My voice is a gift, and my words are truths. Without them, I would not be.
       The machines may rule our world and they may rule us, but while I have breathe they will not control me. I will fight—we will fight. They may want nothing less than everything and all, but we will find a way to take back what is ours.
       I was wrong, naïve, to say the machines hadn’t done anything to us. When they took over our world, they did so much more than simply take our place. They destroyed us. They took away what made us who we are. I will learn the secret of who we were. I will learn the secret of us as surely as sunshine through the clouds, wind in the trees below, and laughter in the air give me inspiration to do what must be done.
       My blaster rifle bounces on my shoulder from the rattling beneath my feet. I glance at Matthew as he moans. I feel nothing for him, not even pity. He’s no longer one of us. He’s one of them. He’s always been one of them.
       Blood dripping down his right arm onto the pearly white exterior creates a scarlet pool that the wind whips and shapes as if some grotesque finger painting. I feel like the blood in that pool. I do. I have no control over anything, not over what will happen when we jump, not over what will happen as the morning sun continues rising over our heads.
       The only thing I might have control over is this moment, though even this moment is controlled by forces beyond my understanding. “Almost time,” I say.
       Sierra squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. It’s her signal telling me that she’s here, that she’s ready. Her expression remains serious and stoic. It’s her brave face, but her green eyes speak of her fear. They keep darting back to where the bright flashes streaking the air originate from.
       Me, I don’t fear the blaster rounds or the augments firing them. We’re moving too fast and are too far away for their rifles—and I want them to keep firing. I do. Every moment they try is another moment we move farther away.
       The train is moving swiftly, so it doesn’t take long to reach the opposite side of the park. I look to Luke. His nod tells me he’s ready, but I want to—have to—hear his voice. “Luke—” I start to say.
       “Cedes, I know. You don’t have to say it,” he says, leaning over and kissing me.
       We stand, pulling Matthew up with us. Keeping our feet isn’t easy with the train moving so fast. We manage because we have no other choice. The wild flashes cutting the air around us don’t make our task any easier. In a moment, the engine car will sweep around the sharp curve ahead and we must jump into that curve if we’ve any hope of reaching the roof of the adjacent building.
       We’re eighty stories up. I try not to glance down. Still, I’ve always been curious about the trees and the way they look from up here, especially when they’re awash in golden light. Their green canopy is like a soft bed waiting for me.