Chapter 4 Lucas waded into the crowd gathered on the steps. Pushing and shoving he fought his way through against protests from the demonstrators, clustered tight and listening to the environmentalist. Lucas ignored the crude remarks directed his way as he continued his squeeze to the front. In frustration, a member of the crowd stuck their foot out tripping Lucas as he moved toward an open space in front of the crowd. Lucas let loose a grunt as he tumbled onto the hard concrete of the steps. The speaker halted his speech watching as the spectacle stumbled toward the dais. With a look of disdain emphasized with a furrowed brow, the man behind the microphone took in the haggard appearance of Lucas rising from the cold steps. “Who are you?” he asked. Lucas staggered to his feet using his hands to brush the dust from his clothes. His glassy eyes were blinking rapidly as his mind fought to catch up with his movements. “Lucas,” he mumbled under the speakers daunting stare. “I want to join your group,” Lucas weakly replied holding out a filthy hand. The speaker motioned with his arm at the surrounding throngs of protesters. “You’re here. You are already a part of our movement. All of us belong to the same fraternity in our fight to save the planet, you don’t have to drop to your knees in front of me for that,” the speaker mocked Lucas, his words drawing laughter from the crowd. “You don’t understand,” Lucas struggled for words as he surveyed the faces of the crowd gawking back at him then turned his attention back to the man behind the microphone. “I want to work for you. I want to help you bring down the greedy bastards.” “What greedy bastards are you referring to?” the speaker questioned with a tone of amusement. “The…companies responsible…for…” Lucas’ foggy mind searched for the right words to explain his angry thoughts, his muddled brain racing to quantify his actions“…stealing the oil from the ground…for their selfish purposes…and then looking down their noses at me…at us,” Lucas spat the last words out. Smiling benignly the speaker regarded Lucas as one would a small child, “We all want that.” The environmentalist threw both arms wide indicating the demonstrators gathered on the steps of city hall. “Go back to your place and try not to interrupt again.” He chastised then started to turn back to his speech. Alice broke free of the crowd and grabbed Lucas’ arm to guide him away. The speaker eyes snapped back and locked on Lucas’ face. “Hey, aren’t you that young Pensworth? Your dad, he owns a multinational oil conglomerate, doesn’t he?” the speaker asked. Lucas jerked free of Alice’s arms and glared back up at the man beside the dais. “LUCAS!” he shouted, “My name is just Lucas.” “Yes. Yes of course. Lucas, nice to make your acquaintance,” the speaker corrected and climbed the steps down to where Lucas and Alice stood. “Professor Enders. Anthony Enders.” This time, the speaker shot his hand forward in greeting. “Stick close you two. We can talk more once I’m finished speaking.” Alice pulled Lucas aside and helped him to a seat as the speech resumed. She divided her attention between Professor Ender’s inspired commentary about saving the fragile environment and the young drug-wasted man she had first helped on the park grounds. The young man was now garnering the careful watch of the professor as the rally passed from daylight well into darkness. Lucas dozed on and off as Alice stood guard. The assembly on the lawns of city hall flitted around the park. Small clusters of protesters left the steps and soon tents began springing up, several open bonfires blazed with people drinking and chanting. The street lighting fell over Lucas’ face as his mind drifted out of a drug-sorted nightmare one last time. Groggily he stared at Alice and then further out at the worked up assembly of chanting activists. Scratching his head, he glanced up at Alice’s face breaking his silence,” you don’t have anything to smoke, do you?” Alice returned the look and with a motherly smile, she stuffed her hands into her fanny pack and using her back to shield her actions she expertly rolled a joint and placed it between Lucas’ lips. Cupping her hands in front of his face she held a lighter close to the end of the slender paper roll. Lucas drew in a long breath and sat motionless as the pungent smoke filled the cavities of his lungs. With a loud cough, he expelled the smoke. “Thanks,” he muttered. The two remained quiet as the speaker finished his ranting before walking their way. The professor’s bodyguards cleared a path through clambering activists on a route straight for Lucas and Alice. The smiling bearded face of Professor Ender beamed. “Follow me,” he said momentarily pausing for the two to stand before resuming his walk close behind the bodyguards and away from the crowds. Professor Ender walked without talking. In the parking lot, he stopped at a long black limo motioning for the two to join him inside. “George. Drive us to the hotel,” the Professor called to his driver. “Tell me young Lucas. How does someone of your stature end up looking like a homeless man?” Lucas stared out the limo windows at the passing city, “It’s a long story. I…” “Your dad, the CEO of a multinational oil company, threw you out. Is that it? He’s so focused on company profits that he hasn’t the time for his own son,” the Professor interrupted. “No. Not exactly,” Lucas started again. He tried to remember the reason why he was in the park in the first place, but his mind was empty. All that stood out was the burning anger he felt toward his father and at the moment, his drug-influenced brain failed to fill in the blanks. “It is nothing to be ashamed of, young man. You don’t have to make excuses, I’ve known a lot of people in your situation,” the Professor cut Lucas off again. “Relax. We can talk at the hotel." The Professor’s mind was also reeling from the fateful meeting of a person of Lucas Pensworth 3rd position. With the proper maneuvering, the professor realized he could exploit the young man for huge gains to his cause. Even if he couldn’t squeeze money out of the young man, he would certainly be able to use the boy’s connection to such a wealthy family to further his credibility and grow his faux environmental status. Be cautious, move slowly, and don’t scare the boy away, the professor reminded himself as he turned his smiling face to peer at the unsuspecting young man sitting across from him in the back of the limo.
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Check back every week for a new instalment of the Climate Wars. Laughter and hands tugging at his body woke Lucas from a dream filled with demons and pixies. Lucas’ limbs refused to obey his mind. His drug altered brain darting between reality and the surreal. His eyelids heavy, opening to reveal a pair of slits, the sudden assault of daylight setting the nerves to his brain on fire.
The tugging continued. Lucas willed his body to move. Forcing his eyes to open wider he watched. His eyes recorded the scene; his brain failed to connect the actions. He groggily turned his head, a hand was being pried open, and a small plastic bag was wrestled free. Too slowly Lucas realized that his hand was the one opening. What’s in the bag his distorted brain wondered? Then other hands rolled him over. His face smothered in the dry park grass. More hands pulled and tugged. He felt pressure. Something slipped out of his pocket. More laughter and talking, an object bounced off his back. His brain shut down. Blackness. “Are you alright mister?” Lucas felt his body shake. This time, his eyes bolted open. Grass pressed against his eyes. He used his arm to roll his body over. On his back, he stared up into a darkening sky, the bright daylight that had seared his brain earlier now softened by a cloud-covered afternoon sky. Again the voice spoke to him. “Are you alright? Would you like me to call an ambulance?” A young woman leaned over him; her face wrought with concern. “Where am I?” Lucas inquired. From his position, he watched as crowds of men and women stepped around where he lay. The Legs of the people passing by brushed against him, looks of disgust on the faces of the people who bothered to glance down. Crude words, insults tossed his way. “We’re in a park,” the young lady responded. “Here, let me help you up.” She gently placed her hand under Lucas’ shoulder and guided him into a sitting position. The two sat as the growing crowd streamed around. “What’s going on?” Lucas asked turning his head to watch as people continued walking past. “We better move,” the woman said as she again gently lifted, helping him to his feet and then supporting his weight as she fought against the masses, leading him to the nearby park table. Lucas placed a hand on the rough wooden top then slowly sat on the seat. The young lady hovered close by using her body to shield the two from the multitudes still entering the park. Lucas’ body sat motionlessly, his head twisting and turning as more people approached. Some holding signs, others sporting backpacks and water bottles carrying banners. With the speed of molasses his numbed brain stumbled through a fog. Reality slowly returned. With some awareness, he remembered. He looked at his empty hands then panic set in. The plastic bag with the white powder, he must have dropped it. Staggering, he launched into the sea of bodies to where he previously laid. On his hands and knees, he searched the ground. “Get out of the way you drunken idiot!” People cursed as they stepped around his crouched form unhappy about having to change directions. Realizing the bag was gone Lucas unsteadily stood up bumping into several people. Someone shoved him. “You useless bum,” a man said to his face. The young woman rushed to his side again dragging him out of harms way. “My stuff,” he cried, then he felt his pockets. His wallet was missing along with his car keys. He sank heavily back onto the park bench. Dejectedly Lucas sat on the bench. Memories began to filter back and with the memories a consuming anger of how he ended up passed out in the park. The University and the weasily Chancellor, them images of his father staring down his nose at him, siding with the Chancellor. The longer Lucas dwelled, the greater the anger, the redder his face became. The young lady who stopped and offered assistance stood by cautiously watching. “Are, are you all right,” she asked timidly. Lucas glared at her. His mind was slow to acknowledge the female staring back at him. Probably wants his money, he thought through the cobwebs of his mind. He snarled at her, she backed away, her eyes wide with fright. Then in a lucid moment, he stumbled over an apology and tried to stand. “My wallet is gone. My car keys, too,” he offered. “We should call the police,” Lucas’ new friend offered and began to dig in a fanny pack she wore around her waist. Lucas’ mind was catching up to speed. What would he tell the cops, that he drove his car while being drunk to a park to buy drugs and somewhere along the line he passed out, his possessions stolen. “NO!” he yelled again frightening the woman. “No. It’ll be okay,” he said in a quieter voice. He changed the subject. “So, what is everyone doing here?” he asked again. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he prodded. “Alice,” She said. Her face brightened into a smile as she stuck out her hand. “We’re having a rally at city hall today. Well, it is to start this afternoon, but everyone knows that we will be here for days. We’ve come to demonstrate against the wealthy one percent and their disregard and destruction of the earth with the filthy fossil fuels they force upon the rest of us.” Even in his altered state Lucas stood and looked over the crowd pouring across the grass from the parking lot. Cars were crammed in every space and flowed outlining the side streets as protesters locked the doors and joined the masses. “Is that right,” he asked, a condescending smirk climbed onto his face. “What do you and your friends do,” he asked. “I study at the university.” She spun her hand around. “Most of us are students,” she said proudly. “The man who is speaking today is a world famous environmentalist. He has been fighting the corporations on their greed and disregard for the environment for years.” She paused, “And what do you do…Mr.…. Oh, I am so sorry, I don’t know your name,” she added. Lucas was about to pile his troubles on the hapless girl, explain his misfortune of being kicked out of school, how his father and the University Chancellor ganged and embarrassed him when he caught himself. He had been humiliated enough with his father’s abandonment and refusal to help. Anger at the unfair treatment from his father seized his soul. If it weren’t for his damn miserable old man than he certainly would not be in this situation, the self-centered bastard, Lucas fumed. Lucas,” he spat out, “Nice to meet you, Alice.” “You are welcome to join us,” she beamed. Lucas looked down at his stained t-shirt. “I must look a fright. I don’t think your friends will appreciate my attire,” he pulled on the front of his stained shirt wishing for the girl to leave him alone. Alice frowned and then thought for a moment, her head swiveling as she looked about the park. “Come with me.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him along knifing through the crowd stopping at a large water fountain on display at the bottom of the steps leading into city hall. “Give me your shirt,” she requested patiently waiting for him to pass the soiled t-shirt. Without hesitation, she spun and dunked the shirt under the cold fountain water. With her back to him, Lucas protested, but his words fell on deaf ears. Alice splashed the water as she scrubbed and worked the t-shirt. Straightening up Alice passed an end of the shirt to Lucas. “Hold that,” she commanded as her hands held the other end and twisted the cloth tight ringing the excess water away. She shook the t-shirt and after a close inspection passed it back. “That should work,” she said grimacing as he pulled the wet shirt over his head. “It might be a little wet still,” she laughed then with her fingers outstretched Alice ran them through Lucas’ hair straightening the tufts that stuck in every direction. Alice stood back and looked at Lucas. “Now you can join us. Don’t be afraid, we don’t bite,” she teased and latched onto his arm. Alice led them to a spot off to the side of the steps. A place she had used before during other rallies similar this one. This isn't the first rally I’ve taken part in she confided. Alice chattered on while Lucas sat glumly and studied the growing assembly through bloodshot eyes. The two made small talk as the steps filled with signs and banners and teeming, milling crowds. Lucas watched uncaringly. He only remained because he had no other place to go and he had to figure out how to get his possessions back. The smell of marijuana drifted in a cloud over the waiting mass. Taking advantage of his new best friend Lucas hinted that he wouldn’t mind a joint. He pulled his empty pockets out showing he had nothing left on him. Alice smiled and excused herself. Lucas waited. He was about to go searching for her when she came bouncing out of the crowd. Turning her back to the crowd, Alice dug through her small pack, removed a bag and papers and quickly rolled a couple of joints. In his stoned state Lucas sat back from the crowd as protester after protester grabbed a microphone and rehashed the same rhetoric as the speakers before, shouting and waving signs protesting against the contempt shown by the rich one percent toward their fellow man and Mother Nature. Lucas sat tuning out the speakers until a chanting by the crowd caught his attention. Alice grabbed his arm and swooned like a schoolgirl. The main speaker for the demonstration took the microphone. The crowd grew frenzied and louder. The speaker worked the milling crowd into an uproar. The usual rhetoric spewed forward from his mouth, but his presentation moved the people. Lucas' ears perked up as the speaker continued, he struggled to hear, but the noise of the demonstrators drown out the speakers voice. The outrage the crowd was building into and the large signs denouncing massive corporations bouncing in the air peaked his interest. Like a sign from above, he spotted a group unfurling a banner. The anti-oil banner had his father’s company name written in bold red, dripping letters over pictures of destroyed forests. In the middle of the flag was a large circle crossed with a line over the name of his father’s oil company. Light flashed in Lucas’ head. His feeble brain interpreted the banner as a means to get even with his father. The embarrassment and humiliation he had suffered at his father’s hands were over. His old man wanted him to forge a path of his own, well, he would gladly oblige, and now he found a vehicle to direct his anger. Who better to shine a light on a greedy earth-consuming corporation then the man’s own son? Lucas left Alice and pushed his way through the roiling masses; he had to meet the man on stage. For the first time in Lucas’ memory he found something to hold his interest other than booze and drugs. He found a cause, not only a cause but also a means to channel his anger toward the contempt and humiliation from his father. His drug addled brain sparked with possibilities. It's finally here, the moment you've all be waiting for. The start of the Climate Wars! Check back every week to read a new instalment! In their room, Donkey barely noticed Lucas slip in the door, the roommate’s mind deeply engrossed in a video game, the smoking butt of a joint leaning precariously in a pizza box. Lucas the 3rd staggered through piles of discarded clothes and trash spread over the room’s floor. The tendrils of smoke from the joint were catching his attention and causing him veer across the room in search of a roach clip. The butt safely pinched in place, Lucas finished his friend’s forgotten smoke and crushed it out in the leftover pizza as he stood unsteadily gazing over Donkey’s shoulder at the violent video game. “Hey! I was gonna finish that.” His friend cried. Lucas brushed away Donkey’s protest and plunked down on the couch. “You got anything stronger?” Lucas asked. “After what dear old dad put me thru today I could use a pick me upper.” “Yeah. Me too, this game is intense.” Donkey hit the pause button on his controller and swiveled in his chair facing the couch. “Ava,” he yelled toward a bedroom door. “Bring us a bag of the good stuff. In the bottom of the closet,” he instructed. Donkey’s dulled red eyes lit up with excitement as he told his roommate of his latest acquisition. “A new batch came in today…wait until you try it.” Lucas studied his friend from behind half closed eyelids. Donkey’s name certainly was appropriate he smiled to himself. Besides the awful braying laugh his roommate often demonstrated the guy was the primary source of drugs doled out across the campus. Mule would have been a much better nickname but too obvious. Donkey’s girlfriend Ava stuck her half naked body out of the bedroom, called a warning and sent the bag of white powder sailing through the air toward the boys before disappearing back into the room. The bag dropped beside Donkey; his already poor eye-hand coordination decreased with the mix of narcotics he previously enjoyed causing him to completely miss the flying bag. Almost falling out of his chair he scooped up the bag and straightening up he smiled at Lucas with the bag proudly displayed in his raised hand. “Tell me about your day, bro,” he said as he used his arm to clear a spot on the coffee table making room to cut a few lines of the white powder. ***** At the ungodly hour of nine a.m. Lucas was chased out of his stupor by a repeated banging on the dorm rooms door. A loud voice followed every knock. “Lucas Pensworth. Open this door!” The angry voice called out. “I repeat. Open this door at once. This is Chancellor Dreyer.” Lucas 3rd opened one eyelid, the pain in his head intense. The pounding at the door continued, growing louder. His head filled with explosions of pain as a blinding light filled his eyes. “What,” he whimpered prying his bloodshot eyes open. “OPEN THE DOOR!” The door rattled again. “LAST CHANCE.” Lucas rolled off the couch where he had been sleeping. Placing his hand on the nearby coffee table he attempted to rise to his knees, his stomach protesting the movement. “I’m coming in!” the Chancellor warned. A key turned in the door’s lock followed closely by the University Chancellor storming through the opening, a pair of university security guards entering close behind. Lucas Pensworth gazed through a misty haze at the approaching men. Unsteadily he slowly rose then doubled over retching on the table and his feet. The Chancellor stepped back. His angered red face wore a look of disgust. “Grab your things Mr. Pensworth. These men will escort you to your car and off campus grounds,” the Chancellor nodded to the guards. “FUCK OFF!” the young Pensworth shouted. “I have until Friday to leave. You told me that yesterday.” “That was before your performance at the campus pub last night,” Chancellor Dreyer corrected. “There is a very distraught young lady sitting in the counselors office as we speak. The counselor told me that she had been crying all night after your unspectacular treatment of her.” Lucas shook his head, “I can't remember last night. She’s probably full of shit,” he said wiping his hand across his mouth. “Bitch got what was coming to her I am sure.” “Your things. Grab what you can carry. The rest I will call your father to pick up.” “Fuck off, you can’t touch me…do you know who I am.” The University Chancellor motioned to the guards, “Escort Mr. Pensworth off the campus please.” The guards closed in on the bent over student taking great care of where they stepped. The men each grabbed one of Lucas's arms. “HEY!” Lucas yelled in surprise then realized the situation he faced. “Let me get my damn pants at least,” he conceded. The guards waited as the student turned to reach to the floor behind and lift a pair of slacks off the floor. Lucas 3rd hopped around putting his feet through the legs then dug through the garbage-strewn floor in search of his shoes. The Chancellor tapped his foot impatiently while he watched the unruly kid finish slipping into his footwear. “Get him out of here,” he instructed. Lucas 3rd hobbled along in the clutches of the university guards out of the dorm building. The glaring sun was excruciating as it pierced his red eyes. Lucas glared at the passing groups of students as they passed. The university crowds stopping to watch the walk of shame across the campus grounds. Lucas tried to stop and admonish the other students for staring but each time he opened his mouth the guards would tighten their grip and march him faster. In the school parking lot, they stopped beside Lucas’s sports car. The security men watched him fumble with the keys before he climbed into his vehicle. The guards waited then pointed to the entrance that led off the university grounds. Lucas backed from the stall and in spite floored the gas, the car still in reverse making the guards leap out of the way. Slamming the car into drive he accelerated. The powerful engine kicked in forcing the back end of the Audi to fishtail as it shot onto the road barging into the mid morning traffic. Lucas fingered the car he had just cut off, then in his fog addled condition weaved down the lanes away from the university toward the unknown, his brain unable to comprehend the start to his day. Driving the car aimlessly his few clear thoughts focused on his father. His resentment was growing at the unreasonable treatment he had to endure. Lucas seethed at his old man and the problems his father caused. How could a parent be so cruel he wondered? What did the old bastard expect of him after all, totally unfair in his opinion. Spotting a convenience store Lucas spun the wheel and cut left across traffic. Horns blared as his car shot in front of the oncoming traffic. The Audi vaulted and scraped as Lucas misjudged the entrance and drove the car over the curb. His car jolted as it came to rest against the concrete barrier separating the store and parking lot. He sat behind the wheel, his stomach churning and his brain pounding. He fumed. If his old man had stayed out of his business, he wouldn’t be in this position. The old asshole, Lucas swore and dug in his pockets for his papers and stash. His hands came up empty. He leaned close to the cars ashtray and rummaged for an unfinished butt. Nothing. In frustration, he slammed the steering wheel. He needed a buzz, and he needed it bad. With an effort, he mustered his sluggish mind. Donkey always had a supply but going back to the dorm room was out of the question. I’ll get him to bring me a bag; Lucas decided and reached for his phone. No phone. Must still be back at the room. Again Lucas banged the steering wheel and yelled. Without his phone, he didn’t have Donkey’s number. Lucas leaned back against the seat. How had life become so shitty? The answer seeped into his brain; his father was to blame. Lucas backed the car out of the stall. He knew where to score some drugs. He had gone on a run one time with Donkey. Lucas didn’t know the dealer personally but if he said Donkey had sent him that should be all right. Twenty minutes later and a few more angry horns Lucas turned onto the same street he remembered driving with Donkey. The street was cracked, and pothole filled in a run down neighborhood of condemned shacks and boarded businesses. A dreary part of town a few blocks away from city hall. Lucas was close to a park where he recalled driving Donkey when his friend met his dealer. Lucas spotted a group clustered around some park benches. He put the car in park and climbed out leaving the door open in his haste. Shading his eyes, he stepped over the sidewalk and ambled over the park’s brown dead grass. People rose from the benches staring at him as he approached. Lucas stared past them. His eyes fixed on the person left sitting, Donkey’s dealer. “I need some stuff,” Lucas called as he drew nearer. The man sitting at the bench looked at him and shrugged. “What stuff?” “Coke would do,” Lucas suggested. Donkey’s dealer appraised his new client. His eyes swept over Lucas who was wearing his puke covered t-shirt and stained pants. Lucas’ hair pressed in all directions from his sleep on the couch. “You sleep in the gutter last night man,” the dealer laughed a Lucas’ appearance. “I don’t think you can afford what I got. You better scram.” Lucas panicked and his hand went to his back pocket pulling out his wallet. He flipped it open showing the dealer the hundred dollar bills inside, “How much?” The dealer eyed the money then looked up, “All of it,” he said and slipped a small bag of white powder from under his coat. Lucas tried to do the math. His head churned slowly. “I got no time for this,” the dealer said tucking his hand back under his coat. “No, no I’ll take it,” Lucas rushed to get the bills out of his wallet before the drugs disappeared. The dealer grabbed the cash and set the bag in Lucas’s hand, “Nice doing business with you.” He smiled and walked away from the bench. Lucas fumbled the bag open and with his finger laid out a thick line of powder. Bending close to the line on the table he covered a nostril and snorted. A burst of fireworks shot through his brain. He reached the top of the table to steady him and turned to sit. The park bench moved, and he plodded onto the grass, the bag of powder clutched in his hand. From a distance, the dealer and his friends watched in amusement. When Lucas hit the ground, the spectators walked over to his running car. The dealer walked around checking the precision of the Audi. Nodding his approval, he climbed into the drivers seat closed the door and left the park, a fine car indeed the dealer thought, one befitting a man of his stature. It's finally here, the moment you've all be waiting for. The start of the Climate Wars! Check back every week to read a new instalment! Chapter 1 “Mr. Pensworth,” Chancellor Dreyer eyed the young student seated across his desk, “I’m at a loss for words. Surely you can appreciate my predicament.” The Chancellor studiously considered the young man. His hands rested on a copy of charges and misdemeanors leveled against the troubled student by the University staff. The Chancellor very slowly thought through the next words to leave his mouth. The student in question, Lucas B. Pensworth the 3rd, sat beside his father, Lucas B. Pensworth ll. The elder Pensworth was providing the reason Chancellor Dreyer hesitated. Lucas B. Pensworth ll had contributed a vast amount of money to the University so that his son would be allowed admittance. Chancellor Dreyer waffled between expelling the younger Pensworth or ignoring this latest batch of charges and not risking the possible withdrawal of the monetary contribution made by the young man’s father. Dreyer sighed and settled on his decision. Looking woefully in the elder Pensworth’s he switched his attention back to the student. “I am sorry, but the University can no longer tolerate the antics and disruptions you bring to our fine establishment,” clearing his throat he mustered some courage in the face of the probable loss of the money contributed to the University. “It is my decision that you are to have your belongings packed and remove yourself from our campus by weeks end.” The chancellor gazed at the boy’s father and shrugged in a way of an apology, “I am truly sorry Mr. Pensworth, but the University can no longer allow your son to continue his… and I hesitate to use the word studies… his attendance on these grounds.” “I was hoping this meeting would not come to this,” Lucas B. Pensworth replied his eyes fixed on the Chancellor. The elder Pensworth sat unmoving, a look of disappointment settled across his face. “Understood Mr. Dreyer. Unfortunate but certainly understood.” The younger Pensworth piped up, “Not to worry Dreyer. My old man will buy another University for me to attend.” He sneered at the University Chancellor then twisted his head to face his father, “Right father,” he intoned. “Let’s leave this miserable excuse of a school; I never liked it here to begin with.” Lucas B. Pensworth remained seated. He let his eyes wander past the Chancellor and his gaze settle somewhere out the large office window at the sunlight stretching across the manicured lawns on the other side of the glass. “Come on father,” the younger Pensworth pleaded as he rose from his chair all too readily accepting his dismissal from yet another university. The elder Pensworth continued his gazing out the window. With the touch from his son the older man slowly returned his attention to the room. A frown had turned his mouth before his eyes locked on his son. “I appreciate your time and effort, Mr. Dreyer. I can imagine how agitating this whole process has been for you and your staff. For that, I am the one who must apologize.” He took a deep breath before addressing his son. “Junior. I believe that the time has come for you to make your way in the world.” “WHAT!” the younger Pensworth exclaimed. “Come on father. You can’t be serious? You can not be insinuating that I join you at the family business, are you?” “No son, far from that. We will discuss the matter away from this office.” The elder Pensworth said, dismissing his son and then standing he extended his hand toward the University Chancellor. “Mr. Dreyer. I want to thank you for your time.” The two men shook hands and as Lucas B. Pensworth ll was turning to leave he reassured the Chancellor, “the money my wife and I have donated is to stay with this University. Do not stress yourself about that.” Lucas B. Pensworth retrieved his coat from the back of his chair and resting his hand on his son's shoulder, the two Pensworths vacated the opulent office of Chancellor Dreyer. Waiting until the heavy oak door closed, Lucas the 3rd turned on his father. “What happened in there!” the young man demanded angrily of his father. “Not here son.” “Why not here!” the young man's voice rose. “Shouldn’t I be involved in any decisions concerning my life? I refuse to leave until I get an answer,” Lucas the 3rd announced. “All right then. Your mother and I have decided that we will no longer support a lifestyle where you continue to shirk your responsibilities and carry on like a misguided adolescent.” The disappointment the elder Pensworth was feeling about his only child changed to disdain. “From this moment forward you are on your own. No more schools, no more trust fund. Get a job and make something of yourself. Quit being so useless, that won’t get you far in life.” “Sure, sure. You’re right I realize now,” the younger Pensworth agreed sheepishly. His angry outbursts forgotten as he drew on a wealth of boyish charm to once again escape his parent’s bad book. The younger man flashed a smile up at the older man. “The next school will be different. You’ll see. I promise to work harder and make you proud,” young Lucas pleaded. “I am truly sorry son. You have drifted from University to University. Nine years of majoring in…. what?” the older Pensworth’s shoulders sagged as he stared into his son’s shocked face. “Your chances have run out.” The boys pleading tugged at the heartstrings of his father. Without much conviction, Lucas B. Pensworth ll held firm to his decision then turned his back on a son he had sworn to support and protect from birth. His eyes misted while he listened to his son’s pleas. The elder Pensworth strode out of the Universities administration building. “May God help him find his way,” Lucas the ll mumbled as he crossed the buildings threshold into the bright sunlight. ***** Lucas B. Pensworth 3rd stared in amazement at the back of his father's retreating figure. The old bastard will come around. Just trying to teach me a lesson, like all the times before, young Lucas thought as he sauntered out the admin building in direction of his dorm room. Still, his old man’s attitude irked him. He dug in his front pants pocket, his fingers searching for the plastic bag containing his stash of marijuana and a pack of papers. Rolling a joint as he walked he fished a match out and stopped in the middle of the busy sidewalk to light up. Oblivious to the foot traffic having to veer around him he closed his eyes as he drew the pungent smoke deep into his lungs. The narcotic eased into his bloodstream. The meeting in the chancellor’s office sent adrift far from his thoughts as he struggled to hold the pent-up smoke in his lungs. His mood lightened. He exhaled and the smoke escaped as he parted his lips. Lucas the 3rd wanted a place to vent and have a beer to go with the misery his father had caused. He changed course. The campus watering hole was across the campus lawn from the admin building; maybe he would run into some good-looking university coeds while he was there. His experience had time and again proved that they were usually very sympathetic when he compared notes with them about unreasonable expectations from parents. The older generation could never seem to comprehend how hard his generation had it. ***** The alcohol combined with drug-infused chasers intensified the talking down from his father gnawing at Lucas’s mind as he sat in the corner booth at the campus bar. Instead of enjoying a few drinks and the company of some university sororities his mood darkened, the booze and drugs pulling him down into a dark, angry place. Swaying as he stood up, he bumped into a waitress carrying a tray of food to the next table. “Watch where you’re going you dumb bitch!” He yelled. Why didn’t the cow get out of his way he fumed as he swayed looking down on the waitress as she knelt down cleaning up the fallen tray? Didn’t she know who he was for Christ’s sake? In a drunken stupor, he nudged the waitress with his foot. “Get the hell out of my way you idiot!” the slurred words stumbled out of his mouth. The waitress looked up at him, tears forming in her eyes, the tray held in the air with one hand as she scooped food off the floor with her other. Lucas’s temper flared as he stared down at the distressed young lady. “Oh for fuck SAKES!” He bellowed as he angrily shoved her aside. A group of male students at the next table jumped to their feet and grabbed him. “Apologize!” One of the students demanded. “Fuck off.” Lucas replied and took a drunken swing at the man. His aim was off; the momentum of his flying fist carried him crashing into the students vacated table, toppling drinks and food onto the bar floor. As the bars bouncers carried him screaming out the doors, across the sidewalk and deposited him on the campus lawn, he lashed out at them. “Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t you know who I am?” He screamed back the bouncers. “I’m Lucas B. Pensworth. I’ll have my dad buy this damn place, and I’ll burn it to the ground.” Lying crumpled on the damp grass he crawled to a nearby tree and threw his hands around the slim trunk and pulled himself upright. Swaying on his feet, Lucas fingered the now closed doors of the bar and peering through blurred vision, his drunken mind struggled to find a path back to his dorm room. Shoving off from the tree he set out precariously on the spinning campus grounds. The drinks and company at the lounge failed to help him escape the disconcerting thoughts of his father’s warning. Instead, he found his anger growing toward his father’s contemptuous treatment with every unsteady step. Lucas seethed as he staggered back and forth. He was 27 years old; he could do what he damn well pleased, who and the hell were his parents to treat him like a kid. A short distance from his dorm room he bent over with his hands resting on his knees as the cheap booze from the bar flushed out of his mouth. There in the middle of the lawn, a lucid thought hit him. What if his parents cut him off this time? Naw. Impossible. Parents didn’t abandon their children, especially their only child and the next in the long line of Pensworth men. His position in life was owed to him after all. They could have a few days to cool and realize the mistake they were making then he would act humbled, beg for forgiveness and once again reassure them that this time he really would change. Besides, they were fools. Hadn’t this same ploy worked for him the last three times when the other Universities sent him packing?
The moment you've all been waiting for. This is the last instalment of The Ice Racer.
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At first my moving toward the front surprises the people close to me but then they start parting allowing me to pass. It takes a second to understand, looking down I realize I am dressed in military robes. In all the excitement I forgot.
They must think that I am going up front to assist in handling the prisoner. I stand tall, tug the fabric of the robe’s hood lower and move forward, the rifle clutched at my side. How close I can get to the steps before I am exposed as a fake remains to be seen? Nearing the leading edge of the crowd I am confronted by guards posted between the crowds and the steps. One of the men looks me in the eye as I approach. I return his stare with a passive face, the fear I’m feeling is pushed deep inside. I take another step. Another guard looks at me quizzically. The first guard raises a hand to halt me. I nod at him and take another step. His hand flinches for his rifle. Twisting the gun in my hand I drive the butt into his stomach. I step around him and raise my rifle. The barrel trained on the High Prophet. “Run.” I holler at Annaliese. She stands frozen, her eyes a mixture of astonishment and fear. “Run.” I repeat turning my attention back to the High Prophet. The barrel of the rifle unwavering as it remains locked on the leader of Adams Mountain. In a barely audible voice I hear Annaliese. “No.” with out taking my eyes off the High Prophet I stop my advance. “You shouldn’t have come.” Annaliese chokes out. The quiet words just leave her mouth when a new sound catches my attention. The sound of rifles being raised and bullets sliding into their chambers. The Prophets men stand in front of me with their rifles aimed in my direction. Risking a look around I notice several other guards with their rifles raised towards me. “Let her go and I will surrender.” I shout at Annaliese’s father. From within the shadow of his robe’s hood a sneer moves the man’s lips. “I don’t think so.” The words boom out of his mouth while gazing down at me. “Set down your gun you fool.” He gestures with his hand toward the guards. “Your little charade is over. Take him!” He shouts at the palace guards and grabs Annaliese by the arm and turns. Before anyone moves, two of the palace guards pull the hoods off their heads and swivel the guns they hold sideways and cover the three remaining guards. One of the disobedient guards smiles as he glances at me. It’s the same young man who had days before rushed into the hidden room to warn us. The crowd is rendered immobile by the unexpected scene as it unfolds on the palace steps. Then some jostling and shouts come from behind me. The group of Marcus’ men who had followed me to the trial are pushing toward the steps, their own rifles raised in defiance against the Prophets. Seeing the upheaval taking place the High Prophet screams for the city guards. “Stop them.” He yells as he looks about him. His face contorted into a mask of rage and fury. “Stop them now!” A siren sounds from elsewhere in the city, its shrill wine echoing above the growing commotion on the street in front of the palace. The blasts of the sirens bring more guards clad rushing in from all streets leading into the palace square. I hold my position on the palace steps mesmerized by the sudden flurry of motion. I am afraid that the few soldiers with me will not stand a chance against the military guards as I watch their numbers multiply. Fortunately for us, the new guards will have to force their way through the crowds to reach our location. On several fronts the crowds part as the military guards rush to help their bosses. The Prophets men stream deep into the midst of the body of onlookers before the unthinkable happens. The large mass of bodies the guards are racing amongst seal off the guards exit. The advancing troops are surrounded. On some unheard command the inhabitants of the city close ranks trapping the advancing soldiers. Shrieks leave the High Prophets mouth as he also watches his troops being trapped by large crowd. “Shoot! Shoot anyone and everyone in your way!” He bellows. The brash show of defiance by the very people he lords over adding a sense of panic to his high-pitched screams. Then mass panic erupts as the trapped guards heed the Prophets words and turn their guns against the crowd. The advantage goes from the crowd to the armed soldiers. The mob of people recoils at the sound of gunfire and the screams of their neighbours. All of us on the palace step stare dumbfounded at the scene below us. Then from out of nowhere more gun fire. My eyes travel over the chaos below. Entering from a side street into the square I see Marcus leading a large pack of soot covered men and women. His rifle barrel pointed into the air as he fires shot after shot. He continues walking into the melee below leading the large group. Pushing their way through the bodies, the new group head right into combat against the stranded guards. Annaliese’s scream brings my focus back to the steps. Her farther has her in his grip and is trying to force her back into the palace. The High Prophet is ranting like a lunatic; his distorted screams to the palace guards mix with Annaliese’s cries of protest. I turn to race up the steps. A couple of colourfully robed Prophets move to stop me. Never have I felt the need to hurt another human before. An evil smile grew on my face as I continue forward to meet the challenge. I slash and hammer with my rifle cutting the false Prophets down. My attention is diverted from Annaliese and her father. I hear her screams as I mow down the obstacles in my way. A door slams just as I’m leaving the battered bodies of the High Prophets underlings. I lift my head searching for Annaliese. The large closed doors of the palace seal off my view. Running to the doors I pull the handles. Locked. I race to a window. The butt of the rifle smashes through the glass clearing an opening. Broken shards of glass slice deep into my thigh as I climb thru the window. The vast entrance to the house is empty. A scream echoes down a long hallway. Clutching the rifle in one hand, I use my other hand to put pressure on the cut. I feel my warm blood seeping through my fingers. Another scream forces thoughts of the cut in my thigh out of my mind and I push further into the palace. My adrenaline rises with every beat of my heart. The exertion from walking increases the blood flowing from my wound. I leave a trail of bloody footprints behind me down the hallway. The walled tunnel leads toward the back of the house. I hear faint footsteps echoing ahead of me. A door slams. The hallway bends. I come face to face with a solid wooden door. I try the doorknob. Locked. Annaliese’s screams are muffled behind the locked door. I quickly take two steps back and then charge the door, throwing the weight of my body into the door. It doesn’t budge. I try again. Nothing. The loss of blood is making my head light. I stop and take a breath grasping at any other solution to get into the room behind the door. Another scream. With a dulled mind I use the only tool close at hand. Raising the rifle I hammer the butt into doorknob. The knob and rifle break at the same time. I push the door open and am confronted with a set of stairs leading down. The passage is very dimly lit. My breathing is growing ragged, my head swimming. Grabbing hold of the handrail I hobble down the stairs, my wounded leg dragging. Another startled cry from Annaliese is muffled. I quicken the pace of my descent. The light grows dimmer; a fog swims in front of my eyes. I miss judge the last step and brace my wounded leg for support. A stream of pain radiates from my wound, the shock clears the fog in my head. In the dim light I can make out slightly more than the silhouettes of Annaliese and her father. His back is to me. Annaliese is struggling as he tries to tie her hands. I move forward. As I close in he turns and surprises me. Without thinking I lurch at him. My wounded leg gives out. The floor rushes up to meet me. I feel a foot being driven into my side. I roll away. A couple more severe kicks find my body. Stars start to join the haze in my head. Through misted eyes I watch the High Prophet. He stands over me. A long handled shovel raised in his hands. He prepares to end our little battle. He pauses as he babbles incoherently. The evil grin reappears on his face as he prepares to strike. I pull my arms up to protect my head. Before the Prophet smashes the shovel down on me the features of his face change. His mouth forms an O and his eyes bulge. He staggers before falling towards me. I roll out of the way. Behind where the Prophet was standing is Annaliese. Ropes bound around her wrists, a long knife dripping blood clutched in her hands. She bends over me. Her tears mix with the dust in the room. I whisper to her. “I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me this wouldn’t have happened.” She brushes her hand across my face. A tear falls on me. She forces a sad smile onto her face. “It was a long time coming. You being here was only the catalyst.” Epilogue It has been over a year since the Prophets have been removed from Adams City. Annaliese and Marcus were elected to run the city. The Prophets themselves were forcefully escorted from the city a few days after the events at the palace. There were no trials and no confinement for them just banishment. A group led by Marcus walked the Prophets away from the city limits to a place no one talks about. Some speculate that the Prophets were released deep into the labyrinth of lava tunnels; others think that they were walked to a ledge high over the red river and coerced to jump. In any regards they have not been back to impose their archaic rules over the oppressed towns people. A few months after the palace battle I convinced Annaliese and Marcus to lend me a vehicle and hard to find supplies for the people of the New Capital. Adams City had modern technology that could aid the lives of those struggling to survive deep beneath the surface in other parts of this cold miserable planet. Together we banded together and have been sending voyages out in search and help of the less fortunate colonies. It will take years to reach a lot of them and deliver the knowledge and machinery that will help the inhabitants of this world forge their way out of the stone ages. The oil mines are no longer a form of punishment. The life sustaining liquid buried deep inside the earth is now celebrated like I believe it once was when life on earth prospered. We erected a monument with the names engraved upon it of all the people forced to death working in the pits. Many times I have stood in front of this wall staring at my father’s name. Paul W. Ryan – Explorer. One cold dark day Annaliese and I stood on the surface watching another team of men leave on an expedition to find other colonies in need of our help. I had been starring at the vast tundra I had once traveled over when she let out a gasp. Expecting trouble I first glanced at her face. A bright light shone on her visor, her eyes turned up to the dust filled sky, her outstretched arm pointing up. I spun around to see the source of her fright. For over two centuries the skies over the earth have remained dark with volcanic dust and storm clouds. I stood along side holding her hand as the two of us stared at something I never thought I would ever see in my lifetime, a parting of the dust and clouds exposing a patch of blue sky with the sun shinning thru. Annaliese is often busy with her duties away from the palace. She now carries our child. A boy we are told. With her insistence the child will be named after my father. On this particular evening I venture down to the depths of the palace. A room I had desire to return to but tonight I was on another adventure. The day the palace fell those many months ago and I found Annaliese and her father in this room I had noticed a shelf in the back as I waited for help to come. I paid no attention to it that day but now as things have taken on a more mundane pattern I can’t help thinking about what I believe I spotted on that shelf. I tread carefully down the long staircase. Lights are ablaze brightening my path. Hesitating I step into the room and wonder over to the shelf. Books. Actual paper bound books. I lean close and blow dust off some of the covers. The titles are unfamiliar. Then one catches my interest. I slip it from its shelf and read the cover. The book is a history of one of the last wars fought on earth. THE CLIMATE WARS. I would like to thank everyone for coming along on this journey. I certainly hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. With a touch of sadness I realize the story had to come to an end but where one ends another starts. This was written a few weeks before this final chapter will be released. By now I am forging ahead on a precursor to the Ice Racer. The Climate Wars, the beginning of the end of modern day civilization. Enjoy! I look forward to and encourage any comments you may have. Feel free to write to me. Richard Cozicar
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The Climate Wars begins? Sign up for our mailing list. We will only send you notifications when new online exclusives begin, new books are being released, and to let you know about events Richard Cozicar is involved in. Check back every week for a new instalment of the online exclusive by Richard Cozicar The Ice Racer Crowds of people flood the streets as we walk the final blocks. Echoes of footsteps and muffled conversations are heard on the main street before the masses of people appear. Still a block away from the palace steps the people begin converge forcing us to slow down. I take the opportunity to look around.
What started out as a few scattered people only blocks ago quickly transforms into clusters as other individuals join them in the walk toward the palace. The clusters rapidly grow in size until they finally meld with the already waiting crowd. Our own arrival is easily masked as we blend in with the throngs of townsfolk. Standing in the middle of the growing mass of onlookers, I watch over the heads of the crowd waiting silently. Each of us is painfully aware of the impossibility of the task ahead. Being surrounded by all of these people our small group feels even more diminutive. I scan the crowd and try to read the faces. Will any of these bystanders rise up to help us once we make our move or will they turn in protection of the Prophets? I search for a way to disrupt the trial until Marcus returns, if he returns. Our hastily rushed plan contains many hazards and even if everything goes in our favour what chance do we really have against the trained military guards? A hush falls over the crowd. I turn my attention to the palace doors. A line of guards marches through the open doors closely followed by four colourfully robed Prophets. The procession of guards parts at a dais set up at the edge of the palace steps, the Prophets stop a few steps behind. The murmuring and jostling from the growing crowd falls silent. I feel my heart start to race as I continue watching the open door in anticipation. I can’t help but think if it weren’t for me Annaliese would not be in this position. Surprised gasps are heard as the people react and hushed comments of disapproval rise up from the crowd as Annaliese walks through the door, her head held high; her hooded face a blank mask as she looks beyond the dais at the crowds. Close on her heels walks another Prophet, this one adorned in robes of a more intricate design and bolder colours. I assume he must the high Prophet but I refrain from asking the people around me for fear of drawing attention to myself. The crowd starts to become restless; the subdued whispers rise in pitch. Looking around the fringes of the gathering I can see men in military robes searching for the more boisterous of the city folk. My attention once again returns to the scene on the front steps. The High Prophet’s voice is barely heard above the din of noise from the onlookers. Although I cannot make out his words, I can see when the Prophet pauses a moment to allow the noise to from the crowd to subside. "It is with great displeasure that we gather here today." He announces. “The treachery of one so close to me bears heavy on my heart.” The Prophet makes a show of staring disappointedly at his daughter before he delves back into his speech. “We, the Prophets of Adams Mountain, have given our lives for the protection and well being of the citizens of this city only to be blindsided by one we thought of as a true believer of our faith.” The Prophet gains momentum lamenting the unselfish sacrifices of the ruling class all for the good of the city. He speaks of how the city was settled by his ancestors as a refuge to avoid prosecution from the outside world. How the blame was unfairly placed on the Prophets for installation of the billions upon billions of energy producing turbines. The disbelievers falsely claiming that the over abundance of the large metal towers caused the earth’s core to tremble and eventually triggered the mass eruptions of the earth’s volcanoes. Volcanoes worldwide that continuously spewed ash clouds high into the skies blocking the life-sustaining rays of the sun from reaching the planets surface. While the Prophet droned on about how grateful the people of Adams Mountain should be, I scanned the streets and alleys leading to the steps of the palace. When will Marcus appear and with how many others? The military guards that are interspersed throughout the crowd along the streets are many compared to the small band of Marcus’ men who ventured into the crowd with me. The long-winded speech from the steps sounds like it is about to end. Then what? The Prophet is telling the people of Adams Mountain about savage people from the outside world and how the city is in constant danger from rival cities. This statement garners my attention. I have traveled the surface above this hidden city for years and never once came across any other city poised to attack. In fact, I have rarely ever noticed tracks from movement aside from our own and knew damn well the people of the New Capital had no intention of ever attacking anyone. Hell. We had no idea this place even existed. The Prophets obviously relied on fear caused the spreading of erroneous misinformation maintain their grasp of power over their citizens. Combined with the promise of a life toiling in the oil mine for anybody who dares challenge their authority appears to grant them godlike authority. The High Prophet ends his propaganda filled speech amidst a smattering of applause. The anger that had changed his face during his rant is replaced by a look of sadness and disappointment. He pauses dramatically then reads the charges against Annaliese. “With a heavy heart the council finds my daughter, Annaliese Sento, guilty of treachery and colluding with the enemy against the people of Adams Mountain city. A second charge is raised against her in the aiding and abetting of a known enemy while helping him spy on our cities defenses.” The High Prophet lowers his head in a show of sorrow as he lets his words settle over the milling bystanders. “Obviously her betrayal against our city was meant to do only one thing. To assist our enemies in their advances to conquer this city and the enslave its people.” The mood of the crowd changes from the sympathy they first showed when Annaliese appeared on the palace steps to rumblings of disbelief and even shock and anger that she would dare conspire against the very people she had lived among all her life. My anger rises at the flood of lies that Annaliese’s own father apparently had little or no remorse in fabricating. The thought that this man was more than willing to sacrifice his own daughter so easily for power made my blood boil. “The punishment for such treachery will be dealt with harshly and quickly. After hours of soul searching the council has decided that the punishment must set an example to others who think of threatening Adams Mountain.” The Prophet faces Annaliese. “For your dreadful act of betrayal daughter, you will be placed upon the surface where you will be left to your own devices for survival.” He announces. “This sentence is to be carried out immediately.” The High Prophet takes a few steps away from Annaliese and motions for the guards to size her. The reading of the charges and then the outrageous sentence catch me off guard. She will not last an hour on the deadly surface and I can’t let the Prophets get away with the trumped up charges just because she risked her life for kindness. I grip the rifle by my side and then pat the reading paper hidden under my robe. I need to somehow convince the inhabitants of Adams City that they are being lied to and manipulated by these phony Prophets. My time is short. In a panic I desperately cast about for signs of Marcus and the extra help he promised. I have never considered my self a hero but damned if I was going to stand by while Annaliese was punished for the Prophets propaganda purposes. I have no idea of what type of delay I can provide but that doesn’t stop me. I grip my rifle tighter. I feel a hand fleetingly grip my robe. Glancing at the man beside me I see the hand quickly retract, one of Marcus’s men trying to caution me. I ignore the warning. With a shove I start to shoulder my way through the anxious crowd toward the steps and Annaliese. Damned if I will let anyone banish her to the surface. Check back every week for a new instalment of the online exclusive by Richard Cozicar The Ice Racer I am running out of darkness. I have wasted too much time between sneaking into the city and tracking the guards. I am at the point of no return so I forge onward deciphering the directions I had been given.
The city is so foreign to me slowing my progress so I hasten my footsteps. Caution is traded for distance. Sticking to alleys and shadows I skirt the main streets in search of the High Prophet’s house. Annaliese had briefly described it to me when we first met so as I came to every cross street I would stop and look up and down the streets. She told me it was the biggest house in the city. House she had told me, not building, that coupled with the guard’s directions eliminated a lot of what I continue to pass on my journey. At one such street crossing I look one way then the other. The street runs for a couple of blocks and behind the buildings at the end I spot a roof and upper windows that can only belong to a large house. My excitement gives me a renewed energy and I advance hastily and step out of the mouth of the alley. Something strikes across my face and sends me flying back. Shaking my head to clear it I watch through blurred eyes as a group of men walk into the alley after me. One of the men squats down beside me and raises his arm to remove my hood. The man’s words penetrate the ringing in my head. “Sorry.” Marcus apologizes. “You startled us when you stepped around the corner.” “We were notified when you entered the city but then you disappeared so we set out to find you.” I rub my jaw staring into Marcus’ face. My own eyes still tearing from the blow. “I don’t understand.” I start. “We were certain you had been captured when you diverted the guards from us back at the mine wall.” Marcus shakes his head. “It’s a long story, one for another time. I can only presume that if you are foolish enough to return to the city you must have a good reason.” “Annaliese. I came back to help her.” I explain. Marcus shakes his head. “When I heard you had returned I figured she was the reason that’s why we were in this part of the city searching for you.” “What are your plans?” He asked. I shrug my shoulders. “I hoped to sneak into to her father’s house and slip her out without any one knowing.” Marcus looked at me thoughtfully. “That is not much of a plan.” He stands up and offers me his hand. Getting to my feet I dust my self off, I stall still not knowing how to react. Changing the subject I look past him at the men with him. All of the men including Marcus are dressed in guard’s uniforms. Something must be going on for a group this size to be roaming the streets during curfew. “What’s happening?” I motion to his men. “Why risk being discovered?” His face darkens and he lowers his head. “Annaliese is to be tried tomorrow for helping you escape. Nobody expects the trial to last long and then they will sentence her to work the mines.” He explains. “We are going to try to stop the trial.” “How?” I ask puzzled. “You don’t have very many men.” “More than you think.” He raises his head. “Annaliese is very well liked in the city. She has spent her time roaming the city helping out those in trouble.” He smiles at the thought. “She has become very popular and a lot of the people are shocked that her own father would punish her.” I struggle with my own thoughts in search of a response. I am wracked with guilt because the trouble she is in is because of me. “I will turn myself in, trade my freedom for hers.” I decide out loud. “I can make a deal with the Prophets.” “That won’t happen. The Prophets won’t bargain. Their control over the city is fragile at best. If they appear to soften their stand it would bring their authority into question.” I kick at the dirt in frustration. “Then we will have to storm the palace and release her, what other option do we have?” “We will never get close. The palace is under heavy guard by the Prophet’s men. Several of the guards are sympathetic to her plight but the ones guarding the palace are the most trusted. They are selected for their loyalty and are rewarded well.” “Then what do we do?” My voice rising as panic sets in. I worry that the hour is late and the lights of the city will surely be brightening soon, people will leave their homes to start of the new day. How will we have any chance with so many more obstacles in the way of our already impossible task? “Where will her trial be held and how many guards will be there?” I ask Marcus searching for some sliver of hope. An idea worms its way into my head that seems crazy even to me but under the circumstances crazy may be what we need. "The trial will be held on the palace steps.” Marcus eyes me suspiciously. “A set of palace guards accompany the Prophets during these fiascos with several more squads standing ready in the street watching over the crowds.” Squatting down he draws a rough layout in the dust of the street and palace to demonstrate. Twisting his head he peers back up at me. “Why. What are you thinking?” Standing amongst the group of men I grasp at straws struggling to string random thoughts together in the form of a plan. The words tumble out of my mouth as I think out loud. The variables are many and the time is short. Marcus picks up on my train of thought and together we arrive at possible plan of attack. Marcus informs me that there are more insurgents he can call on to assist. We decide that I will lead a small mob to the trial and try to delay the proceedings. He has his own preparations to complete but will send others to aid in our task. “The trial will take place on the steps of the palace at first light. Wait here until the crowds gather. That should give me time to alert other sympathisers and have them meet you here before you leave for the palace.” Marcus instructs as he selects a few of the men in the group to stay with me, the remainder will leave with him. He takes me aside to talk. “The resentment factor in this city is running high right now. A lot of the city people object to the Prophets and Annaliese’s trial. Although most will be sympathetic, others even if they have come to despise the Prophets are too afraid to act and out of fear will rail against us.” He warns. “Careful of who you turn your back on in trust.” He pats my shoulder and walks out of the alley. Four men stay with me. We crouch in the shadows of the alley and bide our time. The last remaining hours of dark pass as we wait for the city lights to brighten. Stragglers sent by Marcus appear out of the darkened streets to bolster our small band. By the time the city is about to wake our little gathering is a mere fifteen people strong. A few of us have military robes and rifles, the rest are simply garbed in their normal robes. The city is bathed in daylight. A bell sounds throughout the streets. One of Marcus’ men interrupts my thoughts and nods toward the palace. I search the faces of the small group assembled around me. Faces are scared and nervous. I step in front as we leave the sanctuary of the alley toward the palace steps. Annaliese’s trial is about to start. Check back every week for a new instalment of the online exclusive by Richard Cozicar The Ice Racer I feel the adrenaline seep through my blood, my hunger and thirst forgotten for the moment. Running my eyes over the length of the wall in front of me I desperately search for a path of hand and foot holds that will allow me to climb away from the heat of the river.
I cling to the jagged wall of rock and work my way upward. The climb is not really that far but the state I am in from the strain of my multiday trek, forces me to creep along so slowly that it takes me hours to crest the side. Finally I reach the top, I tell myself that I just need a moment to rest and I take a second to pause and catch my breath before I crest the lip of the cliff. I peer over, from what I can see of my surroundings I think I am about half way between where I was first discovered and the city itself. Raising my body over the top I spend a bit more time to study the area around me to make sure there are no scouts out this way. Turning away from the city I make sure to keep my body low, I can use the cover of the rock outcroppings as I move away from the city in search of the spot where I hope my pack must be. The surroundings begin to look familiar, man, that seems like an eternity ago. I search a large area until I spot my pack right where I left it so many days ago when I had gone in search of water. I snatch it up and quickly move away from the lava river toward the ice that has accumulated far from the heat. The closer to the city I get the more diligently I have to watch my surroundings. I carefully work my way along the path making sure to keep myself hidden from plain sight. I touch the walls around me, never have I been this happy to see ice and feel the cold radiate off of it. Ripping off my visor I chip ice into a cup from my pack and set a heat pod under it. My mouth is parched as I wait for the cool relief the water will bring. Setting the ice aside to melt, I pull a food pack out and prepare one of the best meals I have had in my life. The water burns as it passes down my constricted throat. I allow myself only small swallows of water at first as I struggle to swallow, my throat swollen and raw from the dehydration over the last few days. Mixing sips of water with small bites of food I lay back and for the first time in my life I thoroughly enjoy the coolness of the ice. Another whole day goes by as I recover and formulate a plan to break Annaliese out of the city. Near the end of the second day I grab a few supplies and stuff them in different compartments in my suit and stash my pack out of sight. I carefully weave my way back toward the city of Adam’s Mountain. The easiest way in is straight down the path I had first walked. The closer I get to city, the more I think about my plan the more I figure a less direct route in. Walls of volcanic debris line both sides of the trail leading into the city. A safe distance from the city I climb up to my right and into a field strewn with boulders. The path I have decided on will take me over and around mounds and large boulders but it will provide me with the best cover. I have to move slowly and carefully because if I miss my footing I can look forward to a body’s worth of broken bones. I stop short of the city hiding behind a cluster of rock. The lights of the city are dim. I was sure there would be some sort of perimeter guards but I haven’t noticed any so far. From my earlier visit, I’m sure the citizens of the city are too afraid of the Prophets to challenge the curfew, at least most of them are so thankfully there is no one else around to spot me. I creep in on the far end of the city, several blocks north of the building I was held captive in. My plan is more random than well thought out. The start of it is easy. Find a military guard, subdue him and then have him tell me where Annaliese is being held. I stick to the shadows of the streets until I spot a pair of unsuspecting military guards. I have spotted a few pairs of them since entering the city and decide to follow these two, slipping from shadow to shadow waiting for an opportunity to trap them. Staying low I maintain my pursuit of the guards waiting for them to stop and give me an opening that I can take advantage of. I soon become aware that these two don’t venture far in their travel, we travel in circles for a while as I wait for the perfect oportunity. Eventually they stop at the end of an alley. I creep behind a pile of bins stacked against an adjacent building and wait. I watch as one of the guard turns away from his partner and retraces his steps back down the alley. His walk brings him right by hiding spot. Pressing tight to the bins I watch him pass by me and stop at a break in the buildings behind me. His back is to me as he stops and relieves himself. I carefully check back in the direction of the other guard. He is still facing away from his partner. The bins I am behind stand in between the guards sheltering them from each other. Seizing the opportunity I raise the butt of the rifle and creep silently along the wall toward the guard. Within a few steps of the occupied guard I raise myself to my full height, the rifle raised above my head. I am almost directly behind the man when he starts to turn. With all my might I drive the stock of the gun into his face. He releases a startled gasp as the rifle smashes into the side of his face. Bones crunch under the force. The guard crumples to the ground. I strike him again and hastily grab at his robe as I try to remove it. My mind screams at me to hurry before his partner comes to investigate. Rolling and tugging at the man I remove his military robe and swap it with mine. Taking a second to regain my breath I compose myself and with a shaky confidence I stride back toward the mouth of the alley closing the distance to the other guard. The man at the mouth of the alley moves his head slightly at the sounds of my footsteps. He asks me a question. I mumble back a reply and cough to disguise my voice pulling the hood of the robe lower over my face. My heart races, as I get closer. The second guard spins around and looks directly at me. I am still yards away from him. I can see his eyes studying me. While he hesitates I raise my rifle, the barrel pointing at his head and motion him back into the alley. “Drop your gun.” I bark. His gun clatters to the street, his eyes narrow as he obeys. Stepping behind him I stick the barrel of the rifle in his back to prod him along. I scoop up his discarded rifle and follow silently behind him. At the break in the building where I left his unconscious partner I call for him to stop. “Grab his feet and drag him behind those bins.” I command again using the gun to point to the stacks against the wall. Watching closely I wait until the three of us are hidden deep behind the stacks of bins. “Where is Annaliese?” I ask. The guard looks at me dumbfounded. “Annaliese.” I repeat. “The High Prophets daughter.” Still the man stares at me like I speak a different language. I’m not sure what to do; I have never had to question anyone before. The guard ignores my question. My hand goes under the hood on the robe as I scratch my head. The guard grows braver at my indecisiveness and takes a step toward me. I hesitate. He rushes and grabs for the gun. With both hands I hold on tight as he tries to wrestle it from me. He lifts his foot to kick me. I turn and take the blow on the side of my leg. My adrenaline surges. I jerk the gun closer to my body bringing the guard with it. His head jerks forward. I twist the gun across and drive my elbow into the side of his face. He staggers from the blow. With the momentum in my favour I keep him off balance driving him straight back into the bins. The air rushes out of his mouth and he eases his grasp on the rifle. I pull hard on it again and release it from his grip while at the same time I sweep my foot around tripping him. He falls into the building. I rush on top of him and smash the butt of the gun down on his shoulder. The third time I do this he lays crumpled on the ground panting for breath. “Where is Annaliese?” I ask again in an anger filled voice. “Locked in her room in the Prophets house.” He answers through smashed teeth. “How do I find this house?” The guard pauses for a minute, his eyes filled with fear then in a shaky voice he gives me directions. “I hope you’re successful.” He mumbles as my rifle crashes into his head. The guard’s words ring in my head as I cut strips from his robe and tie the two men up. Check back every week for a new instalment of the online exclusive by Richard Cozicar The Ice Racer With my back against the wall, standing in the darkest shadows of the tunnel I breathlessly listening to the sounds from the cave. People shuffling, running feet and then shouts from what I can only presume belong to the guards.
Other voices are raised, some in pleading, others in resignation then a woman’s voice. Annaliese. Her voice is raised in struggle. I put my hand to the rifle slung over my shoulder and clench my fist. My first thoughts are to barge back into the cave and help her. I am frozen with indecision. Louder voices drift through the opening of the tunnel, slowly moving closer to where I am hidden. Pivoting, I proceed deeper into the darkness, never forgetting the need to move cautiously to prevent any noise that will betray my position. Volcano fumes thicken as I move away from the voices and further into the unknown. My lungs fight against the noxious fumes when I stop to catch my breath, and my eyes strain to seek out safe footing in the darkness. In all the excitement I had forgotten that Annaliese had returned my visor. With shaking hands I pull it out from under the robe and slide it over my head, I fasten it tightly then turn on the air scrubber. In seconds the air clears and my burning lungs get relief. Playing with the light amplifier I adjust the screen, the shadows of the tunnel recede. Directly ahead of me the tunnel shrinks. Bending low I move onward. The man who brought us to the cave had said the tunnels would lead to the lava river. Whether this one goes directly to the river or how far I had to go I did not have a chance to ask. I work my way forward, I run my hand along the wall to my left to ensure that I remain strictly to the one tunnel. Along the way I had passed several others that branch in different directions. My thinking is that if all else fails I can return to the cave by this same trail. I pause and listen for sounds of others chasing me. Nothing. The only sound is my own laboured breathing. In a small alcove I sit down and try to think ahead. What are my plans, what are my options? At first I convince myself to wait and then return to the oil mine and try to find the air chute to the surface. Thinking that through I decide against it. Even if I wasn’t caught in the mines how long could I reasonably last on the surface? I didn’t have any food, my backpack with my shovel and heat pods remained behind where I was first discovered. And what about Annaliese? She and Marcus risked their standing in the city to free me from the cages. Could I leave them to their fate? Was it my problem? All I wanted at the moment was to return home. Feeling the need to move I wander aimlessly while my mind fights to come up with a decision. With my mind preoccupied I don’t notice the heat in the tunnel increasing. Suddenly I become aware of the sweat soaking my body, I must be close to an opening to the lava river so I rush ahead. I move quickly over the jagged rocky trail, around a sharp bend then I run into a dead end. My way blocked with a wall of craggy solidified lava. The rocks blocking my way are hot to the touch so I must be close but I will have to find another tunnel to get me there. After backtracking several hundred feet the tunnel branches off. Decision time. If I stray from the tunnel I have been following will I be able to find it again and return to the oil mine? That option would, with luck, get me back to the surface and I could leave all this behind. I struggle with indecision once again then the sounds of Annaliese’s voice as she struggled against the Prophets men cuts through the fog in my mind. I realize that my choice is already made. I will not leave Annaliese. I will find a way to help her. My options are not good. If I return to the cave I am certain that I will be recaptured. These people know the mines a lot better than I do so I wouldn’t stand much of a chance. No. I will have to try these tunnels and find my way to the river of red. The river runs not to far from the Adam’s City. Easy. I fool myself. All I have to do is navigate these tunnels, walk along the river without getting cooked and then sneak into an armed city and free Annaliese. What could be easier? Besides, no matter which course I choose I figure the outcome is bound to be the same. It was my life to do with what I needed and at the present I didn’t picture myself living to old age. So, back to the city it was then. With the last shred of doubt cast away I take the new tunnel with renewed determination. Several hours pass and then another dead end. The tunnels are hot, but I keep pushing on. My breathing is laboured as I try tunnel after tunnel. Sometime, hours later I sit with my back against a wall and rest. The exhaustion over takes me and I doze off. I am not sure how long I sleep for, but in my dreams screams from Annaliese as she is tossed off the edge of the cliff into oil mine startle me awake. I sit straight up with a jolt and look around. It’s too dark to see. My body is soaked inside my thermal suit. Fumbling with my visor I power up the light amplifier. It was a dream. My stomach rumbles letting me know that it has been a while since I last ate. Groggily I stand up, the determination to find the lava river starting to burn in my mind again. For the next two days I scramble in and out the tunnels searching for an opening to the river. Some tunnels were stifling with heat, others almost freezing cold. Thirsty and starving I stumble through yet another endless tunnel. The heat increases as I move forward but I don’t get too excited. I have been down this path of hope before. The floor is treacherous as I make my way around another bend. Light. A glow of red rises in the distance ahead of me. With renewed vigour I half walk half stagger forward. The heat increases as I approach the end of my search. Slowly I creep close to the tunnels end wary to not stumble. Loose rocks litter the mouth of the tunnel as I stop at the edge. Leaning over I put my hands on my knees and peer out over the river of red, the screen on my visor dripping with water. There in front of me, about twenty feet below, is a thin stream of liquefied red rock as it flows by. The heat is intense, my body is worn out but not far from here I hope lays the shiny city. A short drop from the lip of the tunnel is a ledge that juts out running parallel to the flowing river of molten rock. I turn and lower my legs over the tunnels edge. Easing myself nervously over the edge until I am holding on with only my fingers I take a deep breath and with a little prayer I let go. The drop is farther than it looks. I land awkwardly and as I clamber to gain my balance my foot slips over the crumbly side of the ledge. I land hard on my knees and the jagged rocks tear into my suit. Instinctively I roll onto my backside dragging my foot back onto the precarious shelf only feet above the heat and the certain death the passing river brings. My heart beats rapidly in my chest, through my open mouth I gulp in the stale air inside my visor. I don’t pause long, the heat from the river is almost unbearable and my dehydrated, fatigued body does not need much of an excuse to surrender. Swinging my head from side to side to check my surroundings I try to orient myself in the direction of the city. A wrong guess and my chances diminish. Left, I decide, the city has to be left. Don’t ask me how I know, but years guiding the ice sled across the frozen surface of this planet have instilled a sense of direction that I have learned to trust. Standing precariously I cling to the uneven cliff wall and foot-by-foot I move. The enhanced lighting provided by my visor along with the glow of the heated lava provides plenty of light for me to see my way. At times this is almost a bad thing as the ledge gets smaller and then widens, dips closer to the river then suddenly climbs high above it. Everywhere I look I see towering walls formed of age old solidified lava. The river is nothing more than a trickle in a vast tunnel that has been worn and formed over hundreds of years of volcanic activity. My strength and hope are dwindling as I robotically slide one foot after the other. I feel like I am being cooked alive inside my suit but surely without the suit and my visor I would have been long dead from the excruciating heat and the deadly fumes drifting up from below. One more step, one more bend to climb around I keep telling myself. I slide up to a protrusion blocking my path; the ledge I am on is almost non-existent now. With my hand I feel for anything to hold on to as I edge very hesitantly around the protrusion. A few times I lose my footing as I gingerly place my feet. With a death grip I cling to the wall for fear of falling into the heated river below. Nearing the end of the bend the ledge again widens and with quickened steps I scramble to a more secure space. Once again I am left gasping as I collect myself, my body supported by my hands on my knees. I rest, probably longer than I think and with a last shove of determination I straighten up. The outcropping I am standing on is wide enough for me to turn around. Tearing my gaze away from the tunnel behind me I look past the protrusion. Up above me the shadows in the cavern are lighter. Almost like…like the glow from artificial lights are warding them off. I chance a smile and my hopes lift…the city is not far off. Check back every week for a new instalment of the online exclusive by Richard Cozicar The Ice Racer The room shakes and wobbles as it descends. The clanking and grinding of the lowering mechanisms accompany us as we crawl deeper into the oil mine.
I quietly tell Annaliese to stick to the side and crouch with her gun ready. I do the same. Neither of us knows what to expect when the room reaches the bottom. Certainly there must be guards on the floor of the mine and I would bet anything that the space where this room stops is guarded as well. We wait with bated breath as the room continues its climb downward. I steal a glance at Annaliese, her eyes wide behind the plate of my visor. A trickle of sweat snakes down my back, the hairs on my neck again bristling with uncertainty. With a clunk and a jerk the room wobbles and then settles. Again I glance in Annaliese’s direction, her focus is locked on the door, her gun held high and ready. I steady my sight on the doors as well and take a breath waiting for the doors to open. The doors shift and then glide back opening into a brightly lit area. A small group of guards are gathered close to the open doors, a couple of men are facing the open doors, and the others have their backs to us as they watch the area around. There are too many men to take by surprise so I don’t hesitate to tighten my finger around the trigger of the rifle. Nearly simultaneously I hear the bark of Annaliese’s gun. The men in front drop. The others with their backs to us turn into more bullets sent flying from our guns. In a running crouch I leave the metal room and stand among the fallen guards my head on a swivel as I search for unseen threats before they see me. A bullet crashes past my foot from above. Diving to the side I roll over to a stack of crates near by and search above me. My gaze travels up, all the way from the cliff building. There, lying in the open doorway are more of the Prophet’s men raining bullets down on us. I panic. Where is Annaliese? In the brief meeting with the mine guards I had forgotten about her. My eyes travel back toward the metal room. There she hides just inside the doors. “I’ll try to stop them and you hurry over here.” I call to her. Before she can answer I lift the barrel of my rifle and fire a few bullets almost straight up at the men hanging out of the building. My bullets are off target but close enough that the men duck for cover. Annaliese rushes over. She ducks her head low as she runs. “Wait here.” I say and foolishly dash back to the fallen men by the elevator collecting all the guns I can scoop up in my venture, my body braced for the strike of bullets from above. Carrying the extra guns by their straps I duck back behind the cover of the crates. I passing Annaliese a few rifles to carry, the two of us work our way around the stack of crates and move farther away from the metal room. All the while my eyes comb the area ahead of us for more guards. The black damp ground diffuses the lighting in this dark, pungent smelling area and the towering stained metal machinery stretches out all around us. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of movement as it dashes out of sight like a spectre in a nightmare. Swivelling my head around I see more human shapes as they slip into hiding among the groupings of machines and piles of rock and debris. The air is thick with the mixture of oil and volcanic fumes, my throat burns, my eyes water. Glancing back up at the cliff building I watch as the elevator we just left as it slowly climbs back up toward the cliff building. Staying low I nudge Annaliese and motion deeper into the oil mine. The two of us move wearily at first as we distance ourselves from the bottom of the elevator shaft working around machines and rocks, my eyes constantly roaming trying to spot the Prophets guards before they find us. A few hundred feet from the elevator we round a pile of oily waste and holding our breath we peer around the mound to watch the area we had just passed. No one is following us yet. We hear the sound of feet on the rocks behind us. Tensing with my hand on a rifle trigger I spin around. Staring back at me is the dirt stained faces of a small bunch of men and women. Their robes stained and tattered, their faces haggard from the conditions of living in the oil mine. More sounds distract us. Small pockets of haggard looking people surround us, none of them that I can see are wearing the robes of the military guards. I slowly spin on the spot my gun at the ready in case they rush us. Without a word some of the members of the group behind us beckon for us to follow. I peer down at Annaliese. She shrugs and motions with her head as she hesitantly steps in behind to follow. I glance back at the others who had us surrounded before I move. Most of them have melted back into the dark surroundings. With a fast gait the miners move effortlessly through the mire of rock and metal leading us deeper into the labyrinth of the oil mine. The soles of our boots crunch as we pass over uneven footing, and slurp through puddles of thick oil that are camouflaging holes in the trail. As my foot finds such a hole the slick footing throws me off balance. I twist and stumble, the guns I am carrying collide with a metal frame as I trip and fall to the ground. One of the men who found us stops and lends me a hand up. My robe is saturated with grime and oil residue. Reaching down to pick up the confiscated rifles I pass them to the man who helped me as I collect them. Picking up the last gun, I straighten up. The man I have passed the guns to stares from me to the guns and back again. I don’t know what he is thinking but I stand before him unarmed. He selects one of the rifles and passes it back to me, the other guns he redistributes to the small group accompanying us. I nod my approval and he turns and we continue moving. The leader of the group stops at the end of the path and holds up his hand. The path opens into a wide clearing. In the middle of the clearing stands a platform with a metal tower in the center. Men and women are on the platform bustling about among pipes and levers and cables. “That’s an oil derrick.” The leader notifies me as if he can read my mind. I continue to stare at the metal tower as he leads on turning and walking close to the piles of debris surrounding the opening. At the next break in the debris we leave the opening and walk down a tunnel like path leading toward the canyon wall. Holes in the wall appear as we walk closer. The lights of the oil mine fade as we close in on the wall. Annaliese and I follow the group into an opening in the wall and after several twists and turns we arrive at the entrance to a large cave. “You can rest here for now.” The leader tells us. Annaliese tugs at my visor and pulls it off her head to hear the conversation better. “Don’t the guards know about these caves?” I ask. The leader shrugs as he turns to his fellow miners. “They don’t need to. Other miners down here will eventually lead them to you.” He says apologetically. “Our survival down here relies on the food and water the Prophets send down for us every day.” The leader tells us in an explanation of how life in the oil pits work. “Every faction of life in the pit is controlled by the city. Water is pumped down from the surface and food and other supplies are lowered into the hole by the guards operating the elevator. “Any sign of an uprising is stemmed by the refusal of the life necessities. The food allotted is barely enough to survive on; water is rationed, as are other supplies. Down here life is hard and the work is harder. We have quotas to fill every day and if we fall behind then the punishment is smaller and smaller rations. “Most of the people imprisoned here are suffering but they are not ready to admit defeat and die, so if it’s between hiding you or eating I am afraid they will eagerly help the Prophets recapture you. I am sorry.” He finished. “Is there no way out of here?” I ask almost as a rhetorical question, these people would have had years to exploit any means of escape if there were. The leader smiled. “You two came down the only way back out of here.” He kicked at some rocks on the cave floor. “And no. Even with the guns we can’t force our way into the elevator.” “The controls are at the top of the cliff and even by capturing the guards at the bottom the guards at the top will never allow it. The guards at the bottom know that their lives would be forfeit before the elevator lowers under threat.” “I was told that there is a chute that pumps air from the surface. Is there no way to follow that to the surface?” The leader gawked at me like I was a simple child. “I am sure a person could find a way up through it…you would freeze to death by the time you climbed a quarter of the way up.” Then for the first time I think he noticed my heat suit under my robe. Then he furrowed his brow as he stared Annaliese in the face. “You…you’ve been on the surface before, haven’t you? So even if you could climb to the top what would you do, you probably couldn’t survive up there for long.” He paused as he struggled with his next statement. “…I used to be one of the Prophets men selected for surface excursions. There is nothing around for miles and miles but snow and ice and blizzards.” Then turning his attention back to Annaliese. “Are you not the daughter of the High Prophet?” He asked in amazement. Her answer was lost as raised voices echoed through the tunnels leading to the cave we were hiding in. “Do these caves lead anywhere?” I urgently asked. “Eventually to the lava rivers but the air and heat will kill you as fast as the cold on the surface will.” “We’ll take our chances.” I boldly replied. “No.” Annaliese protested. She pushed my visor to me. “Both of us will not be able to escape but with your suit and visor you might have a chance.” “I won’t leave with out you.” I say stubbornly fully intending to stand my ground. The voices in the tunnels grow louder, shadows appear across the opening of the cave. Annaliese steps closer to me and smiles. “Good luck Mike.” She says and before I know what’s happening she raises her hands and shoves me backwards. I trip over a pile of rocks and fall into the mouth of a smaller side tunnel down a slight incline. Clambering to my feet I hear the voices from the tunnel as they enter the big cave. “Shit.” I exclaim in my head and fall back into the waiting shadows of the tunnel. |
Richard CozicarA new Canadian Author with too many ideas in his head. Surprising even himself with where his stories go. Archives
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