Tom Isbell - The Capture

Eyebrows arch in surprise.

“Wait a minute,” Flush says. “We’re not going to jump in there, are we?”

She doesn’t bother to reply. Sometimes it’s better just to demonstrate a thing than explain it.

She leaps to the very middle of the stream and the current sucks her under, tumbling her head over heels until she is completely upside down, disoriented. Her arms take her to the bottom of the river, where her fingers scrape a thick layer of silt and mud. The murky current throws her against a boulder, and what little air she has in her lungs is pushed out. Stars blink.

It’s the flooded tunnel all over again.

Sunlight sparkles on the water and Hope reaches for it, following a trail of silver bubbles and straining for the sky itself. She breaks the surface and gasps for air. She’s gotten only a small breath before the river pulls her back under, dumping huge mouthfuls of water down her throat. She rises back up, hacking and sputtering and retching until her lungs are on fire.

But she’s on the surface.

She brings her knees to her chest, and her feet bounce off one boulder after another like a marble in a maze. The Sisters and Less Thans are still on the riverbank, paralyzed with fear. A bullet catches a Sister in the back, and she crumples to the earth.

Book and Argos jump into the raging river, then all the others. In no time, thirteen bobbing heads poke above the surface.

The water is icy cold, and Hope’s feet and fingers grow numb. She flails her arms to get some circulation going. When the river widens and slows, she paddles, both to warm herself and to put even more distance between her and the Brown Shirts. Then the river narrows, sluicing through tight gorges in a rush of whitewater. It’s just Hope and the water and the towering canyons.

She bobs along like a cork for hours, the river taking her farther and farther south. Finally, it widens for good. Green grasslands lie on either side, and a sandbar juts in front of her. Her feet find the pebbly riverbed and she stands up. Her legs are stiff from cold, and it’s all she can do to lurch toward shore.

The first to join her is Book. They barely look each other in the eye.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She nods. “Just cold. You?”

“Same.”

An awkward silence follows. “Look, about what happened,” he starts to say, but soon the others appear.

They drag themselves out of the river on frozen limbs, trembling from cold, their lips icy blue. Argos gives his fur a shake. The Sisters’ dresses cling to their bodies like a second layer of skin.

“Why’d you do it?” Dozer demands, emerging from the water like some Creature from the Black Lagoon. “Why’d you kill our friend?”

“He was my friend, too,” Book replies.

“So why’d you kill him?”

“I was trying to save him. He would’ve died otherwise.”

Dozer weighs a good fifty pounds more than Book, and when he grabs Book’s shirt with his two meaty fists, there’s no way Book can squirm free. “Cat could’ve lived. All we had to do was bring him with us.”

“I’m telling you, he wouldn’t’ve made it if we’d carried him.”

“And I’m telling you , you don’t know what you’re talking about. Now he’s gonna die for sure.”

Book opens his mouth to speak, then thinks better of it.

“So now what, Limp?”

“Same as before,” Book says. “Return to Camp Liberty and free those Less Thans.”

“You really think we can get past Hunters and Brown Shirts with slingshots and arrows ? After what just happened?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

Dozer spits and shakes his head from side to side.

It occurs to Hope they should be relieved. They survived an ambush from the Brown Shirts. But a single glance makes it clear they’re stuck in the middle of a barren wilderness—far to the south from where they want to be. And they don’t have Cat.

“Let’s get a fire going and dry off,” Hope says. “We can talk about this later.”

Dozer’s gaze flicks between Hope and Book, as though he can’t decide if they’re crazy or just plain idiots. Then he turns and calls out to the others, “Let’s get a fire going and dry off!” Like it was his idea all along. He begins digging a pit in the sand.

“Not on shore,” Hope points out. “Somewhere hidden behind a hill, so the Brown Shirts can’t spot us.”

Dozer stares her up and down. “Whatever you say, Last Hope .”

As he walks away, he mutters to Red, “First this crazy Camp Liberty plan, then abandoning Cat, then jumpin’ in that river. I’m tellin’ ya, these two are dangerous.”

The more Hope surveys her surroundings, the more she realizes how dire their situation is. There’s not a single tree in sight. It’s bald savannah for as far as they can see. Thin grass bending under a blazing sun. No trees. No shade. Just undulating grasslands beneath sky, sky, and more sky.

As Flush puts it, “This place is as bare as my butt.”

Because of the endless acres of dry grass, tinder is no problem, and they’re able to get a flame going fairly easily, propped up with driftwood. Hope is surprised to see a separate fire fifty yards away: Dozer and three others. Perhaps it makes sense. Twelve is too many to crowd around a single flame.

That’s their new number now: twelve. In addition to losing Cat, two Sisters died as well. Rosa was shot down by Brown Shirts, and Taran drowned. So even though six Less Thans and six Sisters have made it, there is a somber atmosphere throughout camp. Survivor’s guilt. Hope knows it well.

They huddle around the meager fire, drying out wet and ragged clothes. No one speaks, their eyes lost in the waving flames. Hope feels responsible for the two Sisters’ deaths. She didn’t protect them.

It’s not the first time she’s felt this way.

She moves away from the fire, offering as an excuse that she’s going to find more wood. The river beckons her, and she walks its barren shore deep in thought. It bends and winds like a slithering snake, sand squishing between her toes.

She is grateful for the solitude, and surprised when she spies someone else looking for wood.

Book.

At first they work in silence. Just the river lapping against the bank, the breeze tugging at Hope’s hair. She tucks what little there is behind an ear. When she looks up, Book is studying her.

“What?” she asks.

“Sorry about your friends,” he says. “I know you lost two back there and—”

“I’m fine.” Hope regrets that her tone is so brusque, but she can’t help herself. The fact is: she isn’t fine—not by a long shot. She misses Faith. And her dad. And mom. And now Book abandoned Cat and she’s leading her Sisters to some camp way on the other side of the Western Federation Territory. No, she’s not remotely fine.

If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it. “That was a good call,” he says, “jumping in the river.”

“You think so? We lost two girls back there.”

“We would’ve all been lost if we hadn’t done it. If you hadn’t jumped in first.”

Something softens her. Maybe it’s his kindness. Maybe it’s the quiet of the dusk. The river gurgles and coos, and a fish breaks the surface and plops back down into the murky depths. An indigo haze settles on the riverbanks. The sense of peace is like an actual warmth spreading through her chest.

She sits back on her haunches and for a brief instant, their eyes catch … and then they return to scrounging for wood. Their palms and knees are damp from sand.

“Can I ask you something?” she says.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“What?”

“Leave Cat behind.” It’s something she can’t stop thinking about.