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Amy couldn’t remember who knocked her out.
One second she was yelling at Blaze, and in the next, she was waking up in a cell—two barred walls covering a corner of a cabin. It was a silly notion. Couldn’t she just work at the wood behind her if she wanted to escape? Sure, it would take a while due to the size of the logs, but it wasn’t impossible.
She winced as she touched the back of her head. The blood had already dried into her hair, and it was tender to the touch. She blinked a couple times and looked around her. She was in the jailhouse, so she knew that there was only the one cell. She had spent a couple of nights there back in her thieving days when the community had apparently passed no touch laws on crops and no one had told her about it. Who was going to miss a couple ears of corn in a whole field?
“Anyone there?” she meant to shout, but it came out a whimper. She cleared her throat and tried again but no one answered her.
She had hoped that her ploy would easily expose the killer. But when one day passed and then two, with only Blaze peering in from the door occasionally, she began to doubt her Plan A. The only person she saw was the man who delivered her cold, overcooked oats once a day. And he sure wasn’t talking. She knew how things worked around here. They might take a week before the trial was even set up.
What a stupid plan, she thought. I should have gone with Plan B, shut up and stay out of it.
She heard a chair being slid across the floor, but she couldn’t see the culprit. Although the cabin was only one room, there was a curtain partition in the middle, held up by hooks hammered into the ceiling. She squinted her eyes and tried to focus on the shape of the silhouette, but it was a hazy blob from where she stood.
The silhouette got up from its seat and began walking to the edge of the curtain. She sighed once she saw the familiar face of the young Johnson boy—Harold.
“Hey, Harold,” she muttered. “Bet you’re not surprised to see me here.”
“I am, actually,” the plain faced boy with the overalls replied. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“What happened to me?” she asked, gently touching the back of her head.
“Townspeople heard you shouting so we all started running for you. I was the one that hit you.”
“You?” she asked. “Why? You could have asked me a couple of questions first.”
“I needed you to shut up.”
Amy’s eyes widened as she put her hand down and gave him her full attention. “Why? I wanted to tell everyone,” she said, goading him to say what she needed to hear.
“You never shut up,” he said in disgust. “What’s your problem, anyway? You know that you didn’t murder Willow.”
“Then who did?” she said, winking at him. His reaction was all she needed to see. His jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide as he took a step back. His lip trembled as the door was suddenly thrown open. Harold Johnson, Sr. emerged from the outside with a purpose on his mind. He was still wearing his black judge robe as he strode in and shut the door behind him. He walked up to his son and smacked him across the back of his head.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded angrily, grabbing his son by the collar and shaking him. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he groaned. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not supposed to be speaking with the prisoner. She will have her trial and then judgment will be passed down upon her, remember?”
“It’s okay, Judge,” Amy said, crossing her arms. “He was just telling me how he killed Willow. Case solved.”
“What?” Harold shouted, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “I didn’t do it. It was Dad. I—” Johnson Sr. smacked him across the face, but it was too late. The reveal was out.
“What?” Amy said in shock, walking back until she was in the furthest corner of the cell. “It was you? But why?”
“You talk too much,” the Judge muttered as he let his son go. Harold Jr grabbed at his Dad’s garment, saying sorry over and over but his father wouldn’t acknowledge his cries. “I’m sorry that you had to hear that. I really was planning on giving you a fair trial.”
“But you’re the murderer!” she shouted.
“No one will believe that,” he said. “Even if you shout it throughout all of Comida, no one will believe you now. Your reputation precedes you.”
“But why?” she asked. “Willow was a good man.”
“Was he?” he said, scowling at her. “From whose standard? Listen, I work with Musgrave and Hearth directly, so I know a little bit about how they operate. Robert wouldn’t have succeeded in strong arming the other communities into more supplies. We have a system in place and it’s best to follow it. Arming the citizens? That was asking for civil war. These matters are best discussed in secret.”
“Is that what you do?” Amy asked. “Screw us over behind closed doors?”
“I’m still a citizen of Comida,” he retorted. “I’ve never done anything without the interest of our community in mind. I have the best of intentions.”
“Intentions that got Willow killed.”
“You wouldn’t even have found that out if my son didn’t have loose lips. I was in the middle of exposing the body when my son caught me red-handed. I had to leave the body for a moment to explain to him what his role was to be going forward. I had no idea that you and your friend would stumble across it. I leave my home and come back to a massacre. Still, I would say it all worked out in the end. For that, I thank you.”
“No, thank you,” she said with a smile. “Now I can make sure that you get a fair trial.”
“Always the jester,” the Judge laughed heartily as he reached under his robe and unsheathed a sword. “Well, if there is one thing that I am grateful to Robert for, it’s getting me a tool such as this.”
“What are you going to do? Kill me right here in the cell? What are you going to say? I slipped and fell?”
“No, no,” he said, sliding a finger gently across the edge of the blade. “I’m going to say that my son did it. After he killed you, I found him, and I was so shocked, but I knew it was coming. I saw the warning signs but I ignored them. I won’t excuse his behavior, but I will speak on the mental illness that has plagued him for so long. An illness that could have been served well with precious medicine from Musgrave. It will be my opinion that you suffered from the same kind of illness, and then I will lead the charge against Musgrave, but on my terms. Willow would have messed things up, but the other communities respect me. We will reach an agreement, especially considering that there are members of their own community that need to be diagnosed and assisted. No one wants to see a day in which two murders occurred happen ever again.”
“That is a good plan,” she admitted, nodding her head. “I almost want to fall on the sword myself.”
“I can make it quick,” he offered.
“Nah,” Amy said with a mischievous look in her eye. Now was the moment. “ALRIGHT! GO TELL THE WORLD!”
“Huh?” the Judge asked when they heard rustling from outside. The Judge snapped his fingers at his son and Harold Jr rushed to the door.
“It’s Blaze!” he shouted to his father, pointing out in the distance. “She heard us!”
“Damn it,” the Judge said. “She might be able to persuade her parents to look into what she heard. I can’t let this go.” He began striding for the door as he sheathed the sword back under his robe. “Harold, kill Amy. It’s what you’re supposed to do anyways. I have to take care of her friend.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Keys are on the hook by the door,” he said as he sprinted out.
“Your Dad’s going to prison,” Amy said as Harold walked over to the keys and snatched them from the hook which protruded out from a board on the wall.
“No, he’s not,” he muttered.
“You don’t have a sword,” Amy said. “How are you going to kill me?”
“With my bare hands,” he said as he began trying one key at a time on the lock to the iron bar door. Amy felt her heart beginning to race as she felt the wood beneath her outstretched hands. It was coarse, but not a piece was loose. She couldn’t use anything there.
She kept her focus on Harold as he continued to use one key at a time. He was beginning to get frustrated, and it was then that she realized that she couldn’t go on the defense. He was bigger than her, and she knew that he worked out often. She didn’t need to utterly defeat him, but she had to at least incapacitate him long enough to escape.
She kept her concentration on his hands, waiting for him to stumble upon the right key.
He wouldn’t see it coming.
He unlocked the cell and opened it wide while he fiddled with the keys, making sure it was out of the keyhole, but she was already coming at him with full speed.
She leapt into the air with her knees stretched out as she also cocked back her arm and tried to punch him in the face.
Her knees plowed into his chest and they both fell to the floor as her punch missed. Her missed punch caused her to extend forward and her belly ended up falling upon his face, but he was still trying to catch his breath. She rolled off him awkwardly and nearly tripped as she climbed to her feet. She thought about running immediately, but something told her that would be a mistake.
She kicked Harold in the face and then she stomped on him a couple times, making sure the pain paralyzed him further. She walked over to the table in the room, grabbed the chair beside it, and slammed it down upon him.
He wasn’t moving so much now.
Satisfied, she threw the keys to the floor and took off running.
She had no idea where Blaze could be, but the odds were that she was heading for her parents. The Judge would have to talk his way out the accusations at that point. Blaze would be safe behind the shield of her mother and father.
She took the shortcut through the forest so that she wouldn’t come across anyone else. If she was caught escaping from prison, nothing she would say later could help her. If Blaze was caught...both of their lives were ruined.
She heard a cry and she took a quick left further into the forest, heading toward the source. She slowed her approach when she heard the Judge talking. He was trying to console someone based on his tone. It sounded warm and soothing, which only sent a shudder down her spine.
Amy approached cautiously and once she saw the Judge himself, she hid behind a tree so that she could assess the situation.
Tears began falling from her eyes instantly.
Her friend’s body was lying there on the forest floor with lifeless eyes. She was covered from the neck down in pools of blood.
She couldn’t believe it. How could Blaze be dead?
What was even more unsettling was that Blaze’s father was also dead beside her, washed in the same crimson color as his daughter. Only Blaze’s mother was still alive, crying and pleading for her life as the Judge tried to calm her down. Behind his back, he held the sword tight in his grip, his hands and the hilt both dripping with the life of Blaze and her father.
Amy rushed the Judge’s back.
She slowed her approach when she was a foot away to reach for the sword. She wrapped her hand around his, still gripping the blade, and plowed her body into him, forcing both of them to fall forward. She made sure she didn’t hit him too hard though. Just enough to catch him off guard and balance. She tried to wretch the sword from his hand in mid-fall, but his grip was too strong. He took the sword with him to the ground.
Blaze’s mother jumped from her knees and onto the Judge, trying to help Amy procure the blade. He tried to get their weight off him so that he could get back on his feet.
When they couldn’t get the blade out of his hands, Blaze’s mother pressed her hands against the edge of the blade and pushed, shoving the other side of the blade into the Judge’s back. He screamed as Blaze’s mother kept her mouth shut. Though her hands were bleeding profusely, and she had to have been in intense pain, it was nothing compared to what she had just lost.
Amy stood to her feet and looked around for a weapon to use. Finding a small rock nearby, she grabbed it, ran over to the Judge’s head and began beating upon it with all her strength.
It took too many blows before his body stopped moving—so long that she almost thought the Judge was inhuman. Eventually his grip on the blade relaxed, and Blaze’s mother was able to snatch it from him. She stumbled backwards onto her feet and then she fell back onto her side. Holding the sword tight in her wounded hands, she began crying as Amy dropped the blood-stained rock in her grip.
Without a word, she walked over to Blaze’s mother mindlessly and dropped to her knees in front of her. Blaze’s mother reached out and held her tight with the sword still in her hand.
Amy wasn’t sure how long they embraced.
She didn’t care.
All she knew was that she had lost the only friend she had in the world.
And it was because of her.
“I’M AFRAID HE’S NOT home,” Tristan’s mother said, holding open the door only an inch wide. Cameron tried looking into her eyes—to see if she was okay, but she turned her gaze away from him and closed the door on them. He sighed heavily as he turned to face Momo.
“I’m not sure where else to look,” Cameron said. Momo said nothing. Cameron was about to ask if she ever made it to the end of a proper conversation when he saw Tristan walking towards them in the distance. “Come on,” he said to Momo, pointing towards the man they were searching for.
“Tristan!” Cameron called out, catching his attention. “I need to speak with you!”
“Oh, Cameron,” Tristan said with a forlorn face. “What do you need from me? My father should be inside.”
“No, I was looking for you,” Cameron said, coming to a stop in front of him. Momo followed, but she was far behind, gliding towards them like a specter.
“What is that?” Tristan said in horror. “You can see her, right? I’m not crazy?”
“That’s Momo Yamamoto. One of the Great Ones.”
“Oh!” Tristan said, his face rising from terror into awe. “I’ve never seen one in real life. You must be very important. I’m—I’m happy for you.”
“You don’t have to pretend around me,” Cameron said, his smile fading. “I’m from Musgrave too, remember? I know that one’s worth is what they achieve. No need to feign congratulations when we can feel it ourselves.”
“Of course,” Tristan said, clearing his throat. “And I hope to feel that one day.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Cameron said as Momo stopped a couple of feet behind them. “I overheard about your expedition to undermine Muttly. We’re in.”
“It’s not really to undermine—”
Cameron raised a hand to stop him. “It doesn’t matter. We’re in, regardless. It’s time we all made a name for ourselves, right? Who else have you got?”
“I just came from the printer,” Tristan sighed. “And he refused my request so...I suppose it’s just the three of us for now.”
“If it’s okay with you, I know of a couple that may be willing to join us. I’ll send them a telegram.”
“Okay,” Tristan said, his eyes brightening a little. “Get whomever you like.”
“Is there a crew limit? When are we leaving?”
“I’d like to leave at least a day before Ferris so...I’m thinking two days from now?”
“Not undermining him, huh?”
Tristan shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, the publicity would fall on us if we leave first.”
“Smart,” Cameron said with a nod. “Alright, I’ll act quickly.”
The boys continued talking while Momo yawned and began scanning the streets for entertainment. The details never interested her. Point her in the right direction and she would act—that was the way of a true soldier. Her tired eyes fell on a few children playing by a large water fountain, but their actions were so sporadic that she was sure they were engaged in a game in which they didn’t know the rules—not at all like the rules of swordplay. She watched the pedestrians for a few seconds, wondering how they could breathe in their tight garments and corsets, but then a voice caught her attention. She found herself drawn to the yelling. Momo shuffled her feet away from Cameron and Tristan and over to the middle-aged woman standing on a milk crate, yelling as if she were a commander rallying the troops for the conflict ahead. She was even in a uniform, though Momo had to admit that the uniform was unlike anything she had ever seen—a vest of Musgrave, pants of Hearth, and a bun in her hair that screamed Comida.
“Lorelai, get down!” a pedestrian shouted from the meager crowd standing around the commander. “You’ll embarrass yourself!”
“I WILL NOT!” Lorelai roared. Momo smirked. It was a technique that she used in battle when she was up against an opponent that was adamant that they knew her and her quiet disposition. “IT IS TIME THAT WE CAST ASIDE OUR FEARS AND LET THE ANCIENTS WELCOME US TO OUR TRUE HOME!” The crowd grumbled and many dispersed, but others soon replaced them, and Lorelai took a deep breath and continued. “We all know the stories—of how the Ancients told our ancestors to never leave the Lasting Wall—to be safe in the compound they created. The three communities are their legacy. We are their children, but what parents desire their children to remain in fear? What parents want their children to remain infants? Not one! Our communities continue to flourish, and our populations increase to the point that we are nearly pressed against the wall itself! And our proximity to one another is so great that rumblings of civil war is whispered amongst us! Do you think our mothers and fathers wish this? That we would destroy and starve ourselves?”
“YOU WILL GET YOURSELF KILLED!” a man roared from the crowd.
“NO!” Lorelai cried. “Ferris is right! We should leave this place and find the paradise that the Ancients have prepared for us. What reason do we have to be afraid? They are in control of this entire planet. They will protect us!”
“You have no proof of that!” a woman interjected.
“Then why do you stay inside the Lasting wall?!” Lorelai shouted. “If we are to remain in our comforts, at the very least we should promote and accept the expedition being proposed.”
“WHY DON’T YOU GO WITH THEM?” another woman asked.
“I was rejected,” Lorelai said, putting a hand to her chest. “Yet I believed enough in the cause to offer my services and my life, and I will continue to be a vocal supporter of this venture. I believe that if the general public will not join the call, my congregation will enjoy the fruits. We will find paradise. We will find the true home the Ancients have designed for us.”
“YOU CAN’T KNOW THAT!” a man cried out.
“If you don’t believe my message, then consider the facts I outlined earlier. We will soon be overpopulated, and the food will be scarce. If a war occurs, we will be even worse off. What does staying here accomplish?”
“YOU KNOW THE TALE!” an old man shouted. “YOU KNOW THAT THE OUTSIDE WORLD IS FOR THE ANCIENTS ALONE! THEY ARE NOT OUR PARENTS! THEY ARE OUR GUARDIANS! NOTHING MORE! IF YOU GO, YOU WILL PERISH!”
“GO ALONE!” a woman cried out. “RID US OF YOUR NAGGING!”
“Perhaps I will,” Lorelai whispered. Suddenly, someone grabbed her wrist with uncanny strength and yanked her off her crate—a ghastly, tall woman with raven black hair and battered clothing. “Ma’am!” Lorelai shouted at her, but her captor refused to listen. Lorelai tried to break free from the grip, but it was like trying to unlock steel handcuffs with her bare hands. A few seconds later, her captor stopped and shoved her in front of Cameron and Tristan, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion.
“I found another member for our team,” Momo said flatly. “She will be good for us.”
“But that’s—” Cameron stopped himself short. He recognized Lorelai immediately, and he would have rejected her in a heartbeat, but he wasn’t sure how Momo would take it.
“She’s the only one with an honest mission,” Momo stated. “She thinks for others, so she will be good for the journey. She will keep us honest.”
“Sure,” Tristan said, not recognizing Lorelai at all.
“Yeah,” Cameron muttered under his breath. “Keep us honest or drive us insane.”
