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“SO, YOU ARE SAYING that your parents are likely the leaders of the SOS or very close to the top of the underground movement? They are public enemy #1 according to the government?” asked Trench.
“Yeah. That is my take on it. They knew something, something dangerous, something that the government didn’t want the general populous to know. It was damming enough to hunt them down and silence them,” said Avalon.
“So you think they are dead?”
Avalon pondered the question for a moment, searching her feelings.
“No. I don’t believe they are dead. However dangerous their knowledge is on the outside, it is even more dangerous to those on the inside. But it is also something they need. I think what my parents discovered was the antidote to the government’s failed experiment, the genie they let out of the bottle. I think they know how to stop all of this.” Avalon waved her hand at the greater world beyond the walls of Frankie’s Finger Foods.
“Why imprison them for it? Why not thank them and implement the cure?” Trench scowled at the realization that the world he knew writhed in the throes of death beyond the brownstone walls of their hideaway.
Avalon stared at him sadly. “Money. It’s the only theory that makes any sense. Someone is making a fortune to keep the truth silent, that there is a cure for all of this. And we do not need to look very far to guess who that is.”
“Senator Penn,” growled Trench.
“Senator Penn,” agreed Avalon. “Do you remember the scandal of a few years ago, with the off-world shipments?”
“Wasn’t he investigated for privateering? It was all hushed up by the House of Lords.”
“Exactly. Do you remember who brought the accusations?”
“No,” said Trench.
“It was the student body at Solace U. They planned that big rally and marched from campus right to the gates of Parliament Hill. Don’t you remember? The government swarmed the crowd and opened fire, killing the leaders of the march.”
Trench nodded, as memory of the event returned. “That’s right. The government later put it about that the Parliament security had acted against orders and issued a formal apology, but that didn’t bring back the dead students who were leading the charge. The movement died with them. No one wanted to be the next ones targeted.”
“Exactly. The movement went underground at that point. I wasn’t old enough to know any of this, but I remember my parents talking about the rally. I didn’t understand any of the conversation then, but I understand it now. They never tried to hide the issues from us. They spoke openly of their school days and the rally. In their study, they kept a scrapbook with news articles from the event, noting everyone they could identify on both sides of the conflict.”
“Do you still have it?” said Trench.
“Yes, it is in our hidey-hole in the barn,” said Avalon.
“We need that scrapbook,” muttered Trench. “It will help us so much!”
“How so?”
Exasperated, Trench leaned across the table, glaring at her.
“How so? How so? Your parents were eye witnesses to the revolution! They know everyone who is involved. That might be the reason they were targeted.”
Avalon’s mouth dropped open with an audible click.
“Oh my god, you are right.” Her eyes glazed over as memories flooded over her. “How could I be so stupid? They were trying to teach us without us even realizing it. They left the scrapbook as a road map, a guide. The government agents. That is what they were looking for. That is what they wanted. THE SCRAPBOOK!” Avalon shot to her feet. “I have to go,” she gasped and turned away but her flight was halted by a strong hand that clamped onto the bruises forming under the skin, from Magnum’s manhandling.
“Ouch!” she cried, pushing at Trench’s hand.
“Sit,” he commanded, pushing her back down and releasing her. “You are not going anywhere until you are one of us.”
“One of you?” she rubbed her upper arm. “What do you mean?”
“No one can come and go in Firebrand territory without being branded. What do you think it meant?”
Trench shoved up his sleeve, and there, burnt into his skin was the Firebrand’s signature image, tattooed into his skin. Only this tattoo was burnt in, not inked.
Avalon licked her lips. “You mean I have to join you, in the flesh, in order to leave here alive?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes rose to meet his. They were blue steel on ice. Immovable. Avalon’s eyes dropped to her bruised arm. With a sigh, she shoved the sleeve of her jacket up her arm, revealing the heaving bruising that had made her wince.
“Ok, but make it quick. I need to get back so I can be sure the album is safe.” Anxiety over their hidey-hole in the hayloft where she and her sister Alexa had been living for the last five years set her heart to hammering in her chest. “I can handle your initiation.”
“Can you?” Trench raised an eyebrow. “We will see. I hear the others returning. You agree to become one of us? The decision cannot be reversed. Once branded, you are always branded. That is why we do not do ink.”
Avalon swallowed past the chunk of stone that lodged in her throat.
“I can handle whatever you dish out. I do not fear you.” Avalon’s chin lifted in defiance and her eyes locked on Trench’s. “Bring your best and your worst. Either way, I am out of here in half an hour.”
Trench grinned in appreciation of her bravado. He ripped aside the privacy curtain, and pushed himself to his feet, to greet the returning gang members. Avalon scrambled to her feet also, anxious to not appear as a supplicant any longer. Her chin lifted in defiance, and her fists clenched. She spied her bike, still leaning against the booth across from her and sighed with relief.
Magnum lurched to a halt in front of them, the permanent glare fixed on her square face. A trickle of blood ran from her split lower lip.
“The coast is clear. Nothing but the usual scum on the street.” She swiped the back of her hand across her lip and grinned. “Nothing like a good fight to start the morning off right.”
The other gang members chuckled and cracked knuckles. Cris sidled up to Trench and ran her arm through his.
Trench grabbed Avalon’s arm, lower this time to avoid the bruised area.
“Avalon is going to be inducted into the Firebrand gang.”
Silence fell while all eyes fell on her. Some were curious, some almost friendly. Magnum’s grin fell, but it was Cris who raised the first objection.
“Why would you let her into the gang? What is she to us?” said Cris.
Trench untangled himself from her grip.
“She is needed, and the decision to induct or not induct is mine alone, as our leader. Do you wish to dispute this, in front of the gang?” His eyes were flat grey green steel.
Cris blushed with anger, eyes flashing.
“No, I will not argue with you. But I do not have to like it.”
“That‘s correct. You don’t. Your personal feelings have nothing to do with who is invited into the gang and who is not, but once inducted, you will protect her as you would any other gang member. Do you have a problem with this?”
Cris shook her head.
“Alright,” he continued. “Let’s get this done. We have work to do. Avalon, follow me.”
Trench headed toward the back of the restaurant and Avalon fell in behind him, keeping her distance from Cris. Magnum fell in beside her and the rest of the gang closed the box.
Magnum leaned over and whispered “I’d watch your back if I were you. Cris doesn’t like you.”
Avalon turned to meet her eyes. Magnum grinned at the look of feigned surprise on Avalon’s face.
“No kidding. I don’t intend to be here long enough for it to matter. The only thing I am interested in, is finding my parents. Nothing else matters to me. This was Trench’s idea, not mine.”
Trench’s broad back shouldered through a pair of swinging doors that opened to reveal the kitchen of Frankie’s Finger Food. The kitchen was currently quiet, with no food prep underway. Trench marched back to the fryers lining the back wall and paused in front of one that had oil bubbling on a low simmer. Beside the fryer was a charcoal grill. He stirred the coals and added a couple more bricks to the grill, then a small splash of oil. The charcoal caught and burned merrily. Trench crouched down and sorted through a cupboard then pulled out what looked like a branding iron. On its tip was a symbol that Avalon knew all too well. It was the Firebrand symbol. Her eyes widened as Trench stood back up, facing her. He shoved the brand into the coals without dropping eye contact.
“Take off your coat and give it to Magnum.”
Avalon hesitated, but shrugged out of the precious jacket, handing it to Magnum.
“Now, give me your left hand,” he said softly.
Avalon’s throat constricted with fear. Silently, she held it out fighting the telltale quiver of fear that ran down her arm. Trench shoved her sleeve up, just as a pair of hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her down, so that her arm rested on the wooden prep board in front of the grill. Panting, she looked away as Trench reached in for the glowing firebrand.
“This is going to hurt, Avalon.”
Before she could say a word, he plunged the burning poker onto her arm. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air and Avalon shrieked, her scream echoing off the tiled walls. The excruciating pain overwhelmed her, merging with her exhaustion. The world spun then tunneled smaller and smaller until it faded to black.