28

Cold sweat broke out along my temples and I swallowed, my mouth terribly dry. All around me, people hurried in droves for the exit queues, their bags clutched tight. A man stood in the corner of the platform waving a handful of flyers as he shouted about plagues and the end of the world. No one listened. No one even looked in his direction.

Security soldiers stalked the lines, pulling out people and directing them to a secondary kiosk. I followed their path and saw it was a citizen’s papers checkpoint. With so many commuters, a random sampling was the best the soldiers could do on a normal day, but I realized all the people being yanked from their lines were young girls with dark hair. My age. My height. The soldiers all held missives and I knew at once. They searched the crowd for me.

Falling in with the flow of the crowd I shuffled toward the exit. Hands balled with my skirts, my gaze flit to the soldiers as we neared.

An officer, crisp suit crinkling as he walked, scowled under his light brows as he shoved people forward while peering down the line. Stopping a few paces before me, he yanked a young girl’s sleeve pulling her out of the queue. “Papers,” he snapped, hand out.

“Y—yes,” she stammered, digging in her bag with shaking hands.

“Now!” He grabbed her satchel, upending it onto the floor. He kicked at the contents as she squatted and tried to gather her things. “Where are they?”

“They are here, sir.” She pawed through the debris, her lip quivering. She could not find them and sobs bubbled up from her chest. She looked up at the rest of us, beseeching.

I wanted to help her, but getting involved might endanger the journal. I watched helplessly and tried to get away from the horrid scene. Those in line with her had veered away from the ruckus, and I stepped back with them, my breath coming in hitches as my heart raced. The impenetrable crowd blocked my escape, and the more I tried to jostle my way from the scene, the more tightly the bodies packed as more and more commuters bottlenecked, watching with wary eyes.

“Flanders,” the soldier called and another man walked up, paper in hand. “Check her.”

Flanders stepped forward, grabbed a handful of her hair at the crown, and yanked her head back peering at her face. She cried out, but he silenced her with a look, holding the paper up. He tossed her aside, shrugging. “Could be her.”

The first soldier nodded, motioning to the girl. “Take her in. Put her with the others.”

“No,” she cried, crawling on her hands and knees as she tried to get to her feet. Her small hand fell to Flander’s boot and he kicked her off, sending her to her stomach. “Wait.”

“Where are your papers?” The first soldier snapped. He bent, clutching her thin arm in his meaty grasp.

“I—I lent them to my cousin.”

“Do you deny you are the outlaw known as Blackburn’s Daughter?”

“Yes, yes! I deny it.” Shaking her head, she sobbed. “I am not her. I love the Peaceful Union. The Governors rule with wisdom and mercy—”

My father, Aunt Sadie, Moira. All the people I failed to help flashed in my mind, twisting my heart with helplessness.

“She is innocent.” I froze, horrified that the words had escaped my thoughts.

The first soldier looked up, “What did you say?”

My mouth moved, the barely audible words coming out in a squeak. “Let her go.”

“Enough,” Flanders shouted. He tossed her into the waiting arms of the first soldier before peering into the crowd. I cowered behind a large man, eyes clenched as if that would keep him from seeing me. “Who said that?”

“If I have to take in every dark-haired—”

“I said, l—leave her be,” voice breaking, I tried to square my shaking shoulders. Those around me parted as if by an unseen force. Stock still, I stared wide-eyed at the two soldiers who glared at me with gaping mouths.

“Her,” the first soldier yelled, pointing at me with the missive. “That’s her for certain!”

Whispers of Defiance rose from the crowd. A ripple of aggression moved through those around me as wary looks turned to angry glances at the soldiers.

“She blew Union ships from the sky,” a voice behind me warbled.

“It’s Blackburn’s Daughter…” a surprised cry rose, setting off a series of murmurs.

Turning, I glanced around, their energy pulsed, giving me strength. Restless movements, clenched fists, bold stares met me where there’d once only been brokenness.

“You can’t do this,” I said evenly to Flanders, my voice quiet despite the anger burning in me. I pointed to the young girl. “You have no right to treat any of us like this.”

“Yeah, let her go!” someone shouted form the back of the crowd. A barrage of assent rose in pitch until the station crackled with mounting tension.

Flanders’s gaze snapped to me, his face a mask of rage. He drew his tracer gun from its holster, leveling it at my chest. “Stand down, Blackburn!”

More soldiers edged over, their guns cycling up.

Gaze darting, I licked my lips, refusing to cower. There was strength in numbers. I would not give that up.

The gathered security men exchanged uneasy glances.

“Defiance!” Someone screamed and a bottle sailed from the heart of the crowd, shattering at Flanders’s feet. He fired, the snap of lightning piercing through the throng and setting off complete mayhem as the angry mob erupted into chaos.

Men and women surged. They fell on the soldiers pulling down signs and pieces of kiosks to use as weapons. Furious, they attacked, toppling stands and newspaper shelves as they drove the Security Soldiers back. Others ran, scrambling for cover.

I stood in the midst of the bedlam, shocked.

“Traitor!” Flanders bellowed and lunged for me.

Attempting to dodge his grasp, I flopped forward as he dove, grabbing my knees. An angry howl shredded from my throat as I clawed at the floor of the station trying to drag myself from his clutches. Searing cold ripped through my veins, the frigid wave so intense I struggled to draw breath. He flipped me over and his hands crushed my thighs and then my stomach as he climbed his way over me.

The first soldier shouted, incoherent as he fought with the girl in his own arms.

I tried to speak, but I was losing my grip. Something was happening. Overwhelming anguish pierced my mind and a torrent tore over my body sending my limbs thrashing. A terrible ache pulsated through me as I twisted, flailing at him as shocking cold stiffened my every muscle. My jaw snapped and warm blood flooded my mouth.

His scream reverberated along the walls. I pulled away, shocked at the gash on his neck. He rolled off of me, hand to his wound, struggling to untwist his rifle from his back.

Hand to my mouth, it came back crimson and my stomach tumbled, a cry escaping my lips. A momentary stillness allowed me a glimpse of Flanders among the commotion struggling to right himself as people ran between us in the brawl with the soldiers.

The first soldier tossed the girl aside and pulled his weapon, his face a mask of shock as he pointed the rifle at me. “Stop!” He shouted, his voice cracking.

I fought the shudder wracking my spine, trying to stand, but it whipped me forward, doubling me over with bone-rattling force. “What’s happening…” the words faded when the vapor escaped my lips. Cold like a winter morning, my breath froze the air in front of me and I gasped, not believing. Beyond me the riot spiraled out of control.

“Burn her,” Flanders gurgled.

“No—” A tracer stream lashed across the station floor scorching my arm. I curled into myself, screaming as the white hot pain momentarily shocked me from my frozen agony. I wrestled the revolver from my boot as I rolled. Unable to get my legs under me, I pulled the trigger blindly, staggering toward the train tunnel. Falling against the train car, I caught sight of the first soldier falling to his knees, his hand to his chest coming away bloody before he fell on his face.

My hand spasmed, and I held it in front of my face, fisting my fingers as I tried to steady the quakes flowing through me.

Flanders fired his tracer, the jagged stream slamming into the pylon just above my head. I jerked, falling between the train car and the platform onto my side on the grimy track. Another shudder threatened and I gritted my teeth, willing myself to move. Leaning against the tunnel wall, I pushed forward, breaking into a run. Behind me the train pulled away, and the footfalls of the chasing soldiers spurred me to run faster.

In the dark of the tunnel, a light flickered, violet sparks streaming along the rails as the next train barreled up ahead. Fingers stiff, I dropped the gun and it skittered away into the shadows.

Echoing shouts warbled over the squealing of the train brakes and still I ran. The space between the rails was mere feet as the train skidded ever forward, shuddering on the tracks as it fought inertia. Flattening myself against the bricks, I screamed while the behemoth flew past me, the pull of the wind nearly ripping me with it. Hair whipped across my vision as I looked into the lit windows of the car at the passengers staring out at me. Flickering bulbs froze their expressions in flip-book images of surprise.

The soldiers shouted, their movements casting frenetic shadows against the tunnel walls. The train screeched to a halt, pinning them as their numbers clogged the path. Someone let go a volley of tracer bursts, flickering the darkness enough for me to see ahead. I half limped, half ran, a sob warbling up from my chest as I made my way down the path, past the turn of the tunnel to a ladder bolted to the wall. I took a breath, flexed my fingers and the hair rose on the back of my neck at the sound of the soldiers’ thumping boots.

I took the rungs two at a time, straining with weak and quivering muscles, up to the roof of the tunnel. It led to a hatch. I bit my lip, tears streaming as I pushed with one hand, nearly toppling back down when it didn’t budge. Pushing with all my strength, I groaned with the strain. It creaked, rust and ash fell into my eyes, but it gave. Climbing out of sheer will, I pulled myself over the lip before slamming the hatch back down. The latch, corroded open, wouldn’t budge and I stood, kicking at it with my boot as the lid began to rise.

The fingers of a soldier peeked through and I stomped down. A shout echoed from beneath it as he pulled them back. I stood on the hatch and kicked the latch a final time, swiveling it just enough to catch a section of the side. It jostled as they tried to push up, but held. A moment later, a sizzling current crawled along the metal bevel as they fired and I nearly fell over trying to keep from getting shocked.

Looking around the access way, I realized it ran parallel to the tunnel. Paint cans, cloths, discarded pipes and newspaper littered the floor. Seemingly abandoned when the station was completed, the passage looked as if it had not been used for nearly a decade.

A jarring clang sounded through the darkness. Metal hit metal as the soldiers banged at the hatch.

I backed up, panting. Tasting blood, I wiped at my mouth, horrified at the smear of bright red on my sleeve. I’d bitten a man, torn his neck with my teeth without knowing it was happening. Bile rose and I stumbled, falling to my knees and retching into a corner. I heaved until my whole body ached and emptiness settled over me. Shaking and exhausted, I turned at the continued hammering of the soldiers.

I had to get out of the station. I had to get away from them. Hugging myself, I tried to calm my frantic thoughts. My knees felt like soft wax, shifting and unstable as I rose. Shuffling in the darkened access way, I pushed myself to keep going. The corridor bent away and I followed it, hoping to find a way out.

The path split off into three hallways, and I picked the most littered in an attempt to cover my tracks. I hoped they would assume I took the fastest route. More debris slowed me, but the corridor narrowed as I went, eventually sloping down to what felt like street level. I stopped, trying to catch my breath.

Hollow noises warbled far away from where I’d been, and I kept going despite my confusion. A door set in the far wall gave me hope and I pushed through, blinking in the wan light of the sun lighting up a walkway between buildings. Steam carriages chugged past on the street just beyond. The sound of horses and trolley bells filled my ears and I ambled forward, looking out at the busy road. A sign at the corner read Fulton Street.

I had made it. Despite the horror of the station I had made it. Another wave of cold swept over me and I held up my hands. A faint bluish hue crept up from my fingertips fading as it rose toward my wrists. “What is happening to me?” Even as I said it, I knew. Deep anguish took hold, my soul tearing in two. The grimace already made my jaw ache, I refused to believe. “No,” I whispered. “I am not one of them.”