“I don’t know. There’s no service because most of the satellites no longer function.”
“Can I see it?” Tye said.
“No.”
Tye accepted that answer, an answer he rarely accepted from anyone, even those he loved.
They snaked through hard packed dirt and around boulders, past tree roots and the lairs of every ground dwelling rodent known to mankind. Twice Milly had to be stopped from shooting over-aggressive mice. So far they hadn’t needed the gun and Tye wanted to keep that little surprise in his back pocket in case they got jammed up.
It was slow going, and when they walked under the crowd of virals the ground shook and dirt rained down. Then they were past them, inching slowly uphill toward the exit. The time had come for an honest talk with Hansa. He needed more information before he rejoined his people.
“Don’t do it,” Hansa said.
“Do what?” Milly said.
“Tye was going to take your gun, point it at me and make me answer his questions.”
Milly turned her accusing eyes on him. “That true?”
Tye had a horrible idea, but fought to suppress it. “Hansa, do you understand the difference between thinking something and doing it?”
The child said nothing. She stared forward and didn’t slow down.
“People have thoughts they never act on. Thoughts that come without being asked for,” Tye said. “Just random brain activity sorting out random thoughts and emotions.”
“Thoughts you might be ashamed of,” Milly added.
Hansa didn’t reply.
Tye understood why the child had been in the middle of nowhere surrounded by beasts. “Before, you said ‘they said I could keep it.’ Who is they?”
“You’ll see.”
The tunnel ended and stone steps led up into blackness. Hansa’s light went out with a zip and a beep. They waited several minutes, listening for pursuit, but there were no sounds except insects buzzing, frogs croaking, and crickets playing their tiny violin legs.
Tye climbed the steps and pushed on the trapdoor at the top. It didn’t budge. “How much dirt is on top of this?” he asked.
Hansa said nothing.
Tye drew out his bolas, and Milly her Glock. He settled on the top step and braced his shoulders against the trapdoor and spaced his feet out on the top step and coiled for a push. He heaved, and the hatch inched upward. Dirt and rocks fell like rain, and he pushed again, and again.
After six tries the door fell back on its hinges and he exited into the starlit night. Tye held up his hand for the others to wait as he searched the area and spun his bolas. Down the hill about two hundred yards, a hundred Uruks surrounded the burning church. They were chanting something in their guttural speech.
The gray haze of dusk crept across the land as the others surfaced, and it was still hot, yet Tye felt chilled. “You told us that was sacred ground,” he said.
“Not when I left,” Hansa said. She touched Tye’s cheek and caressed his face. “I’ll find another place next time.”
“Next time?” Milly said.
A huge fireball lit the night as the church exploded. A massive concussion wave knocked Tye and the rest to the ground, and all the virals were incinerated. Pieces of wood crashed to the earth, giant chunks of black ash fell like deadly snow, and the flames rose high into the fading darkness.
Hansa stared at the blaze, a crooked grin running away from her face. “They were chanting ‘death to the turtle.’”
Chapter Eleven
Year 2068, Respite
Dark clouds rolled without aim, the air thick with the coming rain. Waves crashed against the cliff face, and to Randy it sounded like thunder. Palm leaves rattled in the steady wind, and the air smelt of salt and smoke. He hid in a thicket of tree ferns with Hazel, waiting for Natalie to take her final walk as a trainee. If she jumped from the precipice and made it back to shore, she’d be a fire guard.
“Eight years from now, we’ll be jumping,” Hazel said. She looked so much like her mother, Tris, with her keen blue eyes and mischievous grin. Randy looked nothing like his parents, Milly and Curso.
“If we make it that far,” Randy said.
“A lot of stuff can happen in eight years,” Hazel said.
“Makes you wonder why we still do all this,” Randy said. He wanted to be a fire guard and nothing would ever change that. Why anyone else on Respite still cared, he didn’t understand.
“People still believe. It’s not like the fire isn’t needed, but…”
“But it doesn’t need a twenty-four-hour honor guard,” he said.
“Depends on what you believe,” Hazel said.
“I suppose it does.”
“Finding the boat changed nothing for most people. They didn’t want to leave,” Hazel said. “Many want their children to be fire guards still.”
Another awkward pause as the third generation felt embarrassed for the second, who’d learned everything they knew from the first. “You ever feel cheated? Like your dad cared more about himself than he did for you?” Randy said.
“All the time, but at least I’ve got mom,” Hazel said. Randy and his father, Curso, weren’t close.
“I hoped my dad went with my ma, but he didn’t. He had to stay behind to take care of me because I needed it,” Randy said.
“Sure. I think your mom didn’t want Curso around so she used you as an excuse,” Hazel said.
It started to rain and Natalie ran. Hazel looked to the wave tops, then back at Natalie. “She’s got it timed perfect so far,” Hazel said. The skinny girl pumped her legs and threw herself forward in an awkward gait that made her look off-balance. A big set of waves came in and she slowed, adjusting her timing.
Natalie threw a wink their way as she flew by, then jumped and disappeared over the edge.
Hazel
