The Gap - Chapter 9

​Back cover description:
Zora lives her life in tenuous routine, using her unique gifts to guide refugees through the treacherous Gap in search of safety within the walled-off empire to the north. But her journey takes a turn, one day, as she uncovers dark secrets among the jungle's predators and bandits. Soon, survival becomes more than just reaching the other side, and it may come at the cost of everything she once held to be true.

Chapter 9

I smell it first.

The crisp stench of burning fuels and synthetics.

I'm still a good fifteen minutes out, but it's as strong as if it's right under my nose. My heart quickens, stabbing the inside of my ribs with each beat.

Something's not right.

I’ve earned a sixth sense over the years, an unsettling set of nerves cultivated through decades of misfortune and false steps. Something deep inside me knows that I’m about to witness something grave, and it pulls at me, pleading with me to turn around and head in the opposite direction.

But I can't.

For one, Ollie is directly ahead, and if I'm meant for danger, he's directly in its midst. I can't leave him. And secondly, I feel a stronger pull tugging me onward, hinting not so subtly that I'm implicitly tied to whatever comes next.

Though my legs have long since turned to jelly, and my lungs fight for every breath, I scrape the bottom of my energy reserves and hurl myself forward even faster.

The glow comes next, an orange cloud that creeps through the jungle in-between the trees, leaving silhouettes in their wake. Shadows of flame warp the light, molding a sequence of foreboding shapes.

The sound comes last of all, and it's one I know I'll never forget.

The snapping of fire. The fury of heated wind rushing by. The shrill call of people in distress, the tormented and dying.

When I emerge into the clearing by the border town, I already know what I'll see.

Everything is on fire.

Everything.

Not a single structure remains untouched. People are running for their lives, or doing whatever they can to save anything from the inferno, but many more—hundreds more—lie in the streets, burned and broken, unmoving.

I turn my attention to the lodge, praying to whomever will listen that Ollie made it out, though my hope is quickly fading. The heat from the fire stings my skin, even from where I'm standing at the edge of the forest.

And then I see the body. One of the dozens scattered around the lodge. Maybe it's my sixth sense again, or even just the natural result of being connected to him more deeply than anyone else these past years, but I know it's him. I know it's Ollie.

I drop to my knees and feel the air pulled forcibly from my lungs, my heart along with it. I hear a guttural cry, something primal and full of anguish, and it takes me several moments to realize it's me.

I grip the dirt, pulverizing the packed earth. Tears quickly carve a path down my cheeks, and for once, for the very first time in my life, I wish it wasn't so damned hard for me to die. After all the loves I've lost, all the lives that have been stolen from me, year after year, you would think I'd be accustomed to the emptiness, the sharp tearing of flesh as pieces of my soul are ripped from me.

But I'm not. Ollie was different. He was…a part of me. The better part. The kinder, more optimistic part of me.

And now that's gone, leaving nothing but bitter emptiness behind.

All he wanted was to run away with me. To go north and never look back. Guilt crushes me, pressing me deeper into my roiling outrage.

This wasn't an accident. Nor was it coincidence. No cartel could do anything like this. No group has the means, or lacks the soul, to carry out such an act.

Save one.

No, this was a message. A statement. They know who I am. What I am. And they won't hesitate to burn down the entire continent to find me or others like me.

Because that's the real game they're playing. The health events, the charity, the reputation building—it's all a facade. It always has been. The true question is who can survive. Who can become strong enough to take whatever they want, and then burn the rest. Doing good, building others up, it's all so they have the higher ground from which to fight when facing off against those that challenge them, against those that challenge their claim to dominance.

The rebel inside me argues with the rationalist, the echo of Ollie's patient reasoning. My instinct is to return the favor, to bring the fire to them. And I could do it. It would be easy for me to wipe them clean out of Sudland, like snuffing a candle.

But the other voice in my head reminds me that these aren't the only Freesians in the world. Even if I polish off everyone in Camp Sulah, more will come. I'm not naive enough to think that the Empire will simply back down and take its licks after a blow like that. And I may be strong, but there's no way I can take on the whole of the Imperial Guard.

It's a nonstarter. But so is doing nothing. Either choice ends with me ceding ground to the Freesians, giving them what they want in one form or another, leaving me powerless and conquered—in truth if not in appearance—just like the rest of the continent.

So where does that leave me now?

~

The dual-rotor downwash sends a storm of dust flying into the air, billowing into the impatient faces of a few dozen children gathered by the airfield fencing. They watch, eager and curious as the three aircraft hover just above the ground, then touch down lightly, one by one.

As the motor decrescendos for shutdown, the blades thump deep within my chest, penetrating the layers of armor and vests strapped to my body—an entirely unrealistic ensemble given the heat, if not unexpected. Nowadays, the Empire demands this wardrobe of mine anytime I leave their borders. Even though I survived just fine on my own in this very jungle for more than two decades prior to our agreement.

But I do what I can to appease them. And, so far, it's proved fruitful. I saw the highway on the flight in, gleaming in the morning light like a silver strand of hair curling through the Gap. It was the core of our agreement, after all. I give myself, my abilities and my service, in exchange for this. The successful and unhindered completion of safe passage through the continent’s most deadly stretch of land.

Pilgrims are sure to continue traveling north, only to be stopped at Jericho, and the Freesians will undoubtedly capitalize on the greater selection of dominant individuals that make it to their borders.

But at least the journey is a bit safer, now that I won't be there to do my part against those that would exploit the weak.

And Imperial aid can now make its way south more easily, giving the Freesians no excuse should anything like the Burn ever happen again.

It's a win-win, between the Empire and the south continent, at least. Those in the south get much needed assistance and infrastructure, development programs and terraforming initiatives, while the Freesians get the credit and reputation for being the champion of the underdeveloped world.

Plus myself, of course.

All tools in their invisible fight against Syunia.

In fact, that's where I'm off to next, but I demanded to be brought here first (unlike anyone else in the Imperial Guard, I have the tenuous privilege of making demands, so long as I prove useful to them—which, let's be real, is not difficult for me to do).

It's the opening ceremony for the highway today, here in one of the most remote villages along the border of the Gap. The whole event will be globally broadcast, of course, and I'll be showcased as a shining beacon of cooperation among all people that dwell in our hemisphere.

Carefully scripted, meticulously engineered, more so than the highway itself.

But I'll take it. It may be fake, it may be a show, and it's far from what I would define as cooperation. But it's coexistence, a mutual tolerance, so long as we continue exploiting each other with acceptable costs to ourselves.

And that is the game, I've learned. Because our world has moved far beyond benevolent terms like cooperation and compassion and benefaction. We're too cynical and evolved for that. Instead, we use the shadows of who we once were as a smoke screen for our true selves, for terms like influence and control.

So, if it's all a show, I might as well act my part, take the role my people deserve.

I hop the short distance from the aircraft to the ground and hold my boonie hat tight against my head to keep it from flying off. The others on my crew head off in various directions, carrying out a highly choreographed plan of action—prepping the birds for cool-down, unloading supplies, staging the landing zone for other aircraft to touch down later in the day. But I veer off from all of them, making my way towards the fence instead.

I watch smiles spread across the faces of the children as I approach, and even the shyest ones near the back push themselves forward to smash their faces against the metal links.

“Hey friends!” I call out once I'm within earshot. They ignite in excited chatter hearing me speak their native tongue, my native tongue. “How's everyone doing today? Excited for the festival later?”

They all shout back in the affirmative, one united chant that topples the beating of the aircraft’s dying thunder. Some of the older ones climb the fence, making room for the littles beneath them. I can't help but focus on one of the smallest girls. Her round face is caked in dirt, as is the tattered purple dress that hangs on her shoulders. And her hair almost makes me laugh, tangled and woven with branches and brambles, just like mine always was when I was her age.

But it's her eyes that I notice. The way they wander, the way they shift and flow, as if collecting far more than simple visible light. I remember the feeling well, the desperate need to absorb as much as possible, the frustration of being limited by nothing other than time. It brings me back decades, back to when I was the one hanging on the fence, observing, absorbing, and at a far greater pace than those on the airfield.

I take a knee and look down at the chest pouch on my armor. There's a patch stuck to it, a subdued flower with spiraling contoured petals, and I realize that, for these children, this image will forever be associated with what comes next.

For better or worse.

I unzip the pouch, and all the children lean forward in anticipation, fighting to see what's inside. Then, I reach in and pull out a handful of candies.

Candies with pink wrappers.

THE END

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Title image courtesy of David Riano - Pexels