The Survivors

You’d think after fourteen years of hiding, I’d be used to it. Fourteen years of cramming into small spaces for hours on end, hiding beneath floorboards, or dashing breathless through the woods that eventually it would become just another “part of life”.

Yeah, well guess what? You’d be dead wrong.

“Terra!” I heard Stark’s panicked voice rip through the trees, momentarily jarring me out of my concentration. The deer that I’d had my sights trained on jumped and scattered, leaving nothing but a broken branch and a few crunched leaves in its path. “Great. There goes dinner.” I cursed under my breath and sheathed my knife.

“What is it?!” I screamed, allowing some of the venom in voice to seep through. Already, though, I began making my way home. We’d go hungry tonight, but, with any luck we’d all be alive.
“They’re almost here!” His voice echoed again throughout the tress. I said a few choice words and picked up the pace. By “they” he, of course, meant Population Control. We call them Pops… or life-ruiners, or murders, or government-controlled-dingbats (Stark came up with that one)…. You get the idea. If you’re not already familiar, Population Control is just one of the many insane government programs that were established to help keep “the Peace” from falling apart. Yeah, because, you know, everything’s totally peaceful right now. Ugh. Pops was started around twenty five years ago when population got out of hand. At first, it wasn’t so bad. Parents were “suggested” to only have one child. Slowly, though, the “suggestions” turned into commands, the commands turned into laws, and the laws turned into outright murder. Now, its 2170, and there are strict regulations on kids (and most other things...). Only a set number of kids can be born each year, and the rest are “erased” (murdered by Pops or their own parents). Yeah, it’s not a pretty picture. That, however, is where Stark and I come into play. We were categorized as “the rest”, and set to be erased. However, we were a few of the lucky ones. Somehow, we ended up in the possession of Jeb Walker. He’s raised us, fed us, clothed us, and taught us how to survive. He also hides us on the Population checks.
Which was today.

I broke through the last thicket of trees, and the old, dilapidated farm house – my home – was in view. The siding was peeling off in some places – completely destroyed in others. A few beams were down here and there, creating holes in the wall that were only covered by curtains. We were one of the lucky “families” in the Outlands (the oh-so-lovely name given to any place outside of main cities). Regardless, I was thankful that we had a home. Heck, I was grateful we were all still alive.

I searched the area, and spotted Stark’s tall form pressed tightly against the side of the house – motioning for me to follow. Over the small grassy hill, I could just barely make out a group of Imperial horses and their mounted guards, the sun’s glare shining blindingly off the armor. I rolled my eyes and sprinted over to Stark, his brow creased with worry.

“Where were you?!” He hissed at me, speaking so softly that although I was standing right next to him, I could barely hear him.

“I was hunting. SOMEONE’s got to put meat on the table! YOU scared my deer away!” I growled back. We both glared at each other, a look of fierceness on both of our faces before we lost it and broke into peals of laughter. He gave me a playful shove, and I punched him in the arm

“C’mon. We’d better get back to the house; I could see the guards from the woods.” He tightly nodded in agreement, and we darted into the front of the old house. I blinked as we stepped in from the blazing sun, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer surroundings. Dishes lay piled up on the (broken) sink, the floorboards were dirt caked, and the wall paper was a stained yellow. It might have been white at one point, but it was impossible to tell. I scanned our one room home, searching for Jeb.

“He still not home?” I jumped as Stark’s voice interrupted the silence, and turned to look up at him. He was my age (16), but beat me by an inch in height. It irked me to no end that I had to look up to him to talk, although I was certain I caught a glimpse of smug satisfaction once in a while.

“No…” I sighed, worried. Jeb had been gone for almost two days. We’d assumed that he would be back in time for the Pop’s check, but so far he was nowhere to be seen.

“Should we be worried?”

“No… no I’m sure Jeb is fine – he can take care of himself.” A small knot had wormed its way into the hollow part of my stomach, even as I tried desperately to tell myself that everything was fine. The rhythm of horse hooves startled both of us, and with a look to Stark, I quickly and efficiently pulled back the worn rug that covered our wooden floors. Underneath, it didn’t look any different; the same dirt caked wooden blanks. However, with a quick pull of a loose floor board, our trap door sprung open. I peered warily into the darkness below – rats were quite fond of hanging out in the damp crawl space. I didn’t have much time to deliberate, though, as I felt Stark’s hands push me down into the inky blackness, grabbing the rug and door in one sweeping motion. With a soft click, it sealed us in. I sighed with relief. We were safe - cold, wet, blind in utter darkness, but more or less safe. I heard the heavy boots of the guards walk towards our door and the with a heavy echo step onto our porch. I held my breath as he knocked heavily on the door, each echo sending shivers down my spine. For a few seconds, there was silence. Another three knocks. More silence. Quietly, I reached down and grasped Stark’s hand, tightly interlacing our fingers. Then, without warning, the door was slammed inwards, making the whole house vibrate with force and my teeth chatter. I cried out in shock before clasping my mouth with my hands. My eyes widened in the darkness and the men upstairs paused, listening for more noises. After what seemed like an eternity, they continued on. We waited down in that dark cellar for what seemed like hours as they searched and researched ever corner of the house, looking for any traces of more than one person. As usual, we’d been very careful to leave no evidence of ourselves. They found nothing. After what felt like days, one by one, each of the brutes left. Even after the house was empty, we still waited a good twenty minutes before even moving – something Jeb had taught us. Another eternity later, we slowly moved towards our hatch – inch by inch, stopping after each step to listen for the slightest noise, the lightest creak of the floor boards. Once, a rat (or something of equal creepiness) slithered by my feet and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Stark chuckled quietly, despite my glare. Eventually though, I was able to poke my head up out of our little hole in the ground and peer around. I sighed in relief – the coast was clear.

“Are we safe?” Stark’s voice was nearly silent - I still have no idea how he manages to be so quiet. I looked back down into the dark hole, nodding in his general direction.

“Yeah, all clear.” I hoisted myself up and out of the hole and turned and helped Stark out. We sat and stared at each other for a long time, breathing heavily – both exhausted from adrenaline. Then, I heard footsteps. We both froze. Slowly, I raised my eyes to face whoever stood there – more than likely wanting to kill us. There, in our broken down door way, stood….
Jeb.

A wide smile spread over my face as I stood up to greet the man who had served as my father my entire life. A thousand questions ran through my mind.

“Where were you? How are you? Are you okay? What’s going on in the City? Are we still safe? Did you know today was a Pop day? Why didn’t you come?” But of course, me being me, managed to say the most literate and advanced thing in my vocabulary:

“Hey”.
Okay. So, I’m not exactly great with words.

“Hello Terra. Hello Stark.” He put his hand on my shoulder and nodded towards Stark. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. Jeb’s lips were pressed into a grim, tight line – the way they were whenever he had to tell us bad news. I stepped back – guarded.

“What is it?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest stubbornly, looking him straight in the eye. Stark moved up beside me, assuming the same position.

“Jeb….?” Stark asked warily, his eyes flitting between me and him. Jeb took a deep breath and sighed, looking us both with sickeningly pitying eyes. A lump rose in my throat.

“You… you both need to come with me.” Immediately I was untrusting. What wasn’t he telling us? What was going on? But of course, Jeb had always done what was best for us. Why wouldn’t I trust him? I exchanged wary glances with Stark, but he nodded encouragingly.

“O….kay.” He motioned for us to go through the door, and gulping down my overwhelming urge to run screaming the other way, I stepped forward.

Our yard – the yard where we grew up, learned to fight, learned to hunt, had fun – was swarming with guards. Each one armed with a gun, and each of the guns trained very specifically on us. I didn’t know what to think. Somewhere – it sounded very distant – I heard Stark scream. I felt him try to grab my hand and run, but I was shocked. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.
“He lied. He lied. He lied.” I couldn’t get the two words out of my mind, as I looked to Jeb for some explanation. But there was nothing – simply the blank stare of betrayal. He refused to meet my eyes as my own filled with tears. I was shaking. Slowly, deliberately, the leader of the guards stepped forward – a pair of metal shackles in his hands.

“We are going to die.” I gripped Stark’s hand, squeezing it painfully tight as the man approached. He was a huge, gruff man with a grey beard and a mean smile. He enjoyed his job. He was disgusting. I bit back a scream as he cuffed my hands, his hot, rancid breath in my face as he gave me a toothless grin. The heavy metal weighed down my hands, and I knew that before long they would be rubbed raw from the loose chains. He chained Stark in a similar fashion, and taking a longer chain, leashed us.

“A leash? A LEASH?! Are we animals?!” I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything, but the guns trained on me told me that probably wasn’t the greatest idea at the moment. Finally, just as we were being led away towards the wagon that would almost certainly mean our death, I made eye contact with Jeb… just as he was being handed a stack of money. Rage filled me and I fought against my binds – it was to no avail though, the chains were at least a half inch thick.

“Traitor!” I screamed at him, spitting the word as I was dragged away. “TRAITOR. YOU LIED TO US! YOU LIED TO U-“And that’s when it went black.

I awoke, my head pounding, wrists burning, and the sickening taste of vomit and blood permeating my mouth. My stomach felt as though it were rolling, spinning in dizzying circles that threatened to force me to curl in on myself. A moment of confusion – incomprehension – swept over me, before the events once again swarmed through my mind. Taking stock of my limbs, I was relieved to find them all intact, the most pain still radiating from the still damp wound on my head. With a groan that echoed both pain and exhaustion, I opened my eyes, recoiling at the assault on my senses when the too-bright light had my eyes screaming in pain. It took a moment until my eyes could even partially make out my surroundings, and then:
“Oh… Oh.”
Well, that explained the nausea.
I sat, or, rather lay, in the back of a wagon, the jostling and clattering immediately explained by the rough terrain. So, it hadn’t been a dream – or a nightmare. Desperately, I forced the sickening sense of betrayal to the pit of my stomach, naming the unwelcome thoughts as things that could be dealt with later – much later. For now, I swiveled my head, searching the rough planks of wood surrounding me before finally settling on a Stark-sized lump. With only a twinge of guilt, I kicked it.
“Stark!” I whispered, my hushed tone sounding more like a swarm of bees then the worried tone I’d intended it to. When no response came, I nudged him again.
“Stark – get up!” This time, eliciting an aggravated groan followed by a shocked gasp. There we go. I sighed, leaning back into the side of the wagon, wincing slightly as a particularly jostling ‘thunk’ sent my head spinning once again. For the first time, I took note of the Imperial soldiers surrounding us on either side. It was fine, I assured myself – we’d get out. We’d find a way to escape and run. We’d survive.
We always do.