Population Control

Camille XII

Ya'arburnee - a declaration that you wish to die before someone else because you love them so much and can't stand to live without them.

0o0

It was chilly, just cold enough that my breath formed smoke, yet the winter sun was blaring keeping my shoulders warm, but not the tip of Jason's nose which was bright red. "We're almost out." I repeated the words Sami uttered before.

"We're almost out." Jason smiled back, and he was cute. But I felt nothing else for him.

Together, all three of us took Matthew down the stairs. "This is legit?" He asked.

"They sounded pretty French to me." Jason replied.

"It's this, or we go back." I said. "What would you rather?"

"Considering our track record, I'd go back." Sami muttered.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Jason must have realised how stupid that statement was as soon as he said it. But our pessimism was stomped as soon as we opened the door to the private beach, because there was the noise. The slicing of wind by the constant rotating blades. It was the first time I'd seen Dylan's grave, the twigs put together like a cross. Sami will always be special to me, if not for everything else but solely for this.

Standing out on the beach, sand covering our feet, it was like an angel graced the cold heavens. Our salvation, our hero, our hope all rolled into one. This is what we were trying to achieve for months. Between us, Jason and I took one of Matthew's arms and threw it over our shoulders. Sami had the bags. They dropped a ladder, and after watching Sami try and get on the first wrung, I volunteered. "I can tell them to come down for Matthew!" I shouted over the noise. You never realise just how loud the propellors are. The seagulls were drowned out.

One hand on the wrung, and I was away. Don't look down, don't look down. Do not look down. I repeated it like a prayer. Their voices were getting louder. Throwing myself aboard, I almost cried. I felt the tears welling, the flood of pure joy and safety and relief. That it was all over. "Guy down there he can't move on his own. You need to get him up." There were five people already in the black helicopter, the letters A.T.E painted on the side, alternating between red and white.

I was smiling to the floor, about to look up and hug whoever was closest, when something metal and round dug into my skull. "Hands up love." She had an English accent, not pronouncing the 'H', and saying it as 'luv' rather than 'love'.

"This is just a safety precaution." A French man said. Not in a place to argue, I complied with their orders and felt cool, thin metal wrap around my wrists. With a click, they were in place.

"Take a seat."

"What about Matthew? He can't walk and he's just been stitched up. He shouldn't be moving. Where will you put him?" I sat down, feeling my legs get heavier as they clamped me to a chair. They didn't answer, but I was too restricted to fight back.

Next up was Sami, who shook like a leaf in a hurricane. When he was shoved into the seat on my right I told him everything would be OK, that we weren't going to be harmed. Jason was third, the woman who helped him carrying three of the bags whilst he had one. I don't know how they got up the ladder, I was thankful they did.

Two people pulled the ladder up whilst two more descended to lay Matthew on some sort of bed. Once aboard, they muzzled him. They grabbed his wrists and his ankles and smacked his head up straight so they could fit the plastic behind his head. Sami shouted, "Matthew! What are you doing to him? Stop! Stop it!" Violently, he jolted in his seat trying to break free.