The Island

13.2. Mission

Ezra

"Ezra, have you seen Riku?"

I glance up from the bag I was packing to see Sarah standing by the door. She's washed her face off since I last saw her by the door.

"Not since you guys let me in yesterday," I mumble, turning back around. I shove my gun into the duffel beside the small computer I use to hack through the mainframes. On top of that computer is a ring of stolen keycards to break into the government buildings.

"Thomas is calling our group together for this," Sarah continues. "I'll keep looking. Meet at the door in five."

I groan loudly after she leaves.

Thomas knows I would rather go alone. The group Sarah's talking about is a skeleton of what it used to be. Yet, we're Thomas' chosen few, the ones who have been with him since we were small and have been trained to fight. Sarah's been here since she was seven and Riku since he was six. They came together after their parents were executed on the same day. That was ten years ago. I was eight.

There used to be five of us, but after the incident, it's just Riku, Sarah, and I. We lost our sniper and spy after the fire. The two of them had been here since birth- Thomas' daughter and his best friend's son. They were inseparable best friends.

Sighing, I zip up my duffel and throw it over my shoulder. The two sleeping bodies on the other bunk bed roll over, away from the overhead light. As I straighten up, the boy who sleeps above me opens his eyes.

"Be safe, Ez," he mumbles sleepily, yawning.

"I'll try," I reply in a whisper. "Go back to sleep."

The little boy nods and reaches out towards me. I squeeze his hand as I turn to walk out the door.

Goodbyes are always the hardest, especially when the person you're saying them to might not be there tomorrow. Most of the younger children still have their trackers in. We send them to the city center on supply day to pick up food, uniforms, and medicine. Even if they can't work or fight, they still have to do their part.

That's why we use a orphanage as a sleeping quarters. If the younger children are found here, the matrons will cover for them, say their all abandoned and under their care. It's happened a few times, but we've always came through.

The older children without trackers sleep above ground but work below where the supplies and important data is kept scattered across the city through the maze.

I shut the door behind me as slow as possible, minimizing the sound. I don't want to wake any of the boys up. They need their rest. I do, too, but there's more important things to do.

Door slip by on both sides as I walk down the hallway. Each is solid white with a number painted in crude handwriting. Piles of dirty clothes rest outside of each door like little mountains, waiting for someone to come pick them up. The trash bins overflow with empty water bottles and crumpled up paper airplanes. Outside one door is a overturned comic book- Superman. I pick it up as I pass by. Books are hard to come by.

I skip down the stairs while I flip through the faded pages, running my finger across the grains of the paper. I can feel the ink under my thumb, the thousands of dots that make up a single picture. The noise of the girls floor greets my ears as I pass by. Someone has hung a sign on their door. No boys allowed.

It brings a smile to my face. The older kids used to complain to Thomas about the younger one's antics. He would always brush them off and say to let them enjoy their youth while they had it.