Jordyn
Watching the trucks below us explode one by one reminds me of something.
At first, it's just a flash of red, anger, and heat. Then, the image starts to form in the back of my mind, and I find myself sitting back against the seat, breathless as I'm pulled away from the moment we're in. Ezra's hands grip my shoulders, but all I can do is nod and bite back tears.
The world I'm thrown into is red. Flames engulf everything around me--living and non-living. The heat singes the hair on my arms and fills the air with an acrid smell of melting plastic and crumbling wood. I stand alone in the middle of the street, staring up at a house with white siding and green plastic shutters. Shadows move around in panic behind the windows; screams curl out the windows alongside the smoke.
They won't be able to get the doors open. Past me knows that, and it makes present me sick. I melted the locks shut on the doors.
I trapped them in a furnace to die.
I crawled under the house and left a small spark in the insulation, which luckily for us wasn't flame retardant. While it spread, I made sure they wouldn't escape. Sam sealed the windows, and I melted the locks. We did that to every single house in the sleepy cul-de-sac.
And now, I'm watching my work of art burn to the ground with living people inside.
There's a feeling inside my stomach, nasty now but satisfying then. The people in there deserved this. They brought this upon themselves. I'm saving hundreds by killing a few.
Right?
Tears slip down my sunburnt face, and Ezra starts to repeat my name.
Things have to change. I don't care who I was before this. I don't care what my rationalization for murdering people was. I won't do it anymore. I won't allow Samson and I to be pulled into this world or pointless, repetitive killing.
"Jordyn," Ezra says in a voice filled with honey-thick worry. "Are you okay?"
The explosions have stopped. The heat has dissipated into cool wind. Everything is silent except Ezra and the heartbeat of the helicopter wings above us. I look at Sam first, holding the gun so tight that his knuckles are white. He's staring at me with wide eyes, and his mouth hands open slightly as he breathes. His once calm, lake eyes are now an ocean in the midst of a hurricane. I can see the thoughts swirling around like clouds, see the regret like the neon turtles of The Island.
As I reach out for him, he lets go of the gun and grabs me with both of his huge hands. They wrap themselves around my shoulders and pull me into his warmth. I sink into his chest and rest my face in his shoulder. He burrows his face in the hair at the base of my neck, and his chin quivers.
"No more," he whispers. The sound comes through my ear, not through the headset I'm wearing. "Don't let me do that anymore."
"I won't," I whisper. "I promise I won't."
The rest of the long helicopter ride is spent with me in Sam's arms, half asleep with exhaustion against his shoulder. I watch the landscape flash by under us. Thousands of miles of forests and massive lakes all blend together like watercolors. Snow capped mountains and endless plains join the painting. Sam's grip on me never loosens, and he rubs slow, small circles on my back. I can't look at the rest of the people in the helicopter.
They can't know what the plan boiling in my head is. None of them could understand.
I can't fight a war for people I don't know. I can't be a soldier for my father anymore, when I'm not even sure who my father is. The man driving the heli looks like me, and he's in my memories. Yet, there's no emotion there. The only emotion I feel is the strong connection between me and Sam and my aching desire to protect and shelter him.
There's got to be another way to help the people Thomas wants to help. It doesn't have to involve mass slaughter. We don't have to be that way.
The sun starts to set on the horizon far away, turning the sky orange and pink. We drop in altitude but continue forward.
"Look."
The voice in my ear makes me jump. It feels like an eternity has passed since someone spoke. I glance back at Ezra who is leaning towards the window of the helicopter. It wasn't his voice in my ear, but regardless, something has caught his attention. I sit up, having to peel my sweaty self off Samson, and look over Ezra's shoulder.
On the horizon, far in the distance, is a pillar of smoke. Or rather, a few pillars of smoke. Most of them are smaller, almost invisible to the naked eye. If it wasn't for the orange light making them look like ladders of flame, I wouldn't be able to see them. There's a new smell in the air, too. Something's burning.
"Should we be worried?" Ezra asks as he looks towards the front of the helicopter. Thomas shakes his head.
"No. The larger stream of smoke is from the weapon's factory. The others are just smaller fires for warmth, I'm sure."
A weapon's factory means we aren't going to some run-down village where cave people live. This is a city. Will it be anything like the "home" I came from--the city I barely remember?
We pass over the factory which is a series of squat gray buildings huddled up together with vehicles darting in between. Clouds of dust kick up behind the gray trucks that are heaped over with something in the bed. Large piles of sand or gravel litter the landscape, and people shovel it into more trucks. I guess that answers the question of what's in the back of the vehicles.
We fly over farming plots, fruit trees, animal fields, and lakes. Occasionally, we see a house with clothes hung out on a line. There's rarely any people standing outside the houses, though.
Slowly, the helicopter begins to descend, until we are hovering over a slab of concrete in the center of a golden field that waves us welcome. Several of the concrete pads litter the field, allowing more than one heli to land I grab hold on Sam and brace myself as we shake to a stop.
At the edge of our landing space, two people stand. One is tall with intense curly black hair. He covers his arm with a skinny hand, but that doesn't stop the wind for pulling his hair in a thousand direction. The girl standing beside him is much shorter but just as skinny. Her jeans are streaked with dirt, and her jacket is ragged along the bottom edge. At least the man is dressed in clean clothes.
I really shouldn't say anything, though, considering I'm caked in dirt, ash, sweat, and sea water.
When we are all out of the heli, it hums to a stop, and the wind around us dies as well. The man uncovers his face to reveal stunning blue eyes, brighter than even Sam's. The girl beside him boasts of a galaxy of freckles to match her night-black hair. They're so different, and yet, they have the same nose and facial structure.
Thomas jogs up to the man, shaking his hand and embracing him.
"Welcome home, Thomas!" the man exclaims, beaming. How do they know each other? My father looks like a model citizen standing beside the gruff Eastern people.
"It's been too long, Austin," Thomas says, releasing the man.
"Way," he replies. "But you're here now, and that's what matters." He motions to the shorter, younger girl beside him. "You've met my niece, right? Catherine."
"Cat," the girl blurts. "Call me Cat."
Thomas shakes her hand.
"Sorry to keep the introductions brief," Austin says, "but there's a possibility Murano followed you. We need to get to the safety of the compound."
"Compound?" I ask, feeling lightheaded from the all the new information.
Austin nods.
"You must be Jordyn," he says with a small smile. "My name's Austin Barrett. Welcome to the East. I promise you will be safe within our walls."
YOU ARE READING
The Island
Science Fiction"This is The Island, a prison designed for minors like me- too young to be executed, too old to be reformed, and too much of a stain on humanity to let exist. It was 'the answer' to the growing crime rate resulting from a world that was falling apar...
