A Thin Yellow Line: Season Two

2.1

"I have to go," I urgently tell Chaya.

"Where...?" Chaya exclaims.

I don't hear the rest. I'm sliding through the mass of people with as much courtesy as I've been taught. Jon moves towards the outer corridor only a moment or two behind the dreadlock stranger, and I'm behind them both.

You have to move faster.

"I know that," I snap out under my voice. 

A woman glares. I apologize profusely as I move in front of her and into the next row of emptying pews. I stream through and make it to a door left of the exit just as it clicks closed. 

Do not be seen.

"I know, " I snap again.

I doubt you know how to follow a person without being detected.

I take suffer the sarcasm and huff out contempt. The door doesn't sound as I open it and enter the dark corridor. A high vaulted ceiling looms above, and four stone columns carved with impeccable grace hold up each side.

My secondary school has not changed a bit.

The dimly lit room still shadows manicured walls of glory to God and glory to those in power here. Bulletins of achievement, victory and fidelity cling precisely to the space they've held forever.

To my right, several slatted windows pour in gray light from the overcast sky beyond. The main office on the left is dark and still. 

Jon is not in there.

"How would you know...." I whisper, but the metal door clanking shut pulls my attention down the long hallway before me.

Without hesitation, I stride to the end of the hall as quietly as possible, passing multiple classrooms lining each side until I find a door. The dark green metal is familiar and brings back memories filled with struggle. I read the bold black acronym above the door frame, and my heart sinks. 

What is the meaning of P. C.?

"Physical Conditioning," I murmur as I slowly pull the door open with a deep gulp.
I sense this place does not hold positive experiences for you.

"Not in the least."
Memories flash. Significantly stronger students deliver pain. They wouldn't accept me because I am the fringe of the wealth hierarchy—a Baron old in lineage but poor in value.

Sometimes, they pushed. Sometimes they pummeled. Disdain was never lacking.

To my gratitude, the heavy door doesn't make a sound as I slip through and guide it closed. The expanse of the room, tall ceiling, and large oval unwoken lights spaced between metal beams set me back a step. This room is larger and more ominous than I remember.

My feet tap and squeak here and there along the polished wooden surface. On either side are junior Hellball targets and equipment hanging on racks from corner to corner. I ignore the rows of exoskins, pulverizers and smash disks and move to another set of doors.

Voices emmit beyond large wooden slabs with a distinct echo carried by pool water on the other side. Once, I was accustomed to the sound of children playing and splashing in this room. These adult voices speaking with angry tones sully this place in new ways.

Their voices are obscure. You will have to get closer.

The voice is correct, but some spite in me doesn't allow it the pleasure of acknowledging it.
Beno?

"I heard you the first time," I grit out.

There's panic quaking up my chest and rattling my hands. Sneaking around is beneath me. Traversing places holding bitter memories is foolish of me, but what I might find past these doors could be the end of me.

It would behoove me to return to my life, my daughter and my wife and move on from whatever Jon is doing. The lesser, disreputable part of me opens the door ever so slightly so that I can slip inside. 

Maybe disreputable, but utterly brave?

"Oh, shut up," I say with a slight smirk.

The room is dark save the glowing water gently rippling with the soft hum of the pumps. The glow rises and illuminates two figures in the distant corner. My stout friend stands before a much taller man. A lanky, dark-skinned Scant, wearing tattered clothes meant to be decent and wild hair. This is not the sort Jon would affiliate in the least.

Quickly, I shuffle in a crouch to a dark office to the left.

"You think you have power over me?" Jon's voice carries over the room.
The office is small and as far from the two men as the room allows, but his voice booms against the large glass pane I'm peering over.

"I don't have to tell you who my family is to know you're in grave waters here, my friend," Jon barks.

"I'm no friend, mis'ta El'son," the man says calmly.
"Ellison, you cack."

The man doesn't flinch, nor does his steady demeanor falter. I've known strong people to wane under Jon's boldness. This man is different. The way he sways on the balls of his feet almost makes him seem like a rabid animal ready to pounce. 

"Whaddya think?" he says, "the Hordes not gunna find out? Ya, foolin' ya self."
"If you think you can blackmail me...."

"I think ya gunna have to pay one way or anotha. Best be my way, I think," the man interrupts.
To this demand, Jon shrinks and takes the slightest step back. The voices go silent, but my heart is louder than ever, dragging me lower to the ground with a weight made of panic and disbelief.
"Hordes?" I mutter.

Beno, I can not see.

"Shh, shut up," I stammer, gripping my knees closer to my chest. 

My mind doesn't accept what is happening here, or maybe I don't want it to. Meeting with a Horde could only have a terrible purpose.

I want to run. I want to scream. I want everything to go back to how it was before the firebomb. Before the chaos and the Isis' death. 

A sound, first only a hum I think is the pool, begins to grow deep and painful in my skull.
Beno? What is....

The panic running subtly under my skin suddenly erupts in my heart. The world begins to bleed and shake at once. A horrible mind-splitting sound shatters me into millions of pieces frozen in space as if gravity has abandoned me.

Darkness grows and consumes the edges of my vision until I'm overcome by it. Sound vibrates in a rage through my body. No, inside my body. Bones shutter violently. My nerves are on fire across every inch of my skin. I grit down as this unimaginable pain washes over me.

Beno!

The voice screams through the bleak darkness.

What are...

I can't respond. Every word I mean to utter is pulled violently back inside like a black hole pulling the light mercilessly. 

...you doing!?

My body is tearing at every edge and seem. I need to shriek, but nothing comes. I twist erratically to marshal control of my body and knock the desk behind me. A weight of some kind hits my head and then the floor. The sound it emits is like a bell tower against my ears: more pain, more torture for my ravaged body.   

They heard that! 

Sure enough, they are coming. Footsteps pound into the air like anvils. They draw nearer and louder. I can feel them just around the door frame– all is lost. 

They have found us!