To Die For

Chapter 7 - Riley Emerson

There's smoke on the horizon. Another train went off its tracks. That's how we talk about it. Like people out living in the wilds weren't responsible. Our father wants us to believe people don't still live out there. Chocked by radio active dust. Hunting the mutated animals. I think people do. People will live anywhere to be free.
I sit in the window and watch the smoke trails, then go back to my sewing. I'm working on a pair of gloves. But now I'm stitching into them the patterns of the smoke trails left in the sky.
Wylie's father comes calling the day after. Shaye tells me.
"You really want to step out with him?" She asks.
I nod, "He's fun."
"There's more to life than fun. And isn't he old blood? That makes them wild," she says, gently, "He could treat you ill."
"I think he's in love with me," I say, which is easier than saying I'm falling in love with him. But I haven't seen him in a couple of days. Maybe I am just a bit of fun for him. But he didn't seem like that. He wasn't trying to hide his vices. But I'm not one of them.
My father calls me down after some time.
"His father has proven, the family still has some means. And so—I've decided to let the Dolon boy court you," my father says.
My mother looks sharply at him.
"Thank you father," I say, hiding my smile, "He was very kind."
"He comes from a family of murderers," my mother says.
"In a moment, Adele," my father says, coolly, "You can, go Riley. That was all."
I leave and naturally listen at the door. I have to hear this argument.
"She's not a child anymore," my father says, "We have to find her someone."
"But him?" My mother asks, "You know what they say. Dolon isn't his father. God knows who is."
"They can provide for her. And do you see anyone else asking?" My father scoffs, "We'll be lucky to find her a suitor of decent means."
I glare. Shaye does too, prepared to go in. I stop her, it doesn't matter.
"She's homely that's all, and she's fit enough to have children," my mother reasons, like that's something nice to say.
"And so if he'll have her then that's good enough," my father says.
I leave, I've heard enough.
"They shouldn't have said that," Shaye says.
"It doesn't matter, at least they're letting me see him," I say, quietly.
"You really think he loves you? You wouldn't just do it to get away?" She asks.
"I think he does. And if he doesn't he's good at pretending it," I say, "Which is better than I'll get."
Shaye sighs. I'm not pretty she's not going to argue it. "He'd better be worthy of you."
The next day our mother announces that both of our prospective suitors and their parents are coming to dinner. Something is said about mine being in some status of military discipline but getting to come anyway. This is not said with surprise.
I'm pleased, if a bit nervous to formally meet his parents. Shaye wears a light green dress, I a dark blue, both with matching ribbons in our hair. Shaye is equally fidgety which is unwarranted as everyone loves Shaye.
Our nervousness quickly turns to amusement when it turns out our suitors, who know each other, were not expecting to see each other here. Hers in a bad way, Cecil Strong looks ready to expire of shock.
"No. No.  I was supposed to get three hours. Three hours, without you," Strong stutters, near tears.
"Fancy seeing you here as well commander!" Wyle pats him on the chest amiably, the other boy looks like he's resisting breaking my suitor's hands.
"Come on inside," Wyle father steers him away before a fight breaks out. I'm trying not to laugh and Wyle catches my eye, also grinning conspiratorially. He bows swiftly though before me and kisses my hand. I take the opportunity to slip the gloves into his jacket pocket.
The others are saying their greetings, as we move inside. Wyle's parents are entirely polite, holding hands and hovering near their son.  Cecil Strong only seems to have come with an older brother, his only family I suppose? That's a bit sad. Also it looks like Wyle is driving him to distraction.
For people who did everything possible to avoid the original party, Wyle and his parents are naturally charming, making polite small talk with my parents and the Strongs, even though the Strong brothers are frosty at best.
We sit down to dinner, and Shaye keeps casting me glances like wondering what we did to her normally collected suitor.
"Was your unit involved in that train wreck earlier this week?" Shaye asks, trying to make polite conversation.
"Yes, in fact, raiders attacked it later but we were near by," Cecil says, not overly nicely.
"It was the oddest thing we got orders to go and case the train very typical, but our Chief claims not to have issued the orders," Wyle says.
"That's odd," my father says.
"Isn't it though?" Wyle's mother asks.
"Yes exceedingly strange they'll probably never figure it out," Wyle says, traditional smirk haunting his lips. Oh he was definitely involved.
"No but no one was hurt," Cecil says.
"I was hurt," Wyle says, "I passed out for seven hours my bunk mate, Joss Lenon had to drag me to safety it was dramatic."
"That does sound dramatic," I say, as my mother kicks me to say something. I was making subtle eye contact with Wyle to swear him to telling me later what really happened because I'm sure this isn't it.
"Yes, yes it does," Cecil says, murderously.
"Things tend to be dramatic at our platoon," Wyle says, all smiles, staring at his cup of water before taking a sip.
"Have you ever deployed?" My father asks, entirely Cecil he and my mother are trying to act like the Dolon part doesn't exist.
"Twice," the older Strong brother says.
"No," Cecil admits.
"Yes," Wyle says, though it wasn't directed at him, "Three times."
"We're glad he's back safe," his father clearly tries to defuse what's coming next.
"Beyond the fence that much, it's not common to come back in one piece is it?" My mother asks, studying him.
"I wouldn't think so," Wyle says, smoothly, ignoring the obvious jibe that he belongs out there. Or perhaps he doesn't care.
"You went past the fence for the train as well," Cecil says.
"Yes but I passed out for that, we did that," Wyle says, cheerfully, "Should have had Joss here he knows more than I do."
"You said that in briefing and he hit you and stuttered so I don't know if he does," Cecil says, so obviously sick of Wyle.
"Did you see the sun day before last, Riley?" Wyle's mother addresses me, "It came out past the clouds while I was walking to town."
"Ah yes. From my window. It feels like it's been dark for days," I say, "I don't get into town that much."
"It's not safe," my mother puts in, "Not these days."
"I suppose not," Wyle's mother says, smiling anyway. She and her son have identical smirks, and the same almost pink tint to their blue eyes, like precious stones, lined with black.
From there my father steers the conversation more generally, and the men are happy to oblige. I sense Wyle's father is the moderator, and he is more willing to make polite conversation, his wife and son undercutting it with the odd barbed comment. The Strong brothers appear miserable and make a move before our plates have even been cleared, making the excuse they need to get back to base. Wyle clearly cared little about getting back to base but he has to leave with them since he technically lives there too.
Our parents send us to bed. I consider listening in to their conversations, but choose not to. They're not going to have anything good to say about Wyle anyway. Shaye retreats off to bed with me, not daring to say anything. I'm annoyed, even though none of them have said anything. Wyle was perfectly nice.  But I will have to ask him though if he was responsible for whatever Cecil Strong was so upset about. I just feel like he was.
And so I go to bed, perfectly content. It was a fine dinner and my father isn't banning the Dolons from the house so that's honestly a win.
And I wake up to a hand closing over my mouth, and arms lifting me from my bed. I struggle wildly, as it slowly dawns on me that I'm being kidnapped. And unfortunately my first thought is that they probably meant to get Shaye. I'm not even a good kidnapping victim.
But Shaye is here too, we're both bound and gagged. I think I have a knife in these cargos but I can't reach it with my hands tugged behind my back.
Together we're being born to some electric cars. I feel myself being shoved and they tug off the blindfolds and gags.
"Those looked like Rhodes men, known for their kidnappings here, there's a knife in my pocket," I hiss, to Shaye who isn't taking this very well.
"Why is there a knife in your pocket????? Weren't you asleep??"
"Yes I sleep in clothes, with weapons," I say.
"Why?"
"In case we mostly you, get kidnapped is that important right now?" I hiss.
"A little," she sighs, trying to sit up, "Father's bound to ransom us."
"I mean yes," I think she isn't going to want to help me try to escape,"I thought we'd escape though. For the activity. And save the money."
"Escape from a moving car? And eventually moving train?"
"Well I didn't have a plan yet," I admit. 
My plan only gets so far as struggling wildly and trying to bite them as they move us to a train car. It doesn't work because there are two of them and definitely bigger than me. Shaye just protests delicately, but she is in her night things and doesn't have a knife she's wriggling towards.
They throw us both down into chairs and tie us to them. I still can't reach my pocket knife which isn't great. But admittedly I don't know how I planned on getting off the train. Trains like this run all the way through the wastelands to the settlements, which if I'm correct is a two day's journey to Rhodes. It's likely not a government-sanctioned kidnapping. However, I highly doubt the people of Rhodes will care.
"Ugh. I can't believe this," Shaye growls.
"They were probably trying to get me and not you," I say, even though I don't believe it.
"We both know you don't believe that."
"All right no, but, it's probably just for the ransom money," I say, wriggling in the binds. There's a guard at the end of the car but we're talking rather softly. Also I mean I do assume he knows we're going to be trying to escape.
"Probably," Shaye sighs, "Our parents will be worried."
"They probably don't know we're gone yet," I say, trying to be comforting. I'm not great at it. "Nobody probably does."
"Well they have to send ransom demands ahead. And they'll ransom us. Probably before we arrive," she reasons, "That's logical. I mean father will ransom us anyway."
"So will Cecil, I'm sure he'll figure out how to do it," I say.
"That didn't sound very confident."
"Well it wasn't really, but like they'll send him demands and he'll send the money," I point out.
"True," she says, wriggling on her side, "I hate this."
"So do I can't even reach my knife," I mutter. I should wear one around my neck. That's a great idea. I bet that curiosity shop would have one. Lot of good the idea does me now but it's there.
"Did you hear that?" I ask, tipping my head.
"What?" Shaye asks, still wriggling a little.
"That slam like something ontop of the train car?" I ask.
There's some light screaming, over the roar of the wind.
"Do you think they're trying to rescue us?" Shaye asks, hopefully.
"Maybe," I say, wondering if she meant 'they' singular becuase while there were a lot of screams, I only heard the sound of one person landing on the train car roof.
There is more distant screaming. The guard in the doorway steps forward to investigate, drawing a long knife.
He drops to the floor, dead, an arrow protruding from his forehead. Shaye cries out I don't really know why it's not like we can get kidnapped twice.
And of course my betrothed drops in, still mostly in his dusty grey fatigues, bow in hand, gold curls full of dust, and splattered with a fine layer of blood. Not his. And other than his appearance, he's clearly completely fine. Casual even, sheathing an unneeded arrow and walking up.
"Hello ladies, did you want to be rescued? They told the platoon you'd been kidnapped so I came to rescue you but as I was halfway here I thought you might not want to be rescued and it was wrong to assume you might have something going so if so I'll just go but if you did kidnap yourselves—can I help?" Extremely hopefully, hands clasped, he's wearing the new gloves.
"YES WE WANT TO BE RESCUED!" Shaye and I cry, with varying degrees of rage.
"Well okay then, first impulse was good," he mutters, coming over to cut us loose.
"Wyle, anytime I am kidnapped I want you to assume I want to be rescued and gotten yes thank you. If I am arranging a kidnapping I will definitely tell you in advance," I say, very nicely.
"Great, good, just wanted to check— what?" He asks, as Shaye shoves him a little.
"Where are the others?" Shaye asks.
"What others?" Wyle asks, finishing cutting her binds as I finally get my little knife.
"How did you know we were missing?" I ask.
"The platoon got the announcement something about ransom money? I'm not against doing that but I did want to make sure you were all right so I left when they were still talking about it," Wyle says, spitting on a spot of blood on his shirt to get it out. There's lots more.  I'm not going to tell him.
"So my betrothed knows I got kidnapped?" Shaye asks.
"Yes," Wyle nods, glancing at me to confirm where this is going. I wince.
"And he is—?" Shaye spins a hand.
"Organizing a rescue with the platoon, when I left," Wyle says, so confident this is the answer that will calm her down.
"Where as you upon getting word that she'd been kidnapped you immediately went feral to come and rescue her just you and a bow?" Shaye asks.
"And you as well! And I do have many arrows. And a few other weapons. And as I said it did occur to me partway here this might interfere with a larger plan so I did want to confirm that you wanted rescuing—," Wyle says, still so confident this disclaimer is going to make her happy.
"Forget it. I don't want to be rescued anymore. He wants to marry me? He can rescue me himself," Shaye says, sitting back down.
"Don't be ridiculous," I sigh.
"Yes he's probably not smart enough to do that. Like they aren't going to figure out what train you're on," Wyle says, very nicely and soothingly.
"What makes you say that?" She asks.
"I'm not there," Wyle says, "And I usually do about 80% of my platoon's thinking, your betrothed's only major contribution is he keeps trying to get one of the new recruits, Saemus put on psych assessment because he plays the bagpipes and your betrothed won't believe that they're a real instrument and not a symptom of insanity so that's been consuming a lot of his brain lately."
"Not helping," I breath.
"I live with him," Wyle shrugs.
"Shaye, you can't stay here," I say.
"Also he thinks that chicken is a vegetable. It's because I told him that but I don't know why he'd believe me," Wyle says, quietly.
"Well. If he wants to marry me he can rescue me," Shaye says, resolutely, "I don't care about a ransom. He should at least care enough to come like this one you have did."
"Also he keeps depolarizing his compass by putting it by his belt buckle and then can't figure out why, see? I haven't even fixed it yet," Wyle says.
"Why do you have Cecil's compass?" I ask.
"That's important to her journey right now," Wyle says, "At least I'm fixing it."
"Are you going to give it back?"
"No."
"You two go ahead, I'm staying here," Shaye says, folding her arms, "He can come and rescue me himself."
"Okay," Wyle respects her choices that's nice.
"That's ridiculous, Shaye, no just come with us," I say.
"No. I want to see if mine is coming like yours did," she says, resolutely, "I'll be fine. Give me a knife."
Wyle produces a suitably large knife and a grenade.
"Where did you get that?" I ask.
"It's a dummy but they aren't gonna know that," he says.
"Thank you," Shaye says, primly taking them.
"Just come with us," I sigh.
"No. I have faith Cecil will rescue me," Shaye says, "And if he doesn't then he has to pay my ransom serves him right."
"I'll pretend to kidnap you and charge him a ransom I'll even split some with you," Wyle offers to help I think.
"No. You two go on and let them know I'm all right," Shaye says.
"Fine," I sigh. One of us should go back. As much as I hate leaving her here it is her decision.
"Let's go—oh friends," Wyle notches an arrow as two more guards come into the train car. He shoots one before they reach us, then has to grapple hand to hand with the other. I leap on the man's back, stabbing my knife into his neck. Wyle wastes a moment staring at me, covered in blood, before we step out of the car and onto the coupling.
Wyle grips my elbow tightly, as the wind batters us against the car. We're not going that fast, but it's still fast enough to kill us if we make a wrong step and slip into the tracks.
"I can get us off the train but we need to get on top," he nods at the ladders.
I nod in recognition.  There will be more guards on top. He needs to go first.
He climbs up the swaying ladder, swiftly, and I climb on it behind him. The rungs are rusted metal that digs into my palms, and the wind threatens to tug me from the car. I haul myself up, just behind him, his boots nearly in my face but I want to feel like I could reach out and take hold.
He nearly falls back onto me as we reach the top, a guard snatches him by the neck and tries to throw him from the train. Wyle retaliates with a knife to the man's arm. But this man is huge, and not about to lose grip on the slim teenager.
I finish crawling up, wind howling in my ears, only to be met with another guard. This one smaller, thankfully, but I'm only armed with a knife. Wyle is still grappling with the huge one who is threatening to throw him from the car.
I stab into the man's arm, hoping to hit tendon. By the howl I receive in reply I suspect I did, and we're both sprayed with blood.
The train jolts over a bump and we're all nearly thrown from our feet. Wyle takes the opportunity to climb onto the shoulders of the beast of a man he's fighting, and by the howls that follow someone just lost an eye.
The train rocks again just as I'm gaining my footing, giving me time to step forward and kick the ankle of the man attacking me. He falls, nearly rolling off the train but catching himself by diving his knife into the roof.
"Let's get off this train!" Wyle shouts, holding out an arm.
"How?"  I ask. I know some people jump but I don't know how to do that.
He beams, "Grapple arrows."
I go to his side just as our attackers are regaining their footing yep the big fellow did lose an eye.
Wyle knots a rope around his waist then notches an arrow. I loop my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.
He looses the arrow then slings his free arm around my waist, the other hand anchored on the now taught rope.
And together, we leap from the train.
For a moment we're hurling through the dusty dark of the early morning. I am glad he wrapped his arm around me because my own arms are screaming in pain as I cling to his neck for dear life.
Then we're hitting the cliffside I assume his arrow is achnored in. Wyle was ready and hits it with his feet first, to bounce us off, but we still swing back into the rock face painfully, unalbe to get any sort of hold due to our offbalanced weight.
"Hang on, I've got you," Wyle winces a little as his shoulder strikes the cliffside.
I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, wrapping my legs around his to get a better grip. I'm barefoot from bed, he's at least in boots.
"Got you, if I were even smarter this would retract," he winces, looking up at the some twenty foot climb we have to the top of the cliff, "Are you all right?"
I lean over and kiss him in response. And given how uncomfortable we are I didn't expect him to react that well but he reciprocates immediately, tipping his dusty, blood stained face to mine, kissing my lips eagerly but surprisingly gently.
"Thank you," I say.
"You should get kidnapped more often," he smirks, then kisses me again, "All right I'd like to do that when I can feel my arms."
"Understood how do we get off of here?" I ask.
"You hold onto me, don't hit that cliff it'll tear your feet up, and I drag us up," he says.
"Can you do that?"
"In theory."
For such a small and sarcastic person he's surprisingly strong, and though his face is red and lined with effort, he succeeds in putting one hand above the other, free dragging us both up. I can do little but cling onto him and try to not hinder his climbing. He's got gloves I don't, my hands would rip open in a moment and I'd have no grip.
"I forgot to thank you for the gloves! And the opportunity to try them out!" Nearly cheerfully, sweat rolling down his face.
"You're welcome, you don't have to talk."
"Oh I never shut up, it's completely fine once I passed out from blood loss after being struck by a boar, which I killed, but anyway I passed out from blood loss but apparently I was still talking while unconscious my mother tells that story every family gathering," he grunts. That means he was hunting outside the fence. I don't know why I'm surprised.
After perhaps ten agonizing minutes we reach the top of the cliff and I do release a hand to help pull us both up. Wyle is sweating and panting from the effort but still talking and checking his bow.
"No, they're like really good gloves didn't feel a thing. Can you get blood out of them though? Do you think your sister's okay I'm good going back to check they wouldn't expect that honestly. I—,"
I kiss him because that feels appropriate and it shuts him up for two seconds.
He happily puts his arms around me, leaning into the kiss, a bit awkward like he's not sure what to do but eager to learn. I kiss him gently then kiss his nose.
"My sister is apparently fine you gave her a dummy grenade. How are we getting back to Naxos from here?"
"Electric bike I borrowed from the base," he points, "I parked it maybe two or three miles that way. I parked ahead of the train than ran back so it'd be closer." So pleased with himself.
"Borrowed?" I ask.
"I'm giving it back. Probably."
"Do they know you have it?"
"No."
"Okay then," I breath a bit, tucking stray locks of hair from my face.
"Here, take my boots, you can't walk on these rocks," he says, looking at my already bloody feet.
"You have drills, and you're —busy. I can wrap them up for two days," I point out.
"I don't care," he says, stubbornly, "I'm not letting you walk back with bare feet it is two miles over rock."
"Do you have thick socks on under that? I'll put those on you wear the boots," I say.
After twenty minutes of negotiations which ends with him kissing me again for no apparent reason, we settle on taking turns wearing the boots and carrying the other on our backs because we're both confident we can do that.
"You weigh less than a wet cat I think I can carry you," I reason.
"I'm stronger than I look."
"I noticed when you pulled me up a rock—how does your face end up in mine carried on my back I'm not carrying you bridal style!"
"Why not? I was going to carry you bridal style."
He ends up on my back, still talking. He weighs less than Shaye and for childhood reasons she and I do this all the time.
We get back to the bike because Wyle has a decent sense of direction, despite being very easily distracted. I can't drive the bike, he offers to teach me and I accept for a future time. By now we're both sore, and bloodied. It's my turn to wear the boots though and he refused to take them.
"Where are we going?" I ask, I didn't think. We can't just get back in the gates.
"My manor. Well my parents."
"Do they—know we're coming?"
"Not at all! Jump the fence at the back of the property, we can drive right down. They'll be pleased."
And I gain newfound respect for Wyle's mother, who has no visible reaction to her son showing up on a stolen bike, and being carried up the drive on my back. His father doesn't react either. He's not even surprised he just glances at us and offers towels.
"I'm due back at base because I just left," Wyle says, with zero concern for getting back.
"Go, I'm fine now," I say, handing him the boots, "See if they're rescuing Shaye anytime soon?"
"Why didn't Shaye come with you?" His mother asks.
"I offered," Wyle says.
"She wouldn't come," I clarify, "She was—jealous she wants her suitor to rescue her."
"I'll go see how they're doing," Wyle says, stretching lazily, "I'll walk though it's not far. Might as well keep the bike."
"It is here now," his mother enables.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Wyle asks, me hopefully.
"Yes, if you can get away," I say.
He smiles and kisses my cheek.
"We'll get her home," his mother says, "Once you've got those feet bandaged and cleaned up."
"Come on, I'll walk you back to base," his father offers.
"What you don't think I'll go there myself?" Wyle asks, innocently, hands to his chest.
"No," his fahter says, flatly.
"Damn."
"Is your sister really all right?" Wyle's mother asks.
"Oh yes, I mean I assuming they were right behind us," I say.
"I'm NOT," Wyle shouts from the front door.