To Die For

Chapter 1o - Riley Emerson

Since I met Wyle I've gotten used to a bit more excitement in my life. But MPs raiding my house at the command of Cecil Strong is a surprise. Well less raiding. Searching for 'stolen goods'.
I naturally hide the little rectangle in my hand and line up being shocked and horrified. I don't know what this is but they don't get to have it. I do blame Shaye though.
"What is your fiancé doing?" I growl.
"He's fed up with your fiance. He thinks he can get him out of his unit by accusing him of stealing something his last platoon retrieved. Which he has no proof he just figures having met Wyle he stole something," Shaye says.
"Oh my gods that's awful how could he do that," I say, even though I know Wyle definitely did that.
"He's an idiot," Shaye mutters, shaking her head.
The MPs tear through the house, searching rather effectively. But the item they're looking for is in my hand.  My mother is used to such searches. Apparently they used to be awful during the last war. Thinking they were harboring defectors.
"Well why don't you ask Wyle? Instead of tearing up my house?" Shaye asks Strong, pushing him the chest.
"He's bolted. They have men in the woods hunting him. With guns," he says, coolly.
I cry for effect, then go up to my room. In the wall is embedded an arrow. I tug it out. Naturally there's a note tied to it. A map.
I glance back at the stairs. There's general arguing coming from down there. I snatch up my bag and go for the window. If Wyle is running then I'm running with him.
I climb out and head for the fence. It's my first time leaving alone. Let alone going beyond the fence. For a moment I'm frightened. Then I look back at the rubble that is town. It doesn't hold any more promise than the wreckage beyond the fence.
And so I flee, I climb under the fence rather than over, because I don't want to risk these overalls on the barbed wire. The rest of the map is crude. But I begin to follow it over a pile of old rubble, half grown over with weeds.
There is a sharp whistle. I stop, jumping a bit.
"Didn't want to frighten you," Wyle says, arms out.
"They were looking in my house for this," I say, holding up the rectangle.
"Yes and mine. I took the liberty of relieving my mother of hers," he says, holding up two more.
"What are they they'd hunt us down for it?" I ask.
"I don't know. I knew you would hide yours. But I'm not giving it up without knowing what it is," he says, looking down at his, "You can go back. Give it to me and I'll leave."
"No," I shake my head, "I'm coming with you—just, quickly, where are we going?"
"My grandfather, he's bound to know what it is, he already owes me a story about another mysterious artifact," he says, "Time we got to the bottom of this. And why they want it so badly."
"Do you know how to find him?" I ask, frowning.
He nods, pocketing the item and holding out a hand.
I take it, and we climb together over the rubble, towards the distant mountains. We're walking into dust and smog. I can only just see a path carved out through the dust and ash. Wyle keeps his hand in mine firmly, which I appreciate, even though the terrain isn't too bad. I like him knowing which way we're going.
I hear a distant rumble of electric bikes, and must start. Wyle shakes his head, "Those are our ride. My grandfather's pack. They would normally pick up outsiders but we're fine."
We're fine because I'm with him. He doesn't have to finish that part.
The bikes quickly surround us. Wyle bows deeply one arm out, other still holding my hand. I try to bow as well.
"Grandmother," Wyle says, smiling.
"I've been expecting you to come," a short woman with silver hair dismounts a bike. And the statement, and the leather, and possibly human teeth on her jacket, would be foreboding, but she says it to walk up and pinch Wyle's cheek. "And you're finally bringing your pretty girl."
"I'm courting her. And sort of running away with her," Wyle says, blushing deeply.
"Pleasure to meet you," I say politely.
"Grandfather said you had an explanation for me? And maybe for these?" Wyle holds up the little artifacts.
"Give him a bike," she says, smiling, "Looks like we have a story for the children."
One of the raiders tosses Wyle keys, as a matter of form, and he catches them, nodding to me.
We climb onto an electric bike, me behind him, my arms around his waist. I nestle my head on his shoulder and I feel him smile.  The pack gives a signal I take it Wyle understands, and we take off, following his grandmother's lead. We're headed towards more wreckage, a bombed out compound it looks like? The pack breaks off as we approach, and we alone enter a large, cement, hollow. The top is open to the sky but there are pillars and a few half remaining walls. It's clearly occupied, with electric bikes and other artifacts, I assume very valuable ones, lined up.
His grandmother parks and Wyle does close behind, swinging off and holding out an arm for me as I climb off. An older man gets up, fit, and distinctly well armed, with a belt of what looks like human finger bones. He too has silver hair, and glinting, near periwinkle blue eyes, same as Wyle.
"Grandfather," Wyle smiles, "This is Riley. Riley, my grandparents." Like we're in a fine living room somewhere not in a bombed out field meeting I'm guessing the most successful thieves on the continent.
"It took you long enough to bring her," his grandmother chides, pinching his cheek again. He blushes again.
"The boy's been busy," his grandfather smiles, eyeing me up and down.
"Only a little. I think you owe me a story, grandmother, but first. I am going to assume you both know what these are?" Wyle asks, holding up his two little boxes.
"And why the MPs want them so badly," I say, holding up mine.
"Ah yes, that actually goes along with what we found the other day," his grandfather says, laughing a little and holding out a hand.
"What is it?" Wyle asks, handing his over, "We get that they're artifacts but they're not precious metal, how much could they be worth?"
"Oh things other men want are invaluable," his grandfather says, beconing us to a stack of crates.
"That's what was in that train, that I told you about," Wyle clarifies, pointing to a metal box.
"It's a relic, from before the last great bombing. It was hidden in a bunker," his grandmother says, going to fuss with the wires.
"It's electric?" Wyle frowns.
"The wire was sealed inside, meant to survive an apocolypse, well it did, it's a projector," his grandmother says.
"No wonder they wanted it—all of those were destroyed last century," I frown.
"Inside were instructions for use, as well as a record. The soldiers, hiding in the bunker, had time to burn these."
"Burn?" I frown.
"Record," his grandfather holds up the little rectangles, "They contain something terribly valuable. Data. Now those men on the train had no idea how to use this projector, nor did they know the language of the instructions. It hasn't been used in hundreds of years."
"And so those boys, before the radiation got to them, recorded what they could for whoever came after. Most of those trapped in bunkers did. Now from the notes in the case, this —platoon—had control of a great weapon."
"So those are the plans for it?" Wyle asks.
"That's what your superiors assumed, unable to read their hasty notes. They had but precious few hours to burn these. Let's watch, shall we?" She holds up the first rectangle, inserting into the projector.
A light flickers on the wall. And steadily, musical notes trickle from the box. The image is fuzzy, and the tune surprisingly loud. The image clears, it's a moving picture. Wyle and I both laugh a bit, we've never seen one in our lifetimes.
The picture is of a woman in white, dancing on a darkened stage. Then it shifts to be dozens and dozens of moving cars. This time in color a man and woman kiss. Then black and white again, a monster. Wyle and I both jump, laughing, as a train seems to come directly at us from within the flickering image.
Then a great field, a woman spinning in the center. A beautiful party of lights and color. Two men gritty and filthy holding onto one another above what looks like a pit of fire. A girl standing speaking towards us, lips moving but no sound coming out. A man and woman dancing beautifully, spinning into each other's arms.
Wyle slips his hand into mine, as we watch, transfixed, the music shifts tone and so do the images. Now an animal, a dog or something, upon a tall building, and then men with guns, running int dust and ash. Back to the ballerina spinning. A man and a woman kissing in the rain. Then kissing dark red light. A man speaking as men cheer, all black and white. Two men dancing as rain pours down around them. A man and a woman crawling to each other cross the floor. Often just people talking, sitting, standing, laughing. A million colors and animals I've never seen before. Planes. Cars. Monsters. Then just a pretty girl slowly taking off her coat. Beautiful crystal blue waters.
I look over at Wyle as he watches, the lights reflected on his smooth face as he stares in wonder. I smile at him watching, and he looks over at me, sensing my gaze. Then as the images again kiss on the screen he leans over and kisses me.
The images fade out, and the music slowly stops.
"They didn't save plans at all," Wyle laughs, "It's—worthless."
"Is it?" His grandmother asks.
"To soldiers, that's why I don't want to be one," Wyle says.
"They were quite wrong about it's purpose. You see they thought when the end of the world was coming people would save more things to help others ruin the world. They did not," his grandfather says.
"No, they saved what made them happy, just so we could have it too," I smile, looking at the precious projector, "Because it was worth saving."
"Yes, yes it was," Wyle says, staring at me, "It was."

The End