Raven's Will

4. Only Option Left

"We're leaving."

Tarrod snapped his head over to stare at his brother. With just those words, the entire room fell silent, save for the little sparrow chirping from the splintered roof. Or what was left of the roof; most of it had collapsed inwards, while the majority of the walls held firm.

His brother could have chosen a more stable building to host this meeting, but this place did hold meaning. It was - had been - a group home for many of the women and children that were of the Crossfires. And now most of them were gone, perished along with many others in the horrific Machine March, as they started to refer to it as. The once thousands of Crossfires now numbered only hundreds.

Levi, one of the oldest Crossfires, lifted his head from where he sat on a uneven pile of rotting bricks. Bleary, faded eyes settled upon their leader, while thin hands curled tightly around a piece of pink fabric held in his lap. The cloth used to be a part of his granddaughter's skirt. It used to be white.

Behind him, a thin, almost gaunt man, sneered. One bloody bandage was wrapped horizontally across his head, hiding the wound that nearly gouged out his eye. Gant had always been hard to get along with, but he had proven time and again his loyalty to the Crossfires. Still. . . the way he was now looking at his brother gave Tarrod the chills.

Other Crossfires – some that Tarrod knew well, and others that he didn't – shifted in their places. The crumbling room, with its three walls and hardly any roof, suddenly didn't seem so open anymore. Tarrod felt like the place was closing in on him, and for a horrible moment, he flashed back to the dark, confining tunnel where he and Leyrone nearly didn't make it out alive.

"It's the only option left to us now," Jerrick said, and Tarrod turned back to his brother, a hard knot of dread settling in his stomach. The Crossfires leader looked around the room, meeting every man's eyes with an steady calm. "We pack up what we can, gather friends and family, whatever supplies we have - we'll leave in three days."

"Jerrick! We can't – " Tarrod's voice was lost in the sudden uproar as the dozen members began to protest.

Two men pushed in front of him, as if getting closer to Jerrick would make themselves be heard over the others. He couldn't see what was going on. People started to shout, lifting hands to gesticulate, growing louder and louder as tension began to build.

Only one among them remained silent. Tarrod saw the white flyer leaning against the wall, half in shadow, half in the orange glow of the rising sun. The part of his suit that caught the light was bright enough to make one squint. Jett's dark eyes watched everything, his young face a stone slate topped with wild hair dark enough to blend with the shadows.

It sent shivers down Terrod's spine, because every time he saw Jett, he remembered a boy. Just a young boy, so naïve and innocent, who believed that he could run away from the monsters. And because he had been so determined, so courageous, Tarrod had believed it, too. But that boy and the flyer now standing nearby were completely different people. Gone was the boy, swallowed up by the monster.

Jett looked over, having sensed someone staring at him. Their eyes met. Jett's face softened and his lips started to curve into a hesitant smile. But Tarrod only saw a flyer, like the ones he saw swooping down upon the streets before the machines trampled their city to dust.

Jaw tightening, Tarrod turned away.

"Shann Tei is dying," Jerrick went on. He didn't raise his voice, but somehow he cut through the noise and smothered it into silence. "It's been beaten, the Forbidden Wall broken, and now its inhabitants roam the streets, spreading their sickness. Not only that, flyers have been spotted over the city. To stay here is a risk."