Save Us!

Chapter Fourteen (Cedrik)

November 9th, 2059

“Grief, a type of sadness that most often occurs when you have lost someone you love, is a sneaky thing, because it can disappear for a long time, and then pop back up when you least expect it.”

Lemony Snicket

When I woke up and opened my eyes, I discovered two things.

1)      I wasn’t dead.

2)      I wasn’t with the Agents.

Those were both good things. I was in some sort of dimly-lit natural cavern. There was a flickering on the wall, suggesting there were candles.

Candles? Those were never used. Anywhere. Except –

That left only one option.

I was in the Outcity.

For a minute, I felt my skin crawl, but then I stopped myself. This is what you wanted.

Right.

I tried rolling over, but I felt a hot, sharp pain stabbing my left shoulder. I gasped and clutched at it, but that only made it worse, and added a sharp pain on the left side of my face. I touched it, and felt some sort of bandage. Then my hand traveled to my shoulder and I winced. I had never been shot before – nothing compared. I discovered also that my arm was in some sort of makeshift sling. Judging from the lack of new blood on my shoulder, they – whoever they were – had used a clotter to stop the bleeding. I took deep breaths, trying to keep my heart rate moderately steady.

“So, you’re finally awake,” a malicious voice came from somewhere behind me.

I started, moaned in pain, and looked around, trying to see who was there.

“Good. Get used to moving,” the voice said, almost mockingly.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, gritting my teeth and pushing myself up with my good hand. Great. Hurt to talk. I turned to see the person. “Who –” but then I saw him.

I watched as the medics carried a bloody boy in on a stretcher. From what I could see, he had long, scraggly light brown hair. At one point, he turned to me, and the electric blue of his eyes shocked me.

It was like another bullet had hit me. It was different hair, and even the shape of his face looked different – thinner – but the eyes…

“What?” he spat. “Got a problem?”

“Y-you –” It was the prisoner. He knew about Bern. He was there. It had been – it was his fault Bern had died. I narrowed my eyes. “What t-the hell am I doing here?” I asked, all happiness and pain melting away from me, replaced by anger. 

“Frankly, I don’t know,” he said, standing up. “But no worries, that’s about to change. Get up.”

“You killed my friend,” I whispered.

For a second, he merely looked confused. “I – what?”

“Bern. He d-died. Because of you.”

“What?”

“They executed him for fraternizing with the enemy. You.”

He narrowed his eyes and bit his lip. “It wasn’t my fault. But I am sorry he died. Only decent person in that whole place.”

The anger bubbled, boiled – “It was your fault. If you hadn’t been there –”

“–We all would have been better off,” he finished. “Wasn’t really my idea of a good time. Torture isn’t the best pastime,” he spat.