I wake to the screeching of brakes and a conversation between the driver and a man on what I figure to be the platform.
“Morning Alford.” the driver calls from his carriage at the front of the train.
“Good morning Demetre. Welcome back to Denwer.” Denwer. My groggy, half-asleep mind snaps awake at the mention of that word. I’m here. I made it. I wrap my food and shove it into the leather bag in random order, not bothering to take notice of the position of anything. Double checking the carriage for anything I missed, I roll up my blanket and tuck it and my cushion under my arm tightly. I can feel the train slowing as I stumble across the carriage. I hadn’t realised how long I had been sitting until now, because my legs might as well be numb for the amount of help they offer. I hit the door hard as the train takes one last lurch into the station. I peer through the cracks in the door and spot a clump of trees nearby, about thirty metres from my carriage. I swing the door open without a second thought about it.
I’m not met with shining sun or fresh air, but with dust a dirt kicking up from the track. It’s so dense that I can only make out the shape of the head of a MOD standing at my feet at the door of the carriage.
A MOD.
At my feet.
In Denwer.
He looks up into the carriage and follows my shape until he reaches my face, his eyes narrowing in recognition. He grabs for my ankles by my legs act on their own and I land a swift kick right on his cheek, doubling my leg back into his nose for good measure. He falls to the ground and I leap from the carriage, throught the dust, and onto the ground. Just like when I was boarding the train, I run, sprinting from the scene. My legs falter and I trip a couple of times but I don’t dare look back. I can hear the scuffle of boots and I hear the driver, Demetre I think his name was, checking on the fallen MOD. All I hear is groans and I know that I have been swallowed from sight by the dust.
The trees seem so close and I can smell the scent of pine in the air around me, filling my nose with the smell. It calms me and I slow my speed to a slow run, but still faster than a jog.
I find a small clump of trees before I stop. I check to see that the station is still visible and I catch my breath. Every breath scrapes across my throat like sandpaper but I don’t care. I’m just looking for any sign of movement through the clearing dust. No one appears to be looking for me so I slump against a tree, out of breath and energy. I dig around in my bag for Josh and Macy’s note. Emery will meet you there and take you to the group safe-house. Emery, I completely forgot about her.
Emery is a member of the group my father and I were apart of. She was one of the original members and she used to babysit me on weekends when I was younger. It will be just like old times staying with her. I remember her taking me to the park on weekends when it was sunny because my skin was ‘too pale for a growing girl’. I every remember her cheery, bubbly voice when she arrived at my house.
“Goodmorning, Kailah! How are you sweetheart?”
“Very well thank you, Miss Emery!” At this stage I’d run and leap into her arms. I always called her Miss Emery. I don’t know why, I just did.
The dust is clearing and I can hear the train screech to life once more, headed back to Celta. I peer from behind my tree and see the station standing beside the track. I can only faintly see the figures and bodies on the platform. One has to be Emery.
Waiting for dust to clear is like waiting for honey to drip down a spoon. It takes forever. I wait for ten minutes for it to clear. Then another five. And another five for good measure, but the station finally came into view and there, as promised, stood Emery Finch. Her white jacket straight and proper, not an ounce of dirt, dust or stain, her shoes polished and her long blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail and her fringe tucked neatly behind her ear. She seemed so out of place among the other people as most of them were in casual clothes. I checked the platform for MODs. They seemed fairly sparce. I tucked my long hair into a bun, even though it wouldn’t do much to conceal my identity. Slinging my bag over my shoulder and pulling the blanket under my arm again, I walk out cautiously across the grass.
