Resist

33

“Bower, cover us,” I whispered. He nodded, taking up a position just inside the door frame from which to peak out, his crossbow at the ready.

We had kept our eye on this brick building just a few blocks from The Recovery for over two weeks, thinking that there was someone living here by the faint glow in the upper windows at night but not sure because we had never seen a person. Finally, after days of surveillance and determining whether it was a trap or not, we had seen the silhouette of a girl. Brody had been watching from the stakeout window on the second floor of the hotel at the end of the hall and had eagerly alerted us when he had confirmation that she was indeed living here.

Bower, Sicily, and I had left the following afternoon to find her. Now, Sicily and I made our way through the old building. It appeared that the first floor had once been a shop, counters still in place and a money box sitting slightly askew. A few clothing hangers were scattered on the floor, one broken from where a foot had stepped directly upon it, and I was able to assume this had once been a clothing boutique. 

On the next floor, after finding a staircase in the boutique’s store room, we found the remnants of someone’s apartment, a desk with an oil lamp, a torn armchair, a coat rack fallen over. It appeared uninhabited, no signs of someone living here recently. 

“Brody was sure he saw someone though,” Sicily pointed out as we stood there in confused silence. “Why don’t we just try the third floor too?”

 I nodded and we headed back to the staircase. I watched my step as we walked up, the stairs uneven after the building had been in disrepair for a few years. And that’s why I noticed the disturbances in the dust. 

“Sicily,” I called back to her (I always lead the way into situations since I was a more experienced fighter. James had spent a day reminding her about self defense skills before we began recruiting but still). “The dust, look down.”

Someone had definitely been up these stairs recently, their foot prints evident in the brushed away dust. 

I realized that silence was no longer the key, if someone was on the third floor we were about to scare the living daylights out of them by coming in without making noise. Odds were we’d get attacked or they’d run for it and we would lose ourself a recruit before we had even tried to explain anything. I attempted to make my footsteps heavier, giving warning of our approach to whomever was above. It was surprisingly difficult after focusing on so much stealth for so long; normally being quiet was the key for us. It seemed to do the trick however. When I rounded the doorway from the stairwell, I entered a large room and in the middle stood a girl, a hand and a half sword in her hand, ready to take us on. 

My bow had been slung across my body for this reason upon entering the building, so as to appear unarmed to the frightened female. My hands were up, showing that I meant no harm. Sicily followed me in, scooting up beside me with her hands up, knife in her belt. 

 “We aren’t hear to hurt you,” I said soothingly, not making it sound like I was talking to a child but somewhere close to that, a hopefully calming tone to my voice.

 “We have a proposition,” Sicily added. 

 Her sword lowered slightly, nodding her head that she had heard our words. 

 I launched into the usual rant, explaining that there was indeed a resistance to Xavier (“in fact, it’s right around the corner.”) and that people were needed, people to help fight and take care of our now growing army. Recruiting had been going on for a little over a month and we had gained many.

“Well that’s funny,” she said, speaking for the first time. “There were soldiers on the street yesterday demanding to know if I knew where “the mercenaries” were. I’d suppose that is you.”