Read Exodia Online

Authors: Debra Chapoton

Tags: #coming of age, #adventure, #fantasy, #young adult, #science fiction, #apocalyptic, #moses, #survival, #retelling, #science fiction action adventure young adult

Exodia (30 page)

 

 

Chapter 15 Out of Exodia

 

At the birth of Bram
O’Shea.

Heart Bosom Breath
Faith

 

SIX HUNDRED SOLAR tanks, four dozen
soldiers on horseback, and two hundred troops pursued the Reds as
soon as Ronel’s hillside machine lifted the night and Truslow could
give the command. The Reds had a lengthy head start.

The riders outdistanced the tanks and
stole closer to the back edge of the crowds. They formed a line off
to the side to let those who wished to retreat peacefully do
so.

But none did; the Reds scurried up the
bridge while soldiers in bright blue coats watched, some hoping for
the bridge to collapse, some dreading an order to follow. But the
colonel in charge was ambivalent about chasing hundreds of people
across a bridge that could give way unexpectedly.


Sir?”

The colonel set his binoculars in his
lap. He lifted a hand to direct his driver toward the base of the
structure.

* * *

Lydia spotted the command vehicle
weaving through the troops and pointed it out to Dalton.


I know,” he said. “I heard
it coming.”


What should we do? There
are still hundreds who have to cross.” She looked across the
bridge, alarmed to see thousands of people spread across the width
and breadth of the unsteady construction that should have been torn
down a quarter of a century earlier. “Dalton?”


It’ll be fine,” he said.
“And don’t call me that anymore.” He lowered the staff. He took a
firm grip on the rod, hardened his mouth in utter concentration.
His eyes were focused the way a lion sights for prey. “From now on
I’m going by my real name.” He pushed the bottom end of the metal
rod into the dirt. “Call me Bram.”

Lydia smiled. “It’s about
time.”

* * *

I move so my body hides what I’m doing
to the rod and smile back at Lydia. My heart pounds, my chest
aches.


Bram,” she says. “Are you
going to leave the rod behind?”


Sort of.” I look over my
shoulder at the advancing army and quickly finish what I have to
do. I take the upper portion of the rod between my thumb and
forefinger, hold my breath, and flick the tiny lever. The bottom
begins to burrow into the soft dirt and the whole thing follows
like a snake down a hole.

I grab Lydia’s hand and we run into the
final throng of people who are starting across the
bridge.


Hurry! Everyone hurry! The
bridge is going to blow in fifteen minutes.”

They’re startled at my words and a few
vacillate, but the sight of the army mushrooming closer is enough
to get even the oldest ones trotting.


What if they follow?” Lydia
asks. “What if we make it across and they see that the bridge is
safe enough? We can’t outrun them then.”

I want to tell her to have faith. The
first time I saw her I thought that I’d follow her anywhere and
now, here she is, following me. Trusting me.

Trusting Bram O’Shea.

A short beam
rusting.

Abate storming
rush.

I sense a throbbing in my veins and
energy, energy like the wind that gathers before a storm. Lydia
pulls at my hand and I realize I haven’t answered, that we are
stopped, and all the rest are much further on. I feel the hairs on
my arms standing on end.


Bram?”

I look back at the army. The
commander’s vehicle is parked where I released the rod. The tanks
and men and horses are in a formation clearly ready to funnel
themselves onto the bridge. But they’re waiting.


A short beam rusting,” I
say.


What? You were in a trance,
Bram. What’s wrong?”

She hasn’t let go of my hand. I sense a
rush of emotion from her that overwhelms me. I lift her hand gently
and bring it to my lips. She’s scared. I haven’t answered any of
her questions. She looks intently at me and I won’t break our gaze.
I kiss her hand.


Bram … I trust
you.”

Trusting Bram O’Shea.

The second anagram I breathe onto her
hand like another kiss, “Abate storming rush.”

She cocks her head but still doesn’t
look away from me.

A cheer from the far side breaks the
spell.


They’ve all made it to the
other side,” she says.

We’re standing more than halfway
across, the only two people left on the bridge. I focus on the
command vehicle and use my special gift to pick out the leader’s
voice. “Perfect,” I say to Lydia and kiss her hand again. “They’re
coming.”

We jog the final distance and merge
into the milling horde. Malcolm’s electronic cloud is visible
hovering over their heads. I wonder if that made the army
hesitate.


Here they come,” someone
shouts.


It’s going to blow,” warns
one of the last ones to cross. “That rod he used–it’s a
bomb.”

Word spreads through the multitude and
most stop running away and turn their eyes back to the bridge to
see what will happen. A few people linger too close to the
edge.


Get back!” There are beams
and girders, shafts and stringers, hangers and hinges that will fly
apart when the rod explodes. The substructure may fall toward us
when the main part falls a thousand feet. I keep pushing people
back, but no one except Lydia seems to understand the
danger.

Harmon and Barrett appear at our sides
and pull us away toward someone’s cart. We climb up and get a
better view of my people, but the bridge is all I focus on. I can’t
see the bottom of the gorge.

There are tanks in all eight lanes now,
soldiers and horses march behind them, the command vehicle is at
the back of the parade, flanked by a dozen foot
soldiers.


Look.” Barrett smacks my
arm and directs my attention to the fields leading up to the other
side, right behind the Blue army. A pride of lions sneaks along the
edge of the tall grasses. Nine lions. My breath catches. One
soldier could easily decimate the pride if he looked to his
rear.


Symbolic,” Harmon says.
“It’s as if the beasts are sealing their fate.” He turns to me.
“You set all ten?”

I nod.


Any second
then.”

The lead tanks reach the center of the
bridge and keep on coming slowly.


They’ve passed the center,”
Lydia says. “They’re almost to where we stopped.” She looks at me.
“Where that rusted beam lay across the road.”
A short beam rusting.

I hear the throaty rumble
before the roar and I’m sure Barrett does, too. Lydia jumps as the
unmistakable sound of an attacking lion reaches her ears. The last
row of soldiers should respond with fire power, but they panic. We
hear shouts instead of gunshots. The commander’s vehicle lurches
forward, runs into horses. Suddenly there is
a storming rush
of animals and
men.

Beneath the ground a tremor adds a
deeper chord to the frightening sounds and the bridge breaks away
from the land. The lions pounce.

The tanks pick up speed. A second and
third tremor are followed by seven successive blasts. Support beams
wrench apart and before even one Blue can reach our side the entire
bridge folds in on itself.


Glory to Bram
O’Shea!”


No!” I raise my voice and
urge them to praise another. “This was Ronel’s plan!”

I get down, duck through the crowd, and
run nearer to the edge. I clasp my hands over my ears to muffle the
painful cries. Men cling to horses’ necks or fall from
somersaulting vehicles. Lions claw at men and air, panicked or
angry as they plummet, unaware of their final predicament. Ribbons
of blue diminish into the depths, human beings, but I’m not close
enough to see the bottom. The crashing sounds of metal are distant
pings underscored with explosions. The thump of each body hitting
the rocks so far below is not audible even to me, but I know when
each scream or roar breaks off.

Lydia and her mother, Jenny, come up on
either side of me. Lydia pulls my arms down from my ears, holds my
hand. There is only a single breath of silence before a cheer goes
up behind us.


We’re free!”

The joy is palpable. From their sleds
and packs people pull out banners and flags. Children grab the ends
and parade around while adults shout and sing and whistle and make
more noise than a thousand lions. It’s too soon to celebrate. They
should be shocked, horrified, at this devastation.

But we’re free.

Mira leads dozens of women in a dance
line that follows the children as they snake among us. When she
passes us she pulls Lydia away and I hate that I’m no longer
touching Lydia’s hand. Without her euphoria coursing through my
being I feel as if my special gemfry powers are shutting down. My
teeth chatter until I bite hard against the drain of
adrenalin.

Suddenly the shouts and claps fade to
nothing. I spot a large group of Reds who have stopped their
jubilation and appear to be marching toward me. As they pass
through the crowd people act bewildered, ashamed. But mostly they
are horrified. All eyes are riveted on this group. The spontaneous
excitement of our victory over the Blues has morphed into a
wretched misery. Too quiet.


The Mourners,” Jenny
whispers.


What do they
want?”


You.”

I shudder and immediately a deep voice
in the threatening group growls to Lydia’s mother, “Our able hero
twinges, Jenny.”

I look to Jenny and see regret and
guilt and even fear in the grimace on her face that magnifies the
lines at her mouth and brow. She reaches out a protective hand,
about to grasp my arm, but changes her mind. Her fingers only brush
the hairs along my wrist. But it’s enough. Her thoughts, her
knowledge of the Mourners’ plot races straight to my head. I think
of how even the smallest transgression can trigger an avalanche of
trouble.

The deep canyon is only a few steps
behind me. I could end this myself. The long fall would last only
seconds. Seconds that I’d fill with thoughts of Lydia, my son, my
failure to take these people, my people, to a land where they’d be
free.

But the angry man’s
statement revolves in my head, churning out fragments:
their jeers, Hebrew agony, an intense
job
. There’s a fuller meaning to his words
that I need to work out.

The Mourners are a few feet in front of
me. Their weapons are drawn. They’re ready to give me the
punishment I deserve. For my life. For my murders.

Almost all the letters find
a place in a rolling list of words:
tongue,
atone, rebel, lions, enrage, argue, relent, hero, honor, liberate,
north
, but nothing comes together in a full
verdict.

Ronel’s silvery cloud moves to a few
yards above my head while my tongue rests between my teeth
unprepared. I have no statement to make, no speech to persuade
them, no great oration or fiery sermon.

There’s a stillness as they
await my response. The last sentence spoken
aloud
, our able hero twinges, Jenny,
suddenly shouts its message in my ear only:
the real journey begins now
.

I’ve been tongue-tied too long; the
word is my only salvation. If ever I need to speak well, it’s
now.

 

 

 

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