Paul Makota's Story

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Morgan had watched as Paul and Al had left the house, heading out into the Wilds towards Portland. Apart of him was bumed that he wasn't able to go along, but then, someone had to stay behind and watch the others. Not that he meant that Bubble Gum couldn't handle herself. But he would feel better knowing he was there in case anything happened. Yo-yo often told him he was too protective of his siblings. That always made Morgan laugh. He couldn't help it, it was just funny to hear him say that, with all his childish attitude and looks, he still couldn't believe that Yo-yo was a year older than him.

Another thing all his siblings told him was that he was crazy for making his room the one where the top of the tree had fallen in. Morgan couldn't really explain it, but it made him feel...better. He liked being close to the outside. It made him feel stronger, and let him forget his fears. His fears of failing his family, of not being able to protect them. Kitten would tell him he was crazy for thinking that way, that no one could beat him. Kitten always found a way to make him smile.

He was thankful for Tallen, who was curled up next to him, on his bare feet. The September mornings were growing cold, and fast. He had a feeling this was going to be a bad winter out here in the Wilds. He might have to move his room inside for the season, or at least his books, so they didn't get ruined. He smiled slightly. That would be a chore. His collection spanned almost four hundred now, with both banned and legal books according to LAB.

He poked at his eye patch, the scar tissue and blind eye behind it itching like crazy. It was amazing sometimes how much it itched. He normally took it off when he was alone, but had gotten engrossed in a novel by H.G. Wells that he had been in his own little world for most of the night. He stretched, and stood up, Tallen glancing at him and wagging her tail, and then racing down the tree to the ground three stories below, running off to find breakfast. His stomach growling, Morgan figured it would be best to follow suit, and wandered down stairs, after slipping his boots on. The soles of the boots clunked heavily on the hard wood floors, echoing through the dark house. He wondered if any of his other siblings were up.

"Maybe they'd like breakfast..." He muttered.

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Johann woke up to a rather fine Saturday morning. The air was crisp with the lingering breath of dawn, the birds were singing sweetly, and the scuttling noises of squirrels rustled in the trees. Eyes half-lidded, Johann turned his head slowly toward the light. He peered out the window, and, within the space of four milliseconds, knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Specifically: roll over and get the hell back to sleep.

Unfortunately for him, the sun had decided to be particularly evil today and was shining its malicious rays of death—strategically aimed so that they fell straight through Johann's window and into his face. (Why oh why did he pick the east side for his bedroom, again?) Squirming in his blankets, the boy groaned and rolled over. Alas, his sleep-dazed mind miscalculated the appropriate distance, and he ended up with a face-full of hardwood floor.

"Ouch!"

Well, at least now he was awake.

Jo sighed as he picked himself off the floor. He had really wanted to sleep in today. It was Paul and Alva's turn for Portland-duty, and he had been looking forward to a magnificent day of doing whatever he wanted. And he liked sleep. Sleep gave him energy for more interesting things, like frolicking through dangerous trap-filled forests, or coming up with elaborate pranks on his grumpy older siblings.

Ah, whatever, he thought. More time for fun, I suppose. He scratched his head and smiled sleepily. At the same moment, something fell out of one of the pockets he'd clumsily sewn onto the inside of his sleeves.

Johann blinked at the object, which turned out to be a wrinkled, folded piece of paper. Huh. I wonder what this is? Bemused, he picked it up off the floor and unfolded it, smoothing out its wrinkled veins before glancing it over.

STOP-N-SAVE

AUTUMN EVENING SALE

First Saturday of September

Johann's eyes lit up. That was right—he'd been planning this for a while. Ever since he'd nabbed this flyer on one of his Portland exploits, he'd been itching to go.

Sales were popular. Autumn sales moreso, especially with the "stock up for winter" mentality everyone had going. Maybe it was a subconscious thing, a sense honed from the days of old. Winter approaching, dark days coming. Prepare, stock up, hibernate. Survive. Rush, rush, rush, hurry so you can run back to your house and bar the doors before the storm comes in. It was a mindset. A useful one, too. Everyone came to autumn sales, and that meant generously stocked stores. Generously stocked stores meant crowds of eager customers. And crowds of people meant easy pilfering.

Jo's eyes glazed over as he began to daydream. Just imagine! Food, tools, medicine, books, clothes, trinkets! Everything from shoelaces to pickles to dictionaries, awaiting his dextrous hands to rescue them from the mass of dull conformity. Enough supplies to last the entire family several days, maybe even a week if he was ridiculously lucky. Oh-o, yes, it was going to be glorious, glorious pickings!

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

The sound of heavy footfalls disturbed his increasingly maniacal thoughts, and with a snap Jo returned to earth. Absently wiping a bit of drool from the side of his mouth, he stood up and pulled on his socks. He liked these socks—called them his "ninja socks" because they were so easy to sneak around in.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

That must be Morgan, now that he thought about it. No one else wore such clunky footwear. Jo had tried getting him to wear something more sensible, maybe something with unrivaled awesome like his padded ninja socks, but noooo, Morgan had to be all boring and loud in his awkwardly, stupidly heavy boots. Psh. Well, his loss.

Like a ghost, Johann glided out his room and down the stairs. He was halfway down one flight when he observed a sight that made him inwardly cackle with glee. Morgan was a little ways in front of him, clad in his stupid boots. Tallen, the bane of Jo's existence, was nowhere in sight. In the kitchen, perhaps, or sleeping in Morgan's room. It didn't matter. She was out of the picture, which made this prime time for an early morning prank.

Johann followed Morgan like a silent shadow. A tiny, blond, smiling shadow. They reached the ground floor, and Johann quickly slid behind a stout drawer. Then Jez entered the room, bidding Morgan a good morning, and Jo's mischievous smile became a full-blown grin.

So. A double attack it was.

"BOOOOO," he screeched, springing out of his hiding place. In one quick movement, he snatched Jez's bow from her fingers—then, still yelling like a banshee, he pounced at Morgan's annoyingly tall figure and latched onto his back like a particularly determined barnacle. (So what if he woke up the entire household with that scream? If he didn't get a nice Saturday morning wake-up process, well, then they wouldn't be getting one either.)

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Paul wove his way through the trees, hearing Alva's footsteps right behind him. He hated the long trek through the woods to reach Portland. He was constantly afraid of missing a turn and getting them both lost. Fortunately, he had the blue marks on the trees to serve as his guide. The paint was wearing off, though. Perhaps he could spare a bit of coin for some paint to refurbish the paint. Or he could carve a symbol into the trees instead; they would understand.

Soon they reached the edge of the woods. Paul held out his hand to keep Alva back out of habit, even though he knew she wouldn't try to run out ahead of him. He had to be absolutely sure that they would be fine. The morning was still dark, and cold, perfect for infiltrating the city. Nobody would notice two roughshod youths in the city if everyone was preoccupied with the cold. Just look down, speak quietly, don't cause a ruckus, and you'd be fine, he reminded himself. Someday you can get them back for what they did to Mother, Father, and everybody else. But for now, you just have to survive, and learn more.

Paul soon decided that the coast was clear of any unknown compromising agents. He turned to Alva, nodded, then took off, knowing she was right behind him. He ran for the fence, slowing only to prevent himself from crashing headlong into the fence. He jumped as quietly as he could manage, and ascended the fence quickly, giving it a minimum of time to shake and make any noise that might betray his highly illegal entrance. He climbed over the top and let himself drop, landing quietly before moving away from the fence quickly to let Alva follow him.

First destination: Labor Bureau. There, he could pick up a small job to work for the day, and get some money for supplies.

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The second oldest of the Makota family, Alva, was in a great mood that morning to say the least. Sure, she wasn't a fan of waking up early, much more someone else forcing her to wake up, but the fact that it was Paul who did so made it acceptable. It was decided by her older brother that they should stock up on supplies and get some money that day; Alva, like usual, agreed and was ready to go in only a few minutes. Both of the oldest siblings left the house before most of the younger ones woke up and, after getting into Portland safely, they were walking through the town of Portland.

Alva wasn't phased much by the cold weather Portland had that day. To the contrary, she took great pleasure in it. She loved the cool weather and it just made her happier that morning. She wore a pair of light blue jeans, a pale brown sweater that loosely falls on her upper thighs, a pair of worn out sneakers, and a white bag where she had borrowed books. Alva's fingers played the ripped edge of her sweater, mentally cursing the fence that had caused it. She was thankful they had been able to cross, nevertheless, and both and Paul were safely inside.

"I'm heading to the store," Alva said after arriving at the street where they had to separate ways. Alva worked at a small bookstore downtown, unlike Paul who preferred having a one-time job. The old lady, Mrs. Hershaw, who owned the bookstore was very lenient with Alva thankfully. She worked the store by herself most of the days but after Alva - who had been looking at the books, at that time — helped her put some books up in high shelves that the bookstore owner couldn't reach, the old lady said, and Alva quoted, "Stop by anytime! I'll surely have something for you to do and, of course, I'll pay you." Honestly, Paul wasn't very pleased with the situation, but Mrs. Hershaw never did once pry into Alva's business nor seemed suspicious. The money was well too, even for the few times that Alva would work. Plus, Mrs. Hershaw would let her borrow books any time she wanted as long as Alva brought them back, hence the books in her bag.

Once separating ways, Alva left the street Paul continued walking on to get to the Labor Bureau. In her mind, Alva thought of what book she would borrow next on her way to work.

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Paul arrived at the Labor Bureau with plenty of time. Alva had her regular job at the bookstore, but Paul didn't like traceability. The most he was traceable to was his false name and ID, and that was a simple matter to discard, whether by burial or anything else. Day-labor courtesy of the Bureau was more in his vein. He could do manual labor, remain relatively anonymous, and collect some coin to buy more supplies. He could get through the day and remain anonymous, and preferred it that way.

That aside, he had a role to play now, the role of the humble laborer, Paul Barton. He had adopted the half-alias in the interest of greater anonymity. He wasn't sure how well it would work; the test of fire had yet to happen. He didn't want to think about it now. He just wanted to get to work. He turned in the ID card to the unpleasant lady behind the desk. She handed back a work permit. Paul read it as he left the Bureau, and groaned. Road work. Great. That was always the hardest work. He could deal with it, though. He would have to, or he would have no supplies for the day. With a heart full of irritation, Paul set out for the truck that would cart workers to the worksite.

Today was going to be a long day.

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Portland, 6:00 PM

Surprisingly, work hadn't been too bad for Paul. They had been resurfacing a road on the outskirts of town. He had probably gotten off easy, especially considering the pay he got for the job. He took his pay gratefully then left as quickly as he could without looking suspicious. He took his money straight to the supermarket, and purchased the best nonperishable supplies: bread, some canned goods, and water. Somehow more important than those supplies, however, were the words of the cashier as the man bagged Paul's supplies.

"Stockin' up for the storm, eh?" His tone was casual, jovial even.

Paul blinked. "Storm? There's a storm? When?" He knew the Government had the ability to predict weather to a degree, but he had heard nothing about a storm.

"Yup, comin' in around eight tonight. Surprised you didn't know about it. Didn't you get the notice this morning?" The man's tone changed, becoming more than a hair suspicious.

Paul almost panicked, but he remembered his easy excuse for this sort of thing. "Oh, right. I never read those things. Bad habit of mine." He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh to punctuate that he was definitely just stupid and not what he really was. He wondered how many times he had used the stupidity defense on people, and how many times it had worked. So far its track record was impeccable, so he had every reason to suspect it would work now. And work it did; the cashier brushed it off with a grunt of mild disapproval. Paul could live with that. He'd probably never see this man again anyhow.

He left the store, and noted the onset of the night. He'd have to find Alva before the storm came.

Two hours later, Paul had no sight of Alva, and to make matters worse, he was already getting drenched. The storm hadn't even really begun in force, and the rain was already fierce. It only bore signs of getting worse. With several oaths he would rather not say around the family, Paul searched frantically for some kind of shelter. Eventually he found an overhang that shadowed the area below. With any luck he could hide in there and be safe both from the rain and any regulators. Paul settled in grudgingly, nervous for the first time that day. He had no idea where Alva was, or if she was safe. He prayed she was, muttering a disjointed plea for help to the God he alone knew was there.

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The day had gone by quicker than she'd thought. She'd spent the day studying mostly, cleaning up casually around the house, daily chores. Though souding extremely boring, it was normal for Hannah and she tried to make the best of most things. It was about 7 in the evening, and she'd lost track of time. She'd planned on starting her run at 6, and be home by at most 7. Usually, she ran though a path in the woods, jogging nicely until she reached her usual stopping point by a spring. There she'd take a quick drink, and start to head back. As always today would be no different, because messing something up in her schedule may just give her a break down. Running gave her space to think, or to clear her head of pressing thoughts.

She leaned over her knee, her right foot up on her bed. She tied her laces of the shoe, then let her foot slide off the covers. She stood up straight and tall in front of a full length mirror. She wore her running shorts and tshirt. Her semi-old sneakers were still in pretty good shape, and her hair was pulled up into a pony tail, the tip just touching the back of her neck.

She left her room, closing the door lightly behind her. She gracefully made her way down the stairs, her hair lightly bouncing along with her. At the bottom she called for her Aunt, or anyone really, saying she was going on a run. No one responded that she heard, which she expected. She didn't give much time for an answer either, eager to leave. She slipped through the front door, shutting it behind her. There she stood outside of the house, stretching a bit before she began to jog down towards the trees.

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She was aware that there was a chance of rain, and she'd hoped she'd make him home before it would hit. It was around 7:40 when she'd felt a small drop of rain hit her cheek. She'd brushed it off, and decided she might want to pick up her pace. Though she thought she was making progress, it was pouring at 7:55. Drenched, soaked, tired, and somewhat breathless, she decided she should take some sort of shelter for the time being. She was blinded by darkness and water, but she could make out an overhang.

Once she'd entered, she pulled the tie out of her hair, and let her red locks fall. She was ringing the water out of her hair when she noticed she wasn't alone. From what she saw, he was male, taller than her, with dark hair. She started to say something, not knowing exactly what to say.

"Oh.. um. I didn't see you there.. I hope you don't mind I join you to take shelter.." she started and trailed off. He seemed deep in thought, and she felt a bit guilty for disrupting him. Just then a boom of thunder and a flash of lighting hit, making her jump a bit. Caught slightly off guard, she flinched, but luckily she wasn't very scared of storms, and it wouldn't be a huge problem.

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Paul glanced over at the girl who had joined him. He hadn't expected to see the face that looked over at him, nor the form that now stood only a few feet away. He couldn't put a name to her, though. He knew her only as the redheaded girl who went jogging around here regularly. Seeing her out in the midst of a storm this bad was...surprising. A sudden roar of thunder interrupted his train of thought, and he jumped before calming himself and answering her. "No, it's no trouble. But if this wind picks up we might need to find better shelter." He wasn't exaggerating; the rain was already moving sideways in odd drifts. If it got worse it might move objects, or even them! He looked through the rain, wondering if any buildings there were occupied. If they were not, they might be in luck. Of course, how could Paul know? Or more importantly, how could he figure out without betraying that he was not native to Portland? After all, the only other possibility was that he was an Invalid, and that would spell certain doom.

Paul, focus. You have to get to safety before you can worry about getting out of here. And don't forget Alva! Paul had to get his priorities in order. If worst came to worst he could stand being on the run for a while, and getting the hell out would be easy even with Regulators after him. He supposed. He hadn't had to evade pursuit before except from one or two Regulators; they would doubtlessly try harder to catch an Invalid, especially one who had been interacting with one who he presumed was unmarked! He couldn't see the Devil's Mark on her, but her hair covered the area where it would be anyhow. He supposed asking would be impolite, and so decided not to. Instead, he focused on more important issues. "I don't know this area of the city very well. I kind of got caught out here, and live...elsewhere." Technically not a lie. "I think we might want to find more...substantial shelter. You think we can get into any of these buildings?" He tried the door under the overhang; to his surprise it opened to reveal an empty room. Perhaps they had shelter after all. "Well, looks like we can get in here. Come on. The wind's picking up." Indeed, a sudden gust had blown by as he spoke.