"Mind telling me what the plan is," Dax barked nervously through chattering teeth as he steered the Jeep around strewn street debris and loitering corpses.
Oliver craned his neck over his seat looking back through the cloud of dust kicked up in their wake. The vacant headlights of several other trailing vehicles followed closely, swerving in stride as they too pitched their courses through the wreckage in the streets. He whirled back around in his seat, adjusting the seatbelt back around himself.
"We've got eyes behind us," he began,
"it's not like he wouldn't notice we're missing.""So we follow the mad warden after breaking his prized trophy out of its case?" Dax shouted from behind the wheel, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Calvin -- who glared back at him through the rear-view mirror.
"We have to find Sarah," Calvin chimed in groggily from the backseat.
Oliver scoffed.
"Yeah, sure. If you can tell me where that broad is right this very second, and I promise you we'll go and get her..."Calvin stewed silently in his seat, diverting his scowl towards the back of Oliver's head now. It
was his sister they were talking about, after all.
The Irishman rolled his toothpick over to the other side of his mouth with his tongue, victoriously.
"That's what I thought. I ain't in the mood for a wild goose chase right now. Not with the sky how it is..."Calvin's attention drifted out his window at the vacant, ashy buildings lining the boulevard. Many seemed to be crumbling by the second -- others too blackened by fire and ash to assess. Dax looked up in the rearview mirror, catching Calvin's vacant gaze. He chewed his lip, looking over at Oliver.
"I forgot-- you've been away for awhile," Dax started, returning his eyes to the road.
"It's... pretty bad out here.""That's an understatement," Oliver chastised, butting in from the passenger's seat.
"We're fucked is what we are. But we're making the best of things. That's all we can do."The words all just washed over Calvin as he morosely watched the buildings march by, one-by-one, hurrah hurrah. Remnants of a civilization lost.
Dax jerked the Jeep to the right abruptly, speeding by an overturned bus as the other convicts followed suit behind them.
"Where do you think the Warden's taking us?" he asked -- his eyes darting between ash-crested obstacles on the road ahead.
"Where do you think?" Oliver replied, annoyed with the obviousness of the question.
Dax's eyes widened -- his grip tightening on the wheel as he fidgeted in his seat. He lowered his voice slightly.
"What if they're still there though?"Oliver picked up his pistol from between his feet and began to check the insides of its chambers.
"Then the Warden's gonna make 'em wish they weren't." He turned back towards Calvin.
"I'd buckle up."Niobe stooped over the wheel of the bus, arms draped over the back of the driver's seat as her eyes lazily lingered over the gas meter behind the glass of the dashboard. The ticker rose one last hashmark to the 'F' at the top, and Niobe jogged over to the door of the bus and swung outside.
"Cut it!" she hollered, cupping one hand to her mouth. Eli jumped to a start, breaking off from his conversation with Patrick to run over to the hose and clamp the lever shut. He flashed Niobe a thumbs up and she cut the engine, pulling the keys out and tossing them to Patrick.
He shoved them into his pocket as Eli began coiling up the hose behind them.
"Well that's the last of 'em. Gassed and oiled, like the doctor ordered."Niobe wiped her hands on her jacket.
"This warehouse is pretty convenient," she mentioned, craning her neck to look around at the towering rows of shelves and racks lining the walls around them.
Patrick grinned.
"Yeah... it's nights like tonight that we're thankful we have this place. I keep forgetting that a lot of other people aren't so fortunate." Niobe nodded, stuffing her hands into her pockets.
"So, what happened to the Capitol? Carl and I tried to make contact with you guys this morning but the whole place looked abandoned..."Patrick's gaze dropped to the ground as he came to a stop in front of the bumper of the bus.
"You saw that, huh?" he began, his voice lowering slightly.
"We had been having some-- trouble," he started, looking over his shoulder at Patrick who was still pre-occupied with the hose.
"A few days ago, we were attacked..."Niobe's brow furrowed as she folded her arms.
"Attacked? By what?"By who. I don't know what they call themselves, Patrick muttered aloud,
"but they're no good. They've been hassling us from day one. First they wanted supplies, then vehicles-- Silas brokered all these deals just to keep them off our back, but they got more and more hostile...""So that wasn't the military who bombed your building?" Niobe asked, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"No-- it wasn't. This was way worse... and I'm scared that--" He suddenly flinched as Eli clapped him on the shoulder from behind.
"You guys ready?" he chirped, enthusiastically.
"I can smell the food all the way out here." He took in a deep breath, grinning with hunger.
Patrick looked at Niobe and nodded.
"Guess we're all done then. Let's grub." The three of them walked towards the hallway, each falling in step behind the other. Niobe's mind was already racing, wanting to know more about what Patrick was talking about, but it had seemed secretive -- like maybe it was a taboo topic with these people. From what she'd heard, it sounded more like a small war going on. Except the Capitols weren't fighting back.
They turned down the next hallway and found themselves facing a man with long hair walking the other direction with a plate of food. Patrick waved as they neared and slowed to a stop.
"Hey, Marshall. Damn, that looks good." His eyes had fallen upon the plate. Macaroni, sausage, broccoli, bread... each more delicious looking then the other. A sin for the senses.
"I thought everyone was eating in the mess hall?" Niobe asked, stepping out from behind Eli.
Marshall's eyes darted over to Patrick. Then Eli. He swallowed.
"Y-Yeah-- no, we are. I'm just bringing some food to someone." Niobe watched the man nod nervously as he looked around at the others.
"I'll, uh-- let you guys get goin'. Don't want that food to get cold." He began to hurry off, but stopped just a few paces further.
"I'm Marshall, by the way." He shuffled the plate into his other hand, licking the food off his finger and wiping it on his pants before holding it out to Niobe.
"Niobe," she offered. She shook his hand firmly and watched as he walked off down the way they came.
"C'mon, we should get going. I bet the sausage is gone already," Patrick bemoaned, dragging his feet towards the converted mess hall. Eli fell in beside him, equally eager for food as did Niobe, glancing over her shoulder as she followed suit.
Marshall unclasped the metal lock from the door and unlooped the chains from the handles, letting them fall to the floor so he could kick them aside. He pulled them open with a jolt, letting the fresh air and light from the light fixtures above pour into the corridor of stairs leading underground. The yellow bus, fully fueled now, sat quietly behind him in the soft light -- a bright beacon in the darkened warehouse it called its home. He snapped his flashlight to life and picked up the plate of food from the crate beside him, continuing down the stairs quietly. What light still remained from below shone like a pale light on the brick sidings of the narrow staircase, almost like candlelight -- reflected off their ashy exteriors.
The last few steps dropped into a square room, decked out in band posters and memorabilia, vintage records and apparel. Marshall shut the door behind him -- locking it carefully -- and placed the plate of food down on an office chair behind him. He reached up, hooking the flashlight onto a stray cord hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. He used his other hand to unscrew the flashlight, turning it into a lantern -- its radial light brightening the room in a brilliant orange glow reaching out to its corners.
"Feeding time, partner."A figure's legs stirred to life in one such corner, his dirty feet slipping across the cold stone marble as he righted himself. His shackles shuffled across the ground, adjusting to his change of posture. Marshall placed the plate of food on the ground and pushed it towards the bound man with his foot. It slid to a stop against the man's knees -- some of the vegetables spilling over the floor around him.
He leaned forward, the shackles taught against the floor, and dug his fingers into the mess of food -- shoveling it into his mouth. He gulped it down hard and looked up at Marshall, quizzically.
"No fork?" he asked mockingly, his voice ripe with a british accent.
Marshall smirked.
"Yeah, I'll grab you a knife while I'm up there." He turned around, moving towards the door -- the keys already back in his hand.
"Who's the new blood?" the prisoner questioned. Marshall knew he was being toyed with, but this game was old. He'd played it enough times already.
"The black chick. Early 30's? No-- late 20's. They sure were talking a lot up there..." Marshall's eyes narrowed a touch, his hand resting on the handle of the door. He opened his mouth to speak.
"I--""They'll find out about me," the prisoner continued, his voice growing low and gravelly,
"and you won't be able to explain yourselves.""As if your side's any better."They glared at each other in silence.
"You have no idea who I am," the shackled man hissed.
"I don't," Marshall responded, cracking the door open.
"But I'm sure it's a really good story..." The door slammed behind him as he trotted back up the stairs, his steps quickening as the fresh air beckoned to him from above -- the walls closing in around him.