Prometheus Dystopian Trilogy Box Set

Chapter 2

Two

The trunk opened, and there was nothing but darkness.

When I awoke to an absolute blackness hours before, I did not know whether I was alive or dead. I still felt caught up in a surreal nightmare. It took me a moment to play back the memories and determine that I was stuck in the back of my own car. It reeked of tire rubber. My whole body shook from the stress, the inability to stretch or to breathe. I implemented breathing exercises to calm my nerves and think. At least I was not dead. They needed me, but what for? The thoughts made me sick; the dehydration made me want to vomit. So when the trunk door was finally opened, I swallowed the air like a man dying from thirst. My head weighted heavily, and I could barely concentrate. Strong arms pulled me out and lead me somewhere. I hardly saw anything, the darkness was consuming. Not a single streetlight illuminated this darkness, only the half moon lit the shapes I barely made out. But what I caught instantly was the smell. The air smelled different. No, it tasted different, in a way I had never experienced before. It pierced my nostrils with a vast and extravagant clarity. Perhaps this strong impression was due to me being stuck in a sticky trunk for hours. But it was as if my lungs breathed for the first time. I started to blink, but could make nothing out. The ground we walked on was uneven and stony, and it occurred to me that except for us, a silence foreign to the cities ruled this place. No car sounds, no music, no voices or steps. I tried to make out more, but my mind faded. My hands and feet shook, and all I craved by now was at least some water. I had to bend my head to get into some kind of doorway. My vision was blurred, and nervous sweat streamed down my face.

The light of a small oil lamp broke the darkness. Shapes of a hut spread before me—the room was tiny, the stone walls and the wooden ground dirty. They threw me unto the floor, next to a chain nailed to it—everything looked like it had been prepared for me already. The bearded man chained my foot.

My instincts still told me to escape, despite the enormous stress my body experienced throughout the day. I could not let them get away just yet, I had to get the key to this chain, and the keys to my car.

“Please…” I muttered, “Please… I need some water.”

The boys exchanged looks.

The one who chained me did not even flinch. I grew desperate.

“Look at him,” the youngest said with a tiny glimpse of worry in his voice, “He looks sick.”

Did I? I had to suppress an inner smile of satisfaction. The paler, the better.

“So what?” the other boy mumbled, “He can peg out for all I care.”

Only now did I detect the bruises on his face, remembered our desperate fight.

The one who was apparently the leader turned again and examined me. His face was cold as stone, but somehow seemed like a mask. A tiny movement with his head towards the bruised boy. He disappeared reluctantly. The two others stared at me in silence.

“So… we haven’t been properly introduced,” I said with a weak smile.

“I’m Saul.” The younger boy made a step forward, a smack by the wardrobe-man bringing him to a halt.

“Shut up!”

Think, Adama. There has to be a way.

I needed a distraction.

The boy returned with a wooden mug of water, and for a moment I was tempted to just take it and be done with it. Soak in the cold liquid that my body craved. But suddenly, a small figure sneaked into the hut through the door that has been left opened, unnoticed by the kidnappers. It hid in the shadows. Maybe it was just a hallucination? I threw another glimpse there, trying not to raise attention.

“Give him the water and let’s be gone!” a deep voice scolded in the background while I processed.

The boy evoked this feeling. Something about him struck me with such familiarity that I could not believe my eyes. His brown full hair fell like silk down his shoulders, his eyes pierced with a dark deep blue of a fresh spring. His expression surprised me the most. A usual child his age would observe the scene with fear, but his eyes were full of curiosity and a sense of adventure. Like he watched a movie, eager to learn who would win the fight.

“Here!” A smack on the back of my head. The older boy held the mug in front of my face. His bruises stared back at me. He has learned nothing, has he?

Rahab strolled through the quiet of the pitch dark village. The paths were lit by several fires burning in the houses, but most inhabitants already slept as the next day would start too soon. She was reluctant to return home, so she walked amongst the blackhouses that stood close together. Each house had a central hearth where a fire would keep the inhabitants warm, but there was no chimney for the smoke to escape through. Instead, it would make its way through the roof made with wooden rafters and covered with a thatch of turf with reed. This way, the roof blackened from the inside, and contributed to the strange name, “blackhouses.”

She would have to face Caleb. He must have returned from the fields as soon as the sun had vanished. How foolish she was, hiding from her husband. But she couldn’t help it. She avoided the ignorance, the empty looks, the unspoken feelings. Or perhaps it was just all in her head?

She had also failed to clean the house and prepare proper food. Instead, she roamed the wilderness today, enjoying the sunshine, her mind busy with the hunt. Housekeeping burdened and bored her, but she had no proper excuse to offer Caleb. He would only be frustrated with her again.

Rahab passed by the clan leader’s hall in the middle of the village where the inhabitants gathered for feasts, or when important decisions needed to be made. Tonight, no light shone inside. There it stood in the distance, her tiny little house that over the years had become a home. But that’s not how it seemed right now.

She opened the wooden door, and it made a high-pitched squeak. Before her spread a tiny room of not more than fifteen square meters. The fireplace in the middle of it still burned to keep it warm. Just the basic furniture: stone beds, a big pot on top of the fire for cooking. In the other corner, there was something one could hardly call a kitchen, and a table to eat, some old dishes. In the far right corner stood a basin with fresh water and some soap. Caleb did not even turn, he washed the dirty and sweaty clothes for tomorrow. Rahab looked around.

“Where’s Samuel?”

Not even now did he honor her with a glance, just shrugged.

“I thought he was with you.”

“No, he said he’d wait for you here.”

Her heart started to pound, and although she realized it was nonsense, all the terrifying thoughts started roaming her mind again.

No, not him also, not Samuel.

“Was he here when you arrived?” Rahab continued, and sensing the tremor in her voice, Caleb finally looked up.

“No, I told you, I thought he was with you.”

How rude he sounded. How irritated with her.

“He must have gone. Again! How long have you been home?”

“Two hours maybe.”

“Two hours! And you haven’t looked for him for that long?”

“I told you I thought he was with you!”

“Who knows where he is, what might have happened to him…”

Rahab started moving back and forth, trying to decide what to do, where to go first. Caleb stood up.

“Look. Don’t blame me, alright?”

“Of course not. You’re never to blame.”

Rahab knew it wasn’t about Samuel anymore. In fact, everything between them was now about this terrible decision they had to make. It lingered there, in the back of everything they said and did.

“Let’s…” Caleb gently took her arm to calm her down, but it just irritated her, so she tore herself away. He examined her with reproach, an expression she had grown accustomed to. For a second, they remained there, staring, so many unspoken things between them.

Rahab’s voice was merely a whisper: “I’ll go look for him.”

With this, she tore herself away from that gaze, and left the hut.

My eyes stared for a moment longer before I raised my hand for the mug.

“Someone’s in the room!” I shouted then and pointed to the small boy behind them.

Everybody turned around, and I seized this tiny moment. Before the guy in front of me could react, I threw the water into his face, turned his arm around with a trained movement, snatched the gun out of his other hand, and grabbed him with my arm tightly at my chest, pointing the gun at his temple. The tables had turned, and the other kidnappers scanned me with shock, trying instinctively to attack. But they backed down once they saw me threaten their companion. Tension held the room in its grip.

“Let me go, you bastard!” My captive started wriggling wildly, so I tightened my grip, pointed the gun at the ground, and shot, missing deliberately. The shot resounded in my ears. I forgot that the old guns still were this loud. The child flinched, but still stared at the scene from the dark corner, making no move to run. Even if he was afraid, his eyes still radiated curiosity.

The room filled with quiet and tension again.

“Unchain me,” I commanded. No move.

“Now!” I shouted, angry with myself, the situation and those dumb faces, “I won’t even flinch to kill him, and the two of you will follow!”

The bearded one took an iron key out of his pocket and slowly made two steps towards me.

The door moved.

Another person entered.

A man with a long beard and hair, most of it gray already. Aged around fifty, his eyes betrayed a life filled with heaviness. He had a strong chest and strong legs and was dressed in a traditional Scottish kilt. I only recognized those from history class, and knew that some highlanders in the Outer Areas still wore them, mostly those held in esteem by their communities. School was not for nothing then.

He stared at me for a second, mesmerized. I understood this look far too well, although he instantly tried to hide it. He had trouble turning his eyes away from me, but then did, and studied the situation. I recognized he was the leader, everything gave it away: the way he owned the room, how he stayed calm even in the face of me holding the gun. He gave everybody a stern stare, letting them know that this time, they had overestimated themselves.

“Adama,” he said, his voice deep and strong, the very first word giving away a strange accent, “Right?”

I nodded. But how would he know my name?

“I am Arthur MacIan, leader of this clan.” He approached me slowly. “Let’s look at this situation, shall we? Even with this gun, you will not get out of here, you’re in the middle of our village. And even if by some miracle you could escape, you have nowhere to go. You do not know your way around here, even with a car. So would you let go of the lad?”

He was right, of course. But I wouldn’t budge.

“Unchain me,” I ordered. “And give me my car keys.”

“And where would you go?” MacIan challenged me.

“I’ll find my way around, thank you.”

Nothing moved. So they wanted to play this game. Fine. Let’s play.

“I’ll shoot his foot first. His head will follow. The kid in the corner will be the next.”

My captive started to whine like a little girl. Today was not his day either, but his sobs gave me a sense of satisfaction. MacIan only now saw the small boy in the corner, whose eyes grew big with fear.

“I’ll kill everyone here if necessary to get my keys.” I went on.

Would they buy it? Maybe if I shot in the foot now, which was easy.

“Adama, please, let me explain…” MacIan started, but I interrupted, shouting with rage.

“I want the keys! I know exactly where to shoot so he will die a slow and painful death!”

The door flew wide open. The voice of the woman resounded inside the hut before I recognized her shape, but I would never forget that voice: “Samuel!”

My heart slammed against my chest. Tension shot through the air as she stared at my figure holding the gun, and I stared back. Perfect silence suddenly burdened the hut. I blinked and needed several moments to understand. This voice that brought my heart to a standstill belonged to a woman exactly my age, with blue piercing eyes that could not be mistaken for any others. Those eyes met mine, and I sensed her breath getting heavy the same second. I had not noticed how the room filled with tension, nor how the little boy eyed the two of us back and forth, trying to make sense of this encounter. My eyes lingered on her with pure wonder, and I caught myself questioning reality. Was it really her?

She looked so different, but still the same somehow. Her posture had grown stronger, and her body thinner while tight muscles shaped it. Her face was much older, tiny little wrinkles marking it with fatigue. Her hair was silky, falling like shimmering chocolate down her shoulders. Those eyes still hypnotized, with the deep blue of a living spring.

I just murmured her name to myself, not as a question, merely a realization.

“Rahab…”

She approached, drowning me in her eyes. Time stopped while a wave of every emotion that has connected us once overwhelmed me—joy, grief, loss, much more I still cannot distill and put into words.

Never have I seen her so mature, the tired eyes still giving away a glimpse of adventure. It belonged to her like the expressive brows, the neat nose and those bright, rose-colored lips.

“Adama.” Her voice was a sure whisper. Silence hung in the air then, a silence that was so loaded with meaning that words could only diminish it.

An indescribable ache filled my heart. Rahab. She was here. She was one of them. A terrorist.

The sudden pain of betrayal made my hands numb, and I noted how they weakened before I could order them otherwise. MacIan seized the situation, and I gave in, still staring at this woman that was so familiar yet so foreign.

The gun was taken from me as the two kidnappers took my arms in a tight grip. My captive broke loose and eyed me with hatred, ready to beat me to death if not for MacIan in the room. The tension fell. The little boy ran towards Rahab, and she took him into her arms, relieved. I had to think twice to make the connection, but then I understood. That’s why he looked so familiar. He looked exactly like his mother.

Meeting her here, of all places. I felt my hands trembling slightly, but was too distracted to give it much attention. How did she get here? And why was she here? Whatever the reason, she was one of them. She was a traitor. This was not the Rahab I used to know. She had built a life for herself here, a son, a family, and was one of the outsiders, one of the terrorists. All of a sudden, I was furious. A hurt spread inside my chest, a pain that I could not explain.

There was so much I wanted to ask. But all that came out was a stare into her deep blue eyes. Movement stirred in the room while I was unable to tear myself away from those thoughts, those eyes. It made sense in a way—she had always been a rebel of sorts, never really able to find her place in the world. But this? I did not know her anymore, and my memories started to fade as fast as they came. She was a stranger. Somehow, in this very moment, there was not much that we could say or do, and we both recognized it.

Little Samuel waved at me with a smile as they turned to leave, reminding me of the small Rahab I used to know. But the grown Rahab did not even dignify me with a last glance. Everyone left suddenly, and I stood there, alone. The cold stone walls of the hut pressured me.

My memories of Rahab were scarce, but most of those that remained were warming. I sometimes even dreamed of her at night, rising from my slumber to wonder why on earth I still remembered that girl. But my last hope of escape had faded now. Everything was lost.

The last four hours of sleep were denied to her. Rahab rolled around in bed, unsteady, unable to take her thoughts off the image she had seen tonight. Adama. A man she had long forgotten. In fact, he had been a boy the last time she had seen him. He looked so different now. His body had grown strong and muscular, tiny wrinkles marked his face and his dark red curls now hung more loosely into his face. There was a radiance to him she had never caught before. How on earth had he gotten here? Fate was an unpredictable thing.

Rahab tried to calm down, get rid of those thoughts and images popping up in her mind. How he had stared at her, how his arms grew weak and he released the captive when seeing her.

The past was too long ago, and things have changed too much now. But she couldn’t forget. It’s like this image of his face had been burnt into the back of her mind. The way his eyes inspected her carefully, the wonder in them, a trace of admiration — it’s been a long time since a man had looked at her this way. Perhaps she just imagined it. But it was true that her entrance had changed everything.

The memories came back like a flood, and she wondered what kind of man he had become throughout the years. It was stupid, of course. She was familiar with the customs inside the cities: no long-term relationships, no commitments. It was all about the rush of adrenaline. The butterflies. This was what the city chased. Caleb’s body next to her was warm, and he was sound asleep. She could not remember the last time he looked at her this way. Suddenly, he felt like a stranger.

Sleep was no option.

I tried to analyze my situation, tried to get the image of her out of my mind, and figure out a way to escape this madness.

First, I had to figure out where I was. The Outer Areas were born over forty years ago, allowing those who rejected the social and digital revolution to live in the wilderness. The space reserved for those who chose the wilderness was divided geographically into Areas. The right to individual freedom, they called it, a policy that existed up to this day. But what it really did was create a breeding ground for religious fanatics, conspiracy theorists, and backward traditionalists, places ruled by anarchy, or ancient and outdated laws.

I looked around, examining the hut lit by the oil lamp. The single room was built with stones held together with a sticky, muddy material. The roof was black and looked like turf, and no furniture decorated the space except for a stone bed softened with straw. I thought of the mattress back home and let out a deep breath. Why did they bring me here? And how could I get out alive?

My chip must have been tracked all the way to the border so that the government would learn I had vanished into the Outer Areas—the question was whether they could track me out here and whether they would suspect anything. The simple explanation for my disappearance would be a decision to live in the Outer Areas. This still happened with people. When government investigated, if they ever investigated, they could conclude that I was so shocked by the events on Trafalgar Square that I blamed the government. People would leave for all the stupid reasons. So much for the right to individual freedom. If this ever happened, it would take days. Unless my kidnappers would make contact and negotiate.

I stood up and walked over to a hole in the hut I identified as a window in the half-darkness. The range of the metal chain amounted to a meter maybe, so I did not move far. But I could peek out into the open. I saw pure blackness, a sight foreign to the cities. A darkness that swallowed you, that seemed unnatural because it mocked your eyes. And I saw a sky that for a moment took my breath away. Thousands of stars covered that dome over my head that had no end, sparkling, bright. The vast number of those stars was something I have never seen in my life, and that beauty made me even forget for a moment the situation I was in. It fascinated me.

Later, I tried pulling at my chain, mostly out of fury, and probably out of a stupid hope that it would cave in. But MacIan was right. Where would I go? I was lost in the middle of a war zone.

Finally, I lay down on the straw. My eyes closed, my lungs breathed the pureness of the air surrounding me. My life spun out of control.

The world was a scary place, for sure, but we have managed to create safety for ourselves. I never would have dreamed that my world would break like that, that I would find myself in the middle of this place I only heard about on the news, accompanied with pictures of poverty and terror. Maybe it was only a nightmare after all? The terrible explosion, the deaths, the kidnapping. My rage returned as I remembered the aftermath of the terror attack clearly in front of my mind’s eye. If anyone here was responsible for it, they would pay. Even Rahab. Even her.