Chapter I: Sanctuary

Zane rolled his way down the sloping streets of Ashville Hill. It was one of the many towns reported for its dramatic increase of gang related activity. The dark canopy of leaves rustled in the night breeze, sheltering him from the slightest glimpse of moonlight. Under the silence of the night, he crept his way through the clearing; the grass damp from the afternoon rain. When he had reached the other end of the field, he leapt over the metal chains of the barrier surrounding the parking. He drew the hood of his white coat up and gazed through the blanket of darkness, readying himself for slightest sign of movement.

The sole of his sneakers scraped the uneven gravel as he continued his way, hands deep within the pockets of his jeans. He had arrived at an intersection where it was illuminated in veils of white light surging from the almps which were attached to the power poles. Zane was caught in the middle of a wind storm. Cars swept past him without so much of a warning, sending barrages of wind.

Unharmed by the assault, he confronted the post. The palm of his hand slammed the button and activated the lights.

At the same time, something inside the side pocket of his coat vibrated. He reached in, pulling out his cell phone. Like always, he pressed a button and the screen brightened, displaying the message that he had a new unread text.

He pressed the button again and began reading.

Ok. I’ll be coming to your place in the morning.

As expected, the sender was Espona.

The text had spiraled to Zane the moment Espona hit ‘send’. Two blocks down the road, she was zooming down in her Ferrari. As the traffic lights at the intersection turned yellow, Espona stepped on the breaks and the car screeched to a halt.

“Damn it!”

Annoyed that she was stopped by yet another set of traffic lights, she clenched her fists and hammered the steering wheel. Moments later, the cars on her left started moving. She clutched the wheel, tighter as the cars kept passing by. A slight breeze washed over her as a black Cadillac slowed down next to her.

“Yo! What up mama’s lady?”

He turned to face Espona, revealing his moustache and bulldog like nose.

The twosome at the back carried a boom box, spreading vibrating beats in the area. The lyrics were familiar to Espona. It was one of the many gangster raps that her cousin listened to.

Breathing in the smell of burnt cigarettes, Espona knew they were niggers.

“Not much,” she smiled, brushing her hair away from her eyes. She was not in the mood for pimps. Not now.

“Where you going?” he asked. He took his shades off and looked at Espona more closely.

“Has my reputation grown so much during these last five years?” she thought.

“Not much, just heading to the strip club.”

Desperately seeking something to avoid further communication, she put on her pair of night shades.

The cars on the left had stopped to the lights and now the cars to her right were moving. Looking through the gaps in the wired fencing near the metal barriers of the road, there was a cooling tower venting non-radioactive water vapor. To the right were some cylindrical containment buildings, housing the nuclear reactor; a testament of her parents working away their freedom to the government.

She looked at the hands of her silver watch. The cars once again had stopped. It was her turn to move. She readied her foot on the accelerator and tightened her hands on the steering wheel.

“Oh shit, they found us!” One of the gangsters at the back pointed behind him, his eyes were wide and his jaws dropped.

“Mother,” but his voice became distant from the sudden roar of their engine. The driver faced Espona once again and quickly shouted “C’z up B’z down gal!” In a flash, he did the cripz sign with his hands and drove off, sending a cloud of gas with flames spewing from the exhaust pipe. The sound of sirens grew louder as a police car raced up the highway, ignoring all the traffic controlling the area.

The smoke gradually cleared away and the police car disappeared into the crowd of cars, dodging anything in its way. What were they on about? Tonight, she was wearing a blue bra top, or were they referring to her Ferrari?

"Yeah...C'z up B'z down."

The lights turned green and Espona pressed on the accelerator, rotating the steering wheel to the left. She drove on, eventually passing the sign that said:

Ashville Cemetery, 15 Km

Meanwhile, the police closely followed the flaming tail of the gangster’s Cadillac.

“Yo dogs, throw some shit over.”

The driver slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The fire had raged into a flame thrower, violently licking the windshield of the police car.

Standing outside McDonalds, Zane was leaning on a stone pillar. He heard the sound of screeching tires and jerked his head towards the road. The police car curved left and right, avoiding the flamethrower erupting from the exhaust pipe and the pieces of equipment being thrown overboard. Zane kept a stern face, his silver fringe concealing the hatred in his eyes.

He focused his attention back onto McDonalds and advanced into the entranceway of the premises. He pushed the door open and the smell of fried chips sizzling away in fatty oils heralded his arrival.

In the corner of restaurant, sitting behind the giant landscape portrait of Ronald McDonald and his friends flying through space, there was a clique of students that were in the same school as Zane.

Their presence had caught Zane’s eyes once more.

“What are those noobs doing here?” he thought. Their spiky black hair, the heavy massacre around their eyes, their grayish-white skin, Zane knew instantly they were gothic. He felt the anger rise up in him. No matter how intimidating they looked, they were cowards deep inside. The gunmen had killed many innocents. Everyone fled, except a few. Did they still have a right to terrorize those they encounter with their demonic appearance? Should they be exposed as the weaklings as they are?

Zane lusted to own them all, just like player killing on World of Warcraft or even Counter Strike. But to obtain true redemption, he had to confront the gunmen, face to face. It was them that Zane held responsible for stripping his pride away, but more importantly a large fragment of his life that he cherished most dearly. With the deaths of the Coopers still consuming him, he walked his way through the labyrinth of red velvet rope and stood at the counter, waiting to order.

“Good evening.”

“Yeah. I would like a Quarter Pounder Combo with large fries and a large drink.” He was startled by the appearance of the girl who was serving him. She looked vaguely like Espona and Rochelle, but she was nowhere as beautiful as them. As she beamed a smile, it showed a mouth reminiscent to that of his neighbor’s dogs after the owner had taken them for a walk. It had disgusted Zane.

“Hehe, cool. Anything else?”

“Na. Eat here please.”

“That’ll be six fifty.”

Zane drew his wallet out and tossed the note onto the counter. After he collected his change, he grabbed the empty cup and crossed over to the machine. He pulled the leaver; ice tumbling its way down and crashed into his cup. He then filled his cup with coke and placed the cup on the counter. After positioning himself so that the cup was hidden, he reached into another pocket of his coat and got out a glass vial. A pop was made as he pulled the cork out and poured a clear solution into the black liquid fizzling in the cup.

His cell phone vibrated once more. The alarm had been triggered. Zane now only had an hour left by himself.

_____________________________________________________________

“Last stage.”

The coins rattled in Rochelle's hands. At the release, they cascaded into the awaiting palm of the bus driver. After tearing the ticket from the slot, Rochelle squeezed her way up the aisle. Rising to stand on her toes, she surveyed the sea of heads. Her eyes caught sight of a seat by a guy with short red hair and pimples that had erupted across his face. He wore a white cap that had been turned to the side, denim jeans and a thick, white jacket that hid his arms.

He turned to face the two teenage girls behind him, unaware of Rochelle's presence.

“Are you girls Brazilian?” he asked in slurred speech.

The girls looked at one another, rolling their eyes, confused as to what he wanted.

“Are you girls Brazilian?” he repeated more stupidly, suspecting that they did not met the cult. The girls avoided his gaze by staring at the rainwater cascading down the window beside them. Rochelle continued making her way up to the back of the bus, hoping that his eyes would not meet her dark skin.

In the farthest corner of the bus, the seats were unoccupied. She made her way to the back and sat, facing the plastic back of the seat which was vandalized with graffiti. She stripped off her jacket and placed it beside her.

The doors closed and the driver drove on. Rochelle watched as the bus stop slid away from view. She drew a breath, taking in the smell of heated metal that wafted the air. She pulled the sleeve of her jumper back; leaning back, her eyes closed in thought of the possible conflicts that were to follow.

“Think about it Rochelle, at least he gives you chocolate.”

“I know, you noob.”

“Haha, since when did you start using the word ‘noob’ Rochelle?” The voice had turned slightly deep and coarse. He sounded vaguely Asian.

Rochelle opened her eyes. Most of the people on the bus had stood up and crowded around the doors and down the aisle. It had felt a bit cooler: the heat seemed to have been drawn to the crowd of people. The bus stopped and the doors open. A draft immediately rushed throughout the bus. Rochelle embraced herself slightly, for the wind was colder than she had anticipated. Umbrellas were held at the side, hoods raised as the crowd made their way out of the bus.

The remainder moved for the front seats. Rochelle felt isolated from the rest of the world. Here she was, sitting at the back of the bus with no one around her. She wanted to move to the front of the bus, but what was the point? Not like they were going to greet her with open arms.

Rochelle gave the window a rub, clearing away an area of vapor. She peered through the window, noticing the shadowy outline of a bridge. She pressed the nearest button and the bus stopped at the nearest bus stop. Stepping out, she panned her surroundings.

The sky was dark and the stars shadowed by the clouds. Rain water filled the craters in the gravel on the road; gutters were overflowing as it streamed down into the drains. It was only drizzling, but before it had been heavy. The rain bombarded Rochelle making her dark hair dripping wet and her clothes soaked.

She fished for her cell phone in her pockets and started texting. Her thumb danced around the buttons.

I’m here.

The rain started to turn into a torrent. Rochelle stood sheltered under the motorway bridge and plunged her hand into the depths of her pockets.

The sky flashed white and in the shadowy horizon, bolts of lightening ripped off in all directions. A sudden explosion was followed, roaring and crackling.

“Relax; it’s only thunder and rain.”

In his hand was his cell phone still displaying the text message that Rochelle had sent earlier.

Her heart felt as though it had jumped. Immediately, she spun back.

“Where did you…”

“Quite.” commanded Zane, placing a finger on his lips. He grabbed hold of Rochelle’s hand and led her through a labyrinth of trees. The rain struck the cobblestone path, masking the sound of their footsteps. Zane peered through the darkness, ensuring that they weren’t followed. As they reached the other side of the park, Zane released her hand. They sprinted the remaining distance to the house where Zane lived.

“What was that for?”

“Gangsters, they’re here.”

“He was on the bus too.”

“Really? Did he see you?”

Rochelle shook her head. Zane opened the door with the key hidden beneath the welcome mat. Rochelle headed into the lounge room, switching the lights on as Zane deactivated the alarm in the hallway.

Rochelle kept silent and buried her head into her arms. The pendulum rocked from side to side as the clock ticked in the silence between them. Zane stood in the living room of his parents' house, hands stuffed into his jean pockets, weight shifting from foot to foot.

"Look, Rochelle, I --"

"I know, Zane," Rochelle interrupted letting her hands drop into her lap. She did not look at him.

"No, you don't. I don't know what I was thinking back there. When the gunmen ... and your parents ... God, Rochelle, I froze." He crossed the distance to her and knelt trying to catch a glimpse of her face. Her hands covered it.

"I'm sorry," he said at length. "I should've helped and instead I -- I didn't. I just didn't."

“Zane, I guess the only thing you ever cared about is owning noobs on World of Warcraft. I’m sorry that I’m so insignificant, war chief.”

Zane bit the side of his mouth. He pulled a chair away from the table; guilt spread through his limbs, causing his arms to tense.

“Rochelle, your parents are my friends,” said Zane as he sat down, “Even I had no real understanding on what I did.”

Rochelle erupted from her chair which crashed onto the wooden floor. Immediately, Zane got up and made a weave around the corner; returning into the hallway. The stairs creaked as Rochelle scampered up the stairs and retreated into Zane’s bedroom.

“Rochelle!”

The stillness of the night ceased. The vase shook as Rochelle slammed the door behind her. Zane stopped dead in his tracks. There was silence.