Young Writers Society

Chapter 1

Brendon’s breath sticks in the air, his body shaking, as he is unable to warm his bare limbs. It's a fight to escape, to find any possible way out. So, he drives his feet into the ground, propelling himself forward to search as quickly as possible. Searing pain courses through his legs as their sharpened teeth tear at his flesh, and he kicks them back forcefully, knowing that his time is limited. Blood trickles down his calves and onto the dirt paths, only making a trail for them to follow. It no longer matters if he makes it to the regime, not as long as he escapes this tunnel. Brendon scans around himself, icy chills crawling up his spine; there’s no end in sight. There never is. But Brendon knows that there must be a way out, so he rips his hands through the dirt and digs.

 His broken finger nails claw at the darkness, keeping his balance as he slides, and pulling himself up at each dead end. Brendon slams his body into the corners, unable to slow himself down. His breathing shallows as he encloses himself in smaller positions, running quickly out of air. It seems like this obstacle is endless, as it extends without giving any sign of an exit. Quickly, his chest begins to tighten, worsening as he folds himself into tight corners, sizing himself to fit through the small paths he makes. Mustering together all the energy he can manage, he crawls through the next tunnel, moving blindly in search of the exit.

But once again, Brendon reaches a dead end. Without any further hesitation, he stretches his arms above his head to hoist himself up onto a ledge. He can hear the mutants trailing behind him with haste, tracking his scent. Though he cannot see the creatures, the sounds of their feet on dirt path echoes to signal their presence. Brendon knows that he has almost reached the 24 hour limit. In fact, he can’t have more than two more remaining. 22 hours without food, without water, without company, and without light cause more pain and fear than expected. He can see nothing, but he can hear the squeals of the predators following. They're hunting him, already having had a taste of his blood from the sticky trails he leaves behind. He can smell the copper of blood and the sickening decay of flesh. He can feel the sharp rocks and grainy earth beneath him. With his goal instilled in his mind, he chooses to be oblivious to anything but the task at hand: reaching Regime 91.

~~*~~

March 21, 2079

Over the speakers comes Ed’s booming voice, as usual. His voice is unique, recognizable from the deep, raspy tone. Everyday, Ed gives the announcements at precisely 6:30 A.M. And considering the announcements are about the exact same thing every day, the whole town always has the pleasure of waking up to the sound of their invigorating schedules.

“Good morning, citizens of Touers. Today will proceed as follows: both work and school will begin at 7:30, lunch will be from 11:45-12:15, a scheduled break will be given from 3:30-3:40, work and school will end at promptly 6:30pm, and freetime may be spent by participating in the town’s selected activities until curfew at 9:00. There are no further announcements. Thank you.”

With a groan of anger, Brendon rips his comforter off and crawls to his closet to get dressed for the day. Without the need to even glance at his wardrobe, Brendon grabs the same outfit he always wears. But seeing as the only clothing he really owns are three pairs of identical black T-shirts and denim jeans, he doesn’t necessarily have a variety to choose from. At least he doesn’t have to be coherently awake to get dressed.

Groggily, Brendon pulls the garment over his wavy brown hair, and unfolds his jeans to finish getting dressed before breakfast. After quickly brushing his teeth, Brendon races down the creaky wooden stairs to leave for school. Even though school doesn’t start until 7:30, Brendon has to get there 45 minutes early to check his name on the work exemption list. By signing his name with proper notice, Brendon can leave school a few hours early to work in the mines for some extra money.

Though, he is only a few feet out the door when a grumble from his stomach reminds him he forgot his rations, and he turns back into the house. Built into the wall, adjacent to the sink, is his family’s ration machine. The machine is roughly two feet tall and a foot wide, made of steel, and has a digital button for dispensing. Each of their meals are dispensed at scheduled times through that machine in order to ensure everyone in the town is practicing healthy eating habits. Taking more rations than scheduled is viewed as a criminal offense, and those guilty are both treated and punished as if it were theft... Needless to say, instances of over consumption are fairly rare.

Setting his small brown shoulder bag on the ground, Brendon opens the top left cabinet to grab a metal bowl. The bowl itself is quite small, no larger than a fist. All the dishes are sized so that citizens know not to accept more than can fit in them if the machine breaks down and dispenses more than scheduled. Though other territories may view these restrictions as extreme, Touers reassures everyone that it is only for their benefit, since it keeps them healthy for work.

As Brendon sits to begin eating the brown, lumpy oatmeal served to him, his younger sister, Sarah, who is not yet nine years old, comes racing down the stairs to dispense her own meal. Brendon looks over to see his sister, who looks quite similar to him, in her uniform garments. Her simple white blouse is tucked into her pale gray skirt, which are both large enough to last her for the next few school years, and her black close-toed shoes are tight around her feet, as their mother is still saving up to buy her a new pair. Money is usually tight in the house, so they all have to be frugal with their shopping. Clothes have to last and shoes are always bought too big, so they stuff the toes until they fit. Or, in this case, quite the opposite.

Sarah looks at him and notices his quick glance over at her. “Morning, Brendon,” she says in a cheerful voice. Sarah has always been the optimist between the two of them, no matter the circumstances. Brendon doesn’t understand how she can always be so upbeat; it’s hard for him to find the energy to get up in the morning, let alone be happy about it.

Brendon meets his sister’s bright green eyes briefly, and then responds in a tired voice, “Morning, Sarah. Are you ready for school?”

“Yep. Mom said you’re taking me this morning,” Sarah says as she turns around to finish dispensing her breakfast.

A brief panic courses through Brendon as she says this, turning around so that all he can see is the tight knot of hair in the back of her head, the only accepted hairstyle for girls in Touers. “I thought Mom was taking you; I have to be at school early to sign up for work exemption.”

“Mom had to leave early. Here, she left you this note,” Sarah says as she unsticks a small white square from the cabinet and walks it over to me.”

Brendon glances over it quickly, panic stricken:

A client called today and ordered a last minute dress. I need you to take Sarah to school today.

His Mom has very few clients left as it is, so he knows how urgent it is for her to please this one. However, this only makes his schedule more pressing in return.

Brendon, who is now sitting at the table in front of a full bowl of untouched oatmeal, sinks his head into his hands briefly before pushing his chair out and standing up. “Well, we have to go. Eat your oatmeal as quickly as you can. I’ll grab your bag upstairs and then we need to leave,” Brendon says forcefully.

Without saying another word, Sarah nods her head and sits to eat as Brendon races up the wooden staircase to grab his sister’s bag. Their house is quite small, but it feels much larger now with his father’s absence. Though the incident happened months ago, his mother still kept all of his belongings as they were, but Brendon had his own room now. With their Dad being gone, Sarah has moved into the same room as her mother to keep her company. Now, Brendon has his own room: the only space in the house he has to himself.

At the top of the stairs, Brendon turns right into his mother and sister's room, snatching her small gray shoulder bag off of the closet door-knob. Hurriedly, he races back down to the main level to see his sister placing her bowl in their cramped two-section sink. Looking up at the clock, he sees that he has all of eight minutes to both drop his sister off at school and get in line for work. Brendon quickly loops the bag around Sarah’s neck, grabs her hand, and they race out the door together.

Brendon jogs down the dirt path, clasping Sarah’s hand tightly so that he doesn’t lose her in the crowd. They’ve been in this situation many times before, so Sarah knows not to fall behind. She picks up her pace, seeing her school not but two blocks away. Slowly, the five-story, solid-glass building seems to grow taller, towering over them with each step they take. Within no more than three minutes, Brendon and Sarah arrive at the front of the school, where he kisses the top of her head and bends down to say, “Go get’em, kiddo.” She smiles, jumps up to wrap her small arms around his neck in a hug, and then races through the doors of her school.

“Go get’em kiddo,” is what their father, Andy, used to tell him and Sarah when he would take them to school. So, everytime Brendon takes her, he says the same thing. It may not seem like much, but if that one simple phrase is enough to bring a little bit of their Dad into her day, then it’s more than worth it.

Without any further delay, Brendon turns to the left and sprints. Since he no longer has to drag Sarah along with him, he moves as quickly as he can, running through alleys so he is just out of the way of other pedestrians. At this pace, Brendon knows that he can make it to his school within two or three minutes, but he has to hurry.

Slowly, sweat beads up beneath the waves of his hair, running down his forehead as he sprints. His lungs ache and burn at first, but as he focuses on his strides, everything around him seems to blur. Brendon can see his school in the distance, a large steel building of ten floors, and picks up speed. As he runs, he can feel his heart beating in his chest, resembling the ticking of a clock, as he is nearing the deadline.

And it is this limited focus that slowly begins to cloud Brendon’s focus when, all of a sudden, a quick, multicolored blur crashes into his right side, sending his body flying through the air. Brendon crashes on the dirt ground at an intense speed, hitting his head on the cement wall behind him. Shocked, Brendon leaps to his feet, shakily, as he has not yet regained his balance. The back of Brendon’s head is damp with blood, running along his neck and down the length of his back. With a spinning head, Brendon looks to identify the blur, scanning the area.

Brendon is only a hundred yards away from his school, disoriented in a slim alley-way that opens in four directions. Looking forward, Brendon begins to stumble towards the colored blur, narrowing his gaze until he can fully identify it. The impact itself didn’t cause too much damage, just a few bruises and cuts, other than the torn skin on the back of his head. But when Brendon looks back up at the blur, he can see James, a friend of his, sprawled out in a heap of scrap metal behind the blacksmith's shop.

James must have have been running late for the sign-off too, crashing into Brendon from the side. Initially, Brendon contemplates leaving to finish running to school, but a concerning groan comes from the pile of scrap metal that causes him to cast the idea aside. Looking back in James’ direction, Brendon sees blood running along each of his limbs. Instinctually, Brendon runs over to pull James’ body off of the pile, covering his hands in the warm, sticky blood. 

Small strips of metal stick out in multiple directions along James’ arms and legs. Glancing at his watch, Brendon sees that they have but two minutes remaining, and lifts James’ body up, exposing a small silver rod that runs clean through his calf. Brendon lies James on his side and places him behind his neck to continue running. With his Mom so close to losing business, and his Dad now unable to work, Brendon couldn’t afford to lose these hours. In these times, a day’s work could be life or death. Even if starvation doesn’t kill them, if they seem too thin or unhealthy, the Ambush will. Their family can barely afford their rations as it is.

Still uneasy from the collision, Brendon runs to the school, watching the countdown on the side of the building. On the east end of the school, an enormous digital countdown is projected until the temporary closing of the doors. Brendon grinds his teeth together to keep from shouting as the back of his head rubs up against James’ middle. Suddenly, a loud scream escapes James’ lips as he slowly regains his consciousness off and on.

And as Brendon looks up one last time, he sees the seconds of the clock fade away: 5-4-3- Brendon is nearly there, digging his feet in the ground to make the final push he needs - 2, the doors are released, slowly beginning to close before their re-opening at 7:30 - 1. Brendon reaches forward to grab the door, but just misses it, slamming his body against the glass, and beginning to stumble backwards. Regaining his balance, Brendon lies James’ body on the ground and cups his hands against the glass doors to peer inside; he doesn’t see anyone in the entrance.

Furious, Brendon smashes his fists against the glass repeatedly. He shouts toward the building as loud as he can and then sinks to his knees, running his fingers through his hair. Brendon will have to explain this to his Mother and sister. While his Mother is working before the morning wake up call, he can’t even get himself to school on time.

Suddenly, an ear-piercing scream comes from Brendon’s right; James is conscious again. Knowing that there is no one else around to help, Brendon examines James’ wounds himself. Nothing appears to be too severe, but he has lost a concerning amount of blood.

When Brendon was young, his father taught him much. It was almost like training in the sense that his father felt the need to embed certain skills in his mind; one of them being health. Brendon’s father taught him how to treat injuries and dress wounds, even when resources are limited. Seeing as the states of James’ wounds are fairly minor, with the exception of the rod, Brendon decides to carefully remove each piece of metal. Fortunately, none of them had sliced through anything vital. He sets them each on top of each other in a small pile, paying close attention as he removes each piece. Now the difficult part: the metal rod. James had fallen unconscious again while Brendon had removed the other metal, not so much as wincing. But the second Brendon touches the rod, James’ body jerks forward, and he screams in agony.

It is in moments like this when Brendon wishes they had hospitals. And by that, he doesn’t mean the underground care facilities that some women in the territory have formed, but a true hospital with people trained to care for such wounds. Seeing as Brendon doesn’t have anything to numb James’ pain, either, he has to lie his body weight across James’ torso to pin him so that he doesn’t worsen the injuries. Brendon continues to ease the metal rod out slowly, while James’ frantic body breaks out in a panic until Brendon has finally removed the last piece of metal from his flesh.

Knowing that the most pressing concern at the moment was stopping James’ wounds from bleeding, he reaches his arm into his shoulder bag, ruffling it around until he finally withdraws an old pocket-knife. The knife is quite small, not much longer than the length of his thumb, but is still sharp enough that he can use it to tear off cloth from the base of his shirt for tying around James’ limbs to prevent further blood loss. Hastily, Brendon takes off his T-shirt to run his knife along the base horizontally. That way, he can use it for cloth without completely distorting his shirt. Then, he rips a few strips of it off, tying them where they’re most needed. But when glancing over at James’ calf, Brendon sees that he is going to need stitches. With no one else in sight to offer any aid, Brendon also pulls a needle and thread out his bag, a perk of having a seamstress for a mother.

Thankfully, the needle is new and doesn’t require sterilization. So, Brendon quickly ties a knot with the thread, looping it quickly to help prevent any further risk. Meanwhile, James seems to start regaining his composure as both the shock and the pain of the incident begin to subside. Brendon decides that he can finally get up to stop pinning James to the ground, and he watches as James slowly leans forward, a large red blood spot on the center of his shirt from being pressed up against the back of Brendon’s head.

(Chapter One is to be continued...)