The Treasure Map Page 5

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Beyond Measure

  “RUN, NIKO!” MY father repeats, ignoring the repercussions he would endure from his captor because of his counsel. “Escape!”

  His face is mashed against the still shaking ground before he can speak another word. The captain places cuffs around my father’s wrists while barking ear-piercing orders at him to stay down. Those might be the last words I ever hear from him. There’s no time to think about that now. It’s time to heed my father’s advice. I need to run. I need to escape this stadium.

  But my legs remain unmoved. They are stiff, though stable, and my heavy feet are stuck with indecision and lack of direction to guide them. My neck whips back and forth, guiding my eyes as I look for a clear path for my escape. Cadet James’s body is twisted on the short grass covering the dirt floor. His fall to the ground was less than graceful. He pulls his slumping body to his hands and knees, cursing his fortunes. He gathers his senses and looks me in the eyes.

  I never should have let him see me. I should have fled the instant my father told me to run. I’m the cadet’s only concern at this moment in time. He is one of many for me, but he is the guard who is most alert of my whereabouts, and the one with the greatest consequence if I am able to escape. He reaches for his baton with one hand, then grabs his ankle with the other, grimacing as he shouts words long considered unspeakable, even by those who curse the name of the Faithful. He’s not full strength, but letting me go would cost him his job, if not worse. The punishment for losing an inmate from Justice Hall has never been disclosed to the public. I don’t think it’s because it would lead to a light sentence. As far as the cadet is concerned, it’s him or me. For once, I agree with him.

  I decide it’s unlikely James can run at full strength, if at all. After months of pacing my cell with little nourishment, I’m not sure if I can either, but there’s only one way to find out. I don’t have to run fast, I only have to run faster than him. There has to be a way out of here that doesn’t require prolonged sprinting. I won’t win an endurance race. Someone unfriendly will catch up to me. The guard struggles to his feet. He tests his ankle. There’s no more time to live in shock. There’s no perfect way out. Only God can save me. So I trust my maker and run.

  The guard’s weapons are useless from long range. Their batons and tasers were designed only for direct contact. Their lack of firearms will be my most precious advantage. We were never supposed to be out of arm’s reach, but a disaster like this was not in their plans. He has to catch me himself. I have to make that difficult for him.

  The crowds push their way through exit halls like animals escaping a fire, pushing and shoving their way through each other without concern for their surroundings or their companions. I bend my knees and push the dust away from my feet. I’m faster than I should be. I feel the blood blasting through my veins. I reach the wall separating the bleachers from the infield. I leap and push myself up over the wall, but catch my foot on the boundary as I look back to the one who must stop me. I stumble and fall onto the metal floor. I stifle my screams. I know my back is injured, but I won’t feel the worst of it until morning. I have to keep moving. Stopping will be the end of me.

  I get to my feet and look back to my opposition once again. Cadet James is hobbling toward me, grimacing with each step, motioning to his fellow guards for backup, the dirt on his face unable to mask his pain. Blood and sweat drip from his forehead. His right foot is angled improperly. His face gnashes for vengeance. He blames me for this. I have no time for blame anymore. I only have time for flight.

  I look back up to the crowd funneling their way through the corridors to leave the stadium. The ground shakes. Everyone freezes except for me. I can’t stop for anything. A smaller tremor reawakens the earth while screams echo through the exit doors. I scramble up the stairs, leaping like a wild gazelle, taking two or three steps at a time until I reach a blockade of bodies. My back could seize up at any moment. I must push through.

  I am mindful that the crowd might try to stop my retreat if they become aware of my presence in their midst. They came to this place to see me die today. The State wants them to fear us for their children’s sake. But now they’re in a place where they are afraid for themselves, not of me, but of the earth itself. I am now little more than an afterthought to these civilians. I sling my sweat-drenched prison shirt over my head and toss it behind me. I’d rather not be seen in my prison number again, though the digits will always haunt me. I can’t let anyone else see me wearing inmate number one two two five eight zero again. But the crowd is too distracted to notice anything I do as I work my way past the back of the line, headed toward an exit. They’re all trying to do the same thing.

  I peek back to see Cadet James reach the boundary below. He realizes that he’s too hobbled to make the leap without help. He points me out again to the two guards who have met his plea for assistance. They’re older, stronger, and possessing standard rifles issued to officers who guard the prison from watchtowers. An hour ago they would have lost their jobs for pointing their guns at me. Now they’re ready and certainly willing to shoot me on sight. I’m wanted - dead or alive. Preferably dead at this point, I’m sure. But they won’t shoot me yet. Not here. They could miss and hit an innocent bystander. The press will already have a field day with our delayed execution, but civilian casualties could cause a riot.

  I’m wrong. Almost dead wrong. A shot goes by my head and careens off a signpost. I’ve been too careless. I duck down and with more earnest push my way through the chaos. Cries from the crowd cause a tumult, but no one seeks to stop me. They’re all in it for themselves. Thousands of citizens are fleeing the structure without direction or protocol. Terror, rather than pleasure, has temporarily seized their attention. Fear has clouded their already tasteless judgment. I am no longer their chief enemy. I’m their secret companion in flight. They’ll worry about me tomorrow when they know they’re safe from nature.

  The crowd surrounding me scampers left through a corridor, then bend right around a curve, and down a series of stairwells that must lead to freedom. I follow them like a child, knowing only what I’m leaving, not where I’m going. I am among murderers who call me the devil. They have no power over me in this hysteria.

  We reach the last set of stairs and scatter to a wider range of options to run. I see open gates with legions flowing through them like a stampede in the wild. Guards attempt to control the flow to no avail. Shaking, I look back behind me. There’s no sign of the cadet or any other guards with guns drawn. I look down to avoid all contact with anyone brandishing a weapon.

  Gunshots fire. I drop to the ground. Six bullets by my count. I don’t know the target, but when I lift my eyes I see a body lying in the courtyard of the stadium. A towering bald man with skin as white as snow has breathed his last. Blood stains the pavement a deep red. I don’t recognize the man’s attire. I don’t know his transgression, but he wasn’t one of us. He wasn’t me. I’m still alive. I have to keep running. I am one with the crowd who had been so willing to condemn me. They are my unwitting protection. They would have been guilty of my death, but are now guilty of my escape.

  Helicopters hover above, guards of the State are shouting muffled orders while their blades deafen the shrieks of the scattered. Are they looking for me? I don’t know how many of us might have escaped. Is it just me? Did everyone else suffer the same outcome as my father? It won’t be long before every news reporter and officer in Ariel has my mug shot come across their line of sight. I keep my head down and move forward as I consider my options.

  The crowd scatters through the parking lot. I blend in with them well enough to keep me safe in their company, but I have to focus to regulate my breath, hoping to overcome the panic that so desperately wants to seep into my skin. I trot at a consistent pace, head straight toward the main exit, not wanting to bring any extra attention to myself. Men and women jet across lanes to locate their cars. I continue without hesitation. I must maintain cov
er in this chaos. They cannot see my face. They cannot know my name. I cannot return to the hell I’ve been living in for the past six months.

  A siren blares. I nearly trip over the sound, but catch myself on the hood of a car whose driver is not pleased. He yells something unintelligible as I continue my route before he can see my face. The alarm is an emergency warning that no one needs. The entire region would have felt the earthquake. The roads must be cracking. Cars are stalled and traffic is standing still. Motorists honk their horns in helpless confusion. Citizens are safe enough I would think, at least for now, but stranded away from their homes. And I’m still running with only one thought in my mind: freedom.

  My lungs are heavy as I reach the end of the parking lot. Drivers sit idly by while I pass them unrecognized. Safety officers are glued to their radios. For a moment I almost felt invisible, but I’ve been spotted by a guard four lanes away from me.

  “Stop!” I think he’s trying to yell, but I’m not stopping for anything. He blows his whistle. I continue to run. No one is going to listen to him among the sirens and honking horns. “I said stop! No one gets out of here without going through these gates.”

  I hesitate for a moment as if I’m thinking about how to get away from the man with the badge, but first I want to see if I have reason to fear him. I scan his attire. He doesn’t have a single weapon at his side, only a radio to call for help. Still, I look for the best way to dodge him, but I made the mistake of allowing him to see my face. He steps back. He must have realized why I’ve lost my shirt. If he believes the stories, he’ll think I’m a trained assassin. A typical guard from Justice Hall wouldn’t know any better. I see him reach to his side, grasping for his radio. Trackers will know where I am within moments. I have to keep going. I can’t look back again.

  I duck behind an oversized pickup truck and look to flee any direction I can from the guard. I hop over a short chain-link fence I find in my way. I am too weak to fight the impulse to look over my shoulder. The guard slides out of his station to spot me. He knows he can’t catch me now, and he must have surmised that I’m not going to go looking for him, but he’s still in contact with someone on the other end of the radio. I pray it’s no one who can help him.

  News travels faster than my feet can carry me. I hear a chopper getting louder. It hovers and searches. I hear screeching over the megaphone. They’re all looking for me now. I have to get out of the streets. Too many people can see me out in the open. They know what I’m wearing and that I’ve lost my shirt. I need to find cover. Most people will think I’m just another lunatic wandering the streets, but trained guards will recognize me, and I have no defense against those with weapons. Maybe they won’t shoot me on sight. They might have orders to bring me back to the gallows. I don’t like my chances either way.

  I see a park in the distance. I think I can reach it before the helicopter can make it that far. I hop across the street while dodging the few cars who have been able to make their way past the guards at the gates. It’s a beautiful field, surrounded by trees, like none I’ve seen in all my former travels. Oaks stand tall with shade and giant green leaves who have yet to lose their luster as summer fades into fall.

  I skip over a short bush, stumble on an unseen stone, and land without grace on my ribs. This time the pain I feel is instant. I’ve never felt so incapable of moving my own body. It will be insufferable tomorrow morning. If I can make it to tomorrow morning. I have to find a place soon where I can heal. And I need something to eat soon. But more than anything, I need water. I’m dehydrated beyond measure. I can’t stay here long. I need to come up with a plan or I will perish. I must find a more secure place to hide. Then I have to find a way to escape this region forever. They all wanted me dead today. As far as they’re concerned, I might as well be. I can’t live here anymore.

  I can’t move. I think I’ve broken a rib. Maybe it’s only a torn muscle. I don’t know how to tell the difference, but I do know I can’t take a step without pain. If they catch me, I’m dead. I don’t know what will happen if they fail to track me down, but I’d rather rot in a pit than let them have what they call justice. I lie curled up on the ground, with trees blocking the sun from my limp body, praying to God that they won’t find me like this. They won’t show me mercy if they do.

  I feel mud forming from the dirt rubbing against my face as I sob into the shaded ground below. I stretch out my hand from my uninjured left side to cover my tears. I remember my father. I think of his face as he yelled out to me moments before the captain shoved his lips into the infield dirt. But most of all I think about my captivity.

  Six months I spent wasting away, counting the days, awaiting my inevitable execution. That’s an eternity for one to contemplate life, death, and the way the world works. For me, it was a time to think about what I would do if I were ever released. I never came up with a satisfying answer. I never thought I’d need one. There’s no appealing the death sentence for crimes against the State. I’m still not sure I will require any greater understanding of what to do with the rest of my life. The only thing I need to know right now is how to survive the night. Tomorrow will have its own worries.

  This humidity is only making matters worse. Dark clouds are moving overhead with the western winds, gray skies building mercifully high above my head, quickly splashing thick droplets down upon my shaking carcass, hiding me from the vultures that would turn me into a meal if I never make another move on this earth.

  I have to go. I can’t stay like this forever. The guards have surely moved beyond this spot. They won’t stop looking until they find me. I’ll be on every most wanted list in all Ariel. I can’t let that stop me.

  I dig my hands into the thickening layers of mud. My ribs stretch with every twist of my body. I cover my mouth with my shoulder and scream into my wretched skin. I can’t let that happen again. I must suffer the consequence of pain without sound. I dare not tempt them to find me. I cannot go back to Justice Hall. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with my life now that I’m a fugitive, but I know my purpose must be greater than I thought it was when the noose was calling out to me. I have to make my freedom worthy of my father’s last name. Hobbes Monroe’s legacy will continue one way or another.

  Rain washes away any tracks my prison shoes may have left behind me. I see puddles forming in fallen leaves on the ground and make the best use of it possible. I can survive without food, but not without water. I learned that before my incarceration. I never had much to call my own while growing up. I had even less as I traveled from town to town with my father. It worsened with handcuffs and prison bars. I had nothing but what was necessary to keep me alive for the past six months. Rainwater will keep me alive until I find a safe house. Food and shelter will be there. Please let there still be a safe house. I must find a village that will overlook my current condition long enough for me to find refuge. I think I remember one where I am headed, just northwest of the stadium.

  I bunker myself behind the tallest set of bushes until the sun falls from the city’s view. They will search for me through the night, but I have to move sooner than later, and the darkness will be my best chance. If I stagger shirtless through the streets, I’ll be as common as the birds in the air or the grass on the ground. The revelry won’t stop just because a few enemies of the State have escaped. They fear the Faithful in Ariel, but not as much as if they were to miss their next drink. This region is nothing if not consistent.

  I see the crescent moon peeking over the rolling hills of the city. A full moon would be better. More crazies. More parties. More distractions. I don’t have a choice. The sun is setting. I have to move.

  My legs wobble. They’ve done more today than they have since I was first captured. Pushups and pacing in my cell could never replicate years of walking from village to village. I can’t concentrate on my problems. I have to focus on my destination. That’s what my father always taught me. He always had his eyes set on the prize before him, not the boundaries that
could keep him from reaching his goal. Now I have to do the same. I can’t rely on him to do it for me anymore.

  Breathing hurts my ribs. Every time. My legs are sore and give me problems just standing here in the park. My head is pounding from dehydration. I need more water. My stomach yearns for sustenance. I take a step. I need to remember my goal. My problems are no longer my concern. My destination demands my full attention, though I do not know where I am headed. I must find something familiar.

  I reach a path that brings me to a temporary sanctuary. I walk the tattered road. Traffic has wilted. Cracks plague the passage that leads me further away from the arena. The earthquake has done its damage and the ground has settled itself below my feet. No buildings are near enough to assess the grander scale of destruction it may have caused the city. I don’t wish danger on anyone, even those who begged for my execution, but I do hope officials are more concerned with crippled structures this evening than they are with my absence. Somehow I doubt it.

  A truck comes up to me from behind and I skip off to the side of the road. I stumble through scattered debris, but I find relief when the vehicle doesn’t stop to get a good look at me. This happens every few minutes, and every time I fear it may be a soldier’s transport scouring the villages, only to breathe easy when they ignore my existence. I must look to them like any other drunk on the street.

  I would stay off the road, but this is the quickest way, and I don’t have time to waste. I don’t know the best route, but I want to see myself out of the view of the city as soon as possible. Villages are scattered throughout the region, too many for guards to comb through every one of them. I’ll be protected by the wilderness, but I pray I found a safe house out there. I am a stranger to the Capital, but not everywhere. I have friends. At least I did. I need to find at least one.