Last Escape

LAST ESCAPE

S.J. Bryant

Copyright 2017 Saffron Bryant

Published by Saffron Bryant at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

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CHAPTER ONE

Aart leaned back on his pickax and wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. Dust and dirt coated his mouth and throat. He reached around and massaged his aching lower back. Rolling his head, he enjoyed three satisfying clicks from his neck.

He considered the poorly-lit tunnel around him.

Today was the day; after weeks of scrimping and working over-time, he just had to work half an hour more and he'd finally have enough to buy gravy with his dinner. How long had it been since he had gravy? Too long.

Hey! If you want to be paid for this shift then get back to work! bellowed the Confederacy overseer.

Aart flinched and grabbed up his pick, swinging it at the wall in front of him.

The overseer sauntered through the tunnel, his plasma rifle giving off a blue glow that reflected off the stone walls. His crisp uniform bore the castle-like Confederacy insignia and he wore a protective face shield that hid his features from the miners. He came to a stop behind Aart, one hand on his pistol and the other on a solid club that Aart had seen used on many occasions.

Aart's spine tingled and he swung his pick faster, sending loose rocks skittering to the floor of the tunnel.

Better. Don't make me report you, slug. The overseer strode off, deeper into the tunnels.

Aart let out a long breath and some of the tension left his shoulders but he didn't lower his pick. Pain squeezed his lower back and shoulders. Each swing sent vibrations running up his arms that jarred his teeth and rattled his bones. He pushed the pain away. He'd committed to an extra half an hour, so he focused on thoughts of gravy and pushed down any passing inkling of dissension or revolution. He'd heard rumors that the Confederacy could read minds, and had heard of people going missing in the middle of the night.

The next half an hour dragged by, feeling almost as long as the entire shift. When the single sharp wail echoed through the tunnels, Aart sagged with relief. He put the pickax over his shoulder and trudged up the tunnel. The muscles in his legs burned with familiar exhaustion and he ached to sit down, to rest.

He'd found no gold during his entire shift, which meant no bonuses. He sighed. This vein should have been abandoned years ago but the Confederacy was bent on sucking out every last nugget; and slave labor cost nothing.

Aart kept his face blank and buried his thoughts. If any of the overseers even suspected… he shivered and created a wall around his rebellious thoughts. At night, when he was alone, he sometimes let them out and examined them, but not here, not out in the open.

His tunnel joined a catacomb of others where he met more miners coming up out of the deeps.

You work the extra half hour too? Aart said to a man covered in grime as their tunnels joined.

The man grimaced. Broke my pick. Had to pay the rental fee.

Aart winced and patted the man on the back.

The tunnel opened up into a flat, desert-like basin, lit against the night by huge spotlights, with tattered tents and ram-shackle buildings leaning away from the constant wind. The only exception was the Confederacy quarters; a tall building made of stone. Solid doors manned by two Confederacy soldiers blocked the entrance, and gun turrets on the roof glinted in the light of the spotlights.

Aart had never been inside but he could imagine. There'd be plush carpet, soft furniture, and not a speck of dirt in sight.

He sighed and turned away, following the shuffling line of miners to a filthy tub of water. He scooped up handfuls to wash the grime from his face and hands. He splashed extra onto his head in an attempt to cool his overheated body. Even at night, the thick air lay like a hot blanket over the planet.

Once bathed, he strode to the biggest of the tents, feeling refreshed. Noise emanated from it like the buzz of insects. When he lifted the flap, bright light poured out into the night, accompanied by the smell of food.

His mouth watered.

Worn tables with make-shift chairs filled the tent. Over to one side a winding line of ragged miners made its way to a counter where three women in filthy aprons doled out scoops of mushed food.

Aart ambled to the back of the line.

The man in front of him scanned his wrist past the metal payment pole so that it would register the microchip implanted under his skin. Meat, vegetables, he said.

The pole beeped once and a red light flashed. Insufficient funds.

The man turned towards the pole, face twisted.

Aart recognized Billy. His white hair sprung out from under his ragged gray cap, joining up with white tufts of beard. Scars and dirt dotted Billy's face.

Blasted machine! Billy said, scanning his wrist again. Just meat then!

Beep. Red light. Insufficient funds.

People at nearby tables averted their eyes, turning their bodies away from Billy.

Billy's face glowed red. He scanned. Vegetables.

Beep. Red light. Insufficient funds.

Billy's hands clenched into fists and he looked ready to strike the machine. A Confederacy guard pushed himself away from the wall, gun in hand. Billy's eyes glimmered in the harsh overhead lights. He sighed and turned away from the line.

Whoa! Aart said, gripping Billy's wrist.

Oh, hello, Aart, said Billy, voice rough like gravel. He glanced at the pole and then at the Confederacy guard. I didn't manage a full day today. Was the leg. He gestured at his left leg, which bent away from his body, the remnants of an old mining accident.

Doesn't matter! Aart said. He scanned his own wrist. Two meat and vegetables.

Billy's eyes flew open and he snatched Aart's wrist away from the pole. What are you doing?

The pole beeped twice and a green light flashed.

Aart shrugged. Getting dinner. Come on.

He strode forward and grabbed two rusted metal trays from the waiting stack. He handed one to Billy.

You shouldn't have done that, Billy growled, red creeping up from his cheeks to his ears.

You'd have done the same for me, Aart said. He'd felt only the barest pang of disappointment that he wouldn't get to have gravy after all, but what was that compared to letting Billy go hungry?

Shouldn't have done it.

The line made slow progress and by the time they got to the front, Aart's stomach ached.

The dirt-covered servers slopped food onto his and Billy's trays. He smiled and thanked each one. At the end of the line, the last woman glanced at a screen to her right and then at Aart and Billy.

Shouldn't have let him do that, Billy, she said.

I know, Billy said. Lad didn't give me any choice.

My credits, Aart said. I spend them how I like, Maria.

Not any more, she said. You won't have enough for breakfast tomorrow.

Aart shrugged. Tomorrow is another day.

She rolled her eyes. You're a good lad, Aart.

Too good for a place like this, said Billy.

Ain't that the truth, Maria said.

Move along! People are hungry! said the man behind Billy.

Aart and Billy sidled forward.

Thanks, Maria, Aart said.

People waved to him from rickety tables but avoided eye contact with Billy. Aart nodded to them but strolled past, coming to a stop at an empty table.

Aart sat with his tray and scooped a mound of green mush into his mouth. Billy sat opposite, his wrinkled hand shaking as he lifted a spoon to his mouth.

You must have had a good day today to do that, Billy said, voice barely a whisper.

Aart's grin widened. I sure did.

What were you saving for?

Aart shrugged. Doesn't matter.

Lad, you can't keep spending all your savings on me. I'm not going to be around much longer, better to just let me go.

Aart's stomach lurched and he frowned. I won't do that. Besides, what good are savings in a place like this? It's not like I can go and buy a ship.

It was for gravy, Billy said, studying Aart with rheumy eyes.

Aart dropped his gaze back to the pile of green mush on his plate.

Bloody hell, said Billy, dropping his spoon so that it clattered against his tray. No decent man should take another man's gravy.

Aart flicked his spoon. It was my choice, Billy. Besides, it's the least I can do.

Billy licked his lips and retrieved his fork. Doesn't feel right.

If it weren't for you I would have died years ago. A few meals now and then is the least I can do.

Aart wolfed down his vegetables. Although, after all the years you've spent here, the bloody Confederacy should be taking care of you properly.

Billy's face paled and his eyes flew to the nearest Confederacy soldier, but he didn't seem to be giving them any attention. You can't say stuff like that, lad! You want to get yourself killed?

Aart sighed. No. I just don't think it's right that someone your age still has to spend twelve hours a day in the mines just to eat.

Billy scraped the last of his food from the tray. It's the way it is.

Well, it's wrong, Aart said.

Billy shrugged.

Aart finished his meal and they both rose from the table then headed for the door. Billy shuffled, limping on his bent left leg. They made a straight line through the hot night air to another tent. Bunk-beds lined each side, many sporting the lumps of sleeping workers.

Aart climbed up onto the top bunk and lay down.

Billy stayed standing a moment, his face just visible in the dim moonlight filtering through a hole in the roof of the tent. Thanks, lad.

Aart grinned. You're welcome, Billy.

Billy disappeared out of sight into the bed below and his snores soon filled the tent.

CHAPTER TWO

How's your leg today? Aart said as he and Billy trudged down into the mine.

The bright sunlight faded at their backs, plunging them into the artificial semi-darkness created by sparse glowballs. They scanned their wrists at the first intersection and it beeped before flashing green.

All right, Billy said, his limp less pronounced than the day before. But it's always better in the mornings.

Just let me know if I can help.

Enough talking! said a Confederacy soldier, shoving Aart in the back.

He stumbled, sending loose gravel skittering about his feet. He gritted his teeth but forced himself not to reply, not to glare over his shoulder at the soldier. Any sign of disobedience, he'd be beaten. He wouldn't be able to work, and then he, and probably Billy, would starve. So he swallowed his pride and walked faster into the deep, keeping his lips pinned shut.

He and Billy went through the familiar maze until they came to a narrow tunnel that ended in a flat, dirt wall.

The Confederacy soldier stopped at the mouth of the short tunnel and leaned against the wall where he could keep an eye on them and at the same time watch the other workers mining farther down.

Aart swung his pick over his shoulder and slammed it against the wall. Loose rocks fell, creating a small pile at his feet. Billy used a shovel to collect them and pile them into a cart where he examined each one for any sign of gold.

Don't know why I bother, Billy whispered, his voice hidden by the scrape of his shovel. This vein is dryer than a bloody desert.

I know, Aart said. I haven't had a bonus in months.

Billy snorted and they fell into a quiet rhythm of work, excavating the tunnel.

After four hours, a tiny cart came around and gave them each a ladle of water. Aart relished the cool liquid in his dry throat which already was coated with dirt. It got stuck between his teeth no matter how tight he pressed his lips together while he worked. He sloshed the water around his mouth and swallowed.

Back to work, said the soldier as the cart left, heading deeper into the mine.

Aart grabbed up his pick and swung at the wall but as he made contact, something deep in the ground rumbled. Both he and Billy froze.

The tiny rocks at his feet jumped across the tunnel floor, shaken by deep vibrations.

Aart's heart lurched into his throat and he met Billy's gaze. The older man's eyes opened wide with panick.

Another rumble rattled the tunnel; this time sending bigger rocks loose from the ceiling. They crashed into the tunnel floor with solid thuds.

Aart threw his hands over his head just as a stone flew down. It struck his forearm, sending reverberating pain through to his shoulder.

Cave-in! Billy bellowed.

Aart and Billy turned for the tunnel entrance and scrambled across the quaking floor. The Confederacy soldier was already running, not bothering to look behind.

The cry of 'cave-in' echoed through the tunnels and other voices took it up until it made a cacophony that joined the growing rumbling.

Billy limped, struggling against the moving floor.

Aart hooked his arm around the older man's waist and helped him forward, both of them rocked sideways by the moving ground.

Bloody earthquake! said Billy.

Sweat poured down Aart's face as he struggled to move them both faster. The suffocating air of the tunnels pushed down on them, making it hard to breathe and bringing a pounding ache to his head.

More rocks fell from the ceiling, landing on their heads and shoulders.

Aart grimaced, all it would take was one medium size rock to land in the wrong place…

He lurched sideways around a minor cave-in and kept moving, hauling Billy along beside him.

It's going to be a bad one, said Billy. Most of this tunnel will go.

In response, Aart hauled him faster.

Go on without me, you idiot boy, said Billy. If you run you might make it out.

I'm not leaving you behind, Aart said, between gasping breaths.

Don't be a fool! How much longer do you think I have left anyway? Save yourself.

Aart ignored him, adjusting his grip on Billy's waist and practically carrying the man up the steep tunnel.

The ground bucked beneath them like some wild beast.

Aart tripped and they both sprawled forward, landing hard on jagged rocks. More rained down on them from the ceiling.

A sharp pain erupted from Aart's knee but he scrambled upright, ignoring it. He snatched Billy and hauled him to his feet, resuming their mad dash down the tunnel.

Distorted screams and shouts echoed through the caves, sounding more like ghosts than people.

Aart gritted his teeth, hoping with all his might that everyone would get out safely. Although the chances of that were