Adventures in Odyssey fanfiction

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Ameraka
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Stella C. wrote:I can't believe I just now noticed this O.o Goodness Ameraka, I couldn't tear my eyes from the screen! *agrees with GG* NEEDS chapter 8....


Why thank you Stella! Thank you for reading. :)
And thank you God's Girl! :)
Stella C. wrote:(Just a side note, when Zahl calls Tasha "Miss Forbs", I thought they were still under false names.. But I could be wrong) :D


Where did he say this? I keep catching myself almost using their real names in conversation and blowing their cover. :) I'm afraid I would not make a very good spy in real life. :(

-is it when he says Miss Ford? That is Elena's last name. Perhaps those names are a little too close...didn't realize it till now! Sometimes I'm not the best judge of what makes something confusing or not. Seeing it from a writer's not a reader's POV.
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My book, Justice Lost, is on Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JM1XFCI
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Stella C.
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Ahhh! You are right. My mistake :? Haha, I would also not make a good spy either! :D
Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring. -Proverbs 27:1
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Sam: Up on our mountain, where the muffins stink, the boys aren't, and we play music all day long.. xD
Stella: Sounds AWESOME!
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Ameraka
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Stella C. wrote: Haha, I would also not make a good spy either! :D
Oh, well, it's fun to write about them. :) Almost like you are experiencing the adventure.

Here is another chapter. Let me know if the chapters are getting too long (didn't see a better place to stop).
---


Tasha stood, her heart pounding, knowing that any wrong move could be her last. She laid her hand on Jason’s arm; his pulse raced against her fingers. “Cash, stop.”

“But I can’t let them—“

“There is time sensitive information that he needs, and targeting this man’s daughter is the most efficient way to get it. That’s right, isn’t it?” She looked at Zahl, whose cold eyes softened slightly.

“That’s right. Knowing where the rebels are is imperative if we are to save lives.”

“Like what you did with the other prisoners?” Jason stepped toward Zahl; the guard responded by clicking back the safety on his pistol.

I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do or not, thought Tasha, but it’s the only way I can see to defuse this. Taking a deep breath, she stood in front of Jason and grabbed the gun. At first, he didn’t let go, but then let her take it, though he still cradled the girl close to his chest. Tanya snuggled up against him; looked back at Tasha, her eyes brimming with fear. Tasha’s heart broke for the both of them. But she said, “Would you like me to finish the job?”

“No,” said Zahl, a smile at the edge of his mouth. “I think you have proved yourself.”

She handed Zahl his gun. He took it, and aimed it at Jason, who closed his eyes, as if in resignation, and shielded Tanya with his body.

Zahl pulled the trigger.

Tasha jumped.

But there was no sound. Just an empty click. Zahl’s laugh, hearty and deep, echoed through the prison. “You’ve called our bluff, Cash.”

“Bluff?” Jason looked shocked. Tasha didn’t blame him; she was shaken herself.

“The profile of this man suggested that he would give us information more readily if he thought we would kill his family. You see, in psychological warfare, it doesn’t matter what we are actually going to do. It matters whether the subject truly believes we will do what we say.

“Few could have taken the shot, much less someone new at this. That is part of the education we are giving you.”

“You won’t hurt her?”

“If she were dead, he would have nothing to motivate him. Of course, if he was unforthcoming, we might have had to hurt her in other ways. But I doubt you would have the fortitude for that. Your partner on the other hand—“ He looked at Tasha, admiration in his eyes. She felt a rush of gratification—or rather, her alias did; then her real self felt a sharp sting of guilt for her ostensible collaboration. But no one had gotten hurt, and the mission was safe, for now; she should be congratulating herself. Relief washed through her, but she still felt on edge. And the guilt would not go away.

“I am interested in the procedure of how you find out who is guilty or not,” she said. “Is it possible that this man might be innocent?”

“That is a good question. It is possible, of course; we have been watching him, and he has shown suspicious activity. He has had conversations with known rebels. It could be a coincidence, and he is guilty of nothing more than being a Christian. But the only way to find out was to bring him here.”

He spoke to the guard, who grabbed the little girl. She clutched Jason’s neck and wouldn’t let go; Jason wrapped his arms around her. Tasha sent him a warning look, hoping he’d heed it, hoping this wouldn’t escalate yet again.

“Don’t worry, Cash. We are taking her back to her home.”

“You aren’t going to keep them here?”

“The man, yes. Tanya, no. We’ll have to find other ways of making him talk.”

Jason released the little girl, and she cried as the guard took her away, up the stairs.

“So,” said Zahl, “have you two had enough, or are you interested in witnessing this man’s interrogation?” He looked at Tasha.

“I think—that I would like to see more, but Cash and I need to get back to our hotel and get started on our stories. You have given us a lot of food for thought. Thank you for bringing us on this tour. I have a much clearer perspective now on how your justice system works.”

“My pleasure,” said Zahl. He put his hand on Jason’s shoulder; Jason did not flinch, to his credit. “I hope that you have not been too discouraged by what you have seen. You are an American; it is only natural that you would not yet see things the way we do. Life in a capitalist country has kept you soft, corrupted your vision. Kept you from accepting the harsh realities that we must face if we are to claim victory.”

“I—will keep that in mind.”

“Good.”

The guards unchained the prisoner from the wall; as he walked past, he stumbled against Tasha. One of the guards backhanded him; he collapsed to his hands and knees, his mouth bleeding. The last thing that Tasha saw before she ascended the steps was his dark eyes, glaring at her as if in accusation as they dragged him away.

Outside, it was early evening, the sun lowering over the brick facades of buildings. Elena and Munroe were waiting for them back at the center square, two guards with them. The guards left as soon as Jason and Tasha arrived, and as they walked to the car, Tasha told them what had happened.

“The little girl is safe, at least,” said Elena, looking at Jason. “I am glad you stood up to him.”

Munroe stopped in front of the car. “I don’t like what goes on in Aleem Center any more than you do. Probably less.” He gave a mirthless smile; Tasha remembered the scars on his arm, and a chill ran through her at his understatement. “But that is the way things are here. We have to—“

“Ignore them?” said Jason.

“Unless there is something we can do, yes. Until better days arrive.”

“Those days won’t come without help.”

Munroe narrowed his eyes. “No, they won’t.” He turned and got into the car. They were mostly silent on the way back to the Vanguard office, except for Elena, who spoke to Jason in tones so low Tasha could hardly hear. Tasha looked out the window, burning to tell Jason what she thought of his performance today. Seniority or not, he needed to be reined in, or the mission would be over before it began.

They said goodbye to Munroe and Elena, and then took a cab back to the hotel.

Back in their room, Tasha said, “I think I’ll take a shower,” wishing that were really the case. She could use a shower, however cold it would probably be. But she grabbed him by the arm, more roughly than she intended, and pulled him toward the bathroom.

“Wha—“ he began.

She raised a finger to her lips. He followed her inside, face full of questions. She turned on the shower to its highest setting, and the faucet for good measure. There. Enough white noise to drown out their words, if they didn’t raise their voices.

She stepped close to Jason, whispered, “What was that?” Anger trembled through her, the same that she’d experienced in the airplane; this time she didn’t have the stress of flying as an excuse. But the truth was, this was at least as stressful a situation as flying.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean! Your— performance back there! You didn’t have to pull a gun on the chief of police.”

“So you think I should have shot the little girl.”

“No—but you could have handled it more diplomatically.”

“Like you.”

“Well, yes.”

“Stood in front of Zahl. Protected that man with your life.”

“If that’s what it takes to accomplish the mission.”

“The mission!”

“Yes, the mission. That’s what we’re here for. We’re not here to help every suffering child we see.”

“That is who we are here to help.”

“Jason, we can’t help them if the mission is compromised. You think you could have helped her if you were riddled with bullets? You’ve got to look at the big picture here. Our mission is just one small part of a larger strategy. We’re only here to set up for those who will come after us. And even they will only be mostly observing. But the intelligence we learn will be used to help bring down not just this petty dictator, but all communist countries. That is our end goal. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to accomplish our goal. Sometimes we have to ignore a few people’s suffering so that a whole country can be saved.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t think like that.”

“Then maybe you’re in the wrong business.” Jason’s eyes flickered; for a moment, she regretted what she said. But only for a moment.

“If it means not killing an innocent child, I’d gladly sacrifice the mission. I could never coldly measure everything according to abstract principles, instead of its impact on real people.”
“I suppose your sacrifice would have been gratifying as you sat there in a cell, being tortured out of your mind. Zahl was testing us, and you failed.”

“He didn’t expect me to pass—that was the point.”

“You didn’t have to go overboard. It’s one thing or the other with you, isn’t it? You were so enthusiastic about their ‘communist paradise’ earlier today, and to do a complete one-eighty—it’s bound to raise Zahl’s suspicions. From now on, we will have to be extra careful and stick to the mission parameters, because if Zahl wasn’t watching us before, you can be sure he is now.” She reached over and shut off the shower. The steam was almost stifling, fogging up the mirror, making breathing difficult. If anyone was going to take a shower, it would have to be him; she’d already taken up the time that she would have taken a shower after announcing it to any eavesdroppers.

She left him behind in the bathroom, and sat in the chair by the window. Exhaustion overtaking her, she leaned her head in her hands.

This was different than the incident in the airplane; it had deeper consequences. She doubted they would ever be able to go back to the way things were. After what had happened today, she didn’t know if she could trust him. His heart was in the right place, but that would do them no good if it got them killed. And if they were killed, or worse, successfully interrogated, it could spell disaster for the NSA. At the very least, it would set them back several years in regards to their fledgling presence in Muldavia. Without support, the rebel’s movement could collapse, even if there was much of an organized resistance in the first place, which she was beginning to doubt.

So where did that leave them? Tasha could go along with Jason, hoping he wouldn’t commit any more blunders…or…she hesitated. To even think of going against protocol in that manner- it went against everything she’d learned. There were exceptions in extreme cases, but did this warrant—that?

I’ll have to play it by ear, she thought. Till tomorrow, at least, when we get our transmitter set up. That’s the only way I’d be able to contact Donovan, to ask…whether I should be the one to take over the assignment, despite Jason’s seniority. If he doesn’t see reason, it may be the only chance to save the mission—and our lives—before it’s too late.

She heard the shower sputter to life again, and took the opportunity to get changed into something more comfortable, a T-shirt and some jeans. It was only 6:00; too early to get ready for bed. Maybe she’d head out and find a café somewhere. Whether Jason wanted to come or not.

She took the clothes she’d worn that day and hung them up in the closet near the door. As she did so, though, something fell out of her skirt pocket. A crumpled piece of paper. She smoothed it out; a few words were scrawled across it, along with dark stains that looked like blood. It must have been more than an accident today when that prisoner had stumbled against her. Somehow he’d stuffed this into her pocket, maybe because he didn’t want to be caught with something incriminating, or maybe because he’d wanted to give her a message.

The words meant nothing to her; they said simply, “Araz, R. 21, M. Cart.”

I should probably throw it away, she thought. It’s not likely it would have anything to do with the mission, anyway. It could compromise the mission if anyone found this among my things.

After memorizing the message, she dug in her purse and took out a book of matches. Struck one, and it flared to life, filling the room with the smell of smoke.

Just then, Jason opened the bathroom door and looked out. Startled, she dropped the match, and stomped on it before it could do any damage to the carpet.

“What are you doing?” he said.

She hesitated. Debated whether to tell him, or just burn it.

Without speaking, she showed it to him. His eyebrows shot up.

“Would you like to come to a café with me?” she said. “Maybe we could stop by the Vanguard office on the way back. I have something I’d like to run past Munroe.”

“Fine with me,” said Jason. He darted back into the bathroom, and came out fully dressed.

Tasha found a little café a few blocks from the hotel. It was more pleasant and relaxed without all the pressure to pretend during the ‘official tour’, and nice to see a Muldavia that wasn’t all pre-packaged.

However, there was a distance between her and Jason now. Even though they couldn’t speak about it openly in public, it was still there, almost tangible. Sore spots that they had to avoid. They mostly spoke about the food, comparing it to the restaurant earlier that day. It was actually almost as good as the fancy restaurant, although simpler. Salads, sandwiches, a light, creamy dessert made with strawberries.

“Do you think I should bother Munroe tonight with my question?” she asked, and slid a forkful of dessert into her mouth.

“I think so,” he said.

“But maybe it’s too trivial to go to all the trouble—“

“We should ask him. After all, he would know better than us whether it’s important or not.”

“That’s true. But maybe we should wait until morning.”

“We don’t have much time in this country as it is.”

At least he seemed more reasonable now, but she was getting a little unnerved by his subdued demeanor. He didn’t seem himself, or at least the self she had known for the past several days. But now that things were…different, she didn’t know what to expect. She felt a little off-balance herself, as if there had been a shift inside her which she was only now realizing was present. It was so ethereal she wasn’t even sure it existed. But she knew one thing: she didn’t like it.

They drove to the Vanguard office. Elena greeted them; she told them that Munroe had gone home early, since he wasn’t feeling very well.

“Maybe we should come back tomorrow, then,” said Tasha.

“Perhaps I can help you,” said Elena.

“I’m not sure that—well, it’s something that Munroe’s more likely to know.”

Dana, who had been typing furiously at her desk, strode over to them. “I might be able to help. What is it?”

“Well—it’s hard to explain. I want to ask something that doesn’t have a direct bearing on the stories we’re working on.”

“Would it have to do with the warehouse?”

“It might.”

Dana nodded. “Come.” She motioned, and they followed her.

“Should I go with you?” said Elena, standing there in her light pink blouse and short gray shirt—too short to be professional, in Tasha’s opinion.

Dana stopped midstride, regarded her. “I suppose. Yes, it might be a good idea.”

Elena tagged along with them down the hallway; Tasha kept up with Dana’s brisk stride, but Jason fell back to Elena’s position.

They emerged into the warehouse, with its huge cacophonous fan.

“What is it?” said Dana.

“Um—“ Tasha glanced at Elena.

“It’s all right,” said Dana. “Munroe decided to trust her. He told her about our operation just before he left.”

“I hate what Von Warberg has done to my country,” said Elena, “and I want to do all I can to help take it back.”

“She’s nothing if not enthusiastic,” said Dana with a wry smile. “So what do you have for me?”

Tasha tugged the piece of paper from her pocket. Dana took it, inspected it. “Hm,” she said.

“Do you know what it means?”

“Not sure. Araz means ‘spider’.”

“Spider. Must be code for something.”

“Could be. Or else—“ she looked at it again. “It could be short for Arazonda. As in Arazonda Street.”

“Is that here in Rakima?”

“Yes. It’s in the Old Quarter. Lot of run-down buildings over there. R. 21 could mean the building number. M. Cart might be its occupant. That’d be my guess, anyway.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” said Jason.

“You’re not seriously thinking-“ said Tasha.

“It might be a good idea, actually,” said Dana.

“But Zahl will be watching us.”

“He’s always watching everyone. We’re reporters. We have the license to do things that in others might seem suspicious.”

“It could be a trap.”

“That’s why we’ll have to be extra cautious. I assume you have some spy gear with you?”

“Spy gear?”

Jason took the pen from his shirt pocket. Pressed the bottom of it, and a sharp blade appeared.

“Excellent,” said Dana.

“And we also brought the camera,” said Jason.

“A camera can be a weapon in the right hands, but…”

“It’s also a gun.”

“Oh.”

Elena was gazing at Jason as if he was the most amazing thing she’d ever come across in her short life. Tasha fought the urge to roll her eyes.

They all headed out and climbed into Dana’s car, orange and gold splashed across the sky, deepening to purple.

After driving downtown, they passed building after building with broken windows, pockmarked bricks. “The Old Quarter was once the most venerable part of the city,” said Dana, “but now we try to pretend it doesn’t exist. Definitely not something you would be shown on an official tour.”

She drove down Arazonda Street, cobblestoned, trash bags piled up along the buildings. Children ran in front of the headlights and disappeared down an alley. “It’s not the safest place to be at night, either,” said Dana.

They stopped at Building 21. Its tall red-brick form loomed up in the growing darkness.
They stepped inside a vacant lobby and climbed the stairs, not trusting the elevator. On the second floor landing, Dana asked a middle-aged woman if she knew a Mr. Cartier. Tasha wondered how she knew it was ‘Cartier’ and not something else.

The woman shook her head, fear in her eyes. “Please, I vant no trouble,” she said in a thick accent, with a lilt Tasha couldn’t quite place.

“We only want to talk to him.”

“Maybe Miranda knows someting.”

“Where is Miranda?”

“My daughter-in-law. She lives on the third floor.” She pointed up the stairs, and then turned her back on them, stepping inside her apartment.

On the third floor, they knocked on several doors before they found Miranda. “Did my mother-in-law send you?”

Dana nodded.

“Of course she did. Now what do you want?” She crossed her arms. She had the same dark hair and olive complexion as the first woman.

Dana told her, and Miranda directed them to M. Cartier’s room, with a little….encouragement, in the form of fifty Muldavian doorts.

Room 405. The numbers on the door had long since fallen off, and the door looked like it could be kicked in with little effort. They knocked anyway.

There was no answer.

On the third knock, a thin male voice called, “Who’s there?”

“Dana Kant. I would like to talk to you.”

“I don’t talk to anyone. Not anymore. Now go away.”

“It is important business. It concerns the old days.”

“The old days. Ha!” Silence again. They waited out in the gloom, the building settling, creaking as if a strong wind could blow it over.

Finally, the door opened. An old man looked out. He was bent over a wooden cane, and his eyes were unfocused, as if he couldn’t see well. His face was heavily wrinkled, and wispy gray hair covered his head.

“Well?” he said.

“Could we come in?”

“If you must. I can’t do much to stop you.”

They filed in behind him. The place consisted of a table in the kitchen, and a bed with a nightstand on the opposite wall. There was dust on every surface, and the curtains looked as if they were made out of torn bed sheets. I thought my apartment was bad, thought Tasha.

“Have a seat,” said the man, gesturing to the four chairs around the table. He sat on the bed, breathing hard, as if it had taken a lot out of him just to get up.

Dana, Tasha, Elena, and Jason dragged chairs over beside the bed.

“Excuse—this place,” said the man, sweeping his hand around the room, “but I haven’t had visitors in a long time.” Sadness shadowed his face. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s hard to explain,” said Jason, “but—someone gave us your address yesterday. He was in prison. We thought you might know why he had your name.”

Alarm crossed his face. “He had my name?”

“Just M. Cart,” said Dana.

“It was Richard, wasn’t it? Only he would be so—careless.”

“I don’t know,” said Jason. “He had a daughter called Tanya.”

“I don’t know about his daughter and I don’t want to know about anything else you have to say. I think this visit has been a waste of your time.”

“Maybe we had better go,” said Dana. “Thank you.”

The old man nodded.

They got up. All except Jason. He was staring at the picture on the old man’s lampstand. “Where did you get this?” he said.

“What? This picture?” The old man picked up the picture, and clutched it against his chest.

“Could I see it?”

“Why?”

“Because—it’s my father.”
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Doll
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Dun-Dun-Dun-Duuuuunnnnn

Wow, you sure know how to end on a cliffhanger.. I can't wait for more!
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~Queen Belle of Altanovia, Knight of Montreal & Order of Aristotle, Benevolent Dictator, Catspaw of the SS, & Dan's couch troll~
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Ameraka
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It's been a while since I posted a chapter. I thought I had posted everything I wrote, but I found I this chapter sitting on a document. I was going to add more to it, but my other stories are my priority right now. I do intend to finish this though it may take a while. :)
Then again, you never know. I might need a break from the one I'm most involved with writing now....things have been getting so intense I may need to step back from it a little bit. Though it is getting toward the end....Anyway.
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Chapter 8

"What are you talking about, boy?" said Cartier. "This is the king. I should not even have it, but no one cares what I think anymore."

"Sorry," said Jason, feeling a little sheepish. "I –thought it was my father for a moment. The king looks like him."

"How much like him?"

"Almost exactly. It's very strange." Jason had forgotten about the coincidence when he'd seen the picture of the king in the NSA file, but now, again—it was like seeing a face in an old yearbook or newspaper of someone you knew, but couldn't possibly be born yet.

Cartier leaned forward, looking into Jason's eyes. "You look a little like the king yourself. You would probably be about his age…" He looked out the window; Jason got the feeling his mind was faraway, or long ago.

Then, he looked back at Jason. "What would you like to ask me? I was one of Von Warberg's confidants. The elder Von Warberg, that is."

"I'm not sure," said Jason. There were so many things he should ask, but he didn't yet know enough to ask them.

"I'll tell you one thing. Karl had a hand in his father's death, no doubt about it."

"How do you know?"

"I was with Erik at the end. All the signs of poison, but Karl had it covered up. He suspected me of knowing too much, so he threw me out of the government center. I ended up here, the graveyard of forgotten heroes." He laughed bitterly.

"You were a hero?"

"I fought with Erik von Warberg against the king."

"But I thought—"

"King Roderick ordered me to. He wanted someone on the inside, someone to help him, in case….

"Turns out, he needed someone…but I was…too late." His voice broke; he looked away, tears hovering in his blue eyes.

"Let me tell you something, though." He leaned forward, grabbed the front of Jason's shirt. "I was too late to save him, to save his beautiful Karin—but—" his eyes darted to each of his visitors in turn. "Can I trust them?"

"Yes," said Jason. "I trust each of them."

"I have never told this—to anyone. But —" his voice faltered again. "Erik ordered me to kill the child. The newborn boy. I saw to it the execution was carried out. Only—I replaced James with a baby that was already dead. Erik didn't know the difference."

"So you're saying—"

"I gave him to a woman to raise as her own. The woman whose baby had died."

He sat back, put the picture on the lampstand. Looked at it with wistful eyes. "He'd be in his thirties now."

"Where is he?"

"I made it a point not to know. But if Karl ever found out—well, he'd scour the country for him. Whether the boy knew his heritage or not. I don't even know if the boy survived…Please, keep this to yourself. In fact, it would be better if you forgot I said it. Forget that you even spoke to me." He got up, leaning on his cane.

"But sir," said Jason, "could I ask—"

"Boy, don't you know when you've outstayed your welcome? Go!" He waved at them with his cane.

"We will leave," said Dana.

They got up. Jason reluctantly followed suit. But before he could step out the door, Cartier grabbed him by the arm, pulled him down to his level. "You look like how I imagine James would look by now." Tears flooded the old man's eyes, and he turned away. The door slammed shut, reverberating throughout the building.

Downstairs, they stepped out into dusk, the first stars appearing in a deep violet sky. "What did you mean?" said Tasha. "Does he really look like your father?"

Jason nodded. "He looks almost exactly like him. When he was younger, of course."

"Strange."

"Very."

Jason rode next to Elena in the back seat. She looked at him, large eyes luminous in the darkness, her blond hair falling about her shoulders. "There was a rumor once, a legend," she said softly. "That the day of the king's coronation, there was an impostor in his place."

"You mean the king wasn't really the king?"

"It was just for that one day. Then the real king reappeared. He had been…indisposed."

"You don't think…no, that would be impossible."

"Well, it's just a legend. Something my father told me once." She reached up, gently touched his hair. "You do look like him a little. Something in your eyes…Perhaps you are related to royalty." As her hand came down, it brushed his cheek. He turned away, looked out the front window.

"My communist self wouldn't like that," said Jason. "If I were related to royalty I mean."

"But your real self does?"

He nodded.

"I am glad that I know you as you really are. I am glad that you are not a communist, and that we can talk freely together." She smiled. A thrill shot through him. This feeling had built throughout the day, until he was unable to deny it. It was similar to how he'd felt when he'd first met Gloria. There was this…connection between them. And now that he knew they were on the same side, it had intensified.

I took this job so I could make a difference, he thought. We are part of a larger operation, but I just wish there was more that I could do. We haven't even done anything concrete yet.

If it wasn't abandoning my post, I'd go join the rebels and help bring freedom to this country. That would be really making a difference, not all this fiddling around because of protocol, bureaucracy, paperwork. If I could I'd just cut through all that and DO something!

If the chance comes, and there's something I can do without endangering the mission, I'm going to take it.


Elena was looking out the window, her profile sheened with moonlight.

"We're being followed," said Dana.

Jason looked behind him. Sure enough, there was a car without headlights driving through the shadows.

"Can you lose them?"

"Can I lose them!" said Dana, looking back at him with a smile. They swerved through deserted streets until they got to the main street, and then Dana wove in and out of cars so fast that Jason gripped the side of the door to hold on.

"Are you sure you should—" said Tasha.

"You want me to lose them, don't you?" She zoomed in and out of traffic; several times horns honked at them. Finally they stopped at Hotel Zentral.

"Thank you," said Jason.

"No problem," said Dana. She motioned Elena to come and sit in the front seat, and then sped off into the darkness.

"Well, that was fun," said Jason.

Tasha raised an eyebrow at him. "It was…interesting. I'm not sure how much it had to do with the mission."

They went upstairs, took turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Jason sat down on the chair. "I'll sleep in the chair again," said Jason.

"No, I'll have none of that," said Tasha, in her loose pajamas, dark hair pulled out of its twist and tumbling over her shoulders. Her porcelain skin contrasted against the darkness of her hair, and the low light highlighted her beauty. But of course she was untouchable. One, they would never get along. Two, they were co-workers, and that rarely worked out. Three, he wasn't sure if he was ready for a relationship, after Gloria. Four—was there a four? Well, he wasn't sure if she was a Christian. Somehow, he doubted it. Though that was not necessarily a permanent barrier…

And of course there was Elena…

Was there? Was he suddenly counting her…now that he knew she was anti-communist—It wasn't likely that he would be able to have a relationship with her, either, considering he was an American, and an agent. Unless he was prepared to give all that up. He'd never ask someone to give up something he wasn't prepared to.

Besides, all that was speculation. The mission was the most important thing.

Tasha stepped over to him. "Get up, please. I'm kicking you out."

He reluctantly rose and lay back in bed; he had to admit, it did feel nice to feel a soft mattress beneath his back rather than that chair, whose springs stuck out at different angles and poked you all night. He didn't envy Tasha's position.

Only three more days, though, he thought, and turned over, sinking his head into the pillow. "Good night," he said.

Tasha replied, "Good night."

He found himself thinking about home, not his place in DC, but about his father….and mother, who had died several years ago, Jana, and Jerry….back when they had been a whole family, before Jerry had been taken away. A time that he could never recapture again, except in dreams.

He dreamed about royalty. A king that looked vaguely like his father was sitting on a throne, a dark judgment seat on high, scepter held out in anger. Lightning flashed from its tip, throwing Jason to the ground.

He gasped awake.

Thunder boomed.

It was dark outside, but Tasha was already up; she came out of the bathroom, dressed for the day. Jason looked at the clock. It was 6:30; might as well get up. They had a big day ahead of them: setting up the transmitter.

Rain slashed against the windowpanes. Jason got dressed, and armed with umbrellas, they headed out, into the storm.
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Chapter 9

People jostled against Jason, the humidity after the rain so stifling it was hard to breathe. Beside him, Tasha stood, jotting down notes. For someone afraid of flying, she didn’t seem to be affected by the crush of the crowd.

They had come to the city square after setting up the transmitter in Munroe’s secret room. Jason had done most of the work while Tasha kept a look out. Now they only had to keep up the show a little while longer, writing articles to keep themselves above suspicion. In a few weeks, the permanent crew would arrive.

As far as the Agency was concerned, they had accomplished the most important part of their mission. Jason felt dissatisfied, though. There should be more to it somehow. This was only his third case, but he felt more of a need to be challenged. They weren’t giving him the chance to prove his skills as an agent. How would they know what he was made of, how far he could go, unless they tested him?

His father would tell him to be patient. Everything would fall into place if he just waited. But I don’t want things to ‘fall into place’. I want to push them into place. Just like this country will never be free unless people choose to rise up.

Well, Munroe, Dana and the others are doing something, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. The few who are standing up will only be cut down unless more of their countrymen support them. Or unless a miracle happens….

“Cash,” said a voice beside him. At first he thought it was Tasha, but then he realized that Tasha had drifted several feet away. Beside him stood Elena, smiling, her slightly upturned nose and dimples suggested mischief beneath her placid, prim exterior.

She took his hand; a shock traveled up his arm, as if it were a conductor made more potent by the rain. She drew him forward; the crowd melted before them.

“Here,” she said, stopping where the crowd was thinner, closer to the front. “As members of the press, we’ve got VIP spots, and we thought we would share them with you.”

Munroe, Dana, and Saul stood near the barricade not far from the balcony of the ornate brick Central Committee Building, where Karl Von Warberg would appear any moment now. In front of it stood security forces clad in black, wearing dark sunglasses.

The members of the underground welcomed him; Elena disappeared back into the crowd after Tasha.

“How did she find me in the middle of the crowd?” asked Jason.

“It is a particular talent she has,” said Munroe. “Don’t ask me how she does it.”

“Look,” said Dana, pointing at the sky. Dark clouds were billowing behind the building. “The weather doesn’t seem to be giving our leader the perfect afternoon he tried to orchestrate for us.”

“Dana—“ said Munroe warningly. Saul looked at her, fear flashing across his face.

Just then, Elena returned, Tasha behind her. Tasha looked rather disgruntled until she stopped, looking up at the building. “This is much better, yes.” She took out her camera, and began snapping pictures. As soon as she did, one of the security men detached from the rest and strode over to her. He spoke to her in Muldavian; she shook her head, and reached in the pocket of her skirt, presumably for her ID. The guard reached for his gun, but Munroe stepped in front of her. Spoke to the guard in his language, and he stepped back, mollified for the moment.

A man took the stage, and a hush fell over the crowd that had, a second before, been humming with conversation. He spoke for a few minutes, and then said, “Comrades, we are fortunate to have a great leader in our midst, the premier of our party, Karl Von Warberg!”

Just as he stepped aside, thunder rumbled in the distance. And then, as a man appeared on the balcony, the sound of cheers and applause drowned out the thunder.

And Karl Von Warberg stood before them. He looked small, even from this distance. Not the imposing figure he would have you believe. Bearded, pale, wearing a black suit with a red sash across his chest—that was about as much as Jason could make out from here.

“Comrades,” he said, voice booming across the square, “we are gathered here on this auspicious day to celebrate our freedom from tyranny. Thirty-three years ago to this day, we defeated the enemies of justice and cleansed this country of the corruption of monarchy and the contamination of capitalism. We paved the way for the future we are enjoying now. Everyone shares equally in our prosperity, and we are a beacon of light to the region, even as our comrades in the Soviet Union are faltering. Ours is the true, pure path.

“However, enemies lie in wait to bring us down. They want to return us to the monarchy, that remnant of the dark ages. We must stand together! We must not give these agents of darkness the chance to trample our light. We must be vigilant! We must march forward to a future where our children and our grandchildren will reap the benefits of our labors and become the first true communist society on Earth! I can see it, and I know you stand with me. We will not let the agents of darkness infiltrate our ranks and bring us down from the inside.”

Dana nudged Jason with her elbow. “Agents of darkness—that’s us,” she said, eyes twinkling. “But you saw what he did there? Most of them believe that the monarchy was evil. Von Warberg has erased history, revised it to suit himself. In his version, Roderick II was a tyrant, better off under the ground. Only a few of us—or our parents—remember a time when there was a good King on the throne who ruled justly, and who died bravely defending his country from the likes of him.” She gestured toward the figure on the balcony.

“Please, Dana,” said Saul beside her, dark eyes pleading.

“They can’t hear us. They can only guess what we’re saying. Unless you’re about to inform on me.”

He looked taken aback. “Never.”

“I know what this mission has cost you.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just tired of concealing the truth behind the layers of lies.”

As the speech went on, Jason found his mind wandering. Von Warberg was just repeating the same things in a different order. Tasha, though, was leaning forward, jotting notes and snapping occasional pictures like a true reporter.

Jason sighed. His heart wasn’t in this charade. What had this mission truly accomplished? They’d set up the listening post, but would that make a difference to the people enslaved here? Of course, it was part of the overall US strategy to defeat communism. Jason would just have to be content that the information they gathered would help Muldavia down the road.

Just as the speech ended, rain burst through the clouds, gusting in silvery sheets. Jason reached for his umbrella.

“Don’t,” said Munroe. “You have to applaud, or they’ll notice.”

Jason complied. The crowd erupted with applause, cheers, chants. Rain fell in torrents, soaking through Jason’s shirt.

A few feet away, a man raised his umbrella over the woman beside him.

A soldier broke away from the barricade and stepped up to the man, spoke to him, then grabbed for his umbrella. The man pulled it away; the soldier grabbed his arm, forced him to his knees, and took out handcuffs. The man resisted, twisting away; the soldier hit him across the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

“Someone has to stop this,” said Jason.

“They need a scapegoat,” said Munroe. “This is normal.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Jason strode over toward the altercation.

A touch near his elbow.

Tasha, looking earnestly at him. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t let them do this,” he said, anger shaking him. Jason approached the soldier. “This man did nothing wrong.”

The soldier narrowed his eyes at Jason, his words in Muldavian dripping with scorn.

Jason knelt beside the fallen man, helped him to a sitting position. He stood. “I saw the whole thing. This man is innocent.”

A few feet away, another man said, “His wife should be honored to endure a little discomfort for the sake of our great Leader.” Others around him nodded. “If not, perhaps they are traitors.”

You people are crazy, thought Jason.

The soldier took the man by the arm again, pulling him to his feet. Jason grabbed the soldier’s wrist. “Let him go. If you want to take someone, take me. If you can.”

The soldier said something in Muldavian that sounded like a curse. After trying and failing to yank his arm away, the soldier hurled a punch toward Jason’s face. Jason dodged it, and slammed his fist into the soldier’s jaw. The man stumbled backwards; fury in his eyes, he rushed toward Jason, hand chopping toward his windpipe. Jason blocked it. He couldn’t block the next one to his jaw, but he barely felt the impact. Adrenaline surging through him, rain lashing his face, he exulted in beating this man who had abused others. His next punch slammed the soldier to the pavement. Jason slipped back the damp hair that had fallen over his eyes, standing over the soldier in victory.

But then, shadowy forms marched toward him through the rain. Elena appeared beside him, pale face spattered with raindrops. She tugged at his wrist. Heart thudding against his chest, realization flooded him of what he had done.

“Run,” said Elena, and she led him through the crowd, weaving back and forth, then backtracking, as if running through an intricate maze. Behind them, about a dozen soldiers were searching for them, marching in military precision.

Near the edge of the square, Elena pulled Jason into a doorway, and the soldiers passed without seeing them. Then, they left the crowd behind, and ran from doorway to doorway until they reached an abandoned warehouse in the run-down Old Quarter. Inside, they knelt on the floor, breathing hard, soaking wet from the rain.
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GratiaDei
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Wow! I am really impressed. You are a great writer, Ameraka. I can picture everything really well, it is descriptive. The characters are relatable, and I can actually see this being an Odyssey episode. Great job!
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Thank you! :D Here is another chapter.


Chapter 10

"You're hurt," said Elena, concern in her eyes.

"No I'm not," said Jason.

"Yes, you are. Here." She withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket, touched it to his lips.

"Ow!"

"See?" Blood spotted it. He took it from her and dabbed at it until the blood faded.

"What you did was—amazing—foolish—but I have never seen anyone stand up to them like that." Her eyes gleamed with astonishment and admiration.

"Someone needed to."

"Well, I guess it is because you are an outsider. You see things—you can do things—we cannot. But…there will be consequences."

"I'm beginning to see that." He smiled ruefully. What had gotten into him? Had he thought he could confront the whole Muldavian army, with the might of the state behind it? He could just imagine what Tasha would say.

Tasha. He needed to get back to her. And the others.

Something horrifying struck him. What if he'd blown their cover? Not just his and Tasha's, but the resistance cell's?

If he'd blown the others' cover—he couldn't just leave them hanging without making it up somehow. But for now, he had to find out a way to get out of here.

"Cash," Elena said.

"It's Jason."

"Jason. Jay-son." She tested the name on her lips. "I think you will have to leave the country. And I think I will have to come with you."

"Come with me?"

"I helped you."

So, the consequences were already multiplying. He'd affected this young woman's life profoundly, all because she'd decided to help him. But in what messed up world did helping someone put you in danger? Everything here was upside-down. Those who tried to change it were driven to the margins, crushed.

"I have to find Tasha. I don't want to endanger the others though."

She pursed her lips. "I think I can help you with that."

"You've already helped me more than you needed to. I mean—I'm glad you did." He touched her arm. She looked up at him, eyelashes shadowing her slightly flushed cheeks. An image of Gloria flashed across the back of his mind; he turned from her, looked out the glass-less window at the rain, lightening slightly beneath the gray sky.

"I'll go get Tasha for you," Elena said, voice firm with determination.

"You can't." He faced her again. "It's too dangerous."

"I'm good at finding my way. You can't deny that." The dimple reappeared in her cheek. Before he could protest any further, she had waved goodbye, and slipped out into the rain.

He felt awful letting her risk herself for him. But he didn't want to mess things up worse than he already had. Elena was probably better off on her own; she could probably reach Tasha faster without him, and with less of a risk of being seen.

He dreaded what Tasha would say once she reached him. What he had done had seemed like the right thing at the time, but now he was not so sure.

Perhaps Tasha would have an idea of what to do next….She always seemed to. Jason sat back against the wall, listening to the rain on the metal roof, wishing he had his gun with him—anything—to defend himself against the soldiers if they arrived.

J

In the back room of the Vanguard headquarters, Tasha paced back and forth beneath the spinning fan. This morning, she thought, when we set up the transmitter, I should have contacted Donovan and asked to override Jason's seniority. But would that have made any difference? Jason still wouldn't have listened to me. He just went ahead and blew our cover, no thought for the consequences. Can't he get it through his mind that what we do here will help this nation in the long run? Actions like that only make things worse. At least we've set up the transmitter. We've accomplished our primary objective. Now, we have to see if we can get out of this alive.

If we do, I'm not sure what kind of a future Jason can expect. He's too volatile for the field; it must not have shown up during training. You need a certain amount of adventurousness to be a spy, but that amount of recklessness is…out of hand. Now that we know, we can keep him off the field—and keep him alive.

When Jason had fought the soldier, Munroe wisely held Tasha back, keeping her from guilt by association. Tasha's first thought, however, hadn't been for the mission; it had been for Jason's safety. He was fighting a soldier in full view of the Premier of Muldavia—did he have a death wish? But then, she'd seen him standing in the rain, hair drenched, shirt plastered to his skin. She forgot what that moment would mean for the mission; he had defeated an enemy soldier singlehandedly, and that was all that mattered.

The door opened. Tasha prepared to run; she had no illusions that this place was safe—or that any place in Rakima was safe from Zahl and his secret police.

Dana stepped through the door; she walked up to Tasha. Tucked a strand of short auburn hair behind her ear. "Someone is bringing your things from the hotel."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Yes, but less so than you going there yourself."

"We could leave without our things well enough."

"Your journey out of Muldavia will be difficult. You'll need your things to help you on your way."

Tasha nodded. "Any word—"

"From Jason? No, not yet. Or Elena." Worry crossed Dana's brow. "I don't know what got into that girl—she's not normally so impulsive."

"Unlike Jason?"

"Well, he does not know the full implications of living in Muldavia. Which keeps him from being cautious enough."

I just think he's turned into a loose cannon, thought Tasha, but she didn't say it.

Dana handed Tasha a map. "We have the route that you'll probably take. North through Czechoslovakia may take longer than south into Austria, but the mountains will make it harder for them to follow you. Also, it's not as heavily guarded and land-mined. Munroe is looking into getting a transport to take you out of town. Calling in some favors with some of the Resistance."

"I hate to put all of you in danger."

Dana smiled grimly. "It's all in a day's work."

The door swung open. Elena appeared, soaked from head to toe. "Jason's waiting in a warehouse in the Old Quarter."

Tasha's heart leapt. He was safe. For now.

In a few minutes, two men arrived with Jason and Tasha's suitcases; Munroe arrived with the driver of the supply truck. Elena would go with them and show them where Jason was. At least, that's what Tasha assumed, until Elena started loading her own suitcase into the truck as it sat at the back entrance.

"You're coming with?" said Tasha.

"I helped Jason. If I stay here—"

"It's for the best," said Munroe. "We can officially say that you are abroad, visiting relatives. We'll watch to see if Zahl thinks you are a person of interest. As of right now—it's the safest course of action for you to disappear."

"Not to say your journey won't be dangerous," said Dana. She looked at Tasha. "You'll keep her safe, won't you?"

"Of course."

As Tasha gave Munroe a handshake in farewell, she glimpsed Saul shaking Elena's hand, lingering over it before he let go. She wondered if there was something between them; if Elena had feelings for Saul, then her flirtations with Jason were no more than that. Tasha couldn't help but feel a twinge of relief at the prospect, then she reprimanded herself. For the last time, she thought, Jason's romantic life is none of my concern.

Tasha climbed into the back of the truck; Elena climbed in after her, and they slipped in under the false bottom of the truck, where their luggage was already crammed. They had to lie flat on their backs, with barely enough room to breathe.

After winding through some streets, the truck stopped. A clunking sound of the back door opening, and footsteps clomped inside.

The floorboard opened up, and someone climbed in at Tasha's left. Jason.

"This should be fun," said Jason.

"Fun!" said Tasha. "You're the one—"

"Shh!" said Elena.

The truck stopped again to pick up the supplies that were the cover for the driver's visit out of town. Muffled voices conversed outside, and the floor creaked above them. After what sounded like several heavy boxes loaded in the back, the truck started up again, and switched to a higher gear as it drove out of town. The honks and cars and sirens of the city faded to the rumble of a gravel road.

Even though she knew they were not home free, Tasha breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was probably behind them. Now they'd have to endure an interminable ride in this cramped space.

Beside her, Jason moved, as if trying to get in a more comfortable position. He shoved his elbow against her arm.

"Cut it out!" said Tasha.

"Sorry." But he didn't stop moving.

"Can't you ever sit still?"

"I'm just—there's something sticking into my back right now."

"Deal with it. We wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for your antics. You had to show off, be the hero—"

"That's not why I did it."

"I know, you weren't thinking at all, were you? If there was ever a time to think before you act, that was it."

"I'm sorry. It's just that I hated to see that man arrested for something so trivial."

"We always come back to that, don't we? You can't get it through your head that we're helping in our own way. No, you have to jump in there and be a maverick, a cowboy. That's not how we get things done in the Agency. There's a certain amount of leeway, flexibility, but we also have to follow orders. Keep a low profile. Try, if at all possible, not blow our cover, and betray our allies."

"I know. You're right. In the heat of the moment, there was only one thing I could see. The injustice of the regime—and its consequences playing out in front of my eyes. I don't like to just…stand by. I need to do something. But I should have been more prudent, this time."

"Yes, well, it could have turned out worse. But I don't know, Jason. If we ever get back to civilization, you can be sure my report will be very thorough."

Elena cleared her throat. Tasha had almost forgotten her presence. "I know what he did was dangerous," said Elena. "But you, who have not lived here all your life, cannot understand what it felt like to see someone fighting back for a change. And even if it might hurt us all in the long run, he made a positive impact on at least one person today—the man that he saved from arrest. Just one pebble can start a landslide. That is something my father used to say." Sadness entered her voice; Tasha wondered what had happened to her father, whether he was a victim of this regime. Elena did often seem like an orphan, adrift, with few connections except those in the employ of the Vanguard.

The truck rumbled to a stop. Outside, sharp voices.

"What's going on?" said Jason.

"It's probably a roadblock," said Elena.

A moment later, the back of the truck opened. The driver spoke. "We are transporting wine to Zelise. Would you like a bottle for yourself and your men?"

"If I wanted to," said a harsh voice, "I could confiscate your entire cargo. But that's not what I'm here for. Zahl wants the American fugitives, Dorian Cash and Nora Baker, and the traitor who helped them, Elena Ford. He believes they have escaped the city. You are one of the only transports to leave Rakima since the alert. Care to explain that?"

"I am scheduled to be at Zelise within the hour, that's all."

"Then you wouldn't mind if I looked around a bit." A boot stomped the floor right over Tasha's face. "Seems solid. Still…you could have a secret compartment beneath this floor."

Tasha hardly dared to breathe. Beside her, Jason moved, clothes rustling. Be quiet! she wanted to yell at him.

A knife slid through a crack in the floorboards, trying to pry them up. Then it jabbed into Tasha's arm. She gasped, just able to stifle a cry.

The knife shoved through another crack to Tasha's right; Elena shrieked.

"Aha! We've caught our mouse." The man laughed. "Tell me how to open this thing."

"I can't."

"Tell me, or I'll shoot whoever's under here, and then I'll shoot you."

A creak, and the floor slid open, the driver's pale face looking down at them. Another man, pistol raised. "Well, well. I think I'm up for a promotion." Two more soldiers appeared and herded them out; the light glanced into Tasha's eyes, blinding her.

A soldier shoved her from behind, forcing her to kneel in the gravel, Elena, Jason and the driver lined up beside her.

A pistol nudged the back of Tasha's head.

Cold fear thrummed through her. So this is it, she thought. My first mission has gone awry…..I wonder if there's anything I could have done to salvage it.

And my life—there's so much I haven't done—and too much to regret…

"What do you have there?" said the head soldier, standing in front of Jason.

"A camera."

"Give it to me."

"Are you sure?"

"Give it to me, or I'll take it from you."

"Okay then. You asked for it."

The words had barely registered in Tasha's mind when a gunshot rang out. Tasha jumped. The soldier in front of Jason staggered, clutching his leg.

Jason caught Tasha's eyes. "Run," he said.

Tasha grabbed Elena's arm and ran as fast as she could toward the woods about 30 yards away. Gunshots ripped the air. Tasha tripped over a clump of grass, but Elena grasped her wrist, keeping her on her feet. When they reached the trees, Tasha risked a glance backwards. One of the soldiers lay on the ground in the field, unmoving. Two others kept up a barrage of pistol shots, then the injured one, the leader, switched to a rifle. Jason and the driver neared the trees.

Two gunshots in quick succession.

The driver collapsed, sprawled in the grass.

Jason stopped, tried to help him.

Another gunshot.

Jason stumbled and fell, and then lay still.
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I've only read the first few chapters so far, but I'm enjoying this thoroughly, Ameraka. As fan-fiction readers often do, I'm hearing characters speak in their own voices, and that's an excellent sign. They seem to be quite in character and the plot is marvelous.
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Wow, Amerika, that was really good! Can't wait to read the next one. O.o
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Keep writing, Ameraka, this is great! You are really talented.
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Thank you so much for your reviews! It's taking a while to write this story, but I plan to finish it eventually. I just have so many writing projects, plus other things, that it's hard to get around to this story sometimes.

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"Stay here," said Tasha.

"But—"

"No sense in both of us getting killed." Tasha dashed out past the trees, bullets zinging past.

Jason was moving, struggling to get back to his feet. Tasha pressed her fingers to the driver's pulse, but he was already gone. She supported Jason, his arm across her shoulders, and they made it to the trees. "Here," said Jason. "Take my gun. Or camera." He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace of pain. Tasha took the camera-gun, and Elena took charge of Jason. Tasha shot at the non-injured soldier, hitting him in the side. She ran after Elena and Jason, and they tore through the woods until they could no longer hear gunshots.

Tasha searched around for a place to hide. They slid down the embankment near a stream and hid beneath overhanging roots. Tasha bound Jason's leg with a strip of cloth from her jacket, and they covered themselves partially with leaves, and waited for sundown.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason woke, shivering. Chills flashed over his skin, and the next minute he felt like he was on fire. His lower leg throbbed as if a shard of glass was embedded in it. "T-tasha—"

"I'm here."

"I don't feel so good."

She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're burning up. Elena, you don't happen to have a water bottle on you, do you?"

Elena shook her head. In the dim light her golden hair seemed to glow silver. His fever was probably distorting things, warping reality to fit his feverish mind….

"It's too bad we weren't able to bring any of our supplies," said Tasha.

"Except the camera," said Jason. "And I think I have a pen knife in here somewhere—" He fumbled for the pocket of his shirt; his hand was shaking. "Or else I lost it…"

"That's all right," said Tasha. "We'd probably be dead if you hadn't taken the camera-gun out. When did you have time to get it, by the way?"

"Just after the truck stopped. I figured we'd need it."

"Good thinking." Her eyebrow arched. "We need to get you somewhere warm, get some fluids in you." She looked at Elena. "Would you happen to know anyone around here?"

Elena shook her head. "I'm not even certain where we are. We ran so far…"

"Well, maybe there's an abandoned cabin near here. Can you stand, Jason?"

Jason struggled onto his knees; Tasha helped him onto his feet. The world spun. "I think so…." Then he took a step, and his leg stabbed him; Tasha caught him before he could fall to the ground.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," said Tasha. "You and Elena stay here. I'll take a look around, see if there's some shelter."

"Do you think we should separate?" said Elena, standing on the edge of the bank.

"Don't worry. I'll find my way back." Tasha left, weaving around trees, until she disappeared into the darkness.

Elena helped Jason back under the overhang. She took off her outer jacket and laid it over him.

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do." She tore a strip off of the jacket, and dipped it in the stream. Then she laid it across Jason's forehead. The water was ice cold; he flinched, and shivered even more. "We've got to keep your fever down." She curled up next to him in the leaves; she was shivering too.

He pushed himself into a sitting position. Took the jacket and gave it back to her. "Please, don't sacrifice for me."

"It's only my fault that we…" She sobbed; a tear slipped down her cheek. "My fault that we were captured."

"What?"

"The soldier heard me. That's how he found us."

"No one can be expected to take something like that—"

"Tasha did."

"Well, Tasha is…Tasha."

Elena touched her cheek near the knife slash, and turned away. Jason took her arm. "Listen, it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself, Elena." Her eyes were large and luminous in the dark, shimmering with unshed tears. He touched her face near the wound; her skin was smooth as silk. His eyes fell to her lips; longing seized him to kiss her—how wonderful her lips would taste, how delicate against his own—Her eyes looked up at him, her hair, no longer prim and proper, but tumbling about her shoulders—he was drawn closer—closer, as if by the most powerful magnet on earth.

Using all his strength, he pulled away, and lay back down, shivering. In a moment, all other feelings receded as all his attention was focused on fighting the overwhelming waves of nausea.

Elena stroked his hair back from his face, and put her jacket back over him. He was too weak to protest this time. She hummed a song; the sound thrummed into his soul, giving him peace, lulling him to sleep.

Strange dreams shook him. A man who looked like his father had taken Von Warberg's place on the balcony, and was preaching peace and love and harmony. A man in the crowd, distorted, bent over, pointed at the man and yelled, "He is not one of us!" Suddenly Jason was the one standing on the balcony and the bent man grew smaller and smaller as the crowd yelled, pointed, screamed, "He is guilty! Death! Death! Death!"

Jason jerked awake, gasping for breath. His leg throbbed with a dull ache; it felt three times its normal size. The rest of his body felt like a block of ice. He couldn't see Elena. Had they captured her? He scrambled to his knees, and crawled up the embankment. There stood Elena and Tasha with a strange man. Jason stood and tried to walk but he stumbled and fell, his face falling in the dirt and leaves.

A low chuckle. "He won't get far that way," said a voice with a strong accent. Not quite the Muldavian accent Jason was used to—more like the tenants in the apartment on Arazonda Street.

Strong arms turned him over, propped him up against a tree. A face looked at him; weather-beaten, with shaggy hair, but a kindliness about it that eased Jason's fears.

"Jason," said Tasha, standing beside him, "this is Nikola. His people are camped nearby. He's going to talk to their leader, to see if they'll help us."

Nikola took Jason by one arm, Tasha by the other, and lifted him up. He tried to stand, but the world was spinning so much that it looked like it was tipping sideways and he was about to slide off the edge. The woods whirled by, branches grabbing, scraping at him like hands.

They were coming for him—going to drag him down into the crowd and rip him apart—

"No!" he yelled.

A hand clamped over his mouth. "Sh," said Tasha. Her face swam into his vision, backlit by fire. Smoke hung in the air, like gunpowder. Flames danced in his eyes as he felt himself lowered to the ground, sticks and pine needles pricking into his back. He writhed away from them as if they were knives. Tasha and the man disappeared; Elena stroked his forehead, kissed his feverish cheek. He calmed down again, until curious faces jumped toward him, jumbled and swirled in his vision. Laughter echoed into the night like the howls of wolves.

Then just one face lingered, a little girl who sat in front of him, cross-legged. She spoke in a strange language, and brushed her fingers against his forehead.

Two men appeared, lifted him up. He struggled against their strength, until their faces merged with dreams.

Jason thrashed awake. The dreams dissolved into daylight, frigid blue of early morning filtering through the checkered blue curtains on the windows. Cold met his exposed skin; he pulled the blankets back over himself, and realized he wasn't wearing his own clothes. A loose, patterned blue shirt and leathery pants.

Where am I? he wondered. He flipped over onto his stomach, and looked out the window near his head. Outside sat a circle of about fifteen trailers and trucks in a clearing between scrubby birch and poplar trees. Inside the circle, several fires burned, women working over them; children helped, or ran to and fro playing.

Tasha stood on the far end, speaking with the man who had found him, Nikola. In a moment another man joined them.

Jason felt like staying under the covers, but he needed to talk to Tasha. Find Elena. And eat. He was starving.

He climbed out of bed, but his head whirled, and the gunshot wound in his leg awakened with a vengeance. He gasped, reaching down to clutch his leg. As the pain subsided, he unrolled the bottom of the pant leg, peeled it back to reveal an inflamed patch near his ankle. And the hole where the bullet had gone through.

Using the side of the bed, the table, and the couch along the wall to support himself, he made his way across the room to the door. And opened it.

Crisp cool air hit him. A tall young woman looked up from her fire in front of the trailer, and smiled at him, deep brown eyes shining with curiosity.

"Hi," he said.

She just laughed, and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She bent over the pot, stirring it; her shirt stretched tight over her stomach, showing how far along she was. A little girl jumped out of the next trailer down, then a little boy toddled out, the girl pulling him along behind her. She stood and looked at him with large, earnest brown eyes. The little boy broke away from her and walked over to his mother; the girl said, "I'm Zara. What's your name?"

"I already told you his name," said the young woman.

"I forgot it," said Zara. "Is it James?"

Jason shook his head. "I'm Jason." He held out his hand.

Zara tipped her head, pursed her lips, and put her hands behind her back. "Mama says I am not supposed to touch gadze."

The young woman looked apologetically at Jason. "It means stranger, outsider. It's true, they are usually more trouble than they are worth." She stopped stirring. "I am Marija. You are living in our trailer."

"I'm sorry."

"We volunteered. Of course, no one else would do it…But we have my parents to live with." She pointed her spoon at the next trailer down. "They don't mind—for the time being." She shot a meaningful look at Jason; not hostile, just making it clear that there was a point where he would outstay his welcome.

Jason stepped down onto the front step of the trailer, which was a bad idea, for he stumbled, his leg shocking him with pain. Only by the thinnest of margins was he able to stay on his feet. He gripped the side of the trailer, standing without putting his injured foot on the ground.

Tasha came up to him with Nikola. "Are you all right?" she said.

"Yeah," Jason managed.

"Maybe you should get back in and lay down."

"Nonsense!" said Nikola. "The fresh air will do him good. He's been stuffed in there for three days already."

"Three days?"

"That's how long you were out," said Tasha. "Feverish, delirious, shouting in your sleep—for a while there, we weren't sure you'd pull through." Pain haunted her eyes; he had a hint of the vigil she'd endured.

"You disturbed the whole camp," said Nikola. "But then, you did just by coming here. Had a hard time convincing Rovann to keep you here. Good thing we did—that bullet needed to come out."

"So it was still in-?"

Nikola nodded. "After I took it out, I cauterized the wound. Then your fever started to go down. You don't remember any of this?"

Jason shook his head, suddenly feeling light-headed.

"Just as well. You were pretty far under, but if you felt it—well, we just had to take that chance."

"Thank you—for all you've done."

Nikola cleared his throat. "It was the right thing to do.

"Would you like to come next door and have some breakfast?"

"Sounds wonderful. Where's Elena?"

"She's inside, helping my wife."

"Oh." Jason's heart skipped a beat when he thought of seeing her.

Tasha helped him into Nikola's trailer; his daughter stepped in too, and little grandchildren scurried in after her. They all piled around the table in the middle of the trailer; Elena and Nikola's wife Sofia served them generous portions of eggs and thin, crisp pancakes with foamy insides, brushed with butter and smothered with wild strawberry and blueberry jam.

Jason could only eat one egg and pancake, but he felt much better, especially after drinking a draught of cold, clear water.

After she finished serving, Elena sat down, tucked herself in between him and little Zara on the edge of the couch. The green Gypsy dress that Elena wore made her eyes more vivid and intense, like the deep blue of a mountain lake.

"Thank you for all of this," said Tasha. "Thank you for taking us in."

"It's no trouble at all," said Nikola.

Jason hoped that was true; he had caused enough trouble for everyone. He was grateful beyond words for the generosity of these people who had taken him in, and didn't want to hurt them in any way.

"Although our people believe that the more time we spend with the gadze—outsiders—the more unbalanced we become, and the more we will have to cleanse ourselves once you are gone. I am not certain that you always bring bad fortune, though it seems to be true more often than not." He raised one finger in the air. "There was one time when we had someone here who looked like you, Jason."

"Someone who looked like me?"

"Not exactly, but similar. He is part of the reason we took you in, because he turned out to be good for us, and I persuaded Rovann that you might be as well. Considering who James was, he should have made trouble, but he left before that could happen. After he left, it was as if our protection had gone with him. We had to run from patrols more often, and some of our people were taken."

"Considering who he was?" questioned Tasha.

"He never said, but we had our suspicions. He came to us after the coup, he and his mother. We found them in the woods, and his mother was ill, and she died soon after. He lived with us for years. But then, when he was about twenty-three, he left. We have not seen him since. That was…about eleven years ago now."

"Do you know where he went?" said Jason.

Nikola shook his head. "He went toward the border, that's all we know."

"The border with Czechoslovakia?"

"Yes, why?"

"That's where we are headed."

It's not likely we would find him, thought Jason. But if we did—maybe he would be willing to help his country. There have to be enough people who are not infatuated with von Warberg, who would rally around real royalty…Of course, it's not as if I can do anything about it. He is probably content to live out his days, wherever he happens to be, in peace.

"I remember seeing his father once," said Sofia. "Our James looked a lot like him. Of course, those were different times… good times for our people. Then von Warberg took over and he forced us to try to settle down. Settle down—Ha! The true among us will never become so mahrime that we forget who we are."

"It is hard, though," said Nikola. Pain crossed his features. "He tries to get us to be like everyone else, and when we refuse, he hunts us down. We are equal, you see, as long as we do as he says. So we're careful that his soldiers don't find us. We…don't always succeed."

Marija, across from Jason, stifled a gasp, her eyes stricken. She turned away, mumbled a Roma word under her breath, and slipped out of the trailer.

The room fell silent. Sofia and Nikola exchanged glances. "It's hard for our daughter," Nikola finally said. "Stefan, our son-in-law, was taken only six months ago. But six months in a prison camp can be a lifetime."

"I wasn't aware there were any prison camps in Muldavia," said Tasha.

"Von Warberg doesn't advertise it. But there is one about ten miles from here, called Zohr. And Marija, with her child due soon…Stefan is also the son of our leader, Rovann. I think it's the reason we never travel too far from the camp, even though it is dangerous, even though we can't do anything—But he is our leader, and we must do as he says." He looked at Jason. "Rovann wants you to leave by tomorrow, by the way."

"Tomorrow?" said Elena. "But Jason's not recovered—"

"It's nothing personal. It's just that you are fugitives…and outsiders. We won't leave you empty-handed, though. We decided to give you one of our cars."

"That's very generous," said Jason.

"In your condition, it would be akin to murder to leave you at the mercy of patrols. Also Rovann has said that it is worth the price in order to be rid of you."

Sofia nudged her husband with her elbow. "He would not like it if he heard you speaking like that."

"He knows me. He also knows that sometimes the voice of dissent is good—though he doesn't always listen to it." Nikola smiled. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed around longer, myself. But perhaps it's best for all of us." He stood. "I have something for you, Jason." He dug behind the couch and brought out some crutches, intricate designs carved in the wood. "My son-in-law made this for me once after I broke my leg. I don't intend for that to happen again, so I figured you would get more use out of them."

Jason hobbled outside on his new crutches, and Nikola showed them the car that would take them toward the border, one step closer to home.
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I'm on the edge of my seat!

(and I have been, with these last few chapters. I apologize for not commenting on it. :P)

I can't wait to see how it all finishes!
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~Queen Belle of Altanovia, Knight of Montreal & Order of Aristotle, Benevolent Dictator, Catspaw of the SS, & Dan's couch troll~
~"I’ve always found you to be a good person to disagree with." - Eleventh Doctor~
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Thanks God's Girl! It will probably be at least 7 more chapters or so. Hopefully I will have a bit of time to work on it this month. After that, maybe there will be another story in the works, who knows. :)

Chapter 12


The fire snapped and sparked in the dark. Jason sat on a log, Elena on his left; Tasha sat on his right, staring into the fire. The Gypsies spoke around them in their own language, some glancing at them and then looking away.

Then someone brought out a guitar, and a woman with a tambourine joined him. The others clapped out a rhythm as several men and women stepped out in the clearing near the fire to dance, the long skirts of the women twirling in bright flashes of color. Jason wished he could join them, but his injured leg kept him from moving, and he’d probably have looked like a fool anyway beside their elaborate steps and expert flourishes.

Little Zara dashed up to him. “Do you want to dance?” she asked.

“I can’t,” said Jason. “Sorry, Zara.”

“Oh. Do you want to dance?” she asked Tasha.

“I’m not exactly in the mood for dancing,” said Tasha.

Zara turned her imploring face to Elena, large eyes dark in the firelight. Elena leaped to her feet. “I will dance with you,” she said. And Zara took her hand, and, a glance at Jason, Elena joined the others.

At first she danced with Zara, twirling her around as Zara giggled. Then she lifted her up and kissed her cheek, set her down and danced with quick, light steps, her green skirt flowing around her ankles, her body twisting, turning to the beat of the music. The clapping got louder and louder; she spun faster and faster and then flipped into the air; she landed on her feet, and took a bow.

Face flushed, she sat back down beside Jason. His own heart was drumming to the beat of the tambourines. Her hair had loosened from her braid, curling over her forehead. He longed to loosen it completely, to see what she looked like with it tumbling about her shoulders like a river of gold….
Tasha cleared her throat. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

Elena smiled. “We Muldavians are all dancers to one degree or another. But no one can dance like a Gypsy.”

“You were…incredible,” said Jason.

“Thank you. Maybe…we can dance together sometime. When your leg is better of course.”

A harsh, indecipherable noise from Tasha’s direction.

“Maybe so,” said Jason. “But first we have to get out of this mess.”

“I hope it is not too long until a new revolution, so I can come back. I don’t think my heart could stand it, being far away from my country for a long time.”

“I…have come to love your country too, Elena. I wish I could make up somehow for what I did.”

“You did it for us. Even though it might not have been the…most prudent thing to do, you did it to help one of us, and that is something I will never forget.” She slipped her hand into Jason’s own. Her hand was soft, pliant, yet there was strength in it too. A lot like Elena herself. She seemed unassuming, demure, but he suspected there was an untapped strength to her that even she hadn’t realized. He found himself drawn to her, wishing he could get closer to her, get to know everything about her.

Her lips were slightly parted like an unfolding rose, and he lowered his own lips toward hers—

“That was quite the dance,” said a voice behind them. Jason jumped. A huge figure stood there, his bearded face illuminated in firelight. Jason recognized him as Rovann, the leader; he was even larger than he looked from far away.

“T-thank you,” said Elena.

“Perhaps you would like to travel with us,” said Rovann.

“Oh—well, I would like to, but if I stayed here, I would probably endanger you.”

Rovann rubbed his beard. “You are probably right.” He looked at Jason and Tasha in turn and said, “I sincerely would keep you here if I thought it would do any good. But if you stay with us, we will all be in danger. It’s best this way. However, if you find James, that is, Roderick James the First, tell him he should return. In the twenty or so years that he lived with us, no one was captured, no one was killed. Now that he’s gone, well—I’m sure you have heard about my son.”

“He’s in the prison camp?” said Jason.

“Zohr.” He spat the word. “If James comes back, perhaps my son would come back too. But perhaps that’s just the wish of a superstitious old man. Then again, maybe James could actually do something.”

“What could he do?” said Elena. “The heir would be killed before he could get very far, wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe. But not if he gathered support first.”

“Is there very much support for him?” said Jason, rather doubtfully, after what he’d seen in the capital.

“Oh, yes. Maybe not in the capital. Von Warberg has closed his iron fist pretty tight around that place. But out here, you can see stirrings of revolution. As we travel, we take the pulse of the countryside. And even in Rakima, I suspect there’s more support than you have seen…by its very nature, it has to be hidden.”

Jason recalled the prisoners in Aleem Center, some of them still hanging onto defiance. They had been taken out of the picture, but maybe others would be willing to rally behind the King if he returned…

Rovann gave a bitter laugh. “But even if James did decide to come back to us, I doubt it would be in time to save my son from the guards of Zohr.” He looked away, sadness written in the lines on his face. He strode away, and Zara and little Stefan ran up to him, and he lifted both his grandchildren up into his arms, and they laughed.

They set out early the next morning. Cold nipped at Jason’s skin. Marija held little Stefan, Zara at her side; Nikola shook each of their hands, and his wife Sofia gave them some food to take with them. Then Tasha slipped into the driver’s seat. Elena insisted on taking the back seat, until Jason told her that with his injured leg, he’d be more comfortable there anyway. They waved goodbye, and sped off in the little blue car. The last thing Jason saw out the back window was Rovann standing beside his trailer, his giant form receding into the early morning mist until he was nothing more than a faint silhouette, and then he was gone.
-
Tasha gripped the steering wheel, rounding a corner on the dusty road. She had made sure to take a back road, because the main roads were likely to be roadblocked; still, on the gravel, it was hard to drive as fast as she would have liked. The sooner they got to the border, the better. Her sole mission now was to salvage the rest of the operation by getting them out of this country with their intel intact.

Mission-wise, if they were unable to escape, it would be better if they were killed; capture meant interrogation. Tasha hoped she’d be able to withstand any amount of pressure, but she couldn’t speak for the other members of her party. Jason was a trained agent, but could he hold out under torture? He was impulsive to a fault, but she’d also seen courage in him, and she acknowledged admiration for him, even though she disapproved of his actions. Would he be strong enough to hold out under immense physical pressure? She hoped it would never come to that. Elena, though—Tasha doubted that slip of a girl could hold out under much of anything. Good thing she didn’t know much more than the security forces did already, only that they were NSA agents.

Tasha glanced back at Jason. He looked like he was asleep, stretched out in the back seat with his injured leg lying awkwardly against the floor. Her heart went out to him; the situation was bad enough as it was, but to be injured, unable to run if it ever came down to that, was not an enviable position. Tasha had assumed responsibility of the mission by default after Jason’s actions and injury; anything that happened to the others was her burden too. For a while, during Jason’s fever, Tasha hadn’t been sure he’d survive. It hadn’t been easy seeing him like that, tossing and turning, crying out in fear and pain, drenched in sweat. She had barely slept herself during those nights of watching over him. She probably wouldn’t have slept at all if it hadn’t been for Elena, who had taken shifts with him, swathing his brow with damp cloths.

I suppose I should be grateful to her, thought Tasha. But all she felt was a simmering jealousy. She tried to suppress it as much as she could; it wouldn’t help the mission, and it certainly wouldn’t help her. That door was closed to her; it was just her silly emotions, pulling her where she didn’t want to go.

She glanced at Elena. The girl (she thought of her as a girl, though she was probably 21 or 22) was looking out the window at the vast brownish-green plain dotted with scattered trees. Tasha, in the interest of rapport-building, had tried to initiate conversation; it had gone well as long as they talked about Elena’s life in the capital, but then Elena, her face lighting up, had gushed about Jason being ‘extraordinary’. Ever since then, they’d travelled in silence—probably for the best, considering how much Jason needed sleep.

Tasha didn’t just feel uncomfortable with the developments between Jason and Elena because of her own feelings; it was how unabashed Elena was becoming about hers. They didn’t need a complication like this; they could be found and shot at any time and Elena was acting like this “adventure” was just an excuse to get closer to Jason. At first, Tasha had thought Elena’s feelings were one-sided, but after last night, it was pretty clear that Jason felt the same too. It made her feel sick to think about it.

I’ll just have to distract myself with the mission as much as possible, she thought. Right now, though, it isn’t being all that distracting….

As if on cue, the car shuddered over a bump and grumbled to a stop. It sighed, and was still.

“What happened!?” said Elena.

Tasha leaned her head on the steering wheel for a moment. We don’t need this.

“Are you all right?” said Jason from behind her.

“Yeah,” said Tasha. “You?”

“Wasn’t fun going over that bump, but….”

“Your leg!” said Elena. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He sounded out of breath. Tasha looked back at him; his face was pale, etched with pain. She wished she could do something for him, but they had bigger problems at the moment.

Tasha didn’t know a lot about cars, just the basics, but she climbed out and popped the hood. Steam rolled off the engine; it smelled like sulfur. She stepped back, away from its heat, contrasting with the biting cold air.

Elena helped Jason out of the car, and he hobbled outside on his crutches. “Let me see if there’s something I can do,” he said. Tasha stepped back, brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. As Jason fiddled around with the engine, Tasha surveyed the area. She couldn’t see anyone coming down the gravel road or across the plain. On the horizon, a town crouched, its buildings eating the edge of the plain like a dark fungus. At least the car had stopped near some bushes, which would help shield them from observation.

“I think I found out what’s wrong,” said Jason, standing straight. “The good news is that it’s a simple problem. The bad news is that we don’t have any way to fix it.”

“What is it?” said Tasha.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the battery.” He pointed to it. “See the corrosion there?

“I don’t think Nikola would have given it to us if he’d have known— it’s probably hard to buy a new battery when you’re trying to keep a distance from patrols.”

Tasha nodded. “Could you fix it if I could find a battery?”

Jason looked at her. “I don’t really have the tools here, either.”

“But could you?”

“If I had the right tools, yes.”

“I’m going to go to the next town and find what you need.”

“Even if you could find one, how would you get it back?”

“I’ll find a way. What other options do we have? You can’t walk in your condition.”

Jason sighed. “I suppose…I just wish I could go with you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I could go with you,” said Elena.

“I can probably get there faster on my own. You’d better—stay here and keep Jason company.” Tasha almost choked out the words. It flashed into her mind how close they might get without her in the way.

Tasha got Elena to help her roll the car off of the road. It slid sideways onto the grass and Jason joined them, helping them push it further into the bushes, despite his injured leg.

Then Tasha dragged out the pack that Sofia had given them, and took out all but the most basic supplies. Jason and Elena would need them more than she did, and the lighter the pack, the faster she could move.

From the back seat, Jason took the camera-gun and handed it to her.

“You’d better take this,” he said.

“No, you keep it,” said Tasha. “You’re stranded here—you’ll need some protection.”

“But where you’re going is more dangerous. We’re concealed here. Besides, if you don’t come back, we’ll still be stranded.”

“You may have a point.” She took the camera-gun. “But make sure you stay in the car. Don’t get out unless it’s absolutely necessary. You never know who might see you.”

“We’ll be careful,” said Elena. She took Jason’s hand.

Tasha turned away, unable to look at them, and unable to stand her own idiotic feelings—which were only getting worse despite her efforts to shut them down.

“You be careful too,” said Jason.

“You know me,” said Tasha. “I will.” And she strode off toward the town in the distance, over the broad open plain.
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Well, here's another chapter. Such as it is.

Chapter 13

Jason sat in the driver’s seat, looking through the branches of the bushes where they were hidden. If anyone was coming, he wanted to know about it. Elena sat beside him in the passenger seat. She still wore the green Gypsy skirt and shirt; her other clothes, newly washed at the camp along with Jason’s and Tasha’s, were tucked in the trunk.

Jason pulled the pen knife out of his jacket pocket and pushed the button on its side. A blade shot out the front, gleaming in the late morning sunlight.

Even though it wasn’t much against a gun or even a larger knife, he felt better with a weapon, any weapon, in his hand. If someone found them, Jason would tell Elena to run, and do all he could to hold them off. He wouldn’t be able to get very far with his leg, anyway.

Elena looked at herself in the mirror. “I look terrible. I wish I hadn’t left my lipstick in the truck.” She pursed her lips ruefully.

“You don’t need lipstick,” he said. “You look…just as good without it.”

“I doubt it.” She smoothed back her hair, though the curls just popped back into their unruly place, then let out a frustrated word in Muldavian. “I’m sorry, Jason. It’s not like any of this matters. What does it matter what I look like? We don’t even know if we’re going to get out of this alive and—here I’m worried about my hair!” She laughed.

“You look great, just the way you are.”

“So do you.” Her ice-blue eyes drew him in; her lips enticed him. It took nearly superhuman effort to break the spell by turning away. Before he could allow their relationship to go further, he wanted to know more about her. And if they got out Muldavia, she might come back to America with him, and then—but he was getting ahead of himself.

He ran his fingers through his hair, his mind suddenly blank. What should he ask her? He felt nervous, which had less to do with the dangerous situation they were in than the fact that he’d almost kissed her.

She spoke first. “Jason,” she said, as if she’d read his mind, “We have some time on our hands. We should make the most of it.”

“What do you mean?”

She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I mean, I don’t know much about you. I’d like to know about the real you, not your fake communist profile.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Did you really grow up in Virginia?”

“No, but I live near there now. I grew up in a small town called Odyssey. Well, we didn’t move there until I was in junior high. At first, I lived in Chicago, until—“ A pang of sorrow hit him.

“Until what?”

“My brother died. In Vietnam.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Jason.” Her eyes brimmed with sympathy.

“It’s been almost fifteen years….but sometimes it feels like it just happened.”

“I know what that’s like.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “My father died ten years ago.”

“I’m…sorry,” he said, knowing how inadequate such words were.

“He died from pneumonia. He was susceptible to it after—Von Warberg exiled him. When he came back, he was never the same. He was in the army, and he always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, but he died from a disease. He wasted away and I was there as he died—I held his hand—“ Her whole body trembled. He slid over to the middle seat, and put his arm around her shoulder. Held her as she shook with sobs, her warm body fitting snugly against him. He stroked her cheek, brushed away a hot tear.

“You must hate Von Warberg for what he did to your father.”

“If he was here right now, I’d kill him.”

He was surprised at her vehemence—she was usually so good-natured, but he didn’t blame her. To grow up under such a regime—he couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through. But she had one thing he didn’t. Maybe he could comfort her with that.

“At least you were there,” he said.

“What?”

“At least you were there, with your father when he died. He must have been comforted, having you with him.”

She turned to look at him, tears glistening across her freckles. “You’re right. He…he loved me so much, and I—I stayed with him, for days, right to the end.”

“It’s more than I had.”

“You couldn’t have been with your brother.”

“I know. But I could have been with Mom—“ The pain hit him, piercing his heart. “I was out, travelling the world, and I barely even knew she was sick. By the time I got back….I was too late. I know she knew I loved her, but I just wish I could have told her that, before—“ A tear escaped before he could stop it.

Elena reached up, wiped away the tear. “You have had so much sorrow in your life.”

“No—well, yes, but all in all, I had a pretty happy childhood—and a pretty good life, all around. Wonderful parents, great brother and sister—and now I have a little niece and nephew. Not so little now…”

“Tell me about them.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. I want to know everything about you, Jason Whittaker.”

He laughed. “Only if you return the favor.”

She touched a finger to her chin. “I’ll have to think about that. Oh, okay. You have a deal.”

“Hm. Where should I start?”

“How about your father? I’d like to know about him.”

“My father. Well, his name is John Whittaker, but people call him Whit. And he owns an ice cream shop in Odyssey, but that’s not all he does.”

“What else does he do?”

“Well, he’s the reason I went into the NSA. He worked for the government for a while….”

And he told her about his father, and then she told stories about hers—how her face lit up, when she remembered him. And for a while, he even forgot that they were hiding in a broken-down car in the middle of the Muldavian wilderness, waiting for Tasha to return and rescue them.
-
Tasha reached a row of farms near the edge of the town. Maybe one of these places would have a car battery, and then she wouldn’t have to go into the town, which could turn into a deathtrap. But she had to find a battery; otherwise, they’d have to go on foot, and with Jason’s injury, they probably would be captured.

We were supposed to be out of this country by now, she thought, sidling up to a barn wall, its peeling red paint rubbing off on her shirt. If only Jason hadn’t been so reckless with our lives, our mission—but he wasn’t even thinking about that. He wasn’t thinking at all, just following his feelings. And now he’s doing the same with Elena...

Standing on a brick broken off of the foundation, she peered into the barn window. With any luck, there’d be a battery sitting around and she could take it, and leave some of the money that Nikola had given them…

The barn looked deserted; a tractor sat in the center of it, and hay bales were stacked along the walls. Tasha crept inside. Some tools hung along the wall, and she walked over to them, and selected a wrench and a pliers. Then she searched for a battery, but all she could find was an old rusted tractor battery in the corner. She left a few bills on the bench underneath a hammer, and she was about to walk back out, when she stopped short. A man stood in the doorway, his features shadowed in the filtered light of the barn.

He spoke some words in Muldavian; she shook her head. “What are you doing?” he said, in English, with a strong accent. “Who are you?”

“I just needed some tools and—I left some money for them.” She gestured to the bench.

“What tools did you take?”

She pulled them out of her pocket. He walked toward her cautiously, and took them from her. He set them back on the bench, and picked up the bills.

“I’m sorry. My car broke down and—“

“Ah.” He narrowed his eyes. She noticed he still hadn’t handed her money back. “You are a long way from home, aren’t you?”

“Please, I just need to get back—I can pay you more.” She reached in the pocket of her jacket. “I also need a car battery.” She handed the bills to the man, who took them, flipped through them while glancing at her warily.

“How far away is your car?”

“About two miles.” She gestured vaguely in the opposite direction that she’d come.
“And you want to carry a car battery all the way back there?”

“If I have to. I can put it in this backpack.”

“Do you know how to install it?”

She nodded. She didn’t want to mention the others; he probably already suspected she was a fugitive. She had heard it blasted all over the state-controlled radio in the car.

“Well, it looks like I will be able to help you. I have some car batteries in the shed. Come with me.”

“Can I take the tools?”

“Go ahead.”

She picked them back up from the bench, and followed him out into the yard. A clothesline ran from the blue house to the shed, where about five cars were parked. She would have thought that a farmer wouldn’t be able to afford so many.

He gestured to the cars. “I fix cars in my spare time. That is why I have the extra batteries.”

Just as they reached the shed, the door to the house squealed open. Tasha froze.

A girl, about ten or eleven, ran down the steps, reddish brown hair flying behind her. She stopped and looked at Tasha, and then asked her father something in Muldavian.

Her father answered in English. “She needs help with a car.”

“Oh,” said the girl. “Are you from the city?”

Tasha nodded. The fewer people who heard her American accent the better.

“Are you looking for the—what is the English word, Papa?”

“Fugitives,” said her father.

Tasha nodded again. She felt trapped; the kind of claustrophobia she experienced on a plane was creeping up on her. She had to get out of here, as soon as possible.

“Mama wants you to get some things from town when you go. Can I—“

“Just a moment, Lara. I need to get this customer on her way.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Just in here,” said the man. He opened the shed door; Tasha hesitated. He smiled, and she followed, though it felt like something was tightening around her throat, cutting off her supply of air. She needed that battery, and hoped against hope that he was as amiable as he seemed.

She stood by the door as he walked along the wall and picked up a battery. “How does this one look?” he asked.

“Looks like the right size,” she said.

“Are you sure you want to install it? I could drive out there with you. What you gave me already covers the cost.”

“No, that’s okay.” She took the battery; its weight dragged down her arms. With effort, she lifted it up and slid it inside the backpack.

The man stepped out the door. Before she could walk out after him, he slammed it shut.

She pushed against the door; it wouldn’t move. Then she shoved it with all her strength, but it still didn’t open.

Panic gripped her; she closed her eyes, trying to stay calm, but all she could think was that she was locked inside, and there was no way out.
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Doll
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And the plot thickens. :o

I really like it so far! :D
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~Queen Belle of Altanovia, Knight of Montreal & Order of Aristotle, Benevolent Dictator, Catspaw of the SS, & Dan's couch troll~
~"I’ve always found you to be a good person to disagree with." - Eleventh Doctor~
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Ameraka
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Thanks God's Girl! :D
Here is another chapter.

Chapter 14

Outside, the man and his daughter spoke in Muldavian; she could only make out the few words that she’d picked up, including zama, the word for fugitive.

Tasha sat down on the hood of the cannibalized car, leaned her head in her hands, fighting off lightheadedness. She felt faint, but she knew that panicking was the least helpful thing she could do right now.

She normally only felt this way when flying, but the danger combined with the confined space had probably triggered it. She mentally kicked herself; she’d had a premonition he might be lying, but she’d dismissed her intuition, which had turned out to be a serious error.

Maybe I can find a way out of here, she thought. There were no windows in the shed; it was made out of sheets of corrugated metal, cracks letting in sunlight. Maybe there was a weakness she could exploit….

She made her way around the shed. The floor was concrete; otherwise she would have tried to dig through it. One of the corners seemed promising—it bent outwards, and a crack appeared at the bottom where the two sides joined. If she could make it wider, she could crawl through….

She found some old leather gloves inside the car, and knelt on the ground and got to work, pushing on the metal. The metal was stronger than it looked; it would push outwards then spring back before the crack got much wider. She tried pulling it up from the bottom, but even with the gloves, the metal cut into her fingers. She sat back on the dusty floor, wondering if there was a better way to do this.

Of course. She still had the tools in her backpack. She pulled out the pliers, and gripped the bottom of the metal sheet, curving it inwards. It slipped off with a twang; she reattached the pliers, and pulled with all her strength.

A millimeter higher. At this rate, she’d be out by next week…

For the next few hours, she wrestled with the metal. The wall seemed to get stronger further from the edges, but she progressed, millimeter by millimeter. It looked almost wide enough to crawl under, if she didn’t mind her back getting scraped…

A knock on the door.

She stood. “Come in,” she said, wondering why someone would knock in the first place, but glad they had.

A woman stepped through the doorway, holding a tray. “I have brought you some lunch,” she said, standing near the door.

Tasha walked toward her cautiously and took the tray. A thought flashed across her mind: she could throw the tray, leap out the door. But even if her escape route wasn’t almost finished, she couldn’t do something like that to someone who was being kind to her, even if she didn’t trust her. It was simpler to just try to escape through the crack when night fell, and get the battery back to Jason and Elena.

On the tray, there was a steaming bowl of soup, a sandwich with a thick slice of ham, and a piece of pie. “Thank you,” said Tasha.

“You’re welcome,” said the woman. She had brown hair, with hints of gray, and she was short with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. “I am sorry for what we have done to you. My husband wanted to take the bounty for you, but I will try to convince him otherwise when he returns from town. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your food.”

“It looks very good,” said Tasha.

“I’m Elsa, by the way,” said the woman, giving her a smile.

“I’m Tasha.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.”

“I want you to know that we are not bad people. My husband, Ezra, would not hurt a fly. The last time we kept pigs, he would not butcher them, and we had to sell them to the neighbors. That’s who the ham comes from.” She gestured to the sandwich. “But we need the money. Even I considered—but no, we can’t keep you here. It is just that our son is sick, and—“ A tear glistened in her eye; she shook her head, as if to ward off the sorrow. “I will come out later and check on you.”

And she walked out the door, and shut it with a click of the lock.

Tasha sat down on the dusty seat of the car, and sipped some of the soup. It was hot and creamy, with chunks of potatoes. The sandwich was made of crisp crust and soft bread, with salty, tender ham. She devoured the food in a few minutes, before realizing they might have poisoned it. But even though Ezra had locked her in the shed, she didn’t think they were bad people. And Elsa—she seemed like a genuinely kind woman. They were just desperate.

Tasha wasn’t going to wait for them to make up their minds, however. She ate the pie—apple topped with buttery crumbles—then she resumed her task of bending the metal wall.

It was getting dark, and the space looked just wide enough to crawl under. She picked up the pack, and set it down near the opening. She knelt on the concrete.

The door swung open. A man wearing a military uniform stepped through. She dove for the opening; it scraped her back, cutting into it. He grabbed her ankle, dragging her back inside. She kicked him in the face. He let out a yell, and slammed a pistol across her jaw.

Sparks burst across her vision. Pain stabbed through her jaw; she tasted blood. He aimed his pistol at her.

“Who are you?” he said.

She tried to speak, but couldn’t.

He grabbed her wrist and half-dragged her to the door, the pistol pressed against her neck. By the time he pulled her up the steps to the house, her vision was back to normal, but her jaw throbbed with pain. She wiped her mouth; blood streaked the back of her hand.

Through the dark hallway, Elsa was working over the stove in the kitchen. She gasped when she saw them. “Jensen, what is this?”

“I found this woman trying to steal something from the shed.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. She’s one of the fugitives.”

“You knew about it?” He loosened his grip on her arm, ever so slightly.

“Your father found her. He was going to…sell her to the security forces.”

“What’s going on in—“ Ezra appeared in the doorway. Lara peeked out behind him, her dark eyes wide with curiosity.

“Pa,” said Jensen. “Were you going to sell her to them?”

“I—it was for you.”

Jensen let go of Tasha’s arm. She rubbed it where he’d twisted it. He tucked his pistol in his belt. “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing at her, “I thought you were a thief.”

“You—don’t care I am a fugitive?” she managed.

“I should turn you in—but I am not on their side, despite—this.” He touched his uniform. “Pa, I know you mean well, but even if I was dying, I would not take blood money. You know what they would do to her. I see enough of it every day—“ He coughed. The cough was deep and harsh. He kept coughing, and Elsa and Ezra helped him to the dining room table. Tasha followed them, not sure what to do.

Lara held his hand, kneeling beside him. “It’ll be okay, Jen. I love you. It’ll be okay.” A tear streaked down her cheek. He coughed into a handkerchief; blood spotted it. Elsa went into the kitchen and brought some golden liquid in a cup; he drank it, and the coughing subsided. “Thank you, Mama,” he breathed.

“Get better, my child,” she said. She looked at Tasha. “It’s the prison camp, I know it.”

“He works there?” ventured Tasha.

She nodded. “At Zohr. They do top secret projects—mining and processing uranium. The
dust gets in their lungs. The prisoners die—the soldiers die slower, since they are able to leave part of the day. My little boy is in there—and they won’t station him somewhere else. They won’t even give him treatment, because they deny what’s going on.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “That’s not the worst of it, Mama. What I see in there—Today, there was a prisoner who was sick, like me. He was coughing—he couldn’t work. But the guard—what did he do? He beat him—kicked him to the ground. I tried to help him, but I got pulled away, and reprimanded for it. The only reason he was probably in there was for speaking what most of us are thinking.” He took a deep breath, as if speaking took a lot out of him. He looked pale, dark shadows under his eyes; though he was handsome and strong, the disease looked like it was taking its toll. “I am glad of what you are doing,” he said, looking at Tasha. “I only wish I had the courage to do the same.”

“They would kill you,” said Ezra.

“It might be worth it. If enough of us had the courage to rise up—maybe we could sweep them away….”

“I pray for that day,” said Elsa. “But—this is selfish—I don’t want you to help start it. You’re my son. I can’t lose you—and I can’t lose Lara. But at the same time, I hate myself for doing nothing.”

Tasha wondered how many felt like Elsa—wanting to do something but too afraid to, not wanting to risk their families. “You are doing something,” she said. “You did not turn me in. Thank you.”

Elsa gave a small smile. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It is almost ready—“ She darted into the kitchen. Tasha followed her.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have to get going.”

Elsa opened the oven. A pie was baking on its rack. She took it out, steaming and bubbling gravy through its slits. She set it on top of the stove. “It is probably for the best. I will give you some provisions before you leave.”

She opened the cupboard. “What do you need?”

Tasha thought for a moment. They had some food, but more couldn’t hurt. “I think—“ she began.

Headlights streaked the window pane. Two trucks pulled into the driveway. Uniformed men jumped out.

“It’s the army!” said Elsa. “Go—there’s a cellar door out the back. I’ll try to stall them!”

Tasha dashed to the dining room. “Where’s the cellar?”

Jensen stood. “I’ll take you.” He grasped her hand. They ran down the stairs into the musty-smelling cellar, crates of potatoes stacked against the wall. He coughed into his arm, gasping. She followed him up the cellar steps, and he unlocked the door that led to the outside. He grasped her hand, his grip still strong despite his illness. “I wish you good luck,” he said. “Sorry about—you know. Hitting you.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “Thank you for this.”

He shrugged. “It is something I could actually do.”

She lifted the door, crept out into the grass.

“Wait!” said Lara, running up to Jensen. “Here. Papa said to give her this key. It’s to the gray car. He said Jan owes him anyway.” Jensen handed the key to Tasha. She took it, and lowered the cellar door, shutting out Lara with her long auburn hair and thin Jensen in his tan uniform.

But how was she going to get the car? She snuck around the side of the house. The two army trucks looked unoccupied; perhaps all of the soldiers had gone into the house.

She couldn’t stick around. If they found her here, she’d implicate this family. At least they could claim she stole a car if she took one—

She dashed toward the shed. It was too dark to tell which one was gray. But one was lighter than the others. Risking it, she twisted the key in the ignition. It rumbled to life.

She backed the car out of the driveway, hoping they wouldn’t hear from the house. Then, she spun it in the gravel and headed down the road.

A shout from the house. In the rear view mirror, a man ran down the steps, followed by others who ran toward their trucks.

She floored the accelerator.

Dust flew as she raced down the road. In the dim light she could make out the trucks following her at full speed.

She dared the accelerator to reach 100 mph, even though she knew that on a gravel road, it could easily spin out of control and crash into the ditch in a mangled wreck.

She followed the road till she reached the place where she’d left Jason and Elena, and pulled the car to a stop. She honked the horn, rolling down the window. “Jason! Get in!”

For a moment, no one appeared. Maybe they had left, which would be really foolish. But then a figure emerged—Jason—and another—Elena, Jason holding her hand. They jumped into the back seat, and the car roared down the road, heading toward the border. The army trucks raced closer, automatic gunshots ripping the air.
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GratiaDei
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This is a really great story! The plot is exciting, and I can actually feel myself getting caught up in it, quite an accomplishment. This is getting very suspenseful. Keep up the great work!
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Ameraka
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Thanks! I hope it keeps up the suspense. The middle has been kind of hard to write for some reason; I have it basically plotted out, but unforeseen things pop up that make me have to change it, and then I have to readjust everything. But maybe now that I'm past the midway point the going will get smoother (not for our characters I'm afraid. :) )

Chapter 15

Bullets shattered the rear windshield. "Get down!" Jason said, helping Elena crouch down below the seats with him. "Are you okay?" She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.

The car sped faster, and dust flew into it. Glass rattled on the leather seat, some of it blowing into Jason's face. He turned toward the back of Tasha's seat to shield himself.

Dear God, he prayed, help us to escape. He and Tasha were trained agents, but Elena was just a brave woman who had tried to help, and now she was mixed up in this mess. He didn't want to think about what would happen to them if they were caught, but he would protect her at his expense, if at all possible.

He grasped her hand; she squeezed it back.

They sped up into the foothills. "The border should be close," said Tasha.

"There will be checkpoints!" said Elena.

"If I can't find a way to drive past them, we might have to leave the car."

The gunshots receded into the distance. Jason took a deep breath; he didn't know if he'd breathed during that whole altercation.

They wound up into the hills, the car shifting gear, chugging up the road.

"There's a checkpoint up ahead," said Tasha. "I've got to stop."

"We can't stop!" said Elena.

"We have to. I don't think they've seen us yet; I kept the headlights off. We've lost the trucks. Now's the best time."

"It'll be okay," said Jason, though he didn't know if he believed it. He took Elena's hand and helped her out of the car, and he grabbed his pack, the only one left since Tasha had left hers at the house she'd escaped from.

They followed Tasha into the woods. Pain shot through Jason's leg; he'd left his crutches in the broken-down car when Tasha had picked them up.

Tasha led them in a zigzagging course through the darkness; branches scratched at his arms and face. Harsh voices echoed behind them.

"They must have found the car," said Tasha. "Come on." She sprinted through the woods; Jason could barely make her out in the dim moonlight. He followed, never letting go of Elena's hand, his heart pounding, pain shooting through his ankle.

Voices neared, heavy footsteps running through leaves.

Tasha stopped. "Wait!" she said, when Elena kept walking. She held out her hand; Elena stopped, inches from barbed wire.

Tasha knelt beside the wooden post, where the wire was highest from the ground. She motioned them forward, and Jason followed. Elena knelt in the dirt, and crawled under the fence. Her skirt snagged on a low hanging part of the wire.

Lights flashed through the darkness, moving steadily closer.

Jason tried to pull Elena's skirt off of the barb, but it wouldn't move. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for the pen knife, and sliced a slit through the fabric. She crawled through and he helped her up, and they raced through a small clearing.

A light flicked on from a guard tower along the fence.

"Run!" said Jason, and they tore through the woods, stumbling over rocks and fallen branches. Elena tripped, and fell headlong into the dead leaves.

"Ow!" she shrieked.

Jason knelt beside her. "Come on." He helped her up; she gasped.

"I think my ankle is sprained," she said. She took a step forward, and faltered again. "Maybe you should just leave me here."

"I'm not leaving you," said Jason. "If it comes down to it, I'll stay with you and let Tasha go on ahead."

"Jason," said Tasha, "you know what they'll do to us if we're caught. I'll carry you both if I have to. Now let's go." She grasped Jason's wrist, pulled him to his feet.

They carried Elena between them; Jason's ankle protested the extra weight, pain bursting through it with each step. But he pushed on, up a hill, as soldiers shouted through the woods and flashlights lanced through the trees.

They veered to the right—and almost stumbled off a cliff. The sliver of a moon barely illuminated the forested valley below.

Jason led them toward a small ledge along the upper edge of the cliff, hoping that the soldiers would lose their trail rather than trap them there.

The ledge slanted downwards, and Jason pressed close to the rock. Rocks crumbled beneath their feet, tumbling down the mountain.

Elena stopped. "I can't do this."

He put a hand on her back. She was trembling.

"Yes you can," he said. "Look—it gets wider further down."

"I—just can't move."

"I've got you," he said, taking her arm in his, lacing his fingers through hers. He nudged her forward, and she inched along the edge, her whole body shaking so much that he thought she might send them both hurtling off the cliff.

"Look!" said Tasha behind him. "I think there's a cave up ahead."

A black hole yawned in the face of the rock. They crept toward it and stepped inside, and it swallowed them whole.

-
Light streamed in through the window, hitting Jason' closed eyelids; he turned over to shut it out.

But when he moved, aches shot through his muscles like electric shocks. His ankle felt like fire had bored a hole through it.

He opened his eyes. Beside him lay a woman, her back to him, her head lying on a backpack. Her golden hair, glistening with morning sunlight, flowed onto the dusty ground. Was it Gloria? No—Elena. His mind zoomed back to the present.

The race through the night in the car, then on foot through the woods, and finally down the ledge to the cave. They were fugitives, and they were still in an enemy country, though not the one that they'd been spying in.

Jason struggled to sit up. Just a few yards away, sunlight hit the back wall. At the mouth of the cave, Tasha crouched, silhouetted against the sky.

"So you're awake," she said, without looking at him. "Good. It's about eight o'clock Muldavian time."

"I was out for that long?"

"You had a good reason for it."

He got to his feet; pain shot through his ankle. He sank to his knees.

"I should have a look at that," said Tasha. She left the mouth of the cave and walked over to him. He sat down along the wall, and she rolled up his pant leg. As she unwound the bandage, he gasped in pain, gritting his teeth to hold back a cry.

She grimaced. "It looks swollen. It's been bleeding again. And it could be infected." She grabbed some things further back in the cave and returned. "We've got to make our water last as long as possible, until the patrols have moved on. I'll have to use these." She ripped open an alcohol pad and swabbed the wound. Fire raged into it; he clenched his fists. Tears sprang to his eyes.

"There," she said. "We'll have to use these sparingly too." She tucked the other packet into her pocket. Then she wound the bandage back around his leg.

"Thank you," said Jason.

She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "You're welcome. I don't want you dying on me now that I've gotten you this far."

"How long do you think we should stay here?" Jason wasn't in much of a hurry to move for a while.

"Probably a couple days. I might have to go out and get some water soon—what we have won't last long."

"Do you think she'll be okay?" He gestured toward Elena, still sleeping further inside the cave.

"It didn't seem like any more than a sprain when I bound it up last night," Tasha said, turning her head. For the first time, the light hit the left side of her face. A dark bruise marred it.

"Are you okay?" He reached for her face; she flinched back, but his fingers brushed her chin, skirting the edge of the bruise.

"I'm okay," she said. "It was an accident—the boy at the farm thought I was a thief."

"I didn't get a chance to hear what happened there."

"They locked me in a shed, and I tried to escape. Then their son came home, and he thought I was stealing something, so—"

"So he hit you?"

She nodded. "I don't blame him, really. It was his house, he was a soldier—"

"A soldier?"

"He works at Zohr. Elsa—the woman at the farm—said that they're mining uranium there. It's making the prisoners and the guards sick, but they won't do anything about it. Elsa's husband wanted to take the bounty for me at first, so Jensen—the soldier—could get medical treatment."

"How did you escape?"

"They let me go. Jensen wouldn't let his parents take the money for me. Then the army showed up, and I escaped out the cellar. They let me have the car."

"So….that's why you showed up with a car instead of just a battery. And Stefan—Rovann's son—is at Zohr…He's probably sick by now."

"He probably won't survive unless something happens to shut the camp down. Soon."

"I wish we could do it."

"So do I." Passion stirred in her dark eyes, the same passion he felt for these people's freedom. But they couldn't do anything now. They were in a cave somewhere in Czechoslovakia, being hunted by soldiers. They couldn't even save themselves; how could they even consider saving anyone else? Like Tasha had said—advice he should have heeded: they would just have to be objective, treat this as just another mission, and hope their efforts would play a part in the overall strategy of overthrowing communism. Although, for some, salvation would come too late….

Tasha rose, cut some bread and cheese, and made some sandwiches. Elena woke, yawned and stretched; Jason helped her to sit up, and gave her some water. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome. Are you okay, Elena?"

"I feel very stiff. But otherwise—" She tried to stand; her leg faltered, and she collapsed. Jason caught her in his arms. He helped lower her back to the ground.

"Neither of you will be going anywhere for a while," said Tasha. "Let me take a look at that ankle."

Tasha inspected Elena's ankle; it looked swollen, bruised. Worry seized Jason's heart. "It's not broken, is it?" he asked.

"I don't think so," said Tasha. "Just a severe sprain. Ideally, she should be off of it for several days at least."

"We'll be here that long?"

"Unless the soldiers find us."

"If they do, our injuries will be the least of our worries."

Tasha gave him a sharp look. "They'll use our injuries against us, I'm afraid."

"You're talking like it's going to happen," said Elena, fear in her voice.

"Not if I can help it. But we have to be prepared for any contingency. As soon as I can, I'll go to the nearest town and contact Donovan. He'll either send a helicopter to an extraction point, or he'll leave us to fend for ourselves, if the risk is too great. We knew the risks, after all."

"Not Elena," said Jason. "She didn't ask for this."

"She helped you. This is her reward."

"But—"

"I know, it's a twisted world where standing up for what's right gets you in trouble. But if you had just kept to the mission parameters, Jason, she wouldn't have had to rescue you."

"I'm sorry, Tasha."

"It's Elena that you should say you're sorry to."

"I'm sorry, Elena. I–"

"It's okay. Even after all that's happened, I'd still help you escape. I don't regret a thing." Her blue eyes caught his. He longed to embrace her, but he didn't think it would be appropriate, especially with Tasha present.

Tasha handed them each a sandwich, and they ate in silence.

Jason finished his sandwich; he was still hungry, but they had to conserve food as much as possible now. "If—when—we escape," he asked Elena, "do you want to come back to America with us?"

"She may not have a choice," said Tasha.

"What do you mean?"

"She's been too involved with us. She'll have to be debriefed."

"But she's a civilian."

"The Agency is very thorough."

"I want to come with you," said Elena. "For now, anyway. I don't know if I could stand being away from Muldavia for long—even now, I can feel that I'm not in my country anymore. But I…don't know if I'll be able to come back."

Tasha said, "I have a feeling that Muldavia, like other communist countries, is going to be changing for the better soon."

"You think so?" said Elena, her eyes lighting up.

Tasha nodded, and took the last bite of her sandwich, as if she'd been making it last, unlike Jason, who'd pretty much devoured his. It was too bad that they couldn't have taken a transmitter with them to contact Headquarters, and a helicopter would have come by now to rescue them right from the mouth of the cave….

They spent the rest of the day resting, and at night, when cold came, they made a small fire. Tasha took the two water bottles to find more water.

"Be careful," said Tasha. She handed Jason the camera gun.

"They're more likely to find you out there."

"If they find me, I can run. You two are easy targets; with a weapon, you can hold them off."

"As long as I have bullets."

She looked at him, a solemn look in her eyes. "Make them count, Jason." She pressed the gun into his hand; their fingers brushed, and her hand lingered against his for a moment. Then she dashed out the cave, and was gone into the night.
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My book, Justice Lost, is on Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JM1XFCI
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Ameraka
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I am posting a lot today. :D

warning perhaps: Romantic-ishy stuff in this chapter....

Chapter 16

"It's a beautiful night," said Jason, looking up at the stars near the mouth of the cave. Elena sat beside him, her legs curved up under her flowing skirt, just one bare foot peeking beneath the hem. He refocused on the stars, the dandelion-fuzz of the Milky Way spread out against the immense blackness of the sky. In the west, beyond the dark chasm of the valley, the lights of a small town glowed like a miniature galaxy. A breeze blew against Jason's face; it was cold but brisk, invigorating. He felt like he could do anything, even though in the back of his mind, he knew that he could not even run away from his enemies if they came.

"It's funny," said Elena. "I don't feel afraid."

"I've got my camera to protect us," said Jason. He tapped it, where it lay over his heart.

"It's not just that. I'm normally afraid of heights. But after you helped me down into the cave last night—I don't know. I should be afraid right now. But I feel like I could stand up, fly off the edge like an eagle—" She laughed.

"Don't try that," said Jason, as she inched forward.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to fly off the edge. But if you're with me, I think I can do this—" She held out her hand toward him.

He crawled to the edge of the cliff and sat beside her. She slipped one foot, then the other, over the lip of the rock a thousand feet above the valley. Jason grasped her arm, afraid she might fall. But she laughed, grabbed his hand, pulled him closer. He sat carefully on the rock, dangling his legs over the edge. His heart thumped hard against his chest; he wasn't usually afraid of this kind of thing, but Elena was in a strange mood; he didn't want her to hurt herself, or pull him down with her.

As he sat there, her arm warm against his, he gradually relaxed. She tipped her head back, her unbound hair flowing down over her shoulders. He plunged with her into the vast ocean of stars. They swam through its marvels, its glittering depths, diving further, further—drinking it in.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed.

He leaned in closer, almost unconsciously; she smelled of wilderness and spring flowers. She turned toward him, stars gazing from the depths of her eyes. She looked surprised, cautious; she turned away from him again, but her fingers pressed into his.

She shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked. "We could go back to the fire." He glanced back; the fire, blown by the breeze, had dissolved into glowing coals.

She shook her head. "I want to stay here. With you."

Her face upturned toward his. Her eyes, as deep as the ocean of stars. Her golden hair, silver in the starlight. Her open, trusting face, so beautiful—her full lips, slightly parted—

He leaned in toward her, and this time she did not turn away. His lips met hers.

Her lips were as soft as just-unfolded petals; warm, smooth, welcoming. His hand trembled as he touched her beautiful face; he pulled back for just a moment, drank in her luminous skin, entrancing eyes that burned like coals fallen from a star. She caressed his face with her hand, slid her fingers into his hair. Tentatively, she kissed his cheek next to his ear, then down to his chin; she looked up at him invitingly and he pressed his lips to hers once more. Fire raged through him; he'd wanted her kisses for what had seemed like an eternity, and now he had her. He trembled with desire, fear surging through him at his overwhelming feelings. Yet he needed to gather her warm soft body in his arms, protect this fragile, beautiful form—

Clink! A sharp sound, like a stone kicked down a slope. Jason shot up, ignoring his injured leg. Completely tense, he grasped the camera gun and crept back into the cave, taking Elena with him.

"What is it?" she said.

"Hopefully nothing," he replied, though fear churned through him.

-

Tasha's heart drummed hard against her chest. She pressed back against the wall of rock, heat flashing up and down her skin, shaking as if she'd just gone through some trauma.

But it was nothing. Nothing! Not as if she hadn't suspected something like this would happen. And it didn't—shouldn't—matter to her. It was between Jason and Elena whether they wanted to get romantically entangled or not. It might not be best for the mission—seeing as how oblivious they had been to her presence, they'd probably have been just as oblivious to an enemy's. She could have jumped in there, broken them up on those grounds, forbade them to progress further in their relationship. But instead, she'd crept back into the shadows—for what? To give them privacy? Did she care that much about it—or was it something even worse? Something that—

I can't even consider that, she thought. But when she'd seen them embracing, kissing along the ledge of the cliff, seemingly oblivious to the thousand foot drop a few feet away—something had ripped through her heart like a gunshot. She'd frozen in place, unable to cope with what her eyes were telling her. And then, she ran, like a silly schoolgirl who'd just seen her crush kissing someone else—

I shouldn't be feeling this. But all attempts to destroy those feelings had only resulted in their resurgence—until this explosion. She walked in a daze back up the rocky path, not wanting to think about the images burned across her mind.

The horrible truth stabbed her heart: Jason loves Elena. He could never love me.

But why does that matter so much? Do I really love him?

She stumbled along in the dark, almost not caring if someone found her. She clutched the trunk of a tree, and stood there. What had it felt like the last time she'd been in love? She'd tried to forget it; it had ended in a bad experience, not to mention it was impractical in this line of work. She'd all but dismissed its possibility; shoved it back into a corner, to lie dormant, possibly for years while she focused on more useful, less painful, things.

She doubted that Jason would ever turn into another Robert, although you could never tell, could you? But Jason was too naïve; it was more likely that he'd get taken advantage of by someone than the other way around.

Maybe it's Elena, thought Tasha. Maybe she's trying to—

To what? What possible advantage could she get from getting hunted down, just so she could get close to Jason? She was on their side, she wasn't a-

No, that was too preposterous. Calm down, she told herself. You're going to get us all killed. She hadn't paid attention to her surroundings in the last fifteen minutes or so. A soldier could have crept up on her, and she wouldn't have noticed until it was too late. I've got to get a handle on this. I can't let this control me, not at this point when we're so close to freedom….

She tugged the loose backpack strap back up on her shoulder, and turned to head back down to the cave.

She froze.

A man stood a few feet away, aiming a rifle aimed at her head.
Avatar by girlster93 (tumblr)

My book, Justice Lost, is on Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JM1XFCI
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