Apocalypse Before Finals, Julie Steimle [black authors fiction txt] 📗

slammed her hand on the table. "Look at the map!"

He stared at where she was pointing and made a face. "What is it? I don't see anything?"

Alea Salvar also leaned in, but mostly nudge Jafarr out because Zormna wasn't talking to him even though it was his father they were planning to rescue.

"Look at the shed! See that? See the wall behind it?" Zormna's voice rose with excitement.

Jafarr squinted. "You mean that space?"

Zormna nodded. "You remember when I said I remember that shed as a kid? Do you know what I remember about that shed?"

Both boys shook their heads. Salvar mostly did it to keep in the conversation. "No..."

She pointed hard at the digital map then enlarged it. It didn't show any more detail but she gestured at it dramatically. "I saw people go in the shed but not come out. Jafarr, Salvar, there is a room back there."

Both boys blinked.

"Where is the best place to hide someone? I think this is where the Kevin is," Zormna declared at last.

Jafarr glanced at her and then looked at Alea Salvar who did not seem so confident that she was right. Alea Salvar peered at the map, inspecting other parts.

"Are you sure? There are so many rooms there. He could be in any one of them," Alea Salvar said.

"I'd bet my life on it," Zormna replied, nodding.

Jafarr closed his mouth and glanced once more at the map. He then looked to Alea Salvar. "I have an idea," he said keeping a polite distance from the Alea. "You can go to the museum with a handful of Surface Patrol officers demanding for your father--"

"But wouldn't that ruin everything? They would just kill him," Salvar objected immediately.

Jafarr shook his head. "Just hear me out."

Zormna nodded, waiting.

"Zormna can go with you, dressed in, oh, say... an Aver's uniform, wearing a helmet so they can't tell who she is. You can bring other officers as you like. I'll sneak in somehow, maybe as a seer or something. Mr. Demmon tells me they mourn at the royal wall in the museum near the paintings of the old queen and king," Jafarr explained. "...As they think all the Tarrns are dead."

Alea Salvar had folded his arms, listening grudgingly. Yet Jafarr could tell he was listening. He even seemed more interested when Jafarr suggested Zormna go with Alea Salvar's team.

"You can get them to let in three people, maybe four. They'll probably let you send some Avers, no one of rank. Your officers can go to pre-selected areas of the museum to look for your father. And Zormna can go and test her theory. They probably won't let you go in since you are Zeta and the Kevin's son, but you can at least provide a distraction for those looking for him. What do you say?" Jafarr then stepped back with folded arms and waited for Salvar to respond.

Despite how reasonable the plan sounded, Alea Salvar glared skeptically at him and replied, "And what will you do in there? You didn't say that."

Jafarr blinked. "I would have thought that was obvious. I'm going with Zormna. I'm not leaving her alone in there."

Both Salvar and Zormna glared at him.

"I can handle myself," Zormna snapped the same time Salvar said, "She doesn't need your help." They exchanged a look and smirked.

Jafarr only lifted his eyebrows. "Zormna is still the last Tarrn, and I will not let her go at it alone. End of story, end of argument--and don't fight me on this."

Both of them glared at Jafarr. Alea Salvar had opened his mouth to give Jafarr a piece of his mind, but Zormna only sighed and folded her arms. "Fine."

"Fine?" Alea Salvar turned and gaped at her. "Since when do you give in so easily? What happened to you? What has he done to you?"

Zormna let out a strong sigh and blinked, shaking her head. "Nothing he did. Don't be paranoid, Salvar." She then turned to Jafarr and said, "So? When do we start?"

Jafarr smiled and gazed at Alea Salvar. "That's up to him."

Still angry, the red-haired Zeta district leader's eyes shot daggers at his dark-haired rebel counterpart. Yet he peeked to Zormna who waited next him with folded arms and an expectant gaze. He gave up.

"Ok, all right. Let's start...."

 

Chapter Thirteen: First Aid

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What we consider genius is often nothing more than luck.  - anon -

 

The soldiers dragged Brian, Mark and Jonathan back to the fourth floor classroom. They took Darren somewhere else. The boys didn't see where. The men that carried Brian dropped him onto the floor just inside the door and kicked him once to close the door. 

Brian panted, clutching his sides. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks from the blistering pain he felt all over his back. Jonathan immediately jumped down, and with Mark, they lifted Brian off the floor to the mats under the bookshelf.

"See if Mrs. Ryant has a first aid kit," Jonathan said to Mark.

Mark nodded and got up from the floor quickly. He went over to her desk and rifled through the drawers but without success in finding even a band-aid, though it was full of paperclips, staples, and lined paper. So then he searched the shelves, knocking down books and paperbacks. On the fourth shelf from the top he found a small first aid kit, a rusty white painted box with a scratched red cross on it. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his friend's side.

"Look at that. His boot left a mark," Jonathan murmured.

Mark pried open the lid with his fingers and dumped the contents onto the floor near Jonathan's knees.

"Any alcohol pads or iodine?" Jonathan asked, watching Mark finger through the small packets and wrapped sterilized pads.

Mark pulled out the iodine pads. "These."

"No alcohol," Brian murmured with a moan.

Jonathan smirked. "Well, Mormon boy, we're not asking you to drink it."

Brian had to laugh, but he soon stopped because of the pain. "Hydrogen peroxide. Is there any of that?" He rolled over onto his side, or tried to, but winced and fell back onto his stomach.

Jonathan shook his head. "I don't see any."

"There are three alcohol pads," Mark lifted them in his palm.

Brian nodded. He then laughed. "No water in this room?"

Both of his friends shook their heads.

Brian sighed.

"Ok," he at last said. "It just hurts real bad, and I didn't want any more pain."

Mark's gaze fell. He sighed, peeling open the small packet. He lifted the small pad and glanced at Jonathan. "Brace yourself."

Brian nodded.

Jafarr braced himself against the ventilation tunnel wall and let his body drop inside the front hall of the seer monastery known as the Seer Hall. He was careful to fall behind a pillar in the wide foyer. He looked around cautiously when he landed and then up at his friends above in the air passage.

He whispered. "Go now and get our people over to the designated areas. Wait for us."

The man inside the air vent nodded and shimmied back up the vent into another tunnel, closing the grate behind him, leaving Jafarr alone.

Jafarr peered around the pillar again and spotted a small crowd gathering near the doors. Three relatively old men were bickering amongst themselves. All of them looked like their hopes had been ripped out from their chests and stomped on. Jafarr took their distractedness to his advantage and slipped to the darker part of the hall. He was still in his t-shirt and jeans, knowing he stood out a great deal from their solemn brown robes as bright red Pennington attire was not quite stealth clothing. But Jafarr didn't have the time to change. Zormna had wanted to start the rescue plan immediately, and for that matter so did he. It was all they could do to keep Alea Salvar from acting rashly and going alone after his father.

Jafarr crept silently over to the hanging travel robes on the wall and pulled one off a peg, slipping it on before anyone could see him. It was a good thing Jafarr had dressed just then and moved because the group near the door now walked over to the robes and each took one off the pegs. He stood back near the wall, and with his head bowed he watched them silently.

"...Asol is young. I always thought he was a fool when he said he saw visions. Now this has proved it," an older, balding Seer Class man muttered.

Jafarr blinked and leaned in just a mite to overhear them. A young man in the group shook his head. All of them had hair just as black as Jafarr's. All of their eyes were dark blue like his, as those of the Seer Class were genetically homogenous.

"But Sir Banden Asol is a seeing seer. He sees with his fathomless eyes. Why else is he head record keeper?" the young Seer Class man said in defense of the one discussed.

Jafarr waited as they walked by, looking for his chance to slip into the crowd. It was best to leave with a group than to go alone. These men would be his best cover. Jafarr pulled on his hood to conceal his face.

"You, boy," an older man suddenly addressed him, having seen his movement across from the group.

Jafarr stiffened. "Uh, sorry?"

He sweated under his robe. It was possible they could see he was not true Seer Class. Jafarr angled his foot to step back, preparing to escape.

"Where is your sign?" the man snapped sharply, shaking his finger at him. "You didn't paint your sign on. You can't go out like that!"

Jafarr immediately felt his forehead and let out a relieved sigh. "Of course. I'm sorry. I forgot."

The young man in the group stared straight at Jafarr, his dark eyes blinking at him. The others shook their heads reprovingly, mentally dismissing him.

"I guess I should go and paint it on, huh?" Jafarr moved to go toward the other end of the foyer where he assumed would be whatever stamp they were talking about. Though his mother was Seer Class, he had never really entered the seer sector before.

The young man stepped forward. "I can stamp your head for you. Hold on."

Jafarr shifted again, still preparing to run, as the young seer had watched him with an expression like he knew him and that feeling was unsettling. Yet none of the old men seemed to take such notice of him. They merely nodded to the younger one approvingly. Jafarr watched the young man walk over to a shelf near the door, beckoning him to follow. Going along with it, he followed the seer man, raising his eyebrows a little, but then Jafarr tried to remove the expression when he realized he was making a face.

The young seer pulled out a small circular jar of ink paste and a stone pestle with the round stamp on the end. He dabbed the stone into the ink and looked over to see if Jafarr was really following him to his side of the room. Jafarr had kept a step away from him, watching intently like an animal ready to bolt. The young seer delivered Jafarr a hard stare and beckoned him forward. "Bend down so I can get this on right."

Jafarr did as bade. The cold stone pressed against his forehead and it sent chills down his spine.