Dawnrunner

Chapter 9

“They… left us.” My voice is a whisper, a ghost of its former self
Our half of the train is moving again, passing through the western gate, away from Hong Kong and into Europe. Part of me wants to jump off and start running, but it’s an absurd idea in every way. The two remaining jeeps have flanked us, one of each side, and there’s absolutely nowhere I could run too. And besides, the doors are still locked. All my senses are paralysed: I don’t even feel the wind blowing in my face through the shattered window.
I hear voices from the other passengers in the rooms around us. They’re yelling at each other and at the men in the compound. Like us, they have no idea what’s happening. It sounds like some of the GE soldiers survived the attack, but they’re not fighting anymore.
The lights in the carriage are off and there’s no power to the doors or the communications. The only light we have is from the screens on our phones, which haven’t connected to any kind of signal since we left the Sanctuary. Without power, the doors leading out of our room are sealed shut. Every thirty minutes or so I hear heavy footsteps – a man’s footsteps – walking through the hall outside our door. At first the people in the other rooms try yelling to him, but one by one they all stop.
Rachel is sitting on her bed. She’s not speaking but from the look on her face I can see she’s falling apart inside. I am too, but somehow comforting her will allow me to keep it together for just a few more minutes. Without saying anything I sit down and put my arms around her shoulders, and after a few moments she starts crying into my chest. Her tears are warm and I want to block them out, but the only other feeling is the rumble of the wheels below us and right now I can’t stand to think about how much further away from the Sanctuary we’re getting with every second.
Eventually we pass through a deserted area that looks like the remains of a border crossing. A partially-burned sign with the word Kaprikule written in several languages lies on the ground near a guard house that has been torn through with a grenade. No gate awaits us and the train continues through without slowing.
Rachel and I take turns trying to sleep. I’ve turned off my phone to try to save the battery. To mark the time I count the patrols that pass us, adding half an hour for each sweep. After about 16 passes, or approximately eight hours, the train begins to slow. Rachel feels the change before I realise she is awake, and lifts her head from my lap.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“I’m not sure,” I answer truthfully. My throat is dry: the water in my flask ran out long ago.
The jeeps that were flanking us have vanished, as have the guards from the hall.

The Dawnrunner arrives at a large city, with bright lights underneath the black sky, wide streets and tall, square buildings that run the length of entire roads. Many of the buildings appear untouched by conflict, though parts have been heavily corroded by the cloud. Up ahead I can see a large station with raised platforms on both side and vehicles parked all around, mostly jeeps and a few trucks. There are crates of weapons too, loaded on the platforms: assault rifles, machine guns, grenades and rocket launchers, most bearing the eight-pointed sun of the Global Effort.
As the train pulls in we are immediately surrounded by guards. Several men are shouting to each other and a few minutes later the last of the GE troops are lead across the platform with their hands on their heads.
There’s a buzz as the power returns to the compartments, bringing back the lights and unlocking the doors. The guards outside take a step forward and aim their rifles at the carriage doors, including ours.
One of the guards starts to yell. “Everyone out of the train… slowly!”
None of the doors open. My hand is trembling and I doubt I could even hold the handle. The guard shouts again, making me jump.
“I said, move!” he yells.
Swallowing, I gently put my hand on the handle, and push down. The door opens easily, and swings out into the courtyard. To my left and right, other doors are opening too. There are at least two guards ten feet away from me with rifles pointed in my direction.
“That’s right, everybody out, nice and slow,” the man calls.
Rachel has one hand on my shoulder as I take my first step down from the carriage and onto the platform.

We are riding in a convoy of jeeps filled with the former passengers of the Dawnrunner. No one speaks as the cars come to a stop in front of a giant bonfire burning at the centre of a large intersection. The fire casts a demonic glow over the entire area, over several large metal poles, which have been fixed into the concrete in front of it.
The space is filled with hundreds of people: men and women, some carrying weapons, others drinking and dancing. Many are clearly soldiers, wearing a mixture of different kinds of body armour. A few wear GE uniforms with strange emblems attached. The rest are civilians in plain clothes, including a few groups of young children. All around us people are shouting and singing in a variety of languages. The whole thing has the appearance of a mass cultural festival.
To one side stands a pillar, at least 20 meters tall, on top of which rests a bronze-and-black statue of a crowned woman, with an owl on her left arm and a laurel wreath in her right hand. A red flag with a silver emblem of two crescent moons back-to-back hangs from the statue’s outstretched arms.
I’m shocked when I see the man with the slouch hat jumping from the lead jeep, the knife he used during the attack shining in the light from the fire where it hangs from his belt. From this distance I can see an eye patch covering his right eye. Immediately I recognise him as the man from the security bulletin back at the Sanctuary, the fugitive with the bandage: Lazarus. He’s smiling as he mounts the platform beneath the statue, which tonight apparently serves as a make-shift stage. Lazarus waves his arms through the air as he addresses the crowd.
“Brothers and sisters of the resistance! Today, we have achieved a great victory over those who would enslave and oppress us! Today, we have captured the Dawnrunner!” I shudder as a cheer goes up from the crowd. Lazarus’ eye scans the group of former passengers. Even in the firelight I can see he is naturally handsome, which only adds to the charisma he uses to win over the crowd. He pauses briefly in his scan and for a terrible moment I’m aware only of his gaze on me.
“And to our distinguished guests,” he cries out with a flourish, staring directly at me, “Welcome to Sofia!”

One of the soldiers grabs my arms and pulls my wrists behind my back. Rachel is screaming and I can see another guard is doing the same to her. My shoes scrape along the street as we’re pulled towards the metal poles in front of the bonfire. With military efficiency, the man pushes me to my knees and secures my arms behind the pole, fixing handcuffs on my wrists. The same happens to Rachel, and Christy, who was riding in the jeep behind us and is now kneeling just a few feet away. At least two dozen of the other passengers from the train are there as well, but none of the soldiers.
A line of men wearing handcuffs is lead to the stage. Their uniforms are gone but I recognise a few of them as the MRs from the train. As they arrive, each one is forced to their knees. Lazarus waits until they are all there before speaking.
“Soldiers of the Global Effort, under this statue of our beloved Saint Sofia, with her twin symbols of wisdom and peace, you will be judged for your crimes against the free peoples of this world!” The crowd cheers wildly as his speech reaches its crescendo. Lazarus waves them down, like a Master of Ceremonies at a private function.
“We were hoping to have a very special guest with us tonight: Commander General Lowe!” An uproar of angry shouts explodes from the crowd. “However it seems the good General declined our invitation to be here tonight. Instead, he has kindly volunteered his trusted lieutenant, Commander Nathaniel Rayne, to be our guest of honour.” The cheers reach a fever pitch as Lazarus pulls one of the GE soldiers from his knees and pushes him across the stage.
“Tell the good people in what fine army you serve, Commander.”
Rayne seems to hesitate for a moment, then turns and shouts into the crowd.
“I am a proud officer of the Global Effort security forces. Lazarus, you are a traitor, and your rebels threaten the very survival of the human race. You will all be destroyed!”
Lazarus is standing behind him, shaking his head. Rayne doesn’t even see him pull a pistol from its holster.
“Not today, Commander,” he says before shooting Rayne in the back of the head. The Commander falls face-first off the stage. Lazarus stands there, seeming to burn in the light from the bonfire. The crowd is on its feet as he holds the pistol over his head. Amid the chaos of cheers and applause he starts to yell four words over and over until the crowd picks up the chant.
“The dawn is coming!”
My head drops to my chest as I start quietly weeping.