Confliction: Chapter 7

         Layla woke up to the sound of helicopters in the night.  The sun wasn't quite up yet, and the air outside her sleeping bag was still cold; although that wouldn't last long.  Soon enough it would get hot again.  She had been in the camp for a week and a half now; not long enough for summer to begin to wind down.  The air was getting drier, however and the nights gave a blessed relief, as short as they were.
         She had a tent that she shared with an old lady who referred to herself as Mom.  She had moved tents twice, and changed roommates twice since she had arrived, but she had been in this one with Mom for close to five days now, and was loath to part with it.  Maybe it wouldn't come to that.  The tent was a bright green with a little yellow floral print around the base and entrance, and it had no doubt been donated.  It stood out terribly among all the dark green army tents that had been provided for everyone else, and at first she felt that people would laugh at her for it.  Later she realized that no one was laughing and decided that it gave her home character.  The entrance flap's zipper was broken and didn't close entirely.  The weather made this a non-issue and even if it did zip up, that wouldn't give her any added security.  She had heard there were a few cases of rape a kilometre across the hillside a week ago, but none since.  The rapists had lost their ration ID's and placed under guard.  She couldn’t bother to be worried about such things after what she had been through.
         One of the helicopters had landed nearby, and she sat up as the engines died down.  She pulled her sleeping bag up to her chest with her one good hand and looked around the darkness of her tent.  Mom was still laying down on the other side of the small tent, but the glint of a reflection in her eyes showed that she wasn't asleep.  Mom never really slept much as is, even though the nights on the hillside were quiet.  She was always awake when Layla went to sleep at night and in the mornings she was always awake.  “You need less sleep as you get older,” was her explanation for it.  Layla believed there was more of a reason than that.
         Mom had come from a farm several miles south of Kiookia and had reached the camp a few days before she had.  When they had met on the first evening in the little green tent, she had given Layla a handful of grapes from her ration box, saying that she hated grapes.  “They feel unnatural and don't taste like they look.”  Grapes were one of Layla's favourite foods, so she had been overjoyed at the gift.  They had spent that first night exchanging happy stories of home and how they had gotten here.  Mom was happy to have a nice girl like her here, because the last roommates that had been here were awfully loud people with drawing all up their arms.  Layla had fallen asleep with a smile on her face for the first time since she had arrived on the hillside.  Layla often departed in the early afternoon in search of a breeze and people to watch, but Mom never left as far as she could tell, preferring to sit and read a stack of old books that she had brought with her.  At least she was prepared for the boredom.  The second night with Mom had been less happy.  They discussed some of the sadder events in their lives and although Layla had significantly fewer than Mom, it did not make her feel any better about herself.  Mom had lost her two children, one to a disease, and the other to the war and her grandchildren had been evacuated to the island of Sae Deo, and she didn't know when she would see them again.  Layla felt comfortable opening up to her about everything: her attack in the burning city, her past with her grandfather and of the strange man in Kiookia who had begun to invade her dreams.  Mom did not judge, but gave one of her very wise smiles and kept quiet.  The nights after that had been a mix of the happy and the sad, the funny and the solemn and occasionally had heated, but respectful disagreements. The night before, Layla had been too tired to say much of anything, and so had just listened to Mom tell one of the stories of her children working at the wormhole until her eyes and grown heavy and she had fallen asleep.
         Lights were shining across the sky landing on tents, and once it passed over them and lit up the walls like daylight.  The remains of her wrist ached.  It was worst in the morning.  She crawled out of bed on all threes and pushed apart the flaps of the tent.  She stood up outside in the middle of a sea of tents.  Some people were standing beside the tents already, watching, while others slowly made their way out.  Large cargo helicopters had landed all across the hillside in strategic locations, and spotlights were moving over people with no apparent order.  Orange and green blinking lights were attached to the rail rotors, and all up and across the hillside they could be seen against the darkness.  Some people had begun gathering around the one parked near her tent; a mighty thing with two big steel and unshapely boxes attached the side.  There were four rotors winding down to a stop along the frames and a few military men were walking around urging people to return to their tents.
         “What's going on?” came Mom's voice from inside the tent.
         “They are moving us,” said Layla.  She didn't know how she knew, but she did.
         “Now?”
         “I don't know.  They are telling us to go back to sleep, so probably in the morning.”  She stood for a moment longer, feeling the cold grass between her toes before stooping down back inside the tent.  Mom was lighting the lamp in the centre of the ground, which provided meagre light at most, and glanced at her with a worried look as she entered.  Layla sat back where she had slept.
         “How do they expect us to get to sleep now?  It's almost morning already, and with all the racket those army men made...”  Mom lay back down and pulled the blanket over her head.
         Layla sat with her arms wrapped around her knees.  “I wonder where they are taking us.”
         “I don't know, but when I got here, they said that we could make ourselves at home, because we weren't likely to be moved for a long time.”
         She had been told that too.  It seemed odd for them to move them so suddenly.  “Maybe they know something they aren't telling us.”
         They didn't sleep for the rest of the night, and spent much of the remaining darkness in quiet, before Mom and Layla left the tent to watch the sun rise over the hill.
         Morning rations were given out at the cargo copters' landing site, and whispers and rumours rippled through the crowd.  Some heard that they had run out of rations and they had airlifted in more.  Others claimed that they were poisoning the rations to rid themselves of the mouths to feed, but the majority expected that after breakfast they would be relocated, although the reasons why were hard to pin down.
         “The Pyromancers are marching north,” she heard someone behind her say.  “They are getting us out of the way of the warpath.”
         “No, no,” she heard his friend reply.  “General Farlar wants this space to build a military base for when the Pyromancers do come.”
         “I think he's going to drop nukes on the Pyromancers when they come, and doesn't want us to get caught in the fallout.”
         Layla didn't know who to believe.  It didn't matter to her.  Her home was gone already.  She was more scared about where they would be sending her.  There was nowhere left for her, and she had no idea where she would want to go.
         The crowd hushed as a military man in large shoulder-plates stepped up to a podium as they were unloading the crates of ration boxes.  Everyone strained and stood up as tall as they could reach trying to look over eachothers shoulders.  This man was a new face, and for the last week, the same two men had been reading out the names.  This man had a small pair of glasses but looked to be no older than thirty.  He looked as if he was caught in the middle of changing, and he had a ripped pair of jeans and a casual shirt on, but his shoulders and left arm were wreathed in steel from his forearm down and had a large metal glove on.  The armour looked new, but also like it had been used in combat.  His right hand was wrapped in bandages.  He blew into the mic to check if it was on.
         “Greetings, refugees,” he said in a booming voice.  He seemed oblivious to the term refugees being insulting to the people here.  “I am Commander Yast.  While we are waiting for your breakfast, I will update you on your situation.”  He cleared his throat and looked to be nervous.  “The Unistate Humanitarian Effort that has been your generous hosts, in combination with the Collective Military of Anoosa has deemed it fit to move you out of the area.”  A roar rose out of the crowd from people wanting to know why they were being moved and where they were going.  It seemed more people were attached to their home on the hillside than she had thought.  Yast looked weary with the crowd reaction.  “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I assure you, it is necessary for the war effort, and for your safety.  The specific reasons for your relocation are classified information, but I can assure you, the places you are moving for are well equipped to receive you.  The process will begin after breakfast and take most of the day.  Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen.”
         There was a muffled growl from the crowd upon him stepping down and he slipped into a tent quickly to avoid extended contact with those outside.  The usual man in charge of distributing the rations stepped up and began his usual cold introduction.  Layla was relatively close to the beginning of the list this day, and was able to get to the eating gazebos in time to catch a seat without competition.  The rations were getting steadily smaller over the course of her time here.  Today there were two pieces of bread with a few spreads and an apple cut into slices in a sealed bag, and a small carton of milk.  She had been getting used to eating with one hand now, and where her bandages had been bloody and dirty before, it was healing and less painful, so she could use her arm more.
         She was chewing her sandwich with jam when three loud laughing voices came walking into the tent.  They were military men that she had never seen before.  She was beginning to get the used to the patrols that would swing by all over the camp.  Although they looked faceless and anonymous, as she spent more time watching them, she had been able to discern the differences between them, however slight.  The way they carried themselves as they walked through the crowd differed.  Some had an air of importance around them and strutted through the masses carrying their rifle at the ready to watch people look up to them as a superior, while others almost seemed to be scared of the people here, slinking through the group, trying to watch but be unseen.  Their uniforms also gave them away.  In the world of the military where everyone was obligated to look and dress the same, they would reach out in any way they could to identify themselves as an individual.  Their helmets often had designs spray painted on them; city state symbols from home, individual tribal or foreign signs, or derogatory phrases about their enemies were most common.  Some rolled up their sleaves, revealing tattoos, while some carried keepsakes or trinkets on strings and chains; a lock of hair was tied to the forearm of one of the night patrols.
         These men were new, and seemed to be enjoying themselves.  They had food boxes of their own, but they were of a different design that, Layla expected, had more or better food in them.  They sat down directly across the table from her, and one of them smiled at her before going back to his joke with his friends.  He had a friendly smile, and understanding green eyes.  His hair was blonde and he had a scar on his right cheek.  She focused on her little milk carton and listened to the conversation of the three guards, who were talking about something they had encountered at boot camp. 
         A roar was heard and she looked up with everyone else to see the blinking lights of the cargo planes had turned on.  A loud metallic creak and the sound of engines ran.  All at once, the huge doors of thick metal, fell open with a loud thud on the ground that rumbled beneath her feet.  The engines began to die down and everyone went back to their food, including the soldiers across from her.
         Another thud came from beneath the bench and it caused her to slow her chewing to make sure she wasn't imagining it.  Another thud, that came from closer.  She knew it wasn't from the planes, this one sounded different, as if coming from under ground.  She glanced at the soldiers across from her.  They had all felt it too, and were sitting perfectly still feeling their surroundings and waiting.  Their eyes looked nervous, and the kind one gave her a quick glance until a third rumble from just beneath them made his eyes grow wide. 
         The one to his right gave an enormous bellowing yell that echoed across the hillside.  “Everybody on the table!  Off the ground, now!”  All three reached for their guns, and Layla and everyone else lept to their feet and clamoured on top of the bench, some on hands and knees, some with more dexterity jumped up on two feet.  People were screaming, and the guy with the voice continued to yell at everyone to get out of the ground.
         A massive crunch and a smothered scream rang through her ears coming from directly behind her, and she turned around in time to see two arms disappear into a pool of churning soil in the ground as if it had liquified underneath him.  She didn't know who's arms they were, but her heart lurched.  A fat man was running for the tables with all he was worth, but he too slipped into a soft patch of dirt and vanished as if pulled underneath by unknown hands.  Screams rocked the camp she was in, but all she could hear was her thumping heartbeat and a red laugh from deep in her memory.  Women were hiding their faces and men were yelling at one another.  The three soldiers pushed people aside and jumped to the ground with a thud, guns at the ready and visors down.  One called a code red into his microphone and fell to his hands and knees and started digging the at the soil where one of the two men had been sucked under.  The other two were aiming their weapons around, and had already clipped a cord between them, with the kind blonde in the middle. The ground was continuing to rumble around them.  It was about fifteen long seconds of digging before the rumbling got very loud and the digging soldier was dragged under.  A huge brown hand reached up through the ground as if it were water and grabbed his calf, snapping it in it's grip and pulling the entire man under before he could even yell.  The two connected soldiers fell to the ground and dug in their boots.  The cord was being pulled tight and they strained to keep him from going far.  Whatever was under the ground was trying hard to pull him, deep, but couldn't fight the combined strength of the other two.  The cord went taught and with some give, they managed to pull their groaning friend out of the ground.  Shortly after, from the same hole, a huge roaring man popped out of the ground after him.  His skin was a deep brown, cracked and dry, and he was bald from head to toe.  His hands were enormous, and before the men could get a shot off, he reached out and a massive punch knocked one of the soldiers to the ground.  Sending his gun skittering.  The blond was the only one left with a gun and resisting the tug from both ends from the cords attached to his fellow sprawling comrades, he opened fire on the giant brown man.  He didn't shoot once, or twice, but unloaded half a dozen heavy shots into the man.  The first several skittered off his hardened skin, making him angry and charging towards his attacker.  The next few bullets made direct contact and chipped the skin away, bloodless and seemingly harmless.  Small holes and cracks appeared in his skin, but otherwise he kept coming.          
         An immense crack from a rifle the side and the stone mans head splintered, spraying the ground behind him with blood and pebbles.  The rest of his body crumpled to the ground and remained there, while six or seven men ran over to carry off the injured men.  Two men began scanning the ground for a sign of the dragged under civilians, but it had already been several minutes since they were dragged to their doom.  Some people in the crowd crawled off the table gingerly setting their foot back on the ground.  Others stayed put shaking and sobbing.  The rumbling had stopped, and Layla just stared at the spot where the men lay.  One of the soldiers was carrying a rifle twice as tall as he was, and she recognized him as Commander Yast, still in the same garb he had been in two hours ago before rations were given out.  He had taken the final shot and walked around to survey the area.  The men were reporting to him, and he was giving orders.  Layla sat down back on the bench and put an apple slice in her mouth.  She was the only one still eating, but she watched intently as they carried the two injured soldiers off on stretchers.  Yast was kicking the churned soil around reached down with his glove to take a sample.  A man in a white coat ran up and took the chunk of dirt from him and bagged it before running off to a small tent on the outside of the encampment.
         She jumped to hear the deep exhale of the blonde soldier sitting loudly, back on the bench directly across from her.  He was looking at her, and as she made eye contact, he opened his mouth to speak.
         “So,”  he said.  How do you start a conversation after something like that?
         “So,” she responded.  “Should you be going with your friends?”
         “To medical?  No, I didn't finish my breakfast.”  He took a bite out of his bagel and gave her a little smile that she returned.
         She didn't know what to say to him.  “Will they be okay?”
         “Oh yeah,” he said still chewing. “A broken bone or two is nothing entirely unusual.  Jin, the guy who had his shin broken, may be sent back home to do a desk job if the break is bad enough though.”
         “What was that thing?”  She knew she shouldn't be surprised after the things she had seen, but something in the pit of her stomach was making goosebumps move up and down her shoulders and neck.
         “That was a mage.  A geomancer, specifically.  Those things make their homes in the ground all over the place, and the choppers probably woke him and he got grumpy.  That would be my guess anyways.”  He spoke so casually, which made her nervous.
         She had woken grumpy too.  An odd thought to think that if she had the capability to do so, she could have done the same thing.  “Were you scared?”
         He seemed delighted at the question and smiled at her.  “Of course.  One of those things can rip a man in two as easily as look at him and he was coming right for me.  Got my blood pumping real good.”  He looked down at his box which had a pack of oatmeal in it.  “I've been in a few situations like that, though, so it wasn't like the first time I seen one of those guys at work.”
         “What was that like?  That was the first time I have,” she lied.  She had seen pyromancers burning Kiookia around her, but never a geomancer.
         “The first time I saw one, my bud had grabbed a pyromancer mage from behind cover and pushed him to the ground with his gun in his gut.”  He motioned as he talked, trying to act out what his friend had done.  “The bastard gobbed liquid flame in his eye, and burned it straight out of his head.  I was stunned, and terrified and couldn't even shoot.  My friend managed to put three heavy rounds in him, even though he was blind, hah!  Yelled his ass off at me for not covering him too.  Don't blame him, to be honest.”
         She cringed at the thought of having an eye burned out, and chomped another apple slice in half.  The ways of dying or being injured in the world had changed.  She had seen people burned alive by hellfire in Kiookia, people swallowed up by the ground here and had heard stories of all kinds of horrors that had never been possible until only recently.  Since the realistic split.  They sat in silence for a moment while they both pondered, until he broke it.
         “My name's Jannis.”  He reached out his hand across the table.
         She instinctively reached out her damaged wrist, then blushed, before reaching out and taking his with her other.  She felt stupid, and wondered if she would ever get used to that.  “Layla.”