CURE FOR DARKNESS

The United States, supposedly under threat of terrorism, has been put under a permanent state of Martial Law. Ruled by one man and his army, chances of escape are nothing short of narrow.

NEW SOUNDS FILLED THE air; a disturbing siren, wailing boisterously throughout the suburbs and its surrounding towns. The once playful chatter of the park had now died and all movement vanished, leaving statues that looked unitedly in the direction of where they'd thought the source of the noise had come from. Each face was puzzled, surprised. And for a moment, the entire district was breathless, lifeless; too caught up in the sounds to react beyond the occasional gasping.

 

A woman and a girl stood rooted to the spot, hand in hand in the centre of the zebra crossing, unaware that a car had swerved around to avoid a collision with them. The car, too, stopped in the middle of the road and a man and woman exited and watched the crowded road with expectation and fright, yet, they still somehow remained vacant. They had evidently heard this blare before, though they could not believe their ears.

 

A mother's hands fell limp; her body became numb and she let go of her daughter's hand as realisation dawned on her beautiful features. There had never been a siren like this before - especially in this quiet little town �" but there could only be one meaning to it:

 

Danger was afoot.

 

The little girl, who possessed a perplexed and slightly alarmed expression, looked at her mother and worry came as she comprehended the look on her mother’s face. It was one of pure horror and something else; something that made the little girl anxious and morose.

 

And left her feeling oh so helpless.

 

Suddenly, a male voice spoke through a megaphone from somewhere in the distance:

 

"Please calmly return to your houses. This is a military emergency. We are invoking the state of Martial Law. I repeat, you must return to your houses!"

 

At last, the mother came back to reality and she and her daughter exchanged glances. Whilst the daughter remained confused, her mother was in sheer panic and in her state she scooped up her child in her arms and hastily sprinted towards her house that was thankfully a mere two blocks away.

 

But alas, it was not meant to be.

 

As the two rounded a corner, a large tank appeared and stopped before the pair. A soldier in a green uniform emerged from the inside and exited the intimidating transport-slash-weapon. He sauntered cautiously yet with a foreboding stance towards them, leaving the tank behind in the middle of the deserted street.

 

Screams coming from residents ensued and could be heard from all directions and the thudding of many feet running caused the ground to quake under its force, like a herd of elephants wreaking havoc amongst the once quiet suburb. The mother felt as if she should be running away from the man, who was still very slowly making his way closer to them but she couldn't even find the will to move her feet; it was as if she were stuck to the asphalt with super strength glue.

 

"Good afternoon, ma'am." The soldier welcomed the moment he stopped three feet from them and dipped his green beret off at her and then looked at the child in her arms. "Hello, miss."

 

The girl opened her mouth in preparation to greet him back. She'd seen similar looking men in uniforms and had come to the conclusion that they were the heroes. How very wrong she had been.

 

The little girl had been so innocent, so pure of heart at only six years old. Her birthday had just been last week, and now everything was changing for the worse. Even she could feel it.

 

Before the girl could utter a single syllable, her mother spoke. "What's the emergency, sir?" Her voice cracked twice but the soldier gave an insincere smile that did not conceal his pride very well.

 

The soldier gave a nonchalant shrug as he replied in a monotonous tone. “We are taking over the Government.”

 

 

Sweat cascaded down her forehead and neck as the memory took hold of Alita’s attention once again, each detail �" insignificant or otherwise �" had perpetually been emblazoned into her skull, etching itself deeper with each passing day.

 

The darkened silhouettes of the sentinels known as the Siros paced the limestone floor of the vast Cathedral that was slowly weakening to the point of almost turning uninhabitable. The only light came from the resplendence of the moon which only seemed to make the sentinels all the more frightening as the prisoners watched them tour the spacious room, stopping every so often to stare at the door that led to a dimly lit hallway and eventually to a place where many had been but none had ever come out of. The only sounds that echoed around these four walls were the heavy foot falls of the guards who insisted on being deemed as Guardians, and the synchronized breathing that belonged to the captured as they waited impatiently for that all too familiar shadow to cross over the threshold and leave with yet another human.

 

Scattered around the floor were hundreds of uncomfortable provisional beds that were occupied by petrified and corrupted people and though she could not see their faces, there was no doubt in Alita’s mind that the others held the same terrified expression as she and her heart beat furiously in her chest, bruising it from the inside, as its call went out to the next victim of the Captain's.

 

They were beginning to feel irascible, wondering when that moment that the Doctor would come and take one of them. The suspense, the incessant dread they all felt, waiting for that door to open was virtually unbearable, and no matter how many times they had all gone over the plans of what would happen tonight, everyone was still tense; for there was nothing more terrifying than seeing that form enter the room. Seconds began to feel like minutes, and minutes began to feel like hours.

 

All of a sudden, in the mere blink of an eye, the room was submerged in yellow iridescent lights as the doors opened with such unmitigated force that it ricocheted off the walls. A tall, masculine figure stumbled into the room sporting a laboratory coat and called out to the Guardians with his fingers rather than his voice.

 

All breathing seemed to desist. Not a single breath left them as they attempted to eavesdrop on their hushed conversations to no avail. Each moment that passed by was excruciating and stretched on for what felt like an eternity. But at last, the incoherent whispering chatter ceased and the doctor and Siros moved in one track unitedly. The rest watched in stillness as all eyes followed the moving shadows until they stopped at the corner of the room and yanked an elderly woman to her feet.

 

Alita’s breathing hitched in her throat, her air supply was constricted and she could barely gasp for air. The one they had chosen was a dearly beloved member of our group. But this was what they had expected. They knew it was her time, and though she had no choice but to comply, she’d gone willingly enough with the knowledge of sacrificing herself for her gain.

 

Jenna, or as they called her: Juliet-five-one-zero-Tango.

 

The Captain was going to dispose of her.

 

Alita felt sickened to her core as she viewed the doctor and two Siros vanish beyond the doors again, this time restraining her as she pleaded for them to have mercy. Her voice was muffled by the closed doors and the remaining guards resumed their duties, circling the room with new found resolve.

 

When the recalcitrance ended and the military won, each prisoner’s names had been replaced with codes. To them it was a sign of impartiality, equality, but they all knew that it was more about taking away everything that was personal about them; force them to become robots, unfeeling and obedient to their wills. It had been twelve years since that tragic day the whole of the United States of America had surrendered to the army �" people that were supposed to be their protectors, their idols, had turned against them all. No one knew the reason for their plans, though many guessed different scenarios, each one becoming more ridiculous than its predecessors.

 

But now they had Jenna. If only we’d carried out our plans the night before, Alita thought with sadness, she could have survived.

 

A blood-curdling cry pierced the absolute silence and Alita resisted the urge to run to save her, knowing that she would be okay. It was all part of their plans; she just hoped that she wasn’t in any pain.

 

As the thought of her being in agony made its way to the forefront of Alita’s mind, reluctantly, a small sob escaped her lips and it echoed a thousand times louder in the Cathedral. Footsteps grew louder as a guard came towards where she lay. Alita should have held it in. Crying was forbidden and doing so only resulted in punishment, something that all of them had experienced and never wanted to go through again.

 

This was what the future held for them. Their freedom had been taken away completely. There were no choices, unless it was between following orders and dying a painful death. But that was all going to change tonight.

 

The nearest Siro stopped at Alita’s side and knelt down until he was mere inches from her face as he spoke in a deep, mordant voice. “What’s wrong?” His tone sent ice cold shivers down Alita’s spine, but she did nothing. His hot, disgusting breath entered her nostrils and her nose wrinkled at the foul stench. Another tingle shot down her spine as he laughed mirthlessly at her before he stood tall and walked away.

 

White hot rage suddenly filled Alita’s entire being at his sound, but her mind remained optimistic that they were going to escape tonight. She had to remain positive, if not for her own sake then for the sake of all those trapped in this godforsaken reformatory that had taken everything they cherished and turned it to ash. Their decision had been made; no longer would they endure slavery to this antediluvian man who had the nerve to even call himself our leader.

 

Automatically, Alita’s mind started to go over the plans. Siros were at every entrance, exit and corner of the building, not to mention the cameras they had placed everywhere which they had all insisted were for ‘their protection.’ The cameras would be easy enough to deal with. A simple yank of the wires, or perhaps sneak into the video room and dispose of them. The Guardians would not be much of a problem, either. They all could easily steal their weapons, destroy them effortlessly enough. The problem was getting out of the building. It was surrounded by watchtowers, each with two soldiers carrying machine guns in case someone dared to escape, not to mention that once they did gain freedom, there were still miles of desert and sand to trek through; but they only had to travel just far enough that they would stop trying to catch them.

 

Alita watched the cameras in anticipation, seeing each red light blink rhythmically, awaiting for a signal, for those red lights to turn off and then never turn back on. Time seemed to go on forever if not stop completely and she grew more nervous, anxious and the thought that maybe Jenna hadn’t gotten to her destination, that the Captain had somehow stopped her before she could get away. Alita shuddered at the thought and prayed for her to be alright.

 

At long last, the red flashes died and she knew what had to be done now. Alita looked over at the man on the makeshift bed beside her and stretched out her hand towards him. The two were far enough from each other that she had to stretch to reach him, but it wasn’t an impossible distance. Lightly, Alita prodded his back with her index finger, a signal that the plan was now in motion. She repeated this action to all those within her range, and the ripple effect began to form, each person poking those closest to them to create large waves of movement.

 

Minutes later, a few select people began to deviate from their positions, crawling ever so slowly and so carefully that it was hard to tell that they had moved at all; but they were, ever so slyly and gradually towards the backs of the guards.

 

Then, as the bell tolled towards midnight, the only sound they could hear were the cries all coming from the Siros that were being attacked by their prisoners’ hands.

 

The revolution had begun.