Out of Exodia by Debra Chapoton

hitch up a notch. Though he heard no unearthly words
and no heavenly guidance was given he raised the rod and signaled
for a halt. It took several minutes for the mass to stop and even
longer for the murmured grousing to finish. The way before them had
opened to rocky fields of intermittent bushes, humanly planted,
Bram knew, to hide the underground city’s lighting
shafts.
    “ Over there,” Lydia yelped,
dropping Bram’s hand and pointing to a far off stand of
vine-tangled trees. Teague moved closer and cocked his head to
listen to her. He’d sent Lydia and Barrett on resistance missions
when he was the acknowledged leader of the Red slum. He listened
closely as she explained, “See those two giant boulders? They’re
really concrete barriers. They flank the entrance to the
underground city.”
    Bram nodded his head and Teague stepped
forward, pointing a bony finger at Bram. He had a simple statement,
“If we march across this land they’ll undoubtedly hear us
below.”
    Bram looked at the old man and asked,
“Do you have a suggestion?”
    Teague was pleased. “I do.”
    * * *
    I listen to Teague explain how we
should send our strongest men, warriors he calls them, to burst
through all the shafts at once and invade the buried city. It’s a
terrible plan; it spreads our attack too thin and we have no idea
how many remain in this subterranean fort, but I respectfully ask
pointed questions and just as he begins to shake his head Onita
screams.
    We drop our burdens, all except the
rod, and rush to her side. She’s holding a shaky hand over her
mouth, and backing away from the edge of a thorny patch of
sumac.
    Marilyn and Mira grab her arms and lead
her away from the grisly sight. It takes a moment for it to
register as I focus first on a sprig of pine needles wedged between
two bits of flesh. It’s a face. It’s the face of the man I attacked
to save Lydia. Just his head and face. Where a body should have
been there’s a thick oak branch, the bottom end of which is snapped
off. Its other end protrudes among the thorns, waist
high.
    “ Punishment,” Lydia
breathes. “It’s Amal. They impaled him for letting me escape.” I
fold her into my arms so she no longer stares at the hideous
butchery. Her body chills with an intensity that seems to blister.
“If they’d do this to one of their own—”
    She doesn’t need to finish that
thought. Such pagan impulses scare me too.
    “ Everybody back,” Harmon
shouts. He covers Amal’s face with several pine branches and turns
to me with a mixed expression in his eyes.
    I don’t know what to do. The gentle
breeze that moments ago freshened our foreheads stiffens into a
slapping wind. I look up at Malcolm’s cloud. It’s still moving on,
out across the desert-like plain that roofs the hidden
city.
    “ Move on!” I say. “Step
hard! Weapons ready!” The pounding of our parading band will either
keep our enemies hidden as we pass or draw them out to be numbered
and killed. Raul had told me these enemies are vanquished, not that
they were vanquished. “Children to the center!”
    * * *
    As soon as the horses stepped from the
parched grass to the rocky plain they began to nicker. The burdened
horses that were led with ropes pulled against their lead lines
trying to head for the hidden stables. The Reds who rode in crude
saddles or bareback strained to keep their mounts advancing west
and not let them head toward what looked like a vine-covered
forest. The mass of humans and animals proceeded in a nervous
prance across the land, horses with eyes wide and white, men with
eyes narrowed and darting.
    Beneath the ground those thousands of
footfalls set off alarms throughout the city. The Director summoned
his aides and his new general. In richly descriptive words he
commanded that every single citizen, including mothers with
children, go topside with the remaining troops, surround the
invaders, and take captive only those who might prove useful in
their neo-pagan